The Beautiful and the Wicked (21 page)

“Now, Jack, really,” Liss said with a frown, once again gravely disappointed at how badly his CEO continued to act.

“Shut up, Seth. You can try to control me out in the world, but here on my boat among my friends I can say whatever the fuck I want.”

Despite the note of sourness in the air, Jack stayed upbeat. Declaring that he wanted a late-­night dinner, he had Chef Vatel cook up an impromptu feast of watermelon salad, grilled calamari, chilled lobster tail, and tuna ceviche, which was served poolside. Glass upon glass of perfectly chilled Montrachet was gulped down as Seth, Clarence, and Jack debated the pros and cons of outsourcing manufacturing while a bikini-­clad Esperanza stretched, slithered, and floated in the pool, ravenously watched by her husband who had Charity Baines chattering in his ear about her excitement over the purchase of a new electric-­blue crocodile-­skin Birkin bag. Jack couldn't keep his eyes off Esperanza as well, which was something that Thiago was only too quick to notice.

“I was so lucky to get it,” Charity was saying. “I only realized how expensive it was after I bought it.” She brought her voice down to a whisper. “It was thirty-­three thousand euros, which sounded fine to me. But then I realized only after I'd left the store how much that is in American dollars. Around forty-­five thousand. I mean, I don't mind. It's not about the money. It's the perception. If anyone in Washington spots me with this bag, I'll be skewered by the press. I mean, something like that could cost Clarence the reelection. It's so awful. Whenever I'm home, I'm forced to dress in Ann Taylor suits and carry around Coach bags like some kind of secretary.”

Lila eavesdropped while Thiago kept nodding and smiling, though she figured the Brazilian had no idea what this politician's wife was blathering on about. He watched his beautiful wife, who was performing some sort of Esther Williams–esque routine for his benefit, only occasionally looking away to glare at Jack.

No one seemed to take notice when the police sirens disrupted the serene tropical silence, drowning out the gentle sound of the Caribbean waters lapping up against the side of the yacht. As the sirens grew closer, it became impossible to hear Esperanza splashing in the illuminated turquoise pool, or the sound of ice clinking in glasses, or the sound of Charity Baines yammering on excitedly about the lining of her new handbag.

No one really paid attention until two uniformed policemen began walking up the gangway to the yacht's main deck. Then everyone stood up the moment they all saw the same thing—­a weeping and frightened Josie, in handcuffs, being dragged onto the boat between the two officers from the Royal Virgin Islands police force.

“What the hell?” Jack asked, looking around for Paul and Thiago, his two most trusted advisers. Both men jumped to their feet with confused looks on their faces. No one knew what was going on.

“Daddy!” Josie cried when she got up to the main deck, staring desperately at the father, who, just hours before, she'd completely denounced.

“Is there a Jack Warren on this ship?” asked one of the police officers in a heavy Virgin Islands accent. Both cops wore white short-­sleeve button-­down shirts, police hats, and long shorts accented with two red stripes along the outside of the leg. Lila's mind was racing. She had no idea what was going on. All she knew was there were no records of arrest in Josie's files. This made no sense. Had she somehow messed with the past, again?

And where was Asher?

“I'm Jack Warren,” Jack said, stepping forward. His voice was deep and powerful and his presence was commanding, making it clear that nobody could push him around.

“Do you know this woman?” the other officer asked.

“Yes, of course. She's my daughter.”

“I'm so sorry, Daddy,” Josie wept. Her head was hanging down, but her eyes were trained on her father. Lila could see that Josie was silently pleading for his help and forgiveness.

“We picked her up selling drugs to tourists at a beach bar.”

“You what!” Jack exclaimed, totally flabbergasted. “That's not possible.”

Paul Mason stepped forward. “Officers, I'm the Warren-­family attorney. What exactly are the charges?”

“Drug trafficking.”

“That's ridiculous!” Jack barked.

“On what grounds?” Paul inquired, putting his hand on Jack's shoulders, signaling his friend to calm down.

“We apprehended this young woman and found she was in possession of a large number of prescription pharmaceuticals with the intent to sell them. Once we had her in our custody she said her family was on the big yacht down in West End Bay, so we came here to verify her story.”

“That's fine, Officers,” Paul said. “Why don't we go somewhere where we can talk this through privately?”

