The Beautiful and the Wicked (22 page)

“Nicky?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin, but she tried to hide any sign of panic. How had she not heard him come into the engine room after her?

“Oh, hi, Ben,” she said as casually as she could even though she was currently holding a wrapped-­up package of cocaine in her hand. She'd been caught. There was no denying it. So she decided to keep on doing what she was doing, hoping he wouldn't have any idea what was going on. The gun and the money that were still stashed down in the tender were another problem for another day.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, walking toward her.

“Nothing. Just grabbing something.”

“I'm not an idiot, Nicky. I know what
that
is. I just can't believe you're mixed up in it.”

“If you're not a part of it, then how do you even know what I'm doing?” Lila heard herself. She sounded defensive and ridiculous, but Ben had caught her red-­handed. She didn't know what else to do.

“I told you, I grew up on boats. And guess what? ­People smuggle shit on boats. It's not that complicated. I've been at sea long enough to know what a kilo of coke looks like. This,” he said, scooping up one of the packages, “is what it looks like.” Then he slammed it back to the ground.

“This isn't me,” Lila said to Ben. “I'm just helping someone out.”

“This isn't you?” Ben spit back. He couldn't even look her in the eye. “Who are you anyway? I checked up on Nicky Collins, turns out she has a shit ton of experience on yachts. Not green like you are, or are at least pretending to be.”

“Ben, please. Let me explain.” But then her mind went blank. She could only stare at him. After all, what could she possibly say to him to make him understand? The truth about who she was and what she was doing was something that no one on this yacht could ever, ever know.

“Is Nicky Collins even your real name?”

She paused, feeling her heart thump quickly in her chest. “Yes,” she lied.

“You know what? It doesn't matter. Nothing you say matters anymore.” He turned and marched up the stairs to the main hallway of the lower level. Before he went through the door, he turned back to Lila, who still stood dumbly, with stacks of cocaine piled around her feet. “Just stay away from me. I've worked my whole life to be where I am. And I won't risk you putting any of it in jeopardy.”

Once he had gone, Lila exhaled. “Fuuuuuck,” she said as she bent over, stuffing the drugs in the bag. She knew she'd be pushing it with Nash if she took too much time delivering the coke. As she hustled back up to the bridge, feeling the wrapped bricks of drugs bump around in the bag, she realized what a tricky position she'd found herself in. What Ben knew could be detrimental to her completing her mission. He'd discovered she wasn't Nicky Collins. And worst of all, he knew she had stashed drugs on board, which not only meant she'd get thrown off the boat; it also meant possible jail time, which could result in her being forever stuck in the past.

The question was, what could she do next? She could do what Ben wanted—­stay far away from him and pray that he wouldn't say a word. But that was too passive a plan for the likes of Lila.

As she climbed her way to the bridge, she decided it might be better to pull Ben closer, if he'd let her. He had feelings for her, or at least he used to. Maybe her best bet was to play on those feelings. If she could seduce him and get him on her side, she might be safer than letting him go without a fight.

“Here you go, Captain,” Lila said, dropping the heavy bag at Nash's feet.

“About fucking time.” Nash scowled as he quickly crouched down to inspect the contents. When he found everything in place, Lila saw a wave of relief wash over him. He stood up and flung the bag over his shoulder. “You're lucky everything is square because I can't tell you what a fucking pain you've been,” he said, shaking his head. “Edna demanded that you be let go more times than I can count. And I had to save your incompetent ass every step of the way.”

Lila thought back to all the times she'd been worried about losing her job. Now she knew why she'd been allowed to stay. It was all thanks to Captain Bobby Nash, her silver-­bearded, drug-­running fairy godmother.

“So now what?” Lila asked.

“So now, nothing. This never happened. I'll do what I do and you'll work until the end of this trip and then you're free to go back to wherever you came from. Don't say a word to anyone, or you're dead. Got it?”

“Got it,” Lila said as she started to think about her next move. Whether this hundred grand of cocaine was connected to Jack's murder was something she'd have to figure out, and fast.

