Rogue Wave by Isabel Jolie (reading eggs books txt) 📕

“Not special.”

I climbed the stairs two at a time and met Luna on the landing.

“Is someone here?” Her youthful complexion glowed, and her freshly showered hair lay flat against her back. She wore the same clothes she’d had on last night, and I felt a rush of gratitude she wouldn’t be walking by the skank downstairs in a bikini.

“Yeah. Do me a favor. Don’t talk to him. Just walk out without saying a word.” Confusion crossed her face as I placed the to-go cup of coffee in her hand. “He’s not a friend,” I added in the same hushed, low tone, hoping the man couldn’t hear.

Her brown eyes questioned me, but like a good, obedient girl, she did exactly as I said. As soon as the door closed behind her, I turned on the goon in my kitchen.

“I’m sorry you came all this way, but I’m not taking on another project.”

“Hey, that’s between you and Zane. I get paid for dropping off this.” He slid off his backpack as I watched his every move, on edge, braced for the worst. He unzipped the black bag, and with a twitch of his wrist, a disposable phone clattered across the tile kitchen counter. He shrugged. “Zane doesn’t like not being able to get in touch with you. If I were you, though, I’d take the gig.”

Once again, his fingers circled the butt of his Magnum.

“How’d you find me?”

“So, you were hiding?” He chugged on the coffee, all the while keeping his gaze locked on me.

The answer was obvious. I wouldn’t have gone to live in a cottage I’d inherited if I’d been hiding. At the same time, it couldn’t have been that easy for anyone to find a guy named Tate in the United States. It wasn’t like I filled out a W-9.

We stared at each other until he broke our stare-off with a grin.

“I’ll admit. Tracking your ass to an island with golf carts isn’t my normal. Did you know I had to walk two miles from the marina? The cart rental place doesn’t open until ten.”

I didn’t bother telling him that in the off-season on a Monday, regardless of what the sign said, it probably wouldn’t open at all.

“Finish your coffee, and I’ll drive you back.”

“Nah. There’s a golf cart parked outside that I can take back on my own. If needed.” He gave me a pointed look. “Zane’s preference is that you take this gig. It should be an easy repo.”

“Yeah, so easy he hired a tracker to locate me.”

“The ship’s veering too close to Iranian waters.”

“Sounds easy. Definitely a job for an American.” He smirked, entertained. The Iranian Navy didn’t have a strong humanitarian history with boats that ventured into their waters, even though the nationality of a boat in that part of the world was only a matter of paperwork. With Iran, Americans on board could be valuable pawns.

I sipped my coffee, monitoring the shark, knowing he could bare teeth, even if unprovoked.

“Zane says he can’t force you to take a gig you don’t want. Your call.”

“I no longer work for Zane. You don’t need to leave a phone.”

“Keep it. He’ll give you a month. Said something about he thinks you’ll change your mind if that inheritance you took off for doesn’t come through.”

I bounced his words around and deciphered them. Fucking small-town local newspapers. I bet someone got wind of the Tate inheritance being contested and it got written up.

I weighed my options as I gripped the handle on my coffee mug. Zane must have decided I quit on him because of the inheritance. My father’s death might have been responsible for the events that led up to me unraveling, but the money had nothing to do with it. All these men thought everything centered on money.

With Zane Gianelli, the repo man of the seas, money was god. I’d worked for the man for a couple of years. I’d seen him as the solution when no government could come into play. I’d thought I was teaming up with someone who would get things done. I’d been so wrong. Only one thing made him worse than the governments who bowed to the same god. The repo man could go incognito, often untraceable. As the saying went, there were no skid marks on the ocean.

If he ever discovered what I’d done to his last ship, I’d be dumped overboard somewhere in international waters. But so far, his tracker had given no sign he suspected I had a role.

“So, now that you’ve dropped off the phone, that’s it? That’s your whole job?”

“Yep.” He smacked his lips and set the empty coffee cup on the counter. “That’s my end of the bargain. He calls you, you pick up. He’s a good man. He wants to work with you.” The man had a straight face when he said it, which meant either he didn’t know Zane, or he knew how to lie. Either way, I wanted him gone.

“He’ll be in touch.” With a sinister leer, his right hand returned to his holster. I hated guns, and this guy couldn’t quit touching his. “The good news is Zane likes you. And now we know you got a girl. That’ll make Zane happy.”

“She’s not my girl. She’s someone I fucked. That’s it.”

“Nice young thing. You doing good. I’ll tell Zane. Now, drive me back to that marina. Who the fuck moves to America and lives without automobiles?”

I opened my door and waited. With the tough act over, now he wanted to shoot the shit. I left this life behind. All the repo men had the same schtick. Tough talk. Would swear up and down they did nothing illegal. They were merely negotiators on the sea. Clever negotiators.

Tattooed, weathered hands pointed at the phone he’d delivered.

“You keep that. Zane doesn’t like not being able to reach you. He would’ve come himself, you know, but he’s tied up.”

I cast a backward glance at the object before pulling the door closed. I