The moment my foot hit the gangplank, I froze.
The voice was low and husky, laced with a lazy, careless drawl.
I knew that voice all too well. For the past three years, it had echoed through Hillside Villa's surveillance feeds every single night.
I whipped around.
A few broken streetlamps on the pier went out at once.
Then, more than a dozen blinding headlights flared from every direction.
A fleet of black armored SUVs had surrounded the pier without anyone noticing.
The doors opened in unison. Over 20 men in black suits, armed to the teeth, poured out.
Dark gun muzzles were trained on the smuggler on the deck.
His legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees.
The door of the stretched Lincoln in the middle slowly opened.
Long, slender legs emerged.
Jules was in a sharply tailore