 

CHAPTER 19

I
T WAS 5:22
A.M.
, and Lila's alarm was due to go off in just a few minutes, but she was already awake. Despite her profound physical and emotional exhaustion, sleep had been an impossibility.

With Jack Warren's death mere days away, there were so many loose ends and so many potential suspects that her mind couldn't slow down. She stared out into the blinding darkness of her cabin as she mentally sorted through everyone on the boat for what must have been the hundredth time that night, cataloging their motives for murder. Bobby Nash was only the latest to join the list of suspects, all of whom were potentially able—­and willing—­to gun Jack down. Seth. Daniel Poe. Josie and Asher. And of course, Elise.

In an attempt to center herself and focus her thinking, Lila had spent the last hour or so with the childhood picture of her and her sister, which she'd smuggled from 2019, pressed against her heart. Even though it was too dark in her cabin to actually look at it, holding it flat against her body gave her a strange kind of comfort. Thoughts of that sweet, sunshiny day so very long ago floated into her mind. She remembered Ava had just lost her front tooth, and both girls were excited about what the tooth fairy would bring that night. Ava, with her strawberry-­blond hair braided in a long, thick plait that reached to her midback, showed Lila which seashells were the most beautiful and how to hunt for sand dollars. Both sisters spent the day collecting all the exquisite bounty from the sea, and presenting their riches to their mom, who flashed them a heart-­swelling smile.

But even this treasured memory had failed to soothe Lila's mind. Lying there in her bunk bed, listening to the rise and fall of Sam's breathing, she felt defeated and anxious. It seemed like
everyone
was a suspect.

The other big question that kept nagging and nagging at Lila throughout the silent darkness of the night was the most important question of all: what did her sister have to do with any of this? With every passing day and with every port of call checked off the list, Lila was counting down the days until she'd see Ava. Sweet Ava, her cherished sister. Lila still couldn't even wrap her mind around the fact that Ava's life was in any way intertwined with these damaged ­people.

But, amid all these puzzles, one thing was certain: time was running out. And Lila would have to work even harder, be even more vigilant, and risk everything if she was going to make sure that the innocent were exonerated and the guilty were punished.

T
HREE HOURS LATER,
as Lila was busy serving breakfast, the guests' table was buzzing. Soon they'd be docking in Port de Gustavia, at the marina of choice for all superyachts visiting St. Barts. The women were the most excited because Esperanza Campos had arranged for them to visit the world-­renowned psychic Lady Kitty, who had a devoted following among the jet set.

“Supposedly Lady Kitty told Jennifer Aniston that Brad would leave her!” Josie said with unbridled glee. “And the CIA is using her to help them find Osama bin Laden. But no luck there, right?”

Lila smiled to herself as she refilled everyone's coffee cup. She could tell these women a decade's worth of predictions, all of which would come true—­because she'd lived through them. But nobody would believe her. And anyway, her knowledge wasn't for sale.

Mostly Lila was happy that the women would be off the yacht and out of her hair, as would the men, who planned to spend the day scuba diving with sharks at the bottom of the sea. Even Seth Liss had put business away for this one day to experience these glorious and deadly creatures up close. If only one of the sharks would have the insight and wisdom to gobble every one of these nasty characters up, Lila thought, then it would save her a lot of trouble.

Minutes after the yacht was safely moored in the azure paradise of St. Barts, the guests filed down the gangplank one by one, excited for the adventures set before them. As Lila carefully watched them pair off into groups and wind their way through the French island's main harbor of Port de Gustavia, she took in the overwhelming beauty and opulence of the place. Flanked on three sides by verdant mountains dotted with terra-­cotta-­roofed villas, the port was dripping with superyachts full of Russian billionaires, hip-­hop impresarios, Greek shipping magnates, and the supermodels who loved them. It was a landscape of oiled skin, string bikinis, Ace of Spades champagne, Montecristo cigars, thick gold chains, and diamond rings. Everyone within eyeshot was either very, very rich or very, very beautiful or maybe, for the very, very lucky, they were both. It was Caribbean exclusiveness and opulence in its most concentrated form. There was no mistaking the fact that this very elite port on this very elite island was the wealthiest place Lila had ever seen in her life—­and given her other undercover missions, that was really saying something.