The cops looked at each other. One nodded to the other, who then said, “Fine. Please lead the way.”

Paul Mason brought the officers into the yacht's interior, down the hall, to a small office next to the dining room. Jack followed. Josie, still handcuffed, was left behind. The moment the cops were out of sight, she collapsed into tears.

Esperanza, the guest closest to her age, sat down by her feet and tried to soothe Josie by gently rubbing her leg.

“Good Christ, little missy,” Charity Baines said. “What on earth did you get yourself into?”

Before Lila could hear Josie's response, she left the main deck, following the procession down the hall. She wanted to find out what Jack and Paul were up to. But when she walked by the office door, it was firmly closed. She went through the dining room and down the exterior walkway to look through the window. Though the blinds were lowered, the slats were angled in a way that allowed Lila to see a bit of the room if she crouched down. All she could see were four pairs of legs standing in the office. Then she saw Paul Mason go to the desk and remove a large, green steel box, which he set down on the table. Jack walked over to the box and put his thumb on the fingerprint lock. The box opened and Lila watched his hands remove two bundles of bills, both with the mustard-­colored $10,000 band wrapped around them. Each officer grabbed a stack, and then all four men exited the room.

Lila sprang up from her crouched position outside the window and hustled back to the main deck. When she arrived, she saw the officers taking the handcuffs off Josie and then swiftly leaving the boat, with a nod to Jack Warren. That was probably the quickest money those two corrupt bastards had ever made, Lila thought to herself. Though she'd never taken a bribe herself, she'd been offered plenty of times; every cop had. And she knew how strong the pull was to take the easy buck, especially when a police officer's pay was so shitty and the rewards were so few. But she still passed judgment on the cops who took bribes. How could she not? They were the source of so much ill, not just for civilians, but for all cops in general. How could there be any faith in the system or any possibility of justice when anyone who was rich enough could buy a “get out of jail” card so easily?

Once the cops had left, Jack Warren dropped his intimidating billionaire routine and became what he really was at that very moment—­a very pissed-­off father. He walked over to Josie, who was slumped down in a chair with her head buried in her arms as the rest of the guests silently huddled around her.

“Josie!” Jack yelled at his daughter, who didn't move.

Josie did nothing but begin to weep at a louder volume. Esperanza grabbed her hand, trying to soothe her.

“Esperanza,” Jack said sternly, “I'll take it from here.”

Esperanza scrambled to join Thiago, but Josie still didn't move. Jack grabbed the top of her thin arm and hoisted her up to her feet. “Josie, I'm talking to you,” he yelled, but she just flopped back down into the chair. Jack hovered over her like a drone ready to strike. “Just tell me one damn thing. Where's Asher? Huh? Where's your goddamn Prince Charming?”

“I don't know,” Josie whimpered.

“I'll tell you where he is. He's probably on top of some drunk tourist right about now,” Jack said. “I told you he was no good.”

“Easy there, son,” Clarence Baines said to Jack. A southern gentleman to the core, Baines liked to keep things civilized, even at the worst of times.

Charity walked over to Josie, “Now, honey, tell your father what you told us. I'm sure he'll understand.”

Josie slowly looked up at her father. She sniffed and wiped the slick of tears from her cheeks. “We didn't have any money.”

“Figures! I pay my crew top dollar. And that vulture has the gall to claim he's penniless? It's just unbelievable! And this is the man my only daughter chooses?!” Jack yelled, but the rest of the group shushed him and encouraged Josie to go on.

“So, um, we decided, I mean Asher decided, that we should get Mom's pills and sell them at some tourist spots so we could get money. He told me if we got enough, we could sail to St. Croix and get married.” Her voice caught in her throat for a moment. She had begun to shake. “He found a ­couple who wanted some Oxy, and he sent me over to give them the pills and get the money. But then the cops grabbed me. And when I looked up,” Josie said with a deep, profound sob, “Asher was gone. I called out to him, and nothing. He disappeared.” She went back into the fetal position. Then she whimpered, “I'm so sorry, Dad. I should've listened to you. I'm so sorry.” She began sobbing. “He didn't ever love me, did he? Did he just want money the whole time?”

The iron fist in Jack relaxed as he hovered over his daughter. He patted her head in a gesture that struck Lila as both condescending and comforting at once. “There, there,” he said to Josie. “Daddy's here. Daddy's here.”

