Passion, Power & Sin: Book 5

By Mike Wells

If something seems too good to be true, it probably is.

When a young, daring, impulsive redhead falls prey to an Internet scam and is swindled out of her life savings and her childhood home, she’s hell-bent on recouping her losses and punishing the person responsible. Her single-minded quest for revenge takes her around the world, from New York to Japan, to the untamed steppes of Kyrgyzstan, to Greece, and ultimately, to a sleek super-yacht anchored in the Mediterranean Sea.

In the midst of her global escapades, she also finds love.

Will she let her thirst for retribution destroy that, too?

Join Heather Bancroft for the adventure of a lifetime in another ‘unputdownable’ Mike Wells thriller.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “...has to be the most frustrating, nerve-wrecking, hair-pulling, amazing, brilliant and unique book series I have EVER read in my entire life!" - Dipii, Goodreads Reviewer

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Action-packed, plot, twisting from turn to turn, threatening, scary, unpredictable, emotional, strong, full of passion, and has a fantastic fulfilling ending.” - Maggie

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Heather Bancroft is my hero. She leads us into a dark and twisted adventure being torn between love and revenge.” - Debbins

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “This is one of the best books I've ever read, certainly in the top 5. Page after page twists and turns never stopped.” - Jeff Mattice

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “She will do anything to get back at the man who ruined her life. Heather is lured around the world by the con artist. Her adventures are scary and exciting...” - Pandora

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “A book that's this well written is hard to put down. Awesome characters, many twist turns and several surprises.” - Nicole Rasmussen

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Couldn't wait to see what would happen next and truly cared about the characters. This is a must read!” - A. Adams

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Had great adventures, colorful characters, a fun and exciting read. Entertainment at its best!” - Nancy Souza

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Twists and turns team up with incredible characters for a nonstop thrill ride.” - Christine Raggio

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “This is a great blend of mystery, suspense and romance and just edgy enough to keep you reading through hunger, sleep deprivation and postponed chores.” - Sandy Penny, Sweet Mystery Reads

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Wells
• Release date: Apr 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301676811

Mike Wells

Mike Wells is an author of both walking and cycling guides. He has been walking long-distance footpaths for 25 years, after a holiday in New Zealand gave him the long-distance walking bug. Within a few years, he had walked the major British trails, enjoying their range of terrain from straightforward downland tracks through to upland paths and challenging mountain routes. He then ventured into France, walking sections of the Grande Randonnee network (including the GR5 through the Alps from Lake Geneva to the Mediterranean), and Italy to explore the Dolomites Alta Via routes. Further afield, he has walked in Poland, Slovakia, Slovenia, Norway and Patagonia. Mike has also been a keen cyclist for over 20 years. After completing various UK Sustrans routes, such as Lon Las Cymru in Wales and the C2C route across northern England, he then moved on to cycling long-distance routes in continental Europe and beyond. These include cycling both the Camino and Ruta de la Plata to Santiago de la Compostela, a traverse of Cuba from end to end, a circumnavigation of Iceland and a trip across Lapland to the North Cape. He has written a series of cycling guides for Cicerone following the great rivers of Europe.

Book preview

Book 5

by

Mike Wells

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Mike Wells

http://www.mikewellsbooks.com/

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Book 5

Chapter 5.1

The alarm clock in the plush stateroom on the Alana woke Heather Bancroft up at exactly 7:30 a.m.

She had made an eight o’clock appointment with the ship’s beauty salon—she wanted to look her best when she hit the boutiques on the all-expenses-paid-shopping spree she had won from Ricardo Maya.

As soon as she arrived at the salon, she was offered an "Alana Special," a jumbo glass of energizing fruit juice, and then a massage.

Her heady journey was about to begin.

* * *

At 10 a.m., Heather was waiting at the top of the gangplank, raring to go. The massage had made her skin glow and her eyes sparkle. She’d had a professional makeup job for a glamorous look, and her red hair was styled in wide, luscious waves. In her simple white dress and a wide-brimmed straw hat, she emanated the natural elegance and grace of a French movie star.

Maya showed up at 10:15, a scowl on his face.

Sergei was at his side. The huge Russian was carrying a lumpy satchel over his shoulder. Heather assumed it contained cash to pay for everything she would buy today.