Standing on the main deck, Lila watched as Jack Warren led the men across the marina to board a speedboat that would take them diving, while the women, led by Esperanza, climbed into a black Cadillac Escalade for their highly anticipated day with Lady Kitty. As Lila watched a ­couple of surgically enhanced, bikini-­clad women standing on the dock in front of
The Rising Tide,
posing coquettishly for pictures that would be hitting Facebook within minutes, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Captain Nash descending the gangplank. He was carrying her blue duffel bag, which meant he was carrying the drugs. Lila knew, then and there, that she had to follow him.

But before she could do so, she'd have to disguise herself. After all, blending into the background of this playground for the very rich and very famous would be impossible if she was wearing her white stewardess uniform. As quickly as she could, she ran down the hall to Josie's room, taking off her uniform as soon as she closed the door behind her. In a matter of a few frantic seconds, Lila threw on a Fendi string bikini, tightly wrapped one of Josie's many sarongs low around her hips, put a pair of enormous black Hermès sunglasses on her face, Marc Jacobs flip-­flops on her feet, and a wide-­brimmed straw hat on her head. She threw her uniform, bra, and underwear under the bed, knowing that she'd be back at the boat hours before Josie and the gang returned.

In a matter of thirty seconds, Lila had transformed herself from a servant girl into a carbon copy of almost every other young and beautiful woman decorating the streets of St. Barts.

With her disguise in place, she blasted out of Josie's room and hurried out to the main deck. Her prayers were twice answered when she didn't run into any other member of the crew
and
caught sight of Captain Nash, whom she spotted turning onto the main oceanfront drag of Gustavia.

Lila hurried forward, lagging fifty feet behind Nash to avoid being spotted. The mingling and flirty crowd enveloped them both almost instantly. It was clear that Nash knew where he was going. He walked purposefully through the center of town, past the entwined ­couples drinking white wine in open-­air cafés and the luxury boutiques housed in charming white clapboard buildings, even failing to notice that he marched right by the Hollywood starlet wearing a strapless terrycloth romper whose gigantic Céline bag dwarfed her tiny, underfed body.

Nash ducked down a narrow alleyway, climbed up a steep set of stone stairs, then turned left and momentarily disappeared from Lila's view. She followed him up the stairs just in time to spy him turning past a mint-­green stucco building with wooden shutters the color of a ripe papaya. Lila slowly walked by the colorful house and its adjacent alley, catching sight of Nash standing about a hundred feet or so away from her, in front of a small shack behind the green house. She doubled back and leaned up against the mint house, her shoulder pressed against the outer wall's farthest edge, furtively peeking down the alley. She saw Nash put the blue duffel bag on the ground as a disembodied arm picked it up and dropped a red bag in its place. After Nash picked up the red bag, he started walking back to the main road, breezing by Lila, who turned her body away from the captain to avoid being spotted.

Holding the red bag tightly to his chest, Nash walked a few doors down the road before slipping into the entryway of the Hotel Caraïbes, a very posh-­looking establishment. Lila trailed behind, walking through the hotel's carved ebony entrance and stopping behind an enormous bird-­of-­paradise arrangement to quickly get her bearings. She searched the lobby, but couldn't see Nash anywhere. And what with his cheap nylon sailing shorts and long silver beard, he wasn't at all difficult to find.

Then Lila spotted him. He was on the other side of the lobby, sitting in an old-­fashioned wood-­and-­glass pay-­phone booth. His back was facing her as he spoke to someone on the phone. Lila cut across the lobby and entered the booth right next to him. She picked up the phone, keeping her head angled down to avoid being recognized. Then she quickly turned toward him. In a brief glance she saw that Nash had the red bag unzipped on his lap revealing several stacks of 500-­euro banknotes. But it was what was on top of the money that took Lila's breath away. She recognized it instantly—­a snub-­nosed .38 revolver with a cherrywood grip. The exact gun that would be discovered next to a pool of Jack Warren's blood on the night of his murder.

