Blue Velvet

by Iris Johansen

  "No, you're angry at Despard for trying to victim­ize your friend, Brenden, and you want to get some of your own back. A rather dangerous form of revenge, don't you think?"

  "Revenge?" She shook her head. "I'd be pretty stupid to run this kind of risk for revenge."

  "Then, why?"

  "The drugs," she said simply. "I hate them. I've seen what they can do." Her eyes were haunted. "Drugs are cheaper here and in South America, you know. Dealers aren't able to get the high prices they can in the States. That's why they export them." She shivered. "And if they can't export them, they sell them to whoever will buy. Have you ever seen a nine-year-old junkie? I have, and I never want to again. If I could burn every cache of heroin and cocaine in the whole damn world, I'd do it."

  That streak of maternal protectiveness again, Beau thought. First Brenden, then himself, and now the whole damn world! That tenderness he'd known before returned with poignant intensity. What the hell was she doing to him? He forcibly pulled his gaze from those disconcertingly honest eyes and turned away. "Well, we can make a start tonight anyway. Let's get the show on the road. Do you know what the setup is or do we have to reconnoiter?"

  "There are only two guards and they're both inside." She frowned. "Unless they've changed their arrangements since last week. I followed Despard here from the cottage and then took a look around back. There's a large window in the rear, but it's locked. I checked that out."

  "A back door?"

  "Yes, but they keep it locked too."

  His glance traveled once more over her fitted jeans and loose chambray shirt. "I don't suppose you're carrying a forty-five or a hand grenade taped to your waist?" he asked politely. "Just how did you intend to accomplish this coup?"

  She shuffled uncomfortably. "I would have thought of something," she said defensively. "I'm very resourceful."

  "I've noticed that," he said dryly. "It appears you're very impulsive as well. Next time, let me do the groundwork, okay? Tactical maneuvers have a tendency to work a hell of a lot better if you have a plan."

  Next time? "Well, I did make one preparation," she said triumphantly. "Two days ago I stashed a can of gasoline in a cardboard box in the trash heap at the back and covered it up with newspapers."

  "Well, that's something. Providing the local sani­tation company hasn't collected their trash."

  She shook her head positively. "Not on Castel-lano. There's no sanitation department in Mariba. Everyone takes care of removing his own garbage."

  "No wonder that alley was so unpleasantly aro­matic." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Do those guards know who you are?"

  "They've seen me around Mariba, I suppose," she said. "It's a fairly small city and Despard's been try­ing to talk Jeffrey into running the coke for over a week."

  "Then we may have a chance, after all," he said. "Can I get around back this way?" He indicated a small passageway a few yards ahead and at her nod, said, "Give me that lighter you were using in the alley."

  He was being very demanding, she thought resentfully. She wasn't used to anyone else taking control and she wasn't at all sure she liked it. Still, there was such command in his demeanor she found herself digging into her pocket and putting the lighter into his hand. "What are you going to do with it?"

  "I'll think of something. I'm very resourceful," he said, mimicking her mischievously. "Give me fif­teen minutes and go pound on the front door. Then find a way of distracting the attention of the guards until I get in the back."

  "But I told you there's no way to break—"

  "Let me worry about that." He was striding swiftly toward the passage. "You just concentrate on distracting them," he hissed over his shoulder.

  "That seems to be my role for the evening." She sighed. "First Despard, and now his merry henchmen."

  He stopped and turned to stare at her. "I noticed how you were 'distracting' Despard." His voice was suddenly crackling with menace. "His hands were all over you. I won't put up with that now that you're mine. Sex is definitely out, Kate. Find some other method or you might discover I'm a hell of a lot more difficult to deal with than Despard."

  Before she could answer he'd disappeared down the passage leaving her to gaze after him with indignation and a touch of fear. She had a fleeting memory of her first impression tonight in the bar. That mocking, cynical facade obviously masked an extremely complex man and she had an idea he might prove to be just as dangerous as she'd origi­nally thought. Not that he could prove any threat to her, she assured herself staunchly. After she'd paid off her debt she'd probably never see the man again. They were strangers drawn together by a chance set of bizarre circumstances and, once Lantry had what he wanted, he probably wouldn't be able to rid himself of her fast enough. Possessiveness would no doubt vanish as quickly as his other emotions. As for his lovemaking . . . no, she wouldn't think about that. It brought a queer melt­ing sensation to the pit of her stomach and an ach­ing tingle between her thighs that confused her terribly. She'd face that when she had to. Right now she had something else to think about.

