Stowaway

Seducing a deckhand to get on board a luxury mega-yacht to escape the cops seemed like a good idea at the time. For Tyler, it was an easy choice. But Brad, the billionaire owner of the ship, sees things a little differently. She’s a stowaway, and that means this bad girl is off the radar. No one knows she’s on board, and she’s his to do with as he pleases.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

Tyler slipped into the waterfront bar and stopped to catch her breath. As she waited for calmness to return, she noted that the bar had a decent crowd milling about. That suited her purposes perfectly — there were just enough people milling about for her to disappear into a sea of faces, but it the room wasn’t packed tight, either. If she had to leave quickly, making her way through them would be obvious.

She’d lucked out another way, too. She hadn’t had time to think about her clothes, but her tee shirt and jeans fit right in with these young working-class people. The cops would stand out.

Drifting slowly, deliberately, she went to the bar and ordered a shot of house bourbon. Although drinks would be expensive here, taking the time to drink one, made her blend in more. It was worth spending some of her few euros on the drink. The cops wouldn't expect someone on the run to stop for a drink at the bar.

As she sat on the barstool, sipping the drink and listening to the old rock playing on the jukebox, she considered her plan. A smart girl would stay put, wait for an hour or so before taking a peek outside. If the hunt had passed her by, she could head back to the headquarters.

Just then a cop came in. His flushed and sweaty face told her he was part of the group that had been chasing her. Apparently, they'd split up to check out more places.

She knew the cops hadn't gotten a good look at her, but if they started checking IDs she was toast. Their information had been too good and they must have her name, maybe even an old photo of her. Fortunately, she'd dyed her blonde hair this sinister black.

It had been chaotic when the raid came. She didn’t know what had happened to the others, but there seemed to be a hell of a lot of cops focused on her. It made her think that maybe she was the only one to get away.

The cop stood in the doorway. He was out of breath and taking his time scanning the crowd, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light, then playing them across the room methodically. Before his gaze got to her, a tall man came up to her and smiled. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She smiled at him. “Sit down here and let me see you.”

He sat. He was young, not what she thought of as a good-looking guy, but nice enough, with a decent body — a good build and with muscles. “I'm Harvey,” he said.

“My name’s Tyler, and if you don’t ask a lot of questions, then you can buy me a drink, Harvey.”

He frowned, but then nodded and ordered the drinks. A patch on his white shirt, a boat sihlouette with the initials RQ, told her he was wearing a uniform. Nothing military, more like a staff uniform. As they were in a harbor… “Do you work on a boat?”

“Yeah. A yacht, actually. It's called Rasta Queen.”

“That’s a strange name. What’s it like?”

“Big. Enormous. It’s the mega yacht anchored in the harbor.”

She remembered reading about it. Now that she thought about it, she'd seen the monster floating at anchor. “Some billionaire owns it right?”

Harvey laughed. “Brad Mitchell. No one else could afford a tub like that, much less manage a payroll for a crew of fifteen. Even with that many people on board it's a barn. The thing is huge. There are spaces that I doubt anyone has been in for a long time.”

An idea was forming. She sipped the drink. “What do you do?”