Suspicious Ways Read Online Free Page B

would keep his business going. She would keep his dream alive, regardless of what people said, regardless of what it took. Sydney’s tightknit sailing community had opened their arms to her dad, accepted him as one of their own—a man who knew boats, who respected the water and could drink like a true sailor. When Ali had been at the helm the night he’d died—a nineteen-year-old from Connecticut who most of the yachtsmen deemed reckless and cocky—they’d turned their back on her, holding her responsible for her dad’s tragic death.
    Ali hadn’t cared.
    The old salts and pretentious boaties alike could whisper behind her back, mock her gender and accent and age as much as they liked and do their best to destroy her spirits, but she’d sworn to herself she could do it. She would do it. For her dad, her mom and herself. She’d worked her butt off, had invested so much to keep that promise. And she had kept it. She’d kept With the Wind Charters afloat. Until today.
    She shifted gears, the engine of her Mini groaning with protest at its brutal treatment. “Damn you, Jack.”
    Why it was Jack’s fault her car wasn’t handling this trip well, she couldn’t tell. But then, she’d never driven like this before, so it had to be his fault.
    Childish, Ali. Very childish.
    She let out a sigh.
    Six hours of pacing her small unit in Bondi had passed since the annoying bane of her existence turned up at the marina. Six hours spent trying to figure out what the hell she was going to do. The option she kept falling back to was Zane Peterson and his Solomon Island charter job, a solution that made her stomach roll. Six hours pacing, thinking and wondering how the hell she was going to tell her mother what had come to pass.
    A lump filled Ali’s throat at the thought of that conversation. ‘Hi, Mom. Sorry, but all of Dad’s money’s gone. Oh, and the bank just took away his yacht and business too. Sorry. Guess we’ll have to cancel that MS treatment next week. I mean, you don’t really want to get better, do you?’
    She swallowed, her throat tight. No, she couldn’t tell her mother that. It would destroy Jenny if she did. But Ali couldn’t accept Jack taking away her business and yacht either. She had to do something, so here she was, speeding towards Darling Point at ten o’clock at night with no other plan in her head but to get her yacht back. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I’ll beg if I have to.”
    Really? When have you begged for anything?
    Ali bit back a snort. Never. But she never wanted anything like she did this.
    Directing her car into a quiet street, she slowly approached Jack’s house. Her stomach twisted into all sorts of knots and her throat grew thick. The last time she’d been here… She swallowed, shutting down the thought. She didn’t want to think about the last time she was here. It wasn’t wise. Or safe.
    The Mini’s dull yellow headlights fell on a very low, very red car parked in the driveway and her mouth fell open. God, was that a Ferrari? She knew Jack was rich, but this rich? What kind of person owned a Ferrari?
    One rich enough to buy out your life.
    Dragging in a shaky breath, she brought her car to a halt. Here she was.
    Oh, Lord.
    Almost as large as her whole apartment complex, the house was utterly modern and at the same time breathtakingly timeless. She sat frozen, her hands wringing the Mini’s worn steering wheel.
    It had been over four years since she’d stepped foot inside Jack’s home—four years that felt like a lifetime—but she could still remember every detail about the massive six-bedroom mansion, including its gorgeous, multi-million-dollar views of Sydney Harbor. She’d spent more than one day with her father at this very house, leaning against the back deck’s stainless-steel railing, watching the yachts sail by and dreaming foolish teenage dreams of a life where she and Jack lived in blissful happiness. A life where