Maya barely muttered a hello as they started walking down the gangplank. He looked as if he would like nothing better than to throw her over the railing, into the water.

Sergei gave Heather a nod, and she noticed a slight, almost undetectable smile. He was happy she’d beaten his boss.

Maya said, I want to know how you managed to beat me at chess. I think you pulled a fast one.

Don’t be a poor loser, Heather said. It’s not becoming.

Maya raised an eyebrow at this, but didn’t speak again until they approached the Customs building.

I demand a rematch.

Of course we’ll play again. Any time you want.

When?

Certainly not today, so I suppose it will have to be the next time you return to Nice.

Maya looked annoyed. I won’t be back in Nice for at least two weeks.

Heather shrugged and pulled out her passport to show to the French immigration officer.

Looking as if it pained him to speak the words, he said, You should accompany us to Athens—that’s where we’re heading next.

Why should I?

So we can play chess, of course.

How long will we be gone?

Maya shrugged. A week there, a week back. Give or take.

I don’t know… Heather said. She relished finally having the upper hand…knowing it probably would not last long.

They cleared Passport Control and Customs and walked towards the exit.

Maya scowled at her. Do you want me to beg you to come along? Is that it?

Of course not, but two weeks is a long time. Heather glanced at him. You don’t seem to be honestly enthusiastic about me coming—I think you just want a chance to beat me at chess, to teach me a lesson.

Maya swallowed his pride and said, I would be very pleased if you would come with us to Athens, Chantal. I enjoy your company immensely.

Heather smiled with satisfaction. Well, if you put it that way...

Now she would have plenty of time to wire herself all of the money he had conned from her.

* * *

When they emerged from the Customs building, Old Nice was just waking up. The smells of freshly-brewed coffee and croissants filled the air.

Maya said, Before you get started, there have to be some ground rules for this little shopping spree.

Heather slowed. Wait a minute...what ‘rules’? I hope you’re not trying to wiggle out of this.

Of course not. But you cannot order any custom-made clothing. That’s out of the question.

I wouldn’t do that.

Theoretically, you could spend millions of dollars—

I said I agree.

Fine.

Heather knew she could wreak plenty of financial damage, buying off-the-rack clothing in a place like Nice.

Maya said, Another rule: you can only buy what you can carry away yourself, in your own arms.

Heather stopped walking. That’s not fair.

Of course it is fair. Otherwise you can run all over Nice and place order after order and have an entire container of goods delivered to the ship.

I wouldn’t do that, either.

How am I to know what you would and would not do?

Heather sighed. Are there any other rules?

Only one.

What? Nothing can cost over ninety-nine cents?

Maya glared at her. You cannot buy any jewelry. Jewelry was not part of the—

Did I mention jewelry when we made the bet yesterday?

No, Maya admitted.

Then you don’t have anything to worry about.

* * *

Heather led Maya and Sergei to the most expensive restaurant in sight and had a delicious breakfast. When Maya raised an eyebrow, Heather said, A girl can’t shop on an empty stomach!

Heather’s first stop was the Prada boutique. She had noticed that the last collection featured matching footwear and bags. She bought classic combinations of elegant clutches and matching shoes. She was attended to by the manager himself.

Maya simply observed. Sergei sat in the corner, gazing out the window, looking bored.

Heather spent over an hour in the shop. When she was finally leaving with her beautifully-wrapped packages, she thought the manager was going to cry. Maya looked as if he was going to cry, too, but for different reasons.

A girl can’t have too many shoes, she quipped.

A Balenciaga shop, hidden off the Rue du Maréchal Joffre, was her next stop. The price of two pairs of extravagant, patent-leather, sky-high stilettos that she bought came to the monthly income of an average middle-class American. The entire shop staff stepped outside to wave good-bye to her.

Maya stood across the street, his hands in his pockets, fidgeting.

Heather decided to drop by a few antique and vintage shops. She bought a pair of black mittens, that were purportedly worn by Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot, just for the hell of it. Maya panicked and tried to create another rule about buying collector’s items, but she wouldn’t have it. He finally stopped arguing and went outside and smoked a cigar to calm down.