Josie desperately flung her arms around her father, as if he were a life raft and she were drowning. Jack was clearly pleased to, once again, be the man in control as everyone else fell to pieces around him. He had reasserted his dominance and Josie was back in the fold, freshly chastised and weaker than ever.

Lila watched the whole scene with a sick feeling growing inside her. She tried to think through every angle. Maybe Josie was putting on an act to make sure her father kept her in the will until Asher somehow got back on the boat, and they both murdered Jack. But that seemed far-­fetched. As she watched father and daughter, with their matching prominent noses and weak chins, sitting closely together, Lila's gut told her that Josie's emotions were real.

And the chance that Josie and Asher were the killers was minuscule. Lila tried to stay calm as she realized that her latest theory had been shattered into a thousand jagged pieces and she was back to square one. She was running out of time.

 

CHAPTER 18

O
N THE EIGHTH
day of
The Rising Tide
's Caribbean tour, the grand yacht sailed across ocean waters as blue and iridescent as a peacock. They were a day away from St. Barts, their next glamorous destination. But it seemed the charms of the trip had grown thin. Without any land in sight, and sick of one another's company, the passengers slipped into the doldrums, dragging themselves listlessly around the yacht, no longer aware of its unparalleled beauty and luxury. After countless scandals, betrayals, and bad behavior, everyone had gone to their separate corners for a much-­needed breather. And a quiet routine replaced all of the dramatics, which was good for Lila. It allowed her the time and head space to focus on the investigation.

Her eyes remained trained on Seth Liss and his machinations to climb to the top of Warren Software. She was monitoring Liss's correspondence by hacking into his computer every day. As a result, Lila knew that Seth had convinced the board of directors to hold a vote to oust Jack as CEO. The vote was scheduled for mid-­September, once the yacht's voyage was complete. Liss's progress with his coup seemed to soften his seething anger into a lesser state of persistent grumpiness. Lila was still unable to confirm if Jack knew about his CFO's treachery. Jack himself was impossible to read on the matter. And when Lila finally got another opportunity to scour Jack's computer for any contact with Urs Hunziker, she found that all Urs's emails had been totally wiped clean off Jack's hard drive.

Things with Josie had also stabilized. After her public abandonment and humiliation, she spent her time lying low, sitting quietly by the pool (always with her bikini top on), reading books by Deepak Chopra, meditating in her room, and listening to mournful Fiona Apple albums on repeat. But in the meantime, the dynamic between her and her father had changed greatly. The Asher imbroglio resulted in the two of them becoming closer than ever. Jack, it seemed, had felt Josie learned her lesson, and Josie was happy to be safe within the comforting confines of her father's wealth and all the security it brought.

Lila was most interested in how the renewed affection between father and daughter impacted Elise. Feeling that her daughter had now defected to the enemy camp, Elise further retreated into her world of pills and bitterness. Lila started once again to think that her first theory was her best one—­that Elise was the one who was going to pull the trigger.

Lila observed the push and pull of all the complicated relationships as she and Sam served breakfast that crystal-­clear morning. It was September 5, 2008. In three days, Ava would be aboard the ship. Two days after that, Jack would be murdered.

She had to figure things out, and fast.

“Did you see this article about Daniel in the
New York Times
?” Charity Baines asked the group as she held out her iPad, almost knocking over the empty glass that once housed her second mimosa of the morning. It was only 9:30 and she was already drunk, but such was being stuck in the doldrums.

Jack, who was busy slurping up his morning miso soup, looked up at her. “No, what does it say?”

“Well, frankly, darling,” Charity said, “I don't think you'll like it.”

“If I cared about the opinions of those hacks at the
Times,
I don't think I'd be where I am today, would I? Now spit it out.”

“To be brief,” Charity said, obviously relishing the fact that for the first time, everyone around the table was waiting to hear her talk, “it says that Daniel is a genius and you're a . . .” She paused, and consulted the article on the screen. “Well, it says here, you're a ‘destroyer of avant-­garde culture,' ” she read aloud with great pleasure.

“Let me see that,” Jack said, grabbing the iPad out of Charity's hand.

