Her Very Strict Captain by Carpenter, Maggie (best book club books of all time TXT) 📗

You’re not going anywhere.

I don’t want to.

The brief exchange echoed through her head.

As the words had left her lips, she’d had an epiphany.

She was deeply, madly, crazy in love.

* * *

Cramming himself into the storage compartment at the back of the Jeep had left Dan’s muscles aching, but lowering the passenger seat all the way down, he’d managed to find a comfortable position. With cash in his pocket, a backup gun, and a black jacket that would help him blend into the night, he’d finally been able to catch his breath and relax.

By the time the shadows grew long, his body wasn’t quite so sore, and his sense of panic had faded. With a clear plan in mind, he climbed out, pulled on the jacket, and lifting the hood over his long, wavy hair, he started off.

When he’d first arrived in St. Thomas he’d walked endless hours, moving from shop to shop, showing Elizabeth’s picture to every salesclerk in every store. It had been a marathon task, and he’d barely scratched the surface when he’d discovered she’d met up with the captain from the Victoria Sailing School on the other side of the island. Driving from Red Hook to the Crown Bay Marina, he’d stopped into the small group of shops, including a hairdressing salon. When he’d introduced himself to the tall, buxom woman behind the counter, her eyes had sparkled up at him, and she’d broken into a wide smile.

Dan was fully aware he was no George Clooney, but for certain women he held a unique appeal. Wishing he could have pursued the unspoken invitation, he’d promised himself he’d be back if he had the time, and the circumstances were right. Both now dictated his return, though not for fun and games.

Approaching the beauty parlor, he spotted the closed sign hanging in the window, but he could see her sweeping the floor. Tapping on the glass, he watched her look toward him, then lay the broom against the wall and hurry across the salon.

“Detective Miller,” she exclaimed, opening the door. “This is a surprise. Come in.”

“Thank you,” he replied, walking past her and quickly removing the jacket. It was too small for his long limbs, and cut into his shoulders.

“How can I help you?” she inquired, flirtatiously touching his arm.

“If you were still open, how much would you charge to cut all this off?” he asked, moving his fingers through his thick, dark hair.

“Are you tired of looking like an eighties rock star?” she remarked with a laugh. “I think it suits you.”

“Thanks, but yeah. How much?”

“If I was open,” she said pointedly, “seventy-five dollars.”

“My natural hair color is light brown. I’ve been working undercover, but that’s over now. Can you bleach out the black dye I’ve been using and add some blond highlights?”

“Sure, but it will take some time.”

“Would three hundred in cash keep you here long enough?”

She grinned.

“Three hundred in cash will do it—and because it’s you,” she replied, winking at him.

“I want to lose the mustache as well. Do you have a bathroom and a razor?”

“Of course,” she said, guiding him over to the shampoo station, “but let’s start with your hair. Any idea what style you’re after?”

“Yep, but you have to promise not to laugh.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Kind of short and layered, like Justin Bieber used to have.”

“So—from long-haired eighties rocker to nineties teen idol.”

“Exactly,” Dan exclaimed, breaking into a grin.

“No problem.”

“Thanks—uh—I still don’t know your name.”

“My apologies,” she said as he leaned his head back into the basin. “It’s Roxy, Roxy Richards.”

“Ah, so Roxy Hair is you. Catchy, thanks, Roxy Richards.”

“You’re a very interesting man, Detective Miller.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he said, winking at her as she stared down at him, “and you can call me Danny.”

* * *

Drinking the velvety cabernet, munching the broiled parmesan toast, and devouring the delicious lasagna, Scott felt unusually mellow. Even the prospect of the looming operation wasn’t producing any anxiety. Scooping up the last bite, he pushed back from the table and ambled to the Keurig coffeemaker.

“Do you want a cup, Elizabeth?” he asked, popping a pod into the machine.

“Yes, please, and I’d like to talk to you,” she said, rising to her feet and walking up to join him.

“About…?”

“You’ve given me the bullet points about what will be happening tomorrow night, but please, will you tell me the details?” she asked softly, sidling up to him and leaning against his shoulder. “Pretty please?”

“Sure, I was planning on filling you in over dinner but I was too busy eating. I’d like to get your input.”

“Really?”

“Why are you surprised?” he asked, carrying the mugs back to the table. “You were around Conchello for almost a year.”

“You just made my day, Captain Scott.”

“You made mine a couple of hours ago,” he retorted with a wink.

“Ha, ha, very funny.”

“Those wads of money and the tracker will be smuggled into his house, then turned back on,” he said as they sat back down. “He would have been confused and angry when the signal stopped. When he sees it pop up, and he discovers the cash is right under his nose, his curiosity will push him to find it. I’ll be waiting.”

“What if he doesn’t take the bait?”

“He won’t be able to stop himself, that’s just human nature.”

“Where will you be putting the money and the tracker?”

“In the servants’ quarters. It’s easy for me to access. My only concern is the location. It’s on the ground floor. There are too many windows and doors for my liking, and if he has a hidden escape route that’s probably where it will be. If something goes belly up I don’t want it easy for him to reach.”

“I have a suggestion,” she murmured thoughtfully, “though it’s a long shot. At his mansion in Los Angeles there was a separate area he used for special visitors, kind of like a VIP section. He called it his private quarters. I used to play hostess, so I was one