Shocked, Lila swiveled away from Nash and sank down in the booth's upholstered seat, still pressing the phone against her face as the dial tone droned in her ear. Captain Nash had the murder weapon. She had searched the yacht over and over again for this very gun. And here it was. Lila had just discovered a major piece of the puzzle, but where did it fit into the big picture?

Was Nash the killer?

She heard him open the booth door. Staying seated, she watched him walk through the lobby, still clutching his bag, and out into the street. The moment he was through the door, she sprang up out of the booth and hustled after him. But as she was leaving the hotel, she collided with a large group of chattering, backpacking French teenagers loitering at the front door. By the time she had pushed herself past the adolescent cloud of Parisian laughter and Gauloises smoke, she realized she'd lost Nash. She ran down the steps and into the middle of the street. Seeing nothing, she ripped off her straw hat and dark sunglasses hoping to get a clearer view, but it was no use. He was gone.

Cars puttered past, honking friendly warnings as she searched the streets. Lila took a deep breath, trying to center herself, but it was no use. Seeing that gun (
the
gun that she'd seen, blood-­smeared, in countless police photos from the night of the murder) made her realize she was closer than she'd ever been to actually finding out who killed Jack Warren.

Not knowing what else to do, she headed down the street and back to the marina. Now that she'd lost Nash, she had to return to the yacht as fast as she could in hopes of minimizing any damage her absence had already caused.

By the time she climbed on board, she'd been AWOL for only ninety minutes. If she was very lucky, Edna Slaughter wouldn't have taken note of her absence. But Lila knew that was almost too much to wish for. It seemed that nothing got past Edna.

She kept her head down as she rushed by Mudge and Pedro scrubbing the deck and then booked it back into Josie's room, the whole time praying that she wouldn't run into Sam or Edna. The moment she turned into the heiress's room, she became a whirling dervish of activity. She slammed the door behind her, threw the Fendi bikini in the hamper, folded up the sarong, and returned the hat and sunglasses to the closet. She reached under the bed, retrieved her underwear and her uniform, and was dressed in an instant. Just as she was buttoning the final button on her shirt, the door flew open and the chief stewardess stormed in.

Without any hesitation, Lila bent over Josie's bed and began fluffing pillows.

“Where on earth have you been?” the chief stewardess asked.

“What do you mean?” Lila answered, playing the innocent. She tried to conceal how out of breath she was with a giant, lazy yawn. “I've been busy servicing all the suites.” She smoothed and tucked down the sheets, wanting to show Edna Slaughter that she'd just walked in on her stewardess tending to her daily rounds.

Nothing made Edna Slaughter more ill at ease than a thwarted opportunity to do some serious scolding. “Fine,” she said, backing out of the room. “But don't think you can slack off the entire day. There's still plenty to do.”

“Of course, ma'am,” Lila said with a subservient nod.

Even though she tried to keep her eye out for Captain Nash's return to
The
Rising Tide
,
Lila didn't see him for the rest of the day. But an unexpected event diverted her attention from the gun-­toting captain—­the return of Daniel Poe.

Lila was up on the third deck when she saw him. It was half-­past eight and she was getting the poolside area ready for cocktail hour. The low, red sun had just slipped below the horizon, turning the sky a dusty lavender color, which gave the night a surreal feeling. An adjacent superyacht was blasting cacophonous hip-­hop as a ­couple of girls wearing only gold bikini bottoms danced, while two men sprayed them with Methuselahs of champagne. But her attention was diverted from the bacchanal when, a few docks down at the marina, she saw Jack, Seth, Paul, Clarence, and Thiago hop off the speedboat they'd chartered to go diving.

Everything looked normal until she noticed that Paul and Thiago were carrying a limp figure between them. It wasn't until they got closer to the yacht that Lila realized it was a barely conscious Daniel Poe, whose pathetically dangling feet the two men were dragging across the ground.

Once they huffed and puffed their way up the gangway to the main deck, the two men let go of Poe, leaving the enfant terrible of the art world to crumble to the floor a few feet away from Lila. He lay there with his skinny legs and arms splayed out around him. Lila could smell the days of unwashed excess on his skin as he mumbled something unintelligible to the men above him.