Emergency, Jay texted. Need your help.

What’s up? came an almost instant reply.

Perfect.

Need a junker car right now.

Junker?

Yes, a beat-up cheap car. Can you do it?

Sure.

Jay texted the location of where to park the car.

Give me thirty minutes. Bring you the keys to the boat.

No, Jay texted back immediately. Hand off keys secretly. Pretend you don’t know me.

Something wrong?

Just do me that favor.

You got it.

He liked Hunter. Hunter didn’t ask questions. Or at least he took care of things before asking for the skinny on a situation. Hunter was probably the member of the Eternal Bachelors Club who understood him best. Like Jay, Hunter had worked his way up. He didn’t have a rich family, but he had street smarts. Plenty thereof.

And with some luck, Hunter would figure out a smart way to hand him the keys to whatever rust bucket he could scare up on short notice and make it look inconspicuous.

15

Her handbag slung diagonally across her torso, Tara accepted Jay’s hand as he helped her off the boat. He kept her hand in his as they walked down the long wooden dock that led to the shore. This was a quiet inlet on the west side of Montauk, not the Atlantic Ocean side. In these quieter inlets, houses had their own little piers for docking their yachts and sailboats.

“I wonder why Zach docks his yacht here. Doesn’t he have a dock with the house you’re working on?” she asked out loud.

“The dock at the house isn’t ready yet. We’re working on it.” Jay steered her toward a path, which led in between two large properties. High fences on either side of the walkway ensured privacy, and bushes and trees blocked the view to the large villas.

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Working on the house? Yeah, it’s a great project.”

“It must be hard work though.”

He shrugged. “I like it.”

“It must be satisfying to have a job you enjoy,” she mused.

Jay turned his head to look at her. “Don’t you have a job you enjoy?”

“Not at the moment.” She felt ashamed to admit it. “I don’t have a job right now. I’m looking, but it’s not easy, particularly when your parents are constantly putting roadblocks in your way.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Tara sighed. “My father knows a lot of people. And whenever I apply for something that interests me, invariably somebody contacts him.”

“Why is that?”

“I have no real references, only one, where I did an internship. So any prospective employer figures why not talk to my father and find out if it’s worth hiring me?”

“Let me guess: your father tells them not to bother.”

She nodded. “I can’t be sure of it, but I have my suspicions. Most likely he’s not quite as blatant. But it only takes a few subtle hints. Something like, it would be so great if she got a little job until she got married, something to occupy her time for a while. I mean, who would hire somebody like that, thinking she’ll bail as soon as she gets an engagement ring on her finger?”

“Hmm. Have you ever thought about applying for a position not using your real name? I mean, just until you got the job in the bag. Once they hire you, you can always tell them who you are. But at least then you’d know if it’s really your parents hindering you or not.”

Tara stopped walking. “That’s a great idea! Why haven’t I thought of that before?”

Jay winked. “Sometimes you’ve gotta combat deviousness with a little innocent deceit to get what you want. No harm in that.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“I love design.”

“That’s a broad field. There must be plenty of opportunities.”

“Yes, there are, and I’m going to grab one of them.” She felt an instant boost to her self-confidence. Jay was right. She just needed to approach her application process differently.

Smiling, Tara looked out to the street they’d just reached. Only a few cars were parked here. Most homes had large garages so that street parking in this area was unnecessary.

A casually dressed man in his thirties, his cell phone pressed to his ear walked along the sidewalk. He didn’t seem to even notice them as he marched right toward them.

“Yeah, yeah, I told him that, too. But what do I know?” the stranger said into the phone, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.

Tara pointed to the cars on the other side of the street. “Which one?” There were three of them: a red Ferrari, a beat up old pickup truck, and a rusty Toyota.