Once Burned (Task Force Eagle)

by Vaughan, Susan

  A faint rumble ghosted through the drifts of fog.

  She grabbed his arm. “Wait. I hear an engine.”

  He turned toward the sound, louder now and coming from down the peninsula. “Some lobsterman heading out to haul traps. If he misses seeing us, I’ll shoot off the flare.”

  Through the fog shredding like torn sheets, she spied the long, open Dragon Harbor launch, with the harbormaster standing at the helm.

  “It’s Pascal. He’s headed around the other side of the island!” She sped across the rock-strewn terrain.

  “I see him,” Jake replied. “He may be involved but we have to get off this island. Take off your vest and wave it.”

  She tore at the clasps. Jake’s steps clattered the loose shingle as he jogged along the narrow beach, widened by low tide.

  A sizzling flare arced into the blue. “Ahoy the boat!”

  When the launch’s prow turned toward them, she whooped, then joined Jake where he stood with their meager belongings. Soon the familiar flat-nosed, weathered features of Ed Pascal came into focus.

  “What’re you folks doin’ out here with no boat?” His disapproving scowl seemed to lump them in with the partying teenagers he must’ve sometimes rousted from the Mobcap.

  “The Amy Jo sank last night,” Jake called. To Lani he whispered, “I’ve got my sidearm. Watch him. Don’t mention the explosion.”

  When Pascal beached the flat-bottomed launch, she accepted his callused hand and scrambled aboard. Metal seats ringed the gunwales around a raised storage box in the deck’s center. She clambered to starboard while Jake took a port seat, to balance the craft.

  As their rescuer pulled away from their rustic haven and picked up speed, the rushing air cut into her skin like sleet. She shivered and rubbed her arms, bare beneath the cap sleeve of her T-shirt.

  Pascal tossed them each a fleece blanket. “I got no extra jackets.”

  She and Jake thanked him in unison. The blanket’s soft warmth went a long way toward cheering her.

  Pascal tucked one hand in his windbreaker pocket and turned toward them. “How’d you folks come to be over by the Mobcap?”

  “Out for an evening cruise.” Jake’s tone remained casual, although his face held a wary look. “Got lost in the weather. Must’ve hit a rock.”

  Pascal wagged his head in commiseration. His eyes crinkled as he squinted beneath his billed cap with the town’s dragon logo. He returned his attention to the waters ahead.

  When she heard a crackling sound, she looked up to see Pascal talking into his ship-to-shore radio. “What now?” he said before the motor’s roar and the air rushing past her ears drowned out his next words. In a moment, he set the unit back in its cradle.

  He steered the launch back the way he’d come, toward Dragon Harbor. The craft barely bounced as it skimmed the swells.

  Jake was staring aft. Just like a man, ogling the horsepower—twin Mercury two hundreds. But no, he was looking at something else. On the deck beneath the engines lay diving gear—a scuba tank and a wetsuit. Her eyes widened as she met his grim gaze. His head shake of warning was barely perceptible. He withdrew his pistol from the small of his back and concealed it beneath the blanket.

  Was Pascal truly involved? He’d moved to the peninsula a couple of years ago. Jeez, he was a harbormaster. Maybe their suspicion was only paranoia. But as the saying went, it’s not paranoia when they’re really after you. Her heart gave a thump trying to leap out of her chest. She bit her lower lip and wished Jake could sit beside her instead of miles away.

  As they neared the harbor entrance, she saw other boats heading out. A couple of sailboats dodged the wake of a speedboat. When Pascal passed the lighthouse, he didn’t slow. Instead of steering around Dragon Rocks and into the harbor, he slapped the throttle forward and continued down the peninsula.

  “Where are you taking us?” she demanded, half out of her seat. Jake raised a hand in caution but she ignored him. She wanted an answer.

  Pascal set the wheel and turned. The hand in his jacket pocket came out with a pistol. He pointed its black barrel at her.

  She emitted an involuntary squeak and began to scoot farther aft.

  “You bastard!” Jake dumped the blanket, pointed his pistol at Pascal’s chest.

  The older man jerked the wheel, slewing Jake off balance. Pascal yanked Lani to him, jammed his pistol under her jaw. She swung her elbow but he deflected the blow. “Stay put, Wescott. Toss the pistol overboard or she’ll pay for your stupidity.”

