The Heist

was a knife in a sheath clipped to a dive belt. And this annoying, amusing, amazing, beautiful, mostly naked woman was off-limits to him. How crappy was that? He was fairly certain if he put his mind to it he could get into her bed tonight. He was 100 percent certain she’d hunt himdown in the morning and he’d be roadkill. And if he actually survived to continue with the partnership, she’d make his life a living hell.
    Kate approached him, and he offered her a towel. “The chef is in the kitchen,
Ms. Huffnagle
.”
    “Thank you, Sam,” she said, ignoring the towel and strolling past him to a chaise, making the most of her role as Eunice Huffnagle. “I’ll take a drink now, something cold and fruity, with plenty of alcohol. Something to take the salt off my lips.”
    “Of course,” Nick said.
    He looked down at her stretched out on the chaise, eyes closed against the sun, and he thought it might be worth getting kicked down the road and smacked with a tire iron for a night of killer sex with her.
    “Anything else?” he asked. “A massage, perhaps?”
    “Does the hotel have a masseuse available at this hour?”
    “No, but I’m here, and I’d be glad to help you work out any kinks you might have. Any kinks at all.”
    “I’ll let the drink do that. Hurry along, Sam. I can feel my lips chapping with each passing moment.”
    “Yes ma’am,” Nick said. “Wouldn’t want your lips to chap.”
    “Do I detect a hint of attitude?” she asked him.
    “Not from me,” Nick said. “I’m your faithful manservant. I’m here to fulfill your every desire.”
    Nick, Kate, and Willie sat barefoot and cross-legged on mats at a low table that faced a fire pit circled with lava rocks. Beyond the fire pit was the beach, and beyond the beach moonbeams surfed the gentle waves. Behind the fire pit was the three-bedroom villa and the personal chef slaving away in the outdoor kitchen creatinga multicourse meal of Indonesian dishes. One of the dishes was vegetables in peanut sauce. There was also pork boiled in vinegar and pig’s blood, and nasi campur, which was steamed rice and vegetables mixed with fried nuts, grilled tuna, coconut milk, fried tofu, curried chicken, assorted herbs and spices, and shredded coconut. All the foods were served with a generous side of sambal, a chili pepper sauce that was the Indonesian equivalent of ketchup and used liberally on everything.
    “You eat with your fingers,” Nick said, pinching chunks of fish, meat, and vegetables between bits of sticky rice.
    Easy for him and Willie, Kate thought. They were dressed in wash-and-wear Huffnagle Global uniforms, while she was trying not to slop food on her megabucks halter and shorts. Being a rich bitch wasn’t as simple as one might think.
    When they were done with the meal and the chef left, Nick spread maps and navigational charts out on the large dining room table.
    “We’re leaving at nine A.M. for Benoa Harbor,” Nick said. “The yacht I rented will be fueled, stocked, and ready to go. Griffin’s island, Dajmaboutu, is about four hundred miles away in the Flores Sea. It’s between a stretch of large islands known as the West Nusa Tenggara and South Sulawesi. We’re going to travel through the heavily trafficked Lombok Strait and then west into the open sea, where we’ll sail a weaving course through the islands, islets, and atolls until we reach Dajmaboutu. The yacht is equipped with state-of-the-art GPS, radar, and autopilot. And if we don’t want to dock by the seat of our pants it has a computer-controlled docking system that takes over the engines, steering, and the thrusters at the bow and stern to take all the risk out of fitting into a tight spot.”
    Kate studied the charts. “To bring Griffin into international waters, we’ll have to head back the way we came, through the Lombok Strait, then southwest into the Indian Ocean, where a U.S. Navy vessel can pick him up. That’s roughly another six hundred miles.”
    “No problem,” Nick said. “I chose a fifty-five-foot Phelan SevenSeas 550LR, which I got at the bargain price of ten thousand dollars a day because Eunice Huffnagle insisted on using her own crew.”
    He dropped the owner’s manual onto the table and turned to a photo of the Phelan under power. It was a beautiful vessel, with a blue hull and white deck, and windows on the main cabin that looked like wraparound sunglasses. Its most distinctive feature was its flybridge, which cantilevered over the