  She glanced down at her watch. Five more minutes. What on earth did Beau have in mind? Well, she'd find out soon enough. She only hoped that whatever he tried would be startling enough to catch them off guard.

  His ploy was every bit as startling as she could have wished, and more.

  The two Latin guards were gazing at her in half-suspicious puzzlement while she sobbed with an authenticity of which she wouldn't have dreamed she was capable. "But you must know where Ralph is," she cried hysterically. "They told me at Alvar­ez's he was coming here. He said I could come to him if I needed him, that he'd take care of me." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Jeffrey beat me ..."

  Suddenly there was an explosive crash of splin­tering glass and breaking wood and she didn't have to fake her dazed befuddlement as she saw a

  large garbage can catapult through the window at the opposite end of the warehouse. The can was immediately followed by Beau, who dove head first through the window, carrying a blazing makeshift torch in each hand. Tucking his head under, he hit the rough wood floor in a rolling somersault that would have done justice to a circus acrobat. He was halfway across the room when he sprang lithely to his feet, the torches still aflame.

  Both guards had whirled at the first sound but had been so dumbfounded they'd stood transfixed by Beau's unorthodox entrance. Now he was only a few yards away and they were jolted into action.

  "Madre de Dios!" The short burly guard bounded forward and the taller one reached for the revolver tucked in the waist of his jeans.

  Kate reacted without thinking, leaping for the man's gun arm and hanging on with all her strength while he tried to shake her off. She heard a low guttural cry and the thud of a body hitting the floor behind her. Oh, dear heaven, was it Beau?

  "Puta!" snarled the man whose arm she was clinging to like a limpit. His other fist shot out with vicious force and she felt a blinding pain in her temple. Her grasp automatically loosened and he shook her off easily, drawing the gun and back-handing her with the barrel. For a moment she was conscious of pressure but not pain and then there was an instant of darkness as the room whirled around her.

  "You son of a bitch!" Beau's voice was so laden with icy menace that it shocked her into aware­ness again. So, it was the other man who'd fallen to the floor, she realized dazedly, for Beau was now right next to them. His eyes were blazing in golden fury and his face was granite hard. He was still car­rying one of the torches in his hand and with one sweeping movement he enveloped the man's gun arm in flame!

  The man's shriek of agony was terrible; he dropped the gun and started to beat frantically at the loose sleeve of his cotton shirt. His whimpering moans ended abruptly as the edge of Beau's hand swooped down in a karate chop to the neck, drop­ping the man in his tracks.

  "Are you all right?" Beau asked, his voice rough with concern.

  She was staring down at the unconscious man at their feet. The violence in Beau had erupted
so quickly and brutally she was dazed. She noticed that the guard's shirt was still smoldering. She asked a little jerkily, "Hadn't we better put it out?"

  "I ought to let the bastard burn up," Beau said savagely. "Did he hurt you?"

  "No," she lied, moistening her lips. In that moment she believed Beau would have committed murder if she'd answered in the affirmative. "I'm just shaken up a little. I'll be fine in a minute." She laughed shakily. "But the sight of that smoldering shirt isn't helping very much. Please put it out."

  He shrugged. "I don't know why you're so con­cerned." He reached down and carelessly beat out the last of the tiny licking sparks that remained. "This scum was probably first in line pushing the drugs on those kids you were so worried about."

  "Maybe." Her gaze went to the short burly man lying unconscious across the room. "You're evi­dently very good at karate." She noticed the burn­ing torch beside the squat body of the other guard. "Did you burn him too?"

  "Not much. I tossed the torch at him as he was charging me. It hit him in the chest and bounced off." He smiled tigerishly. "But it threw him off balance long enough for me to get close. It's sur­prising how fire frightens people. I suppose it's

  because we've all had experience of the pain of being burned at some time or other."

