Free At His Side: The Billionaire's Beck and Call, Part 9 by Delilah Fawkes

At
His Side: The Billionaire’s Beck and Call, Part 9

 
    By Delilah Fawkes

 
 
 
 
    I
dialed the police, then listened to the ringing on the other end, harmonizing
with the squealing tires of Mr. Drake’s car as he rocketed out of the parking
lot toward Morton’s Pier. I pulled on the edge of my skirt, my hands restless
as I waited for someone to pick up the phone. Mr. Drake’s jaw was set, his eyes
glued to the road. Finally, there was a click on the other end of the line. I
spoke before the operator could finish his greeting.
    “Yes,
hello? Please, we need to report a crime. It’s an emergency.”
    I
tried to keep my voice calm even while adrenaline coursed through me at the
thought that all those people--people I’d had lunch with, sat with during
meetings, chatted with in the break room--could lose everything if we didn’t
stop Lex in time.
    Mr.
Drake’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel as he cut through
traffic. I gave as many details as I could to the operator, telling them to
send squad cars to look for Alexander Smith at the airport, but that we
suspected he was trying to flee the country by sea.
    “Please,
stay on the line, Ms. Willcox,” the operator said. “We’re sending squad cars to
meet you at the pier. Don’t make a move until we get there.”
    “No
problem.”
    I
held the phone to my ear, my hand now slippery with sweat. The car jumped as
Mr. Drake crashed over a speed bump, roaring into the outer parking lot of the
marina. The gate was down, the striped barrier arm down over entrance to the
Yacht Club, blocking access. Mr. Drake swore beside me, before slamming the car
to a halt. Without another word, he jerked the keys out of the ignition and
barreled out of the car, slamming the door behind him.
    “They
said to wait!” I called, but he was already gone, running down the pier.
“Shit.”
    “What’s
that, Ma’am?” The operator’s voice in my ear startled me.
    “Please
hurry,” I said, and ended the call.
    I
jumped out of the car and went after Mr. Drake, ducking low under the barrier,
grateful once again for the hidden slits in my skirt that allowed such
movement, although I doubt they were ever intended for crime fighting.
    I
crossed the parking lot, my heels clicking loudly on the pavement as I broke
into a jog. Mr. Drake disappeared around the north side of the huge building
sprawling before me, blocking the view of the dock. I hurried after, hoping to
catch up to him, when I caught something moving in the corner of my vision.
    A
pink blur registered, and I turned just in time to see a petite blonde with a
rolling suitcase disappear around the south side. She hadn’t seen me, but the
brief glimpse I’d gotten of her was hauntingly familiar. I changed direction,
edging closer to the edge of the building, moving more slowly now so the sound
of my heels wouldn’t give me away. I peered around the corner and stifled a
gasp.
    Veronica,
or as Lex had dubbed her, The Future Mrs. Drake, was sashaying ahead of me, her
Chanel purse full to bursting, a curling iron cord dangling from the open
zipper, dragging her suitcase behind her. Where was she going in such a hurry?
    This
was too much of a coincidence. If she was here, now, packed for a journey, she
might lead me straight to Lex. I trotted along behind her, hiding in the
shadows of the doorways as we made our way past the main club building and
toward the smaller outbuildings behind it.
    When
we moved toward a large boathouse at the edge of the dock, I glanced around us.
Where was Mr. Drake? I thought I’d find him around back, but he was nowhere to
be seen. As I edged around the boathouse, I saw them--row after row of large,
white yachts floating quietly in the harbor, moored side by side like sleeping
giants.
    Veronica
was disappearing down the wood planking, taking a turn and disappearing behind
the bulk of the first row of vessels. I followed, hoping my hunch was correct,
and I’d be able to lead the