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He swigged from the bottle.
I rubbed my temples. “What’s the wharf master’s name?”
“Roger Newton.” Indiana peered through the front windshield, and I followed her gaze. The bright lights from the harbor cast an eerie glow across the black water.
“Do you trust him?” I asked.
“I don’t trust anyone but Dad.” She nodded at Old Smithy as he took another swig.
“Indiana, I get it. You’re a hard ass. But seriously, there must be some people you trust.”
She leveled her fascinating amber eyes at me. “I guess I trust Ryder Westwood. He’s a good guy. And I used to trust Whisper until the bitch arrested me the other day.”
“You mean after you set fire to that other boat?” I said.
“Kane Devlin deserved it. Slimy bastard.”
I turned to Old Smithy. “What’s your opinion of Roger Newton? Do you think he’s trustworthy?”
Lines wrinkled his face in a scowl, yet he nodded. “Roger has been running the wharf forever. He’s made some enemies because he runs a tight ship. So yeah, I’d say he’s trustworthy.”
“So, he wouldn’t have called the reporters?”
“Fuck no. He hates them.” Smithy gripped the doorframe so hard his knuckles turned white. “Rosebud Wharf has been hounded by those bloodsuckers ever since Chui’s bullshit made headlines. Roger would do anything for them to piss off.”
Frowning, I tried to piece together how the reporters knew about us bringing in Chui’s yacht.
“Kingsley, you do know Roger was just my first contact, right?” Indiana said.
I frowned.
“Getting Chui’s yacht off our back and onto the wharf takes a team of men and specialized equipment.”
I cocked my head at her. “Such as?”
She gave me a weird grin and pointed out the windshield. “You’re about to find out.”
Massive spotlights lit up an area at the wharf, focusing on a giant gantry crane that stretched from the edge of the wharf to the top of a barge. About a dozen people stood on the shore, but their faces were obscured by the shadows, making it impossible to recognize any of them.
Indiana whistled. “That’s a first. I have never been able to convince them to use the gantry crane on any of my salvages before.”
I frowned.
She pointed at the massive piece of equipment. “That’s usually reserved for Border Force seizures.”
I was grateful for the specialized equipment. The sooner we got Chui’s yacht away from nosy bastards, the better.
Then again, those bastards in that chopper would probably make the salvage of Chui’s yacht headlining news come six o’clock. My chest squeezed.
I hope like hell that my face isn’t included in that footage.
I’d done everything I could to keep a low profile since I was exposed at the end of my undercover operation. No social media. No contact with old friends or colleagues. And the hardest thing of all: no calls to my parents.
Those damn bastards could have ruined everything.
Indiana’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as she guided Rhino toward the massive steel frame of the waiting gantry crane. People stood on either side of the narrow channel between the wharf and the barge. Only one man in a Hi-Viz vest seemed to be moving. He stood on a boxy boat below the gantry, which had a massive battering ram at the front that looked to be made of rubber. He waved two red batons. . . guiding Indiana into position, and I assumed his boat would serve as Rhino’s brake.
As we entered the channel, Captain Watts and Aria stood amongst the crowd. Beside them stood Ryder, Whisper, and Lacey. At least they were people I could trust.