  "I suppose so." She straightened carefully. If she didn't move her head quickly, she found it didn't hurt so much. "It was very clever of you to think to use those torches as weapons." She smiled with an effort at lightness. "You were very impressive div­ing through that window like a circus acrobat."

  "I was aiming more at Burt Lancaster in The Crimson Pirate," Beau drawled. To her relief the charged menace in him seemed to be dissipating.

  "The Crimson Pirate?"

  "A swashbuckling movie classic. Didn't you ever see it?"

  She automatically shook her head and then wished she hadn't as the room suddenly darkened. "No, I've never seen a movie," she said vaguely. "Though I've read about them, of course. Jeffrey tells me I haven't missed much."

  "Never seen ..." He trailed off, his lips tight­ening grimly. "It would have been better if your precious Jeffrey had let you judge for yourself."

  "You think so?" she asked absently. "Those plastine bags piled in that corner must be the coke. Ill punch holes in the bags while you drag the guards outside, then get the gasoline can."

  "If you insist. Though I'd prefer to leave our friend here in the funeral pyre." He dropped the torch in his hand on the floor and drew a pristine handkerchief from his back pocket. "Turn around."

  "What?"

  "Turn around." He didn't wait for her to obey but stepped behind her and slipped the handkerchief over her nose and mouth and proceeded to tie it securely. "I don't suppose it occurred to you that fumes from the coke could possibly be intoxicating or even lethal?" "Are they?"

  "I don't have any Idea but we're not taking any chances. I'll see if I can find something on one of the guards to use as my own mask." He knelt beside the squat unconscious guard and searched through the man's pockets. "Ah, this may be useful." His thumb pressed a switch on the pocketknife he'd taken from the man and a wicked-looking blade appeared. He handed it to her shaft first. "Get going. I'll have the gasoline in here on the double."

  That touch of arrogance again! But she was in no condition to protest at the moment. She silently accepted the knife and turned away. Crossing the room with slow cautious steps, she heard the slith­ering sound of the guards' bodies being pulled across the wooden floor and out the front door. She knelt beside the plastine bags and began to punch a hole in each bag as quickly as possible. Her hands were shaking a little and there seemed to be hundreds of them. Long minutes passed as she punched bag after bag. Why the devil couldn't the coke have been packaged in bigger bags? These seemed to be kilo-sized . . . and it sure took a lot of kilos at 2.2 pounds to make up a $6 million cocaine deal.

  "All set?" Beau was standing beside her, the gas­oline can in his hand and a handkerchief tied over his nose and mouth.

  She punctured the last two bags, dropped the pocketknife on the pile and very carefully got to her feet. "All set."

  "Outside," Beau ordered, turning her around and giving her a push toward the door. "Ill be with you in a minute." Then he was pouring the gaso­line over the piles of coke.

  She took a few automatic steps toward the door before she stopped short. What was she doing? This was her job," not Beau Lantry's. She turned back and saw Beau throw the gasoline can down,

  scoop up the burning torch from the floor, step back and hurl it on the pile of coke. It burst into flame! Beau wheeled and dashed for the door, his arm encircling her as he passed, carrying her with him. "I told you to get out of here," he growled with barely restrained exasperation. "Why the hell didn't you?"

  "The whole thing was my idea. I couldn't leave you alone to do my job."

  "Couldn't you?" There was an odd searching flicker in his eyes as he paused a few yards outside the door to remove her mask and then his own. "No, I don't think you could, Kate."

  He was gazing at her so intently she felt a tinge of uneasiness. "Hadn't we better get away from here before the building goes up? It's bound to bring the rest of Despard's men on the run."

  He looked away. "You're right." His hand was beneath her elbow guiding her away from the warehouse. "Let's go."

  The warm humid air was striking her face like a smothering wet rag. She'd hoped it would help clear the mist that was interfering with her thought processes but it only seemed to increase the heavy lethargy she was experiencing. "What did you say the name of your ship is?"

  "The Searcher." His eyes were once more nar­rowed keenly on her face. "It shouldn't take long to get to the docks from here, should it?"