  Jake subsided as he seemed to weigh his options. His mouth a taut line, he complied. The engine muffled the pistol’s splash. “What the fuck is this about? Who do you work for, Pascal? Or is it Hector Vargas aka Hector Johnson?”

  The other man’s jaw didn’t drop but his eyebrows shot up nearly to his cap brim. “So you checked on me. Vargas it is. You’ll find out the rest soon enough. For all the good it’ll do you.” He barked a laugh with no humor.

  He jerked Lani around and made her take the wheel. The warning—at the point of his lethal pistol—to steer where he said brooked no transgression, no slips.

  The barrel tip bit painfully into her flesh where he jabbed it against her neck. Her insides cartwheeled. Vargas. She couldn’t get her mind around Pascal as Vargas. Not only the arsonist, but the smuggling gang intended to kill them. Somehow it all tied together. A bubble rose in her throat that nearly choked off her breath. But no. She needed logic, needed to think. Bide her time.

  Jake was poised to attack, his grip on the seat so tense his knuckles were white. When they reached wherever Pascal—no, Vargas—was taking them, maybe they would have a chance.

  Chapter 25

  Jake seethed, every fiber vibrating with adrenaline. But as long as Hector Vargas held that semiautomatic on Lani, all he could do was wait.

  Fifteen minutes of high speed across the bay took them to a familiar landing—the crumbling dock at Lani’s farmhouse. Vargas couldn’t tie up there. He’d have to change his plans, whatever the hell they were.

  But the harbormaster took the wheel, pulled back on the throttle and beached the launch, as he’d done on the Mobcap. He forced Lani to jump out, then followed, keeping the pistol trained on her and one eye on Jake.

  Jake’s pulse jolted, his heart knocking against his sternum, as he shed his life vest and tossed it next to Lani’s. When Vargas ordered him to jump out and tie the boat to a low-hanging tree, he had no choice but to comply.

  “Be sure you tie up proper, now, gringo Fed,” he ordered with a nasty cackle. “We wouldn’t want the town launch to drift away.”

  The beach, accessible only at low tide, lay several feet down from the dock and grassy shore level. Lani climbed the steep bank first, followed by their captor and Jake.

  When Vargas slipped on a loose stone, Jake grabbed his gun arm, but the other man was stronger than he looked. He backhanded Jake with the gun. The blow to his jaw sent him to his knees. Through the agony shooting sparks inside his skull, he heard Lani cry out his name.

  When he shook away the fog, he looked up to see Vargas and Lani on the grass above him. The Mexican aimed the pistol at Jake and his free hand gripped her upper arm. Painfully, if her pinched expression was any indication. Fear shadowed her eyes, but he saw defiance in the set of her jaw. Good for you, Lani. Hang on.

  “Don’t try anything again,” Vargas said.

  Still reeling from the receding pain, Jake worked his jaw. Skin broken. Nothing else. He’d live. The metallic taste of blood where he’d bit his cheek would focus him. Remind him to cool his temper so he didn’t tip his hand. Or show emotion. This bastard would make Lani pay and Jake wouldn’t allow that.

  Vargas forced Jake to walk ahead of him and Lani through the white pines. A muscle in Jake’s back twitched as if he could feel the pistol jabbed between his shoulder blades.

  The green scent of fresh-cut grass filled his nostrils. Lani’d told him a lawn service was coming to mow the lawn and the field. If someone
was there, they had a chance. He didn’t want to endanger anyone but even the sight of a truck might put Vargas at a disadvantage. He’d have to back off with a witness present.

  But when they reached the grassy path through the field, he saw only the finished mowing, no one on a tractor. Now what?

  And at the farmhouse, what he saw in the driveway stopped him in his tracks. He whirled on his captor. “What the hell? How did my Cherokee get here?”

  Vargas didn’t answer, only raised the gun higher. “Keep moving.”

  Lani’s eyes were owl wide. He could almost smell the fear emanating from her. Her eyes seemed to plead with him not to rile their captor. He tried to reassure her silently but he had no plan other than to watch for an opening.