In a mocking voice, Jack read,
“ ‘Like John D. Rockefeller before him, who famously ordered the removal of the extraordinary mural he had commissioned from the late, great Diego Rivera, tech billionaire Jack Warren is the latest power-­mad tycoon to commit art slaughter by destroying the brilliant work Warren himself had commissioned from the art provocateur Daniel Poe.' ”

Jack handed back the iPad to Charity. “That's the biggest bunch of bullshit I've ever heard. Aside from that imbecile comparing me to John D. Rockefeller, like it's a bad thing.”

Charity went on, “It says that ever since your little row with Daniel, he's never been a hotter commodity. It's just great news. I'm quite relieved, actually. I never did say anything about it, but do you all remember when Daniel stormed in here yelling about how his commissions were canceled?”

“Duh. That's not something anyone could forget,” Josie said with a roll of her eyes. Despite her new role as daddy's docile little girl, the young heiress was acting, more or less, like a total brat toward everyone else on the yacht.

“Remember, Jack,” Charity continued, anxious to not lose her moment in the spotlight. “Daniel thought it was you who told ­people about the statue being thrown overboard? Well, actually, it was me. Sorry about that,” she said with a high-­pitched, nervous giggle. “I told my art-­dealer friend Franz and then he, the incorrigible gossip that he is, spilled the beans to everyone in his Rolodex. But I was mortified when Daniel said his commissions had been canceled. But now, see, it was good in the long run. Daniel's never been hotter.” She sat back with her head held high, looking extremely pleased with herself.

“It was you who blabbed?” Jack said, outraged. “Then why'd you let me take his shit?”

“The man was on drugs!” Charity exclaimed like she was some kind of modern-day Scarlett O'Hara and not the battle-­scarred Beltway veteran she was. “I was too frightened of him to speak!”

“Oh, don't play the scared Southern belle act while I'm around,” her husband said. “I won't buy it and I won't let anyone else buy it either. You didn't say anything because you wanted to get away with it.”

“Then why am I admitting to it now?” Charity asked.

“Simple. Because now that Daniel's fine, it doesn't matter,” Clarence answered.

“Oh, phooey. What do you know?” Charity said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Actually,” Paul Mason said as he read the article, “it doesn't seem like Daniel is fine at all. It says here that no one has seen or heard from him in days. All this information is just from his gallery.”

“He could be dead in a ditch somewhere,” Elise observed, with a small smile. She'd never been a fan of Daniel Poe.

“Oh, Mother. Stop being so fucking macabre all the time,” Josie said, really drawing out every syllable in “macabre.”

“It's nice to have you back, Josie,” Jack said, happy to have someone else be cruel to his wife. Lila had never witnessed such a toxic marriage.

Just as breakfast was winding down and Lila was clearing the plates, Ben walked in. A pulse of excitement shot through her when she saw his face, but she suppressed her smile. She hadn't spent any time alone with Ben since they shared that kiss in the hallway, and that was fine by her.

“Nicky, the captain asked to speak with you,” Ben said, keeping things strictly professional in tone. Many of the guests were still in the dining room.

Lila was surprised. She couldn't think of one reason the captain would have to speak with her. “Did he say what it was about?”

Ben shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Nope. Just told me to come get you and bring you up to the bridge.” Lila could see from the look in his eyes that Ben was just as curious as Lila about what exactly was going on. After making sure that Sam could handle clearing away the remainder of the breakfast dishes by herself, Lila followed Ben up to the bridge.

There was a stiff silence between the two of them. Ben, it seemed to Lila, was in a sour mood, which was something she'd never seen him in before.

“Anything wrong?” Lila asked, hearing the awkwardness in her own voice. There was a part of her that was worried he was mad at her, which was something she didn't want either him or her to feel for the other.

“It's nothing. But . . .” Ben paused.

“But what?”

“I got some shitty news today is all. Jack told me that the helmsman we sailed with the other day is joining our team.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“
I'm
the helmsman for Jack's boat,” Ben said, his voice full of hurt and indignation. “I had no idea I was spending the whole day sailing with my replacement. But of course Jack didn't tell me what he was planning. He never misses an opportunity to let me twist in the wind. To be honest, I'm fucking furious about it.”

Before Lila could ask any more questions, they walked into the bridge, where Bobby Nash was sitting by himself in a large leather captain's chair. He was in front of five large flat screens flashing ever-­changing information on the yacht's course, the topography of the ocean's surface, and other bits of data that Lila couldn't fathom. It was a gorgeous space, part spaceship control room, part luxury automobile. It reminded her of the ornate beauty of Teddy's time machine.

