Sharks by Matt Rogers (best book series to read TXT) 📕

promised, Dylan Walcott was alone.

He sat on the hood of his BMW, facing the reef, his hunched back to the trail. The sun didn’t faze him. He wore a purple polo shirt tucked into grey slacks, and loafers over anklet socks. His hair was still perfect, his demeanour poised. He gazed longingly out over the reef, like a teenage boy waiting for a girl in some romantic movie.

King and Slater couldn’t spot an ounce of resistance in his body.

Walcott was a master deceiver, but this time they both got the sense he wasn’t faking it. He wasn’t here to enact some grand conspiracy.

He was simply here to talk.

They pulled their jeep alongside his, its broken twisted hood facing the water between the cays. They were on the edge of McLean’s Town Cay, where the highway branched off to a gravel trail that led all the way to the water’s edge. In the distance they could see Big Harbour Cay, its low bank bristling with vegetation.

There was no one else around.

King and Slater got out, rounded their respective doors, came to the front of the jeep.

Slater squinted under the cloudless sky.

Dylan stayed on his hood. He was an athletic guy for being in his mid-fifties. He had perfect balance. It looked as if he could slide off at any moment and sprint away, but he hadn’t brought a gun.

No need.

He had the lives of Lyla and Caleb Barrow in the palm of his hand.

Dylan said, ‘Before anything else, I want proof of life.’

‘So do we.’

Dylan rolled his eyes. ‘You think I killed a grandmother and her grandson for no good reason?’

‘You think we killed Theodore?’

‘Yes, actually,’ Dylan said. ‘I could see that as a very real possibility.’

‘We’re not that angry at him.’

‘He used you, whether you two want to admit it or not.’

‘He did,’ Slater said. ‘But you’re still our problem. Not him.’

Dylan said, ‘Before we pull out our phones and prove we have each other’s hostages alive, enlighten me about something.’

‘What?’

‘Why did you come for me? What did I do to you?’

King said, ‘Your bank, Métier, launders money for some corrupt members of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.’

Dylan raised a waxed eyebrow. ‘So?’

‘We took a dislike to what you do for a living,’ Slater said. ‘Simple as that.’

‘Then I imagine you’d take a dislike to every man and woman in power.’

‘One step at a time,’ King said. ‘You came onto our radar first.’

‘Would you believe me if I told you I have no idea what dealings I have with the LVMPD?’ Dylan said. ‘The specifics are unimportant to me. I’m a big-picture guy. I let my employees handle the details.’

‘That makes it even worse,’ Slater said.

Dylan rolled his eyes. ‘Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. Okay — are we done? Can we get down to business?’

Slater said, ‘You first.’

‘You want to talk to Lyla?’ Dylan said. ‘Go for your life.’

He pulled his phone and they flinched reflexively. He smiled. ‘You think I’d get into a Mexican standoff with you two? I’m a little smarter than that.’

He hit a number on speed dial and had to wait less than two seconds for it to be answered.

The convenience of having people on your payroll.

Dylan said, ‘Yes, I’m fine. No, not yet. Put her on.’

He tossed the phone to King, who caught it one-handed and lifted it to his ear.

Lyla’s voice said, ‘Hello?’

It was smooth, a touch slurry, above all else monotonic. King wondered if she’d been given a pill or two to calm her down. ‘Lyla, are you safe?’

‘Oh, yes, dear,’ Lyla said. ‘Perfectly safe. So is Caleb. He’s a curious boy. Wants to know where we are, what we’re doing here.’

‘Did you go to Dylan yourself?’ King said. ‘Or were you taken?’

He could almost hear her furrow her brow. ‘Taken? What on earth are you talking about? Dylan has been nothing but pleasant to me.’

‘Do you want to speak to your husband?’

Still on the hood, Dylan’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head. Don’t push her.

Lyla waited a long time to answer.

She must have thought the question would simply go away if she ignored it for long enough. But it didn’t. It hovered over her like a dark shadow until she said, ‘Not right now, dear. I’m a little tired. I think I need a lie down.’

‘What are you going to do next?’ King said, trying to pull her out of her trance. ‘Leave your husband? Start anew? Be Dylan’s captive?’

Dylan slid off the hood and made a lunge for the phone.

King backed up a few steps.

Slater stepped in between them and slipped the Glock out of his holster and pointed it at Dylan’s head.

Crunch time.

Through the phone, Lyla said, ‘I don’t know. I’m tired.’

King could tell she was spiritually empty, nihilistic in the face of such betrayal. She had no idea what she wanted for herself or for Caleb. Maybe answers would come after a good night’s sleep, but King doubted it.

It didn’t matter.

He had the answers he’d been looking for.

He said, ‘Sit tight, Lyla.’

Then he angled his body behind Slater’s so Dylan couldn’t see him, and he turned his back and muttered a sharp command. ‘Put the phone on the table face-down but don’t hang up. Do it now.’

She would listen.

If she didn’t…

He lowered the phone.

Dylan swept a couple of thick locks of hair off his forehead as the wind picked up, rippling the low waves on the reef. ‘Put that gun down if you know what’s good for you.’

Slater complied.

He said, ‘No problem. Just had to make sure my friend here could finish his call in peace.’

‘I don’t want you antagonising her,’ Dylan said. ‘She’s been through enough.’

Slater rolled his eyes. ‘Because you’re so noble.’

King stood behind him, clutching the phone in one hand, its screen still lit up with an active call.

Dylan said, ‘The phone, please.’

King pretended he didn’t hear.

Dylan said, ‘You hand that phone over or both of them get it.’

He meant it.

King had given it twenty extra seconds, and it’d have to do.