Free Ambush by Nick Oldham

Eulalia, stopping off at a few secluded bays to allow swimming and snorkelling and eating and drinking at a leisurely pace.
    Apart from keeping everyone safe and allowing them to enjoy themselves it was an easy day’s work, though by the time Flynn re-entered the port at five p.m. he was exhausted and politely declined the offer to join the family for an evening meal.
    All he wanted to do was hose down the boat, prepare her for the next day, then get showered, hit a restaurant for a pizza, get back on board, chill and crash out: evening sorted.
    He thought maybe he was getting old.
    The wash-down took an hour, after which he and Santiago each took a shower – one at a time (they’d tried to double up on the boat before, but it hadn’t been a great success because of the lack of space and Flynn’s tendency to get over-excited). After washing their clothes and hanging them out to dry they changed into fresh gear and strolled along to the Mirage Restaurant, outside which he had cornered the armed robber on the previous evening.
    It was a good meal, and he weakened; instead of a pizza he ordered sizzling chicken, Santiago having the same, and local lager.
    Afterwards as darkness came they sat and watched boats returning to harbour, mainly very expensive motor yachts and big speed boats. He enjoyed watching experienced skippers manoeuvring their boats into tight moorings without a scrape.
    â€˜My boss has been on at me,’ Santiago sighed. ‘Needs me back, he says.’
    â€˜That’s a shame … what’ve you told him?’
    â€˜That I’d get back to him.’
    â€˜That’s my girl … don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from your cop friends in Ibiza Town?’
    â€˜Nothing. They said they’ll let me know if anything happens … you still worried about your photo in that man’s possession?’
    â€˜Curious rather than worried.’
    â€˜I’d be worried,’ she admitted.
    â€˜But I’m a big, tough guy. The only thing that worries me is trying to read long words and adding up numbers … other than that, nothing.’
    She regarded him mock-cynically. She’d seen his soft underbelly and knew that although he had the outer swagger of a male lion, inside he was a kitty cat, especially when people he cared about were under threat. Then she laughed out loud, enjoying herself. She was here for the summer with Flynn and was thoroughly relishing it. She would try to keep her boss at arms’ length for as long as possible. She did not want it to end.
    They strolled back to the boat, arms entwined, easy with each other. Flynn, not for the first time, pointed out stars and constellations and named them all. She pretended to be impressed.
    As they stepped on to the rear deck Flynn said, ‘Just need to pay a visit.’
    He went ahead of her, down the steps to the toilet, while she prepared a whisky nightcap, then sat on the rear deck.
    Somewhere amongst the various strains of music around the resort, Santiago picked out the tones of Elvis, or at least someone purporting to be him.
    She slid back, comfortable.
    Flynn reappeared, took his drink and sat next to her.
    They chinked glasses.
    â€˜Cheers,’ he said. ‘To us.’
    â€˜Really?’ she asked, taken aback.
    Flynn – alley cat, love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy – twisted around and gazed meaningfully and deeply into Santiago’s eyes, which shimmered in the reflected light of the resort.
    â€˜Yeah. To us.’
    With his left hand now dithering slightly he took a sip of whisky, and was about to say something even more courageous to Santiago – whose heart had started to beat very quickly indeed – when the moment was interrupted by the ring tone of his mobile phone.
    He swore softly, placed his glass on the coffee table and picked up the phone. The screen did not help much, telling him the number calling was international,