Sunset Hearts

SUNSET HEARTS

The American Heroes Collection
Florida

Macy Largo

MENAGE EVERLASTING

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

MACY LARGO

Copyright © 2010

Chapter One

Daphne hated going out on boats with a passion usually only reserved for terrorism, child molesters, bad hair days, and beets. How she ever let Paulie talk her onto the freaking thing confused the hell out of her. At least she hadn’t needed the skills she learned in the intro scuba class he made her take. He planned on them going out with a dive charter before this last-minute change in plans.

This was worse.
Definitely
worse.

At least a half-day diving trip would have ended with her unwinding in the safety of a luxury hotel suite overlooking Duval Street. Not kneeling over the toilet in their cabin’s head on this luxury yacht. Yes, it was a nice boat, she’d give it that.

It was still a boat. A boat that refused to hold still for even a few minutes so she could quit feeling sick. She squeezed her eyes shut as another wave of nausea overtook her. It felt like all she’d done on this trip from Key West was puke.

They’d been having a damn good time in Key West. Then he had to drag her out on this boat. She didn’t know their intended destination, some stupidity about a business deal.

She didn’t want to know what
that
meant.

Once she felt somewhat steady again, she rinsed her mouth and stared into the mirror. She should have listened to her best friend, Deanna, and run far and fast from the charming, handsome Paulie Scorsini. No, she let him talk her into quitting her job and moving in with him two months ago after dating for nearly a year. Most of her stuff still sat in storage in a unit near Orlando, where she’d been living before moving to Paulie’s condo in Daytona Beach. All she took with her was what few clothes he liked, then he bought her new ones. He hated all her garage sale furniture but she couldn’t bear to get rid of it. She hadn’t had time to get things like family pictures and stuff moved either.

Now, all she had of her own was a wardrobe that would do any hooker proud, and the convincing ability to act like a dumb blonde in nearly any circumstance.

Christ.

She had a damn good idea what Paulie’s “business” might be, especially after overhearing him talk with his father four days earlier, right before Scorsini senior got popped by the Feds and taken into custody. Well, hearing Paulie’s father yell at him would be more accurate. If she’d known the Scorsini family’s business was organized crime, she would have turned tail and run fast and far.

Then again, hadn’t she suspected? The flashy cars and money that seemed to materialize out of thin air were dead giveaways she’d willfully chosen to ignore. If Paulie wanted her to have something, he handed her cash and told her to go buy it. Then the issue of the goons who hung around, euphemistically called “associates,” yet who never did anything more strenuous than look menacing and hold doors open.

But after years of doing without, struggling for every dime, sleepless nights studying to land an academic scholarship and then working while earning her English degree, she’d almost felt like she’d stepped into a fairy tale. Paulie was handsome, ten years older than her and good in bed. He wanted to take care of her. She wouldn’t claim she loved him, but she’d been willing to overlook that little factoid in lieu of waking up every morning not worrying about how much she had to make in tips that day at the bar to pay FP&L to keep the lights on.

When the boat took another roll, so did her stomach. She held on to the sink and prayed neither went belly-up. The seas had roughened. From what she’d overheard before stumbling below deck to the cabin, they’d meet another boat somewhere out here. Wherever “out here” was. They’d flown into Key West two days ago, then this surprise jaunt.

She ran a hand through her blonde locks. She needed to dye her hair when they got back. Paulie wanted her platinum blonde, and her dark roots now showed. She hated being a blonde, hated growing her hair nearly down to her waist, but Paulie wanted it that way.

And Paulie Scorsini always got what he wanted.

Or else.

She crawled back into her bunk in the large master bow cabin she shared with Paulie and tried not to listen to the men laughing and talking on the deck. The sixty-foot cruiser, called the Lucky Break, belonged to Paulie’s father. It was nearly ten o’clock. She wished they’d find a marina so she could get off the damn thing and quit feeling nauseous. She wanted to sleep in a real bed that didn’t move under her.

She turned off the reading light and closed her eyes. She thought about opening the large overhead vent port for some fresh air, but decided to stick with the A/C.

Just as she’d nearly managed to get to sleep, she heard footsteps descend the cabin stairs, down the corridor, and approach her cabin. She kept her eyes closed at the sound of the door opening. She sensed Paulie’s presence, and a whiff of his expensive cologne confirmed it.

She played possum. The last thing she wanted to do was have sex and ralph all over him.

A moment later, the door closed. She heard him talking to someone.

“She’s asleep. Call them and tell them it’s time. Let’s meet up with them and get this done.”

That piqued her interest.
Get what done?

The engines slowed their monotonous throb as the captain, a Scorsini family friend, shifted the boat into neutral. She heard the sound of another boat approaching and sat up to look out a side porthole. A boat smaller than theirs drew close, illuminated by the light of the full moon, which had temporarily appeared from behind the clouds. The smaller boat, running without lights, left a glowing wake behind as it angled toward the Lucky Break.

The other boat, an open fisherman maybe twenty-five feet long, pulled alongside. She heard male voices and watched through the port as Paulie climbed across to the other boat.

In the distance, she spotted lights. They couldn’t be too far offshore then.