  "No, not very long," she said vaguely. "Searcher is an odd name for a ship. Most of them are named after women. No one seems to know why." She sounded very coherent, she thought proudly. "Most authorities think it became a tradition when the ancient Greek sailors honored the Goddess Athena."

  "I hope I haven't offended your women's lib sen­sibilities," he drawled. "After all, it's a unisex name."

  "Women's lib? What's that?"

  He started to smile but it faded into incredulity. She wasn't joking; she actually didn't know. "I'll explain it to you later," he said slowly. Then his mischievous grin lit the lean darkness of his face. "Or then again maybe I won't!"

  "Good heavens, it's enormous." Kate's eyes wid­ened in disbelief, her gaze on the three-masted schooner berthed at the dock. "I saw a windjam­mer cruise ship docked in St. Thomas once and this is almost as large as that."

  "I like to be comfortable," Beau said easily. "And I have guests occasionally."

  "You must be very rich," Kate said soberly. "It's a beautiful ship, Beau."

  "Stinking rich," he said inelegantly. "And I told you in the bar I'd be more than generous with you. You won't have to worry."

  "I'm not worried." She glanced away so he wouldn't see how much his words had hurt. "You've been very generous already. If you'll just get Jeffrey away from Castellano, I promise I won't ask for anything else."

  His hand was beneath her elbow helping her up the gangplank with a protectiveness that was very comforting. Now that she thought about it, that concern had been in evidence during the entire trip back to the ship from the warehouse. The walk had been made in almost total silence, but Beau's hand had been there to support her at every curb or sudden roughness in the cobblestone street. That instinctive care was yet another anomaly in the complexity of his personality.

  "You may change your mind later," he said cyn­ically. "I won't hold you to it. I'm used to paying for what I want. However, I'll see that you get that first installment right away." He gestured toward the man who was strolling lazily along the deck toward them. "Or, I should say, Daniel will. Daniel is very experienced in getting things done, aren't you, Daniel?"

  "Very," the big man agreed amiably. "I know all the best ways of making bail, of findin
g the nearest emergency clinic in every port in the Caribbean, not to mention my talent for bribing or soothing irate fathers, brothers, and sundry municipal offi­cials. What would you do without me, Beau?"

  "He's also captain of the Searcher in his spare time," Beau said with a grin. "Sometimes he for­gets to mention that. Daniel Seifert, Kate Gilbert. Kate's going to be with us for a while."

  Daniel Seifert enclosed her hand in a gigantic paw with surprising gentleness. He was some­where in his middle thirties and almost as large and brawny as Julio. There the resemblance ended. His trendily cut auburn hair, snapping dark blue eyes and trim auburn beard gave him an attractiveness that had a much more virile impact than Julio's dark good looks.

  "I approve of you far more than I did the earlier arrivals," he said, his dark eyes twinkling. "We have enough men on this ship."

  "Julio and Jeffrey arrived safely?" Kate asked, relieved.

  Seifert nodded. "About an hour and a half ago. I quartered them with the crew." He lifted an inquir­ing brow at Beau. "Is that okay?"

  "For now," Beau said with a shrug. "Are we ready to get under way?"

  "As you command." Daniel's mocking smile was a white slash in his bearded face. "Would I dare disobey?"

  Beau snorted. "You'd dare do anything, if it pleased you." His glance fell to the captain's huge hand still clasping Kate's. "Are you going to let her have her hand back or are you hoping to form a permanent attachment?"

  "The idea has definite merit." Seifert released her hand reluctantly. "I suppose you've already established a prior claim though."

  "Definitely." The single word was crisp and incisive.

  "Then I gather the guest cabin I had readied won't be needed," Seifert said lightly. "What a pity."

  "I have to see Julio and Jeffrey and tell them I'm on board and safe," Kate said, biting her lip worriedly. "Julio won't be able to rest until I do."

  Beau shook his head. "Not tonight. You can see them tomorrow morning." He turned to the cap­tain. "I'm taking her to my cabin. Drop in and let Rodriguez know she's safe, will you?"