Solomon & Lord Drop Anchor Read Free

great together.”
    “Really? What did you do?”
    “Come on. Help me get him up the ladder.”
Steve pulled the handcuffs from his pocket. “I want him on the
bridge.”
    “What now? What insanity now?”
    “Relax Vic. In a few hours, Cruz will be
dying to give back Teresa’s money.”
    * * *
    Steve had played fast and loose with the
rules before, Victoria thought, but nothing like this.
    This is scary. And in
the eyes of the law, she was dirty, too.
    This could mean trading the couture outfits
and Italian footwear for orange jumpsuits and shower shoes.
    With one wrist handcuffed to the rail at the
rear of the bridge, Cruz had been berating Steve for the past
twenty minutes. “Know what, Solomon? She hits harder than you
do.”
    “Mr. Cruz,” Victoria said, “if you begin to
feel dizzy or nauseous, let me know. Head trauma can be very
dangerous.”
    “What about  
my
  head?” Steve demanded.
    “It’s impervious to trauma. Or reason.”
    The  
Wet
Dream
  was planing across
the tops of small whitecaps when Steve said: “Take the wheel, Vic.
Keep it on two-zero-two.”
    “Please
,”
she said, irritated.
    “What?”
    “‘Keep it on two-zero-two,  
please
.’”
    “A captain doesn’t say ‘please.’”
    “Maybe not Captain Bligh.” Victoria slid
behind the wheel, thinking maybe she’d hit the wrong man with the
gaff. She still didn’t know where they were headed, and Steve’s
behavior was becoming increasingly bizarre. He had the beginning of
a lump on his head, and blood trickled from his skinned elbows and
knees.
    “Kidnaping,” Cruz said. “Assault. Boat theft.
You two are gonna be busy little shysters.”
    “Shut up,” Steve said. “Under the law of the
sea, I’m master of this craft.”
    “What law? You stole my fucking boat.”
    * * *
    Once past Key West, they entered the Florida
Straits, the water growing deeper, the color turning from light
green to aquamarine to cobalt blue. No reefs here, and a five-foot
chop slapped at the hull of the boat. The wavecaps sparkled, as if
studded with diamonds in the late afternoon sun.
    “Gonna tell you a story, Cruz,” Steve said,
“and when I’m done, you’re gonna cry and beg forgiveness and give
back all the money you stole.’”
    “Yeah, right.”
    “Story starts forty-some years ago in Havana.
A beautiful lady named Teresa Toraño lost her husband who was brave
enough to oppose Fidel Castro.”
    “Tough shit,” Cruz said. “Happened to a lot
of people.”
    “Teresa came to Miami with nothing. Worked
minimum wage, mopped floors in a car dealership, ended up owning
Toraño Chevrolet.”
    “My  
papi
  always told me
hard work pays off,” Cruz said, smirking. “Too bad he never got out
of the cane fields.”
    “A few years ago, she hires a new controller.
A fellow  
exilado.
  This guy’s
got a fancy computer system that will revolutionize their books. It
also lets him steal three million bucks before anybody knows what
hit them.  Now, the banks have pulled Teresa’s line of
credit, and she could go under.”
    “I’m not crying, Solomon.”
    “Not done yet. See, this lady is damn
important to me. If it hadn’t been for Teresa giving me work my
first year out of school, I’d have gone broke.”
    "Lo único que logró la
dama fue posponer lo inevitable,”
  Cruz said. “She only postponed the
inevitable.”
    Victoria knew there was more to it than just
a financial relationship. Teresa had virtually adopted Steve and
his nephew Bobby, and the Solomon Boys loved her in return. After
Victoria entered the picture, she was added to the extended Toraño
family. Now, each year at Christmas, they all gathered at Teresa’s
estate in Coral Gables for her homemade  
crema de
vie,
  an anise drink so
rich it made eggnog seem like diet soda. All of which meant that
Steve would do anything for Teresa. One of Steve’s self-proclaimed
laws expressed the principle:
    “I won’t break the law,
breach legal ethics,