To complement the gloves, Heather purchased a hand-made, sequined velvet purse, made in Russia, in royal purple. And she simply could not resist buying a fragile, narrow-brimmed hat that was ‘not for sale’—ha!—allegedly made by Coco herself! It took all of Heather’s willpower to leave the shop. She rewarded herself by picking up an authentic hand-held fan from China on the way out, the piece cut from ivory where each slat featured a different scene of the Chinese tea ceremony. Its exquisite design rivaled the complexity of a snowflake, and it looked so fragile that she was almost afraid to touch it.

That’s not a legitimate accessory, Maya said. You can’t buy knick-knacks to put on your dresser.

"I’ll have you know that this is part of an ensemble. I’m planning on stopping at that darling little Chinese silk shop on the corner to find a dress that goes with it."

Maya groaned. I need a drink.

* * *

By midday, Maya was talking about going back to the ship, but as far as Heather was concerned, her shopping adventure was just beginning.

Sergei can take me around, she said happily, but Maya was afraid of what damage she might do if he wasn’t there to supervise.

After stopping at a sidewalk café for a hot chocolate to get her blood flowing again, Heather snatched an oversized tote by Givenchy made of such soft kid leather that she couldn’t help stroking it inside its bag.

Dresses and suits next. Heather hit a Chanel boutique, and her ‘loot’ fattened by three more huge shopping bags, each containing three dresses, two pairs of trousers, and two identical, iconic Chanel suits—one in black, one in white—with blouses to match. Even though she felt like she was losing her mind, she next hopped into a Cavalli store where she purchased a practically transparent, figure-hugging imitation snake-skin dress. She didn’t know where and when she would wear such a garment, but neither did she care. She simply wanted it!

She gazed at herself in the shop’s mirror, and for some reason, she imagined Gareth seeing her in the skin-tight dress. He’s so earthy—he would love this, she thought.

She suddenly felt very strange, and turned around, looking out the window. She could have sworn Gareth had been standing outside, watching her.

But of course that was impossible. He had gone back to Australia a long time ago.

Chapter 5.2

A little later that afternoon, Gareth Martin pulled out a chair at a table on the terrace of the café at the top of the Hotel Carnot and sat down. Taking his binoculars from his knapsack, he peered across the harbor, at the Alana, then shook his head in disgust.

He felt a bit sick by what he’d witnessed today. The Alana had returned to the Nice port this morning. Heather and the ship’s owner, Ricardo Maya, had emerged, along with some bald-headed bodyguard, and had gone on a shopping spree. Gareth had followed them around for a while, disguising himself with sunglasses and a baseball cap so he wouldn’t be spotted.

He couldn’t understand exactly what sort of relationship had developed between Heather and Ricardo Maya. The rich bloke clearly wasn’t happy about spending money on her.

All Gareth could figure was that Heather had blackmailed him into doing it, had threatened to turn him into the police for running the scams. Yet it was hard to believe that a man like Ricardo Maya would cave in to a threat like that, just from looking at him.

Of course, the other possibility was that Heather was simply sleeping with him and milking him for all he was worth. This was a repulsive notion. Gareth assured himself that Heather wouldn’t do that.

Nevertheless, he kept asking himself why he was still sitting here in Nice, pining over a girl who was living on a superyacht and perhaps sleeping with its multimillionaire owner.

He wished Heather and Maya would just get back on the damn yacht and go away.

The waiter with the pony tail noticed Gareth sitting there on the terrace. This was the first day Gareth had come back to the café since Nicole had given him the name of the yacht. He had found a better place to keep an eye on the port and wait for the ship to return, a spot on a hill in the Parc du Château, where he didn’t have to spend money on drinks.

As the waiter approached, Gareth quickly put his cowboy hat over his binoculars—he always tried to be somewhat discreet about his spying.

I see the tables have turned, the waiter said.

What do you mean? Gareth said.

The pony-tailed man smiled knowingly. First, mademoiselle wait for you. Now, you wait for mademoiselle.

That’s not how it is, Gareth muttered.

The waiter shrugged. As you say, monsieur. What can I get you to drink?

Chapter 5.3

By 3 p.m., Heather was drowning in shopping bags.

