Page 27 of Braxton

“They’re heading to the marina,” Brax stated. His stomach sank and suddenly he had a very bad feeling.

“Mesa owns a superyacht,” Zane said. “It’s seventy-five meters long and namedEspíritu de Colombia.”

“How the fuck do we follow a yacht?” Saint asked.

Brax didn’t hesitate, his mind already three steps ahead. “Banshee, hack into their manifest and find out where they’re going. Bruja, tell Pyro we need a helo ASAP and we’re down at Epic Marina.”

“Roger that,” they both replied.

???

As the car pulled up beside an enormous yacht, Quinn breathed a silent sigh of relief. Brax and his team were on it. They’d follow her no matter where they might sail. An extraction from a boat might prove easier than a building, anyway. There was also the possibility Mesa wouldn’t take her anywhere. Best case scenario, they’d stay docked and Mesa planned to have some fun with her before he kicked her off and left Miami.

But, she was the only one leaving the city. Once they were alone, she’d shoot him between his beady eyes.

Mesa led her to the enormous boat and she tilted her head back, taking in the white hulk. It was nothing more than a toy,bought from the endless cocaine and other drugs he sold. She wasn’t impressed.

“She’s amazing, no?”

Quinn glanced over and forced a bright smile. “I’ve never seen a boat this big,” she gushed, batting her lashes and pretending to be impressed.

“It’s a superyacht,” he corrected her.

Yeah, yeah,she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. They walked across the gangplank and Mesa fired off some rapid-fire Spanish to a man all in white who she assumed was the vessel’s captain.

Quinn understood Spanish. She’d always been good at picking up languages and it was one of six she spoke fluently, a vital skill from her time with the CIA. And Mesa just ordered the man to take them to his private island.

Great.That would make things a little more complicated. Most likely, he had a place in the Florida Keys. Nothing quite like 1700 small islands to create a lot of area to cover. She tightened her grip on her handbag. Thank goodness for the GPS tracker.

And, of course, the Glock she also carried. She was grateful she hadn’t been forced to deal with metal detectors at the club or she would’ve had to toss her weapon.

“This way.” Mesa laid a hand on the small of her back.

“Are we going for a ride?” she asked, channeling her inner ditz.

“I told you—we’re going back to my place.”

“This isn’t your place?”

“No, it’s an island in the Keys,” he answered vaguely.

“You have your own island?” She was doing her best to relay intel to Brax before she had to take out the earpiece or risk Mesa discovering it. Because, unfortunately, she was going to have to get closer to the man.

“I have several islands,hermosa,” he responded.

As he led her across the deck and down a hallway, Quinn pretended to fidget with her earring as she plucked her comms unit out.

Bye Brax, she thought, and surreptitiously tossed it into a potted plant as they turned the corner.

???

“How the hell did you get your hands on a helicopter so fast?” Saint asked Hunter.

The pilot gave them a big grin. “I know a guy who knows a guy.”

Brax glanced down at the large watch on his wrist and frowned. They were running too far behind the superyacht for his liking which, according to GPS, had docked fifteen minutes earlier. They could move quickly on the bird, though, and make up time fast.

Hang on, Cherry. I’m coming.

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