The bridge sat up at the highest point of the ship looking over the bow. The wall that Nash faced was all windows, slanted at a forty-­five-­degree angle, from which Lila could see an endless expanse of ocean, almost perfectly matching the cloudless robin's-­egg-­blue sky. It was breathtaking.

She turned toward the opposite wall, overlooking the aft deck at the back of the yacht. From there, she had a perfect vantage point of the small corner on the second deck where, soon enough, Jack Warren would be murdered.

Without looking up from the middle screen in front of him, Captain Nash spoke to Ben. “Leave us.”

Ben and Lila exchanged glances. Neither knew what was going on. Lila shrugged and Ben quickly grabbed her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before he left the room.

Once Ben was gone, Nash got up from his seat and walked over to Lila. She'd never been this close to the captain before, and for the first time, she noticed the auburn strands streaked throughout his silver beard.

He stood a few inches away from her, too close for her comfort. His round potbelly was a deep inhale away from touching her own stomach. His small blue eyes fixed on her. “You've got something of mine.”

Perplexed, Lila stood there wondering what on earth he could be talking about. “Did you request something from the kitchen? If so, I apologize, but I didn't get that order.” Lila gave him a demure smile, but his face remained stony.

“Don't play games with me.” His thick Boston accent was almost comical to Lila, but the captain's grim countenance let her know that nothing funny was going on. “Where is it?” He leaned closer to her, trying to intimidate her. Little did he know she could kick his ass in under a minute. She wasn't afraid.

Lila took a ­couple steps away from the captain, putting her hands up in the air as a sign of surrender. “Listen, Captain. I'm in the dark here.” But then, in a flash, she knew just what he was talking about—­the drugs. A question that had been nagging at her since she boarded the yacht was finally answered. The cocaine had all been for Captain Nash. But Lila kept her face neutral. Playing dumb seemed her best defense.

“I was told you'd be bringing me something. And now that we're about to get to St. Barts, I need it.” She saw that there were beads of perspiration on his brow. He was on edge.

She remained silent. So, Nicky had lied to her after all, but Lila had expected as much. There was no way one person could move that much product on her own just selling to tourists. Lila was glad she knew enough to bring the drugs with her.

He came toward her and whispered directly into her ear, “If you even
think
of holding out on me, I'll slit your throat so fast you won't know what hit you.”

The pure violence of his threat startled Lila, but she could handle it.

“Oh,
now
I know what you're talking about,” she said, with an empty-­headed nod.

“Yeah, light dawns over Marblehead. Finally. Now do you fucking remember?”

She nodded, looking at the captain's ferocious face. If ever she'd seen a man look like he was capable of murder, it was this man standing right in front of her. Nash hadn't even been on her radar as a possible suspect.

Lila looked at him closely, which made him grow even testier.

“Well, don't just stand there with your thumb up your ass. Go get it and bring it to me . . . NOW. I've got everyone out of my hair for the next thirty minutes, so you've got to hustle.”

“Okay,” Lila said as she continued to watch Nash with an intense curiosity. The captain was mixed up in some high-­level shady business. It couldn't be with any members of the Cali cartel, she knew that much. Because if Nicky was a runner between Nash and the cartel, the Colombians would've told Nash that she was a snitch, and someone would've tried to kill Lila before the boat even set sail. She needed to find out what drug cartel Nash ran with.

“Why are you still standing there?” the captain said angrily. He reached out to her, grabbing the front of her shirt and pulling her toward him. “Let me make one thing crystal clear. I'm a man who doesn't like to be fucked with and I don't like to be kept waiting. So, move,” he said, shoving her in the direction of the door.

She ran down several flights of stairs. She dashed by Sam, who was carefully dusting the Matisse collages and Picasso pencil drawings hanging in the hallway on the upper deck. She whooshed by Pedro and Mudge, who were scrubbing the floors of the main deck. She went all the way down to the lower level, grabbed the duffel bag from her room, then headed to the lifeboat in the engine room where she'd stashed the drugs.

She threw the duffel bag down on the ground, then carefully removed the wrapped packages of cocaine. She was just about to pile everything into the duffel when she heard Ben's voice.