Christian Dior, Yudashkin, Miu Miu, Valentino, and Jil Sander, spun around her in a heady kaleidoscope of logos, colors, fabrics and designs. She had bought two belts to join her parcels together and slung them both over her shoulders. She looked like a mountain of shopping bags that somehow moved itself along the sidewalk, her head and feet barely visible at the top and bottom.

Maya and Sergei straggled along behind her, looking exhausted. People stared at them, shaking their heads disapprovingly, wondering why neither of the able-bodied men were helping the young lady with her packages.

Don’t you two feel badly about letting a woman carry all these things while you walk around with your hands in your pockets? she said, her muscles aching.

We are not your servants, Maya muttered. And rules are rules.

Heather smiled to herself. She really didn’t mind the pain. Somehow, knowing that it was caused by the weight of all these fabulous clothes made the hurt feel good.

She couldn’t wait for Yanmei and Sevilla and the other girls to see it all—they would die with envy. These weren’t community clothes for the group—these belonged to Heather, personally, and she had worked hard to earn them.

The final coup d’etat still lay ahead. Lingerie.

Heather plunged into the paradise of French undergarments with truly religious fervor. Corselets followed stockings, brassieres complemented slips, nightgowns and peignoirs offset the garter belts. At that point, Heather didn’t know what she was choosing and why, she just knew that it made her ecstatic and she didn’t want the ecstasy to end.

I can’t watch this anymore, Maya said. He turned to Sergei. "I’m going back to the Alana. You know the rules. I expect you to enforce them."

Sergei nodded and Maya bitterly strolled away.

As soon as he was out of sight, Sergei took most of the bags from Heather. His boss may not have cared if people stared and gave disapproving looks, but he did.

* * *

By late afternoon, Heather was so physically exhausted that she could not lift even one more sheer, weightless stocking.

But she had one last, important stop to make.

I want to walk back through the park, she told Sergei.

As you wish, he mumbled, and obediently followed her, carrying some of the boxes.

They soon entered the Parc du Château. Heather led Sergei towards the fountain, where the old men played chess. As they approached, she lagged behind, pretending to adjust the packages she had in her arms.

She spotted Claude Lautier, sitting at his usual spot, at the table in the far corner. He was deeply involved in a game with another old man, staring at the chessboard in front of him.

As they moved closer, Heather hoped he would notice her.

Look up, she thought, but he kept his head down, puffing on his pipe, studying the board.

As they reached the nearest point to Claude on the sidewalk, Heather raised both her arms, hoping the bright packages would catch his attention.

They did. He looked up, started to look back down again, then noticed that it was Heather. Sergei was still walking ahead of her, carrying a few of the packages. Claude noticed him, too.

Heather grinned at Claude and raised the packages again, then pointed at Sergei’s packages, awkwardly giving him a thumbs-up sign.

Claude somehow understood. Bien joué! he mouthed, or Well done!

Heather beamed back at him and mouthed, Merci!

At that moment, Sergei glanced over his shoulder at Heather, but her smile was gone. She was simply strolling along the sidewalk, enjoying the sights and sounds of the park.

Chapter 5.4

The sun was just setting when Heather and Sergei finally neared the Customs building at the dock.

Sergei came to a halt. You must carry your bags onto the ship yourself. Señor Maya will be very angry if—

I know. It was nice of you to help me, Sergei.

Heather struggled to gather everything together, and then started walking again.

As they went around the corner, they came upon a group of teenage boys who were pushing another skinny boy around.

Heather slowed.

"Cretin!" one shouted.

"Fou!" another said.

The skinny boy was trying to get something the bullies were throwing back and forth between them—it looked like a stuffed animal.

Now Heather could see that it was not a boy they were picking on, but a young man dressed in childish-looking clothes that were too small for him. He appeared to be mentally handicapped. G-g-give it b-b-back! he shouted.

Stop it! Heather yelled.

Sergei moved between her and the boys and tried to guide her around the commotion.

You have to stop them, Heather told Sergei.

This not our business.

"Imbecile!" another boy shouted. When the pathetic, slow boy reached for the stuffed animal, another one of the boys punched him hard in the face. He fell on the ground and started wailing, blood running down his nose. He was dressed in rags. The boys were gleefully kicking him, one after the other.

S-s-stop! he wailed, his mouth twisting grotesquely when he spoke.

