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“Don’t know.”
The beam of light swooped onto Chui’s yacht like they knew it would be there.
Old Smithy stepped out of the bridge and shone a power flashlight up at the chopper. A man with a massive camera was leaning out the side door.
“Fucking hell, it’s a news chopper. How did they find out about us?” I asked Aria.
“Not from my team. Who have you told?” she barked at me.
“I haven’t told anyone but you, Aria.”
“Jesus Christ,” she said. “What about Indiana?”
I faced Indiana. “Have you told anyone?”
“I had to call ahead to the harbor master so they could get the crane ready.”
“Ah, shit.” I raised the phone. “Aria, we had to?—”
“I heard,” she said.
The chopper lowered, and the light beam swept from Chui’s yacht directly onto the bridge.
“Shit.” I ducked down and clutched Indiana’s wrist, trying to pull her down with me. Last thing I needed was Nikki Bolton seeing my face on national television. I didn’t look anything like the man I’d disguised as during my undercover operation, but she knew me intimately. My eyes, and the damn dimple in my chin, were the same.
“What’s going on?” Aria asked.
“Those bastards are getting footage of us.”
Indiana snapped her wrist free. “Everyone knows Rhino. And now they know we’re working with the damn cops.”
Outside the bridge doorway, Old Smithy gave the chopper the bird, then turned around, pulled down his shorts, and flashed a browneye at the chopper. The way his ass lit up, I would say they got prime footage of him waggling his butt at them.
Indiana chuckled.
I groaned. “He may regret that later.”
She huffed. “No, he won’t.”
The light beam flicked off, and the chopper swept away.
I stood, and into the phone, I said, “It’s gone.”
“Damn bastards,” Aria said. “I’m heading to Rosebud now. I’ll give everyone a thirty-minute warning. See you soon.”
“Copy that.” I ended the call.
Indiana folded her arms over her chest. “What was that all about?”
I slid the phone into my shorts pocket. “How the hell should I know?”
“No, I mean you ducking down. Don’t want to be seen with us, huh?”
Shit. I didn’t need her knowing about my undercover work. “It’s not that.”
“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes.
Old Smithy staggered back onto the bridge chuckling, and a cloud of whiskey breath wafted off his tongue. “Well, that gave them something to show on air. Bloody vultures.”
