by Dana Marton
Not that she had the hots for Spencer. Absolutely not. She could just see what the attraction might be. Not on her part. From the point of view of other women, for example the staff who seemed to smile extra wide around him and develop a sudden compulsive hip-swaying disease when he was near. She’d seen enough of that while she’d been trailing the man today.
Sam and Carly were packing up to move off. Everybody had their list of tasks to accomplish.
“Good luck,” Gina said before she left them.
She took her time meandering along the path, stopping to wonder at each unusual plant, in case anyone was watching. She wouldn’t have put it past Spencer to have somehow gotten behind her. She kept an eye out for him but didn’t see or sense anyone at her back.
The utility building looked deserted. She stopped for a second and ran her fingers around the deep-purple flowers of a hibiscus bush while she observed the place. She didn’t march straight up to the door. Instead she decided to walk