  Hector Vargas ordered him to open the kitchen door. Jake immediately saw why they needed no key. Broken window. He had a pretty good idea who they’d find inside. The man with the money. The man with the most to lose.

  Vargas shoved Lani at Jake. “Get over there by the sink.”

  He caught her in his arms and felt her shaking. But her mutinous expression said the tremors stemmed as much from fury as from fear.

  On the kitchen table lay his spare Jeep key, the one he kept in a magnet box under the back bumper. One small mystery solved. The bigger answers were to come. If only they could survive them.

  Lani. He couldn’t lose her, not when she’d helped him find himself, the self he’d lost for twelve years. A spasm gripped his throat and he swallowed it, determined to stay focused.

  “What is going on?” Lani demanded. “Who’s behind this?”

  “I’m amazed you haven’t figured it out by now, my dear.”

  J.T. Meagher stepped into the room. Cool and calm in creased khakis and a pink button-down. Not a pewter hair out of place. “Apparently you haven’t remembered either.”

  Jake squeezed her hand. We were right. Only they’d had no evidence, only hunches. Until now. When it might be too late. Vargas hadn’t shot them already because Meagher planned something here. That’s why he’d driven the Cherokee to the farmhouse.

  “Maybe not yet,” she declared. “But I will.”

  Meagher ignored her bravado. He pocketed the key and magnet box. Slipped on thin deerskin gloves and took the pistol from his man.

  “Wescott knows who I am,” Vargas said. “The ATF’s been looking for me. This has to end today.”

  “I’ll handle these two. You delayed and bungled enough,” Meagher said.

  Dissention. Jake might be able to work that.

  Vargas turned his back on his accomplice and disappeared down the hall. His tread thumped on the stairs, then a metallic thunk sounded above.

  A carving knife sat in the dish drainer to his left. Jake began to edge that way.

  Lani stepped forward, her hands fisted her sides. She glared at Meagher with toxic contempt. “Is your cover-up worth murder? All this to protect your baby son and get him the House seat you couldn’t win?” Her voice was as dry as ashes.

  Meagher moved nearer. He bent close enough to them both that Jake could see the red web of capillaries in his cheeks.

  J.T. gaped at Lani in amazement. “Kevin?” He barked a laugh. “So you really don’t remember that night. No matter. You would eventually. And your poking around has raised too many questions. I have too much at stake. But my son? Not that milquetoast. He wouldn’t have the guts to kill your bitch of a sister.”

  The pieces fell into place. “It was you,” Jake said. Gail’s lover had been older after all. Much older. Meagher had lied to Galt. All those late nights at campaign headquarters must’ve led to an affair. One that got out of hand. “You killed Gail.”

  Meagher didn’t deny the accusation. Merely held the gun steady on them, his expression cold as the Arctic Sea.

  “But why?” Lani’s voice broke on a sob. Jake’s gut twisted at the strain he heard in her voice and the ivory pallor beneath her tan. “My sister was...troubled that summer.” She flicked an apologetic glance toward Jake. “There were...several guys. She never told. Even I didn’t know back then.”

  Jake nudged her, hoping she understood his signal. Move away. The farther they were apart, the harder to shoot them both. He edged another step toward the knife. She seemed to catch on and sidled right, away from him and toward the hallway.

  Meagher’s gun hand trembled, and he added the other in a two-hand grip. “Other men, yeah. She didn’t tell me but I found out anyway. That night, I left the campaign party. Had my Bayliner at the resort dock so I could come and go unseen. When I told her I wanted to end it between us, she had a hissy fit. Claimed to be pregnant. Threatened to tell my wife.”

  “So you killed her and set fire to the barn,” Jake said quietly. And all this time J.T. thought Lani saw him.

  “An accident.” Meagher seemed to look inward, although he kept the gun high. “I only meant to scare her. She made me lose my temper. I hit her with a board. She was unconscious but she’d tell when she came to. She gave me no choice.”

  The egotistical gall of the man. Making it Gail’s fault. Hatred prowled inside Jake, fury that Meagher had cheated on his ill wife with Gail, then killed Gail and was killing again to keep his secret. His murderous recklessness had ruined lives, tainted others.

  “The gasoline was right there, handy,” Jake said. “Lining the pockets of Frank Tyson took care of the rest.”