When she heard angry tones, she focused on the boat again and…

Holy shit!

Paulie had a gun pressed to another man’s head. Blue-tinged moonlight glinted off of it. The man had his hands up and hysterically babbled something.

Suddenly, an orange blast and a sharp report split the quiet darkness as Paulie fired.

He stood there and watched as two of his guys rolled the other man’s body overboard after efficiently wrapping it with chains and an anchor.

Caught between shock and a scream, she clamped her hand to her mouth and ducked. They couldn’t see her watching behind the tinted glass.

Ohmigod!

Daphne heard the sound of footsteps in the main cabin again. She threw herself back onto the bunk, in her previous position, and feigned sleep.

Her heart raced as the cabin door opened. She fought the urge not to gag when she smelled something she suspected was gunpowder on Paulie’s hand as he reached out and stroked her cheek.

“Daph?”

And the Oscar goes to…
“Are we at the dock yet?” she mumbled as she rolled over to look at him.

In the dim light spilling in from the main cabin, she made out his cold, businesslike expression. Had she really thought him handsome? “No, babe. We’re not. How are you feeling? Any better?”

“Sick. I dreamed we’d docked.”

He smiled, his cold mask dissolving. Despite his handsome features, she did her best not to scream over the memory of what she’d seen. She suddenly realized her nausea had completely disappeared.

Oh, good. Witnessing a mob hit cures seasickness. Handy thing to know.

“We’ll be heading down to St. Pete and dock there. We’ll spend a week at the Don CeSar. I appreciate you being a good sport about this trip.”

She forced a smile. “Sorry I don’t have sea legs.”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

Once he left, she took a deep breath and prayed like hell he’d bought her performance. She raced over to the cabin door and listened as she heard the men talking. She caught the tail end of Paulie’s comment to one of his guys.

“…storm front coming through tomorrow morning. We’ll do her then and claim she fell overboard. Don’t want her body anywhere near his. I hate to, but I can’t risk it. Pop’ll kill
me
if I don’t, told me I was a dumbass for bringing her to that other meeting…” She lost the sound of his voice as he left the main cabin.

She closed her eyes and fought her tears even as her heart pounded.

Fuck!

No fucking way she would die like this.
Fucking bastard!

In the darkness, she felt her way over to her suitcase, dug out her bathing suit, and pulled it on with trembling hands. As she heard the sound of the other boat pulling away, she rummaged through one of the storage lockers under the bunk where she remembered seeing…
Ah!

She pulled out a scuba mask and snorkel. Most likely there for show, they looked like they’d never been used.

She dumped the bottles of shampoo and conditioner out of the gallon-sized zipper top baggie she kept in her overnight bag. Into that baggie went her wallet, a T-shirt, a pair of underwear, and a pair of shorts all folded painfully tight, and a grand in cash she found in Paulie’s suitcase.

Fuck him.

Her cell phone was dead, so she didn’t bother with it. She took her keys to the storage unit, stuck her purse and the clothes she’d been wearing back inside her suitcase, and zipped everything up.

How the fuck do I get out of the cabin without them seeing me?

After squeezing all the air out of the baggie, she sealed it and stuck it and her cheap flip flops into the nylon fanny pack she’d bought in Key West. At least she wouldn’t be stuck with just a wet bathing suit to wear. She could hit a discount store and buy some clothes with the cash she had. She lived broke most of her life, she damn sure could make do with this for a few days until she could get to her bank.

With the fanny pack securely zipped and fastened around her waist and her heart running an Indy race in her chest, she looked up and spotted a large overhead ventilation port. It was big enough for her to squeeze through.

Running on fear-spiked adrenaline, she stood on the bunk for a minute and carefully listened. The engines throttled up again to full speed as she felt the boat powerfully surge forward in the water.

No sound of footsteps on the deck overhead.

She slowly lifted the hatch a few inches and looked around. The moon had disappeared again, the night thick and dark. Not spotting anyone, she raised her head enough to look up at the fly bridge.

The captain sat in his chair, but he had his back to the bow. He looked like he was talking to someone. Moving quickly, she pulled herself out of the hatch and pushed it closed, then yanked the mask strap over her head and down around her neck. She slipped under the front bow railing, holding on and hanging over the side, her feet slipping against the slick hull as warm sea spray pelted her.

Seemed like a good idea a few minutes ago.

Hoping they didn’t spot her, and that the boat wouldn’t run her over, she took several huge gasps of air and pushed off the bow as hard as she could with her legs.

She dove deep, kicking hard and praying as she felt the boat pass overhead. With the sound distorted by the water, she listened for any indication they’d seen her.

The boat continued on without hesitation.

When she knew she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she broke the surface and gasped for air. Turning, she spotted the Lucky Break in the distance, continuing on without her.

She pulled the mask up over her face and into position, cleared it and the snorkel like she’d learned in the introductory scuba class, and looked around. She located the lights on land again and headed that way.

No fins to help her, she tightened the strap on her fanny pack and started swimming. The Gulf water felt warm, at least. She’d lettered three years in a row on her high school swim team, even if she hadn’t done much of it lately.

Still, it would be a long fucking night.