Free The Beautiful and the Wicked by Liv Spector Page A

so Lila hoped.
    There was no point feeling bad about things. She had a job to do, and if that required her to disrupt the lives of a few ­people along the way, then so be it.
    Nicky’s cell phone vibrated, startling Lila. The caller ID was blocked, but Lila picked it up anyway. No time like the present to start being someone else. She took a deep breath and answered the phone.
    â€œHello,” she said, trying to keep her voice flat and affectless like Nicky’s.
    â€œNicky Collins?” It was a man’s voice.
    â€œSpeaking.”
    â€œThis is Second Officer Asher Lydon calling from Rising Tide .”
    Asher Lydon. From what Lila could glean from the police report, Asher was an interesting character. Now twenty-­eight years old, he’d started working for the Warren family almost six years ago—­months after he suffered a career-­ending injury when he hit a reef headfirst during a Big Wave World Tour, back when he was pro surfer. He’d always worked on Jack’s yachts, but in his police interview he said that Jack had repeatedly promised to bring him into the Warren Software fold. (“He said I’d be great in sales,” Asher told the police.) Whether that was true or not was impossible to say. No one else had corroborated Asher’s story.
    â€œOh, hi.”
    â€œHey there,” he said in a breezy, sexy voice. “Just calling to tell you that everyone’s got to report to the ship by five P.M. this afternoon.”
    â€œGreat. Thanks.”
    â€œAnd don’t be late. The chief stewardess has a real stick up her ass. Trust me, you don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.”
    â€œThanks for the warning. I’ll be sure to be on time.”
    â€œNo worries,” he said. “Oh, and we’re at the Miami Beach Marina, in case no one told you.”
    â€œSounds good,” Lila said as the palm trees and the big-­box stores lining Biscayne Boulevard flew by her car window. “What slip?”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Asher said with an amused chuckle. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding the boat.”
    â€œRight,” Lila said. “Of course. See you then.”
    â€œLooking forward to it.”
    Lila hung up the phone, not knowing if she’d played that right. She was going undercover as an experienced stewardess, yet she knew absolutely nothing about yachts except that they were big boats full of really rich ­people. But she’d pick things up quickly. She didn’t really have any other choice. And how hard could it be?
    It was already a few minutes after 2:00 P.M. Anxious to get everything done, she pushed the Pontiac as fast as it could go, causing the car’s rusty metal body to vibrate violently. She cursed herself for not taking Nicky’s BMW. She had so much to do, so little time, and zero patience for rundown cars.
    So, first things first, she dumped the Pontiac. She had just forced a drug smuggler to hog-­tie a Colombian psychopath with very flimsy duct tape and left them both alive to tell the tale. There was a good chance that the cartel member had had an opportunity to ID the shit box she was now so cavalierly driving around the streets of Miami. She didn’t want to run the risk of getting into a firefight with pissed-­off members of the Cali cartel looking to get their drugs and money back, so she took the car through a car wash to get rid of any of her or Nicky’s prints on its exterior, making sure to get wipes for the inside as well.
    Then she made her way to the Aventura Mall. There were plenty of things she needed before boarding the yacht, and she figured she’d be able to get everything at this vast megamall. Once she was in its endless parking lot, she carefully wiped the car’s interior and grabbed the metal briefcase with the money and her gun.
    For a brief moment, she stood staring at the coke-­filled duffel bag,