Page 70 of Be Courageous
Concealing himself behind the building, Miles peered around the corner, his hungry gaze fastening onto McKenzie. Even dressed in pink, plaid pajamas with her curls a dark auburn hue, he would never have mistaken the delicate beauty for anyone but his angel. His heart swelled with longing. He had to get her back.
Dad, a good six inches taller than Miles, peered over his head. They both watched a thick-set gentleman with sparse silver hair emerge from the yacht’s cabin to welcome his visitors. The man’s yellow Bermuda shirt and white slacks screamed of wealth, as did his aristocratic accent that just reached their ears.
“There you are. Bring her aboard.”
Recognition rocked Miles back on his heels. “That’s Ashton Ravenel!”
Surprisingly, his father hushed him. Once again, he didn’t seem surprised. Being well acquainted with the Centurion Cohort, Dad knew as well as Miles did that Ashton had been Jared Jones’s close friend and the man McKenzie was supposed to marry. As the public corruptions section chief, Dad had worked hard to pin racketeering charges on Ravenel. It looked like he’d succeeded. Yet, in the end, his evidence had simply vanished, and the man had walked free.
Miles stole another peek around the corner of the building. McKenzie disappeared into the yacht’s enormous galley, still carried by the goon.
Pulling back, he met his father’s sharp gaze while considering their options.
“What do you want to do?”
Wait, Dad was lettinghimcall the shots? This was a first.
Miles took another look at the setup. The odds weren’t particularly good right then, but the men fixing the tire looked like they were planning to leave any minute. “Once the perps take off, we board the boat, unless, of course, it pulls away first.”
His father’s green eyes narrowed. “Okay.”
Miles waited for him to point out all the flaws to his decision. Instead, he produced a Glock from under the tail of his button-up shirt and loaded it with a fresh magazine. Miles quickly followed his example.
The slamming of the van’s doors had them peering simultaneously around the building. The flat tire had been replaced with a spare. The two who’d worked on it were back in the van, waiting for their companion to come off the yacht so they could leave.
A pulse throbbed in Miles’s temples. How he longed to get on that boat, to pull McKenzie into his arms, and tell her everything would be okay.
At long last, the big man came out of the cabin, still stuffing money into his pocket. He crossed the short gangplank and strode swiftly up the pier toward the van. As he climbed into the back, Miles and Dad retreated to the back of the building to avoid detection as the van tore past them.
At the back of the building, they discovered the best way to approach the pier unseen was to continue around the building toward the water. The hope that Ravenel and McKenzie were the only two on board the yacht was shattered as they emerged to find two young men hoisting the gangplank. Miles groaned as a third man, older and burlier than the boys, appeared in the wheelhouse on the yacht’s third level, where he fired the boat’s engines.
At motor’s throbbing, Miles’s heart began to race. “We can’t let them leave.” He might never see McKenzie again.
“Yeah, but…” His father hadn’t removed his gaze from the man piloting the craft. “I bet you that man is armed. And a boat this size probably has an arsenal.”
An idea occurred to Miles. “We’re not fighting our way on board. Come on, follow my lead.” He didn’t leave his dad much choice. Darting from behind the building, Miles marched toward the pier with his head up, shoulders back. He could hear his father right behind him.
As they stepped onto the pier, the deckhands took note of their approach, glanced at each other, then up at the wheelhouse. “Hey, Skipper.”
The man in the wheelhouse looked toward the boys, then frowned at the interlopers.
“Morning.” With a friendly smile, Miles stepped right up to the stern of theJulius Caesarwhile trying not to roll his eyes at the pompous name. “I hope I’m not late.”
The young men stared at him, then looked at each other again. “Late for what?” asked the one with bad acne.
Miles feigned puzzlement. “Didn’t Mr. Ravenel tell you? It must have slipped his mind.” He took out his wallet and fished out a business card, holding it up. “I’m Tom Keane, with U.S.A. Yacht Sales. Mr. Ravenel asked me to stop by this morning and appraise his boat, and I brought my mechanic with me.”
Not waiting for an invitation, Miles leapt aboard to thrust his business card at one of the boys, all the while aware that the skipper had just cut the engines and was making his way down toward them. Miles waved his father over. “Hop aboard, Daniel. Mr. Ravenel’s a faithful client of mine.”
As his father joined him, the two deckhands turned with relief toward the skipper, who was just coming off the tanning deck. “He says he’s here to appraise the boat.” The boy passed the business card to the older man.
Miles became the object of the skipper’s narrow-eyed appraisal as he looked up from the card. The man’s street-tough demeanor warned Miles that they were looking at trouble.
The skipper turned to the deckhands. “Did the boss say anything to you about this?”
They both shook their heads. “But he gets a new boat every year, don’t he?”
Miles jumped on the detail. “He does, actually, and he gets them from me. I’m sure it just slipped his mind that I was dropping by. He did say he was busy lately. How about I take a quick look around, then you can fetch Mr. Ravenel when I’m ready to assess the cabin? I brought Daniel my mechanic with me.” He jerked his thumb toward his father, who sent the men a nod.