  The other man shrugged in concession. “Until now. Our harbormaster is a man of many talents. He’s been quite useful in tying up loose ends. In both our mutual projects. Except he wasn’t content with arson, had to use his new toy.”

  The C-4. Pascal/Vargas must’ve been the one who torched Tyson’s house and tried to kill Lani. Jake’s vision went red around the edges. He couldn’t let these monsters get away scot free.

  “Scratching each other’s back. He helps you cover up your old crime and you provide a hiding place for his contraband. Let me guess, one of your old warehouses.”

  “I suspected you were here for more than recuperation and carpentry. Looks like I was right.” J.T.’s long, seamed face looked drawn and tired.

  Gasoline fumes stung Jake’s nostrils. Vargas entered the kitchen with a gasoline can in his hands. It sloshed—only partly full—as he set it down by the refrigerator.

  Where had he been spreading the accelerant?

  Lani stood closer to the hall than he did. She swung her gaze to him, panic flaring in her eyes. She smelled the gas. Knew what came next.

  Shooting them was only part of the plan. Or not part of the plan at all. Lani needed him. His throat was cotton-dry, but he swallowed and forced the tension from his body. He couldn’t function without calm.

  “It’s time. You got the matches?” Meagher said to Vargas.

  “This old place’ll fucking go up like dry timber.” Vargas tossed over a matchbook. He slid a small stun gun from his pocket and started toward Lani. “We have to get out fast.”

  “All my troubles will go away with a little murder-suicide,” Meagher said to Jake. “Folks will assume Lani snapped when she realized you were the one who killed her sister.” His smile was icy, but sweat beaded along his hair line. He waved the pistol. “Stand over there with her.”

  Jake didn’t budge. Neither did Lani. Would J.T. be able to kill in cold blood?

  The slam of a car door turned everyone’s head.

  Meagher dipped his head and the Mexican crossed to the mud-room door.

  Kevin Meagher burst in, anxiety furrowing his brow. “I know what’s going on. Dad, I know about you and Gail.” Voice shaking, he gestured toward Jake. “You can’t kill them. They’re my friends.” He started toward his father but Vargas blocked his way.

  J.T.’s face darkened to purple. “Get out of here, Kevin. How did you...what—” He sputtered, unable to formulate anything coherent.

  Kevin tried to skirt Vargas but the other man clamped an arm around his chest and jammed the stun gun against his neck. He struggled against the grip to
no avail. “Never mind how I know. Give yourself up, Dad. It’s over.”

  J.T. yelled back that he wasn’t going to prison. He erupted in a harangue about Kevin’s failings.

  The acrid scent of smoke stung Jake’s nose. Black fumes snaked in from the hall. The living room ceiling smoldered, which meant the fire had already started upstairs. A crash jolted him. He backed against the counter as a cloud of smoke and dust billowed from the living room, stinging his nose with smoke and a musty smell.

  He coughed and pulled his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth, as he looked for an opening. Lani remained pressed into the small nook between the cabinets and the refrigerator.

  With a great thump, like a wave crashing into a cavern, the living room exploded in flames. Flames crackled and roared and licked toward the kitchen. Glass panes burst their window frames. More oxygen for the fire triangle.

  Fifteen, maybe twenty feet for the fire to reach the kitchen.

  The can of gasoline. Open. If the fire reached its fumes, the place would explode. They had little time before all hell broke loose. They had to make their move.

  But Lani stood as rigid as a two-by-four, staring at the fire. Frozen, in a trance.

  He couldn’t help her, couldn’t save her unless he got that damn gun away from J.T.

  “You dumb Americanos can stay in this fucking inferno if you want.” Vargas coughed and shoved Kevin away. “I’m not getting burned up for nobody.” He went for the door.

  J.T. swung the gun toward Vargas. “Come back here!”

  Jake tackled J.T. with the momentum that had once propelled him to second base. They went down hard below the increasing smoke. J.T. was fit and strong. Jake kicked him in the balls, felt no pain in his thigh. When the older man doubled over, Jake went for the gun. J.T.’s grip held. They tangoed in and out of the noxious fumes. Breathing smoke sapped their strength. They gasped.

  The pistol coughed once.

  And again. Jake heard a cry of pain. If the bastard had shot Lani...