A BLACK MERCEDES WITH TINTED windows careened out of the alley in front of Flynn as he crossed the street to the Customs & Immigration building. The car squealed onto the pavement and raced away. Flynn shook his head at the crazy driver and moved on. The building was only a few blocks from the Yacht Club, close to the United States Embassy. Philippine flags lit by spotlights lined the street, with the American Stars and Stripes fluttering over the Embassy.

If they hadn’t already realized their new detainee was the Princess of Solana, it was his responsibility to make sure they knew. It was the least he could do to make up for turning her in as a thief. Guilt gurgled in his stomach like the overpriced, shitty beer. But there was more than that churning inside. He cared for her. He couldn’t quite identify the thorn in his chest, but he knew whatever the cause had something to do with Alanna.

Once inside, a safety glass separated the man behind the desk from the rest of the empty seating area. Most of the seats were metal folding chairs with padded cushions, in various, un-matched colors and states of disrepair. The clerk appeared in his early thirties, his feet propped on the counter, reading a magazine written in Tagalog.

When Flynn approached the counter, the man removed his feet and closed the magazine. “How can I assist you?” The words came out mechanical.

“I want to know the status of a woman who was brought in earlier today. She was travelling with me.”

“Visiting hours are ten to four. You can return tomorrow.” This time he didn’t even raise his head from a computer screen in front of him.

“What’s her status?” Flynn repeated. “She was brought in here three hours ago, to pay duty on imported property.”

The clerk rolled his eyes and wheeled his chair closer to the screen. “What’s the name?”

“Her passport said Alanna Kalani, from Solana, but she’s really—”

“Computer shows she was arrested and transferred to the nearest police precinct for processing.”

Flynn’s head whirled. “Arrested? For what?”

The clerk’s brow furrowed and he leaned toward the monitor. He picked up the phone and a minute later, the side door buzzed. A man stepped through into the waiting area.

It was the customs official from the boat, only this time he looked frazzled. Angry. “What are you here for, sir?”

Flynn kept his stance askew, not sure if he would be arrested just for asking questions. “Alanna. Where is she?”

The man’s face softened a bit, but his hand moved to the sidearm on his belt. “I’m afraid to tell you your friend was arrested when we brought her here. Perina Alanna Kalani had warrants for burglary and prostitution on an earlier visit to Manila.”

Flynn frowned, his heart hardening. “Sir, you’re mistaken. She’s really the Princess of Solana, Alanna Peralta. Her picture has been all over international news as missing—”

“You’re mistaken, boy.” The man’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t her.”

Flynn seethed through a growl. Boy. Condescending assholes everywhere. “Yes, it is her. If you turn on CNN, the pictures are identical.”

Asshole shook his head. “She’s already been transferred to the Police Department for processing. There’s nothing more I can do.” He turned around.

“You arrested the wrong person.” Flynn stepped forward. “She didn’t steal anything. She couldn’t possibly be a prostitute. Can’t you know just by looking at her?”

The man whirled and glared. His voice lowered. “You need to leave now. Forget about the girl.”

“Are you completely corrupt, or just deaf? Or perhaps incompetent?”

How in the world does someone this stupid make it into power positions? He must have taken lessons from my former commanding officer.

“I warned you, boy.” He grabbed Flynn’s elbow.

Even though the man’s grip wasn’t hard, the pressure of a stranger’s hand felt like an iron vice, shredding his rational control. Trained instinct took over. In a flash, Flynn grasped the man’s fingers and bent his wrist back until he cried out. Then Flynn let go.

“Don’t…touch me.”

As the official rubbed his wrist, the clerk behind the desk rose out of his chair and picked up the receiver. When Flynn turned toward the official, the barrel of a pistol nearly touched his nose. A sweaty slick of the man’s hair dangled over his forehead, and he panted with a vicious glare. “Leave. Now.”

Flynn focused on the gun. Governments do no operate on common sense. They certainly don’t.

This problem couldn’t be solved with rational behavior, at least not with this madman. He was part of the problem. But there were other avenues to pursue this. And when the gun was out of his face, he’d determine the next step.

Flynn raised his hands and moved to the door. The official’s gun followed him with every step. Flynn grabbed the handle. “By the way, your safety is still on.”

The air grew thicker in the short time Flynn was in the customs building. And hotter. The scent of urban rain hung in the clouds, signaling an upcoming downpour. Flynn’s feet carried him away from the insanity of the corrupt officer. By the time he recognized where he was—counting each of his steps as he went—the Yacht Club’s upscale façade stared at him.

He should go to the hotel and crash for the night. Call his father to fill him in on the details. Dean’s voice practically reverberated in his mind to forget about this and do anything to catch the flight home tomorrow. Flynn shook his head.

He knew the truth. The wrong person was arrested, and was now in the center of an international mess—possibly a conspiracy. A young, beautiful angel in the hands of some ruthless people, no doubt, wouldn’t stand a chance. Knowing her, she’d fight back of course. But how could she stand up to all of them alone? That light, that fire, in her eyes would burn out like a snuffed candle. A coconut scented candle.

Flynn moved past the entrance and approached the docks, still counting steps. Dozens of yachts floated in the small bay, their running lights reflecting off the waters like fireflies. Seagulls perched themselves on the concrete rock barriers, watching for unsuspecting fish to draw near.

Breezy Dreams anchored a few hundred feet out in the bay. A dream, indeed. She was a beautiful boat with clean lines, made even more perfect with a pair of the most powerful engines made for her class, thanks to Flynn’s adjustments.

He searched the marina, cataloguing the boats he recognized from coming into port. A new boat sat in the refueling dock, its running lights on and pumps working. Another beauty. Slightly smaller than Breezy Dreams, maybe a ninety-footer, with gold trim and state-of-the-art satellite communications perched on the roof. A cheap tender floated at the stern that didn’t match the paint job on the bigger vessel.

Odd. Spend that much money on a luxury yacht without a matching tender?

A man in a black suit and sunglasses stood under a spotlight next to the newer yacht, pacing the length of the ship.

Sunglasses at night. Such a cliché.

A small entourage of men in matching suits entered through a private gate, and moved down the docks to the awaiting yacht. Taller men surrounded two individuals, except one was a woman, short with dark hair.

Something was wrong with this group. The way they kept the others mostly concealed, their bulky suit jackets, even their strides were rushed. They hadn’t spotted Flynn on the other side of the docks—probably a good thing—so he moved to the side of a storage building.

The group reached the gangplank, and parted to allow the two center individuals to board. The first was a lean man with a thinning goatee and purple tie. His hand was wrapped tightly around the arm of the second.

Flynn stepped forward.

Alanna. In handcuffs.

Her face was splotchy, as though she’d been crying, but her scowl proved now she was livid. What frightened Flynn the most were the splatters of dark red all over the bottom of her pants.

Blood.

That is not a police escort. Another lie.

Which meant only one thing to Flynn. This was much worse than jewelry. This was a fight for her.

The rest of the men followed them onto the boat, except for two who guarded the dock. There was no way Flynn could storm the gangplank himself. Calling police would be useless—they had to be in on it.

He scanned the bay for anything that could help him formulate a plan. Any kind of leverage to get her out of there. The Breezy Dreams kept drawing his attention—so strong and sturdy, gleaming in the lights bouncing off the water.

Flynn swallowed hard.

This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever had. My father is going to kill me.