Asia, his biggest and most violent man, raised his hand. “The young guy, light blue tie.” Asia was six-foot-five, a former heavyweight fighter. He had the scars to prove it. The man squinted. “I didn’t like him.”
“He’s Eliza’s groom.” Now they were getting somewhere. Anders straightened and took a deep breath. “Me, either.” He began pacing again. “Too young. Too… I don’t know, too off.”
“It wasn’t his age.” The first guy shook his head. “We get young guys from the yacht club. The sons of the owners. It wasn’t that.”
Anders thought about smacking the man for disagreeing with Asia. But the guy had a point. Anders looked out the window. “I talked to Henry Thomas’s father last week. He told me his son was young. Which made sense, because Eliza is young.” He faced his men again. “So what is it? Why didn’t you like him?”
“It was his looks.” Asia crossed his arms. “He doesn’t look like his father. I remember Henry Thomas the Third.”
“I think he does look like his father.” Another of the men dared a comment. “I… thought that from the beginning.”
Anders could feel his anger rising. “Asia is right.”
“I don’t need a reason.” Asia crossed his arms. “I didn’t like him.”
That’s the way Asia worked. On instincts, same as Anders. Asia was one reason the Palace was still in business. The big man picked up on threats before they played out.
Anders was finished here. He pointed to Asia. “You guard Eliza’s door tonight. Make sure the honeymoon is legit.” He hesitated. “If he’s who he says he is, there won’t be an issue. If not, you know what to do.”
Asia nodded, and Anders dismissed his men.
He paced along the window again. He knew much about Henry Thomas Ellington III. The two had even shared a meal a few years ago. So the man’s son shouldn’t be a problem. But what if this Henry Thomas wasn’t really the son at all? What if he was part of a sting? Anders gripped the window frame. He would go through his records and place a call to his old friend. Make sure everything was as it should be.
Then he remembered something, and it made him relax a little. The guard who dared speak up was right. The senior Ellington had always been a striking man. A man who turned heads. Ellington the Fourth was the same way. The resemblance was there not only in looks, but in the air the younger man held. The way he drew attention when he had walked into the Palace earlier. Anders exhaled. Everything would be fine. Of course the younger Ellington was who he said he was.
After all, like father, like son.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked.
—Psalm 82:3–4
Four operatives had flown into Belize City on separate flights over the last two days. Jack had their itineraries memorized. Like with the waiting Porsche, his every move had been calculated by the entire team, choreographed with the precision of a brain surgery.
Anders McMillan’s gang would expect him to spend a few hours at the water. He had made contact with Eliza, so now he could go about his vacation day. It was his honeymoon, after all. Jack had passed his first test. At least he thought so.
The FBI had been careful.
Anders knew Henry Thomas Ellington III well enough to feel safe with his son. Henry the Fourth would need no further background check. Of course, Anders had no idea that Henry the Third was laying low. Or that the man’s real son had given the FBI permission to use his identity for the sting.
Which was why the actual Henry No. 4 was one more person the FBI had to trust.
The Blue Breeze Yacht Club sat at the north side of this nearly hidden sandy shoreline. Jack had gone there first after his brief time at the Palace. Not because he had a yacht in port on this trip. Stopping by the Blue Breeze was to legitimize Jack’s visit. Nothing more.
Just another young millionaire with time on his hands and admission to his daddy’s club—and the Palace. A chosen millionaire, set to marry Anders McMillan’s beautiful daughter. To anyone paying attention, a short visit to the club made perfect sense.
The FBI was betting Jack’s life on it.
Jack chugged back a couple sparkling waters and lime. “My old man drinks like a fish,” Jack had told the bartender earlier. He could feel feigned arrogance seeping through every pore of his body. “I promised him I’d be different. So, I don’t drink.” He patted his abs. His six-pack was visible through his T-shirt. “Too many carbs.”
There was truth to this story. Henry Thomas Ellington III had been to the club years back and he had, in fact, drunk too much. Now he was dying from his choices. Also, his son really was a health fanatic.
Playing the part of a millionaire playboy with a planned visit later that night to the Palace took all of Jack’s acting ability. He loathed everything about this part of his job. When he wasn’t talking to the other club members, he was talking to himself. You’re saving young girls, Jack. Keep your head. Keep smiling.
He stayed at the club for an hour, chatting with a handful of members. Long enough to validate his story. He was Henry Thomas Ellington IV, and he was about to marry Eliza. About to join two of the most powerful crime families in the Western Hemisphere.
When he’d put in his time, Jack walked back to his Porsche and climbed inside. He checked his phone. Nothing from Oliver. No change of plans from the other operatives in town. He glanced at the time. He needed to get to the beach. If possible, the goal was to make contact with Eliza. But only if a meeting seemed natural. A quick stop at his hotel and he was ready for the water.
Jack parked the car at the beach lot, and walked down a narrow path toward the water. Most of the city had no sandy shoreline. Just a steel railing and a rock border. Typically tourists drove or flew the extra nearly two hundred miles south to the Placencia Peninsula, home of some of the prettiest beaches in the world. Jack and his family had vacationed there every year except the one time when…
He didn’t finish the thought.
This stretch of sand just outside Belize City was only a few hundred yards long and hard to find off the main road. Tourists usually considered it a private beach. Just a small parking lot and a grove of palm trees that opened up to the beach, all of it nestled at the base of a mountain plateau a few hundred feet up from the sand.
The place where the Palace stood.
Members from the Blue Breeze were the main beachgoers here. Oh, and Anders McMillan’s captives. Especially Eliza. Intelligence from other operatives had told Jack that Eliza came here at the same time every day. Her armed guards walked her halfway down the mountainside and waited there. She would walk the rest of the steep path by herself and for two or three hours she could sit in the sun and read or swim in the warm, clear water.
But Henry Thomas Ellington IV wouldn’t have known any of that.
So Jack had to act totally unaware of Eliza. He didn’t look around as he reached the clearing. Memorized instructions played in his head. Walk straight to the water. Casually turn left and count out fifty yards. If she’s not there, she’s twenty yards up the sand in the shade of the palm trees. Whatever you do, don’t look around. Her guards will be watching.