The Prey

A dark-haired Latino man sat in a shiny red golf cart, the words Pirate Island stenciled in gold paint on the side. Wes and the other two men climbed into the cart, which glided silently away along a paved road toward the resort. Two men, one in his fifties, the other in his early thirties, were waiting out front to greet them, both wearing Hawaiian print shirts and white shorts, heavy gold watches on their wrists.

The older of the two stepped forward as the cart rolled up to the building. “Bubba, old buddy, I’m so glad you could make it. I hope you’re ready for the weekend of a lifetime.” Bubba climbed out of the cart and the two men shook hands heartily.

“Great to see you, Dan,” Bubba boomed. “I’ve been waiting two years for an invitation to the hunt. I can’t wait.”

The hunt? Wes sighed inwardly. A bunch of drunk old guys dressed in camouflage brandishing shotguns and chasing after wild boar was not his idea of a good time.

Horton waved toward Wes and Jed. “Dan, you remember Jed from the Business Alliance meetings. And this is the young man I was telling you about—Tom Cartwright. He’s very interested in a few of our, uh, more lucrative investments down in Mexico and Colombia.”

“We can discuss that later,” Wallace said quickly, and though he was still smiling, Wes sensed he was annoyed with Bubba for speaking so freely. Yes, something was definitely afoot on this island, beyond pretty girls for hire. “You remember my son, DJ.” Wallace’s son was a clone of his father, with the same curly hair, small, piggy eyes and cruel mouth. Wes took an instant dislike to them both.

The men were shown to their rooms. More out of habit than anything else, the first thing Wes did after setting down his overnight bag was to check out the room for anything suspicious. Under the guise of putting away his things, Wes performed a methodical search of the bedroom, the closet and the bathroom. He didn’t find any standard bugging devices, but, as he sat on the bed taking visual stock of every detail in the room, he spotted the telltale blink of a tiny red light reflected against the bowl of the light fixture over the bed. He was reasonably sure a video camera was hidden there, probably with an audio component as well.

He decided not to disable it, as he had no plans to deviate from his Tom Cartwright persona, but it did make him wonder. Just who was being recorded in these rooms, and for what purpose?

Dinner was a lavish affair served outside beneath trees strung with tiny lights. Wes noted the empty seats as he was directed to his chair. So far, the promised sex-starved babes Horton had raved about on the yacht had yet to appear, but sure enough, once the men were seated and their wine poured, a tall, good-looking forty-something woman with auburn hair appeared, a line of four young women behind her, each lovelier than the last.

The woman, whom Dan Wallace introduced as Dawn, smiled charmingly at the men around the table. “These are some of my girls,” she said, waving her hand toward the young women, who stood passively, fixed smiles on their pretty faces. Dawn presented Joanie, Esmé, Scarlett and Whitney, having each one step forward when she said their name. They all appeared to be in their early twenties, with killer bodies draped in sexy, silky outfits that revealed more than they covered.

The girls slipped into the empty seats between the men. Bubba, to Wes’ left, had already laid instant claim to the girl named Scarlett, a buxom young thing who looked barely legal and giggled continuously. Wes turned to Whitney on his right and flashed a Tom Cartwright playboy smile in her direction. She smiled shyly back and batted long, thick lashes over eyes so blue they appeared to be violet.

Wes, as Tom, made casual small talk laced with sexual innuendo with Whitney as plates piled with fresh seafood and exotic fruit were placed in front of them. Their wine glasses were continually refilled by silent male servers, though Wes barely touched his and neither, he noted, did Whitney. The girl replied to his questions and gentle teasing with correct responses, a smile fixed on her heart-shaped face, but something about her seemed just a little off.

Wes watched the other girls seated around the table. They were talking and even laughing with the men who had chosen them. Was it his imagination, or did all of them have an odd sort of vacant expression beneath the flawless makeup and gracious smiles?

Stay focused on your mission, Wes reminded himself. He was there to make a drug bust, not pass judgment on how these young women chose to make a living. He touched the cell phone in his pocket. He’d been hoping for a meeting that night with Horton and Wallace where he, as Tom Cartwright, could try to horn in on the action. He’d planned to record any incriminating verbal evidence to make the bust that much more solid, but so far that didn’t look like it was happening.