If you don’t do something, Heather told Sergei, I will. Heather took two steps towards the thugs but Sergei caught her and stepped ahead, towards one of the bullies, the biggest one. The boy sneered but backed away. Sergei quickly took another step forward and caught the boy’s foot under his own. The big Russian’s hand flew out, smacking the kid hard across the face. The boy went flying, leaving his empty shoe trapped between the wooden pier and Sergei’s toe.

When the other boys saw this they scattered, still yelling insults at the skinny, pathetic man. He was on his hands and knees now, wailing, blood running out of his nose. He lovingly picked up the stuffed animal. It was a turtle, the soft green toy nearly black with grime.

Heather rushed over and helped him up, not caring that her sundress was being splattered with blood. He recoiled from her touch, as if afraid she would strike him.

I’m not going to hurt you, she said softly in French, and put her arm around his shoulder. Sergei, give me your handkerchief.

Sergei reluctantly pulled a white handkerchief from his back pocket. She put it into the retarded man’s dirty hand and then held it to his nose.

We have to take him on board the ship, she said. He’s hurt.

Sergei had stooped down and was picking up Heather’s packages. What?

His nose might be broken—the ship’s doctor should look at it.

We cannot take him aboard.

Yes we can.

He has no passport. The man is homeless.

There’s no telling what might happen if we leave him here! Heather’s heart went out to the poor man, remembering the one horrific night she had spent on the streets of Paris. She had vowed she would never turn a cold shoulder to a homeless person again.

Sergei hesitated, looking at the feeble young man.

Please, Sergei? You know the passport control people here—they’ll let him onboard if you ask them.

* * *

Sergei finally relented. He ushered the retarded man through Passport Control and they helped him up the gangplank.

His name was Enzo. He was afraid to go with them at first, but Heather soothed him and managed to make him understand that a doctor would look at his nose.

Señor Maya will be very angry, Sergei muttered, as they helped Enzo along.

I’ll take responsibility, Heather said.

Sergei gave a morose laugh. And I will suffer for it.

Paulo, the ship’s security guard, met them at the top of the gangplank. They took Enzo to the infirmary. The wretched young man walked with a pronounced limp, his head crooked to one side at an excruciating angle. It was painful for Heather to watch him. She couldn’t tell if his spasms were a result of injuries he’d sustained from the boys or simply physical deformities.

* * *

The doctor wasn’t in the infirmary, so Sergei went to track him down. While Heather waited, she stopped Enzo’s bleeding by making him lie down and applying ice and pressure to his nose.

When the doctor showed up, he checked Enzo over. Heather tried to keep Enzo still on the exam table and asked a few questions to get some basic information out of him.

Where do you live? she said in French.

W-with my u-u-uncle…but he d-d-died.

When?

Enzo frowned. I-I-don’t know…my uncle, he was very k-k-kind to Enzo. The pathetic man frowned, clutching his turtle. Those b-b-boys are m-m-mean. They t-t-tried to take Alphonse.

Alphonse—that’s the name of your turtle?

Y-y-yes. Alphonse is a g-g-good turtle.

Heather’s heart ached as she watched him struggle to speak, his eyelids twitching, wondering how long he had been out on the street. She couldn’t imagine the horror someone like him would experience with nowhere to live, no one to look after him.

What is going on here? Ricardo Maya said, entering the infirmary. Enzo tensed, hugging Alphonse to his chest, looking fearfully at Maya.

Heather explained what had happened.

He seems to be all right, the doctor said, patting Enzo on the shoulder. No broken bones. I cannot tell if his ankle and shoulder are sprained or if it’s… the doctor looked at Maya and struggled for words …just the way he is.

Well, he can’t stay on this yacht, Maya said.

Why not? Heather said.

Why should he?

Just for a day or two, until he’s better. He needs something to eat—look how skinny he is.

He is not our problem, Maya snapped.

Enzo shrank back on the examination table, looking terrified of Ricardo Maya.

You’re scaring him, Heather said.

Maya glanced at Enzo disgustedly, then at Heather and the doctor. He looked as if he really didn’t want Enzo on board, but that he didn’t want anyone to think he was cruel. "Well, I suppose he can stay here—in the infirmary—until we depart from Nice."

Thank you, Heather said.

Maya looked disgustedly at Enzo, then turned