Cash Landing by James Grippando Read Free Book Online Page B

But, shit, Ruban. This is the stupidest thing you have ever done.”
    He sank into the driver’s seat, his head rolling back as he gazed at the ceiling. Savannah was going to be an even harder sell than he’d thought. “All right, I’m sorry. I’ll take the watch back.”
    â€œPromise?”
    â€œYes,” he said. “But . . .”
    â€œBut what?”
    â€œWhy don’t you wear it tonight?”
    â€œForget it.”
    â€œCome on. Once in her life, every woman should know what it feels like to have a Rolex on her wrist. Try it on.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œPlease,” he said, pushing it toward her. “Just for grins.”
    She resisted at first, then let him slide it up over her hand.
    â€œThere you go,” he said with a smile.
    She hesitated, but it was impossible not to say something nice. “It is gorgeous,” she said.
    He kissed her neck. “Like you.”
    She held it up to the light, admiring the sparkle. “Wow. Honestly, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
    â€œWear it to the party.”
    â€œRuban, no. How could our friends look at this watch and not think you robbed a bank?”
    â€œI’ll tell them the restaurant is doing really well, which it is. The place is packed every night.”
    â€œBut that doesn’t make us rich.”
    â€œNobody needs to know that. This is your night. How many twenty-ninth birthdays are you going to have in your lifetime? Wear it. It’s just a few hours.”
    She leaned closer to him, torn for another moment, but then she nodded. “Okay. I’ll wear it tonight. But then it goes back to wherever it came from.”
    â€œDeal,” he said. “Come on, my beautiful wife. Let’s go knock ’em dead.”

Chapter 8
    M arco Aroyo was blinded by the light. His head throbbed with pain. A stream of blood and sweat stung his eyes, one of which was almost completely swollen shut. His wrists and ankles burned from the taut metal chains that shackled him to the wall.
    The man asking the questions was a silhouette, his enormous frame hidden in the shadows behind the white-hot spotlight.
    â€œOne last time,” the man said, his voice hissing. “Where is the money?”
    Running. Aroyo wasn’t good at it, but that was all he’d been doing since the heist. Running and hiding, afraid to go home or to work. Afraid to contact Pinky or Ruban about his share of the money, afraid even to make a phone call that might divulge his whereabouts. Aroyo was running for his life.
    â€œI don’t have it. I swear, I don’t!”
    It had been Aroyo’s responsibility to get rid of the pickup truck. No one had told him how dangerous that job would be. When they’d loaded the pickup into the delivery truck and he’d pulled away from the tile warehouse, Aroyo had thought that his million-dollar cut would be the easiest money he ever earned. Before the pickup was even backed into the chop shop for disassembly, however, the breaking news was flashing on every television screen in Miami: “Black Ford F-150 pickup truck involved in multimillion-dollar heist at Miami International Airport.”Locked up in a chop shop and surrounded by sharp tools is no place to be when a garage full of goons suddenly puts two-plus-two together and realizes that the guy with the black pickup has a treasure map in his head.
    â€œYou are a liar !” the man shouted, as he kicked Aroyo in the groin again. “Where’s the money?”
    Aroyo doubled over in pain, the chains rattling as he dropped to his knees and fell to the floor. He could barely breathe, let alone speak.
    â€œIt’s . . . the truth,” he somehow managed to say.
    The man kicked him harder, this time in the kidney. It was as if someone had switched off the light. Aroyo struggled to remain conscious. The man stepped closer and grabbed Aroyo by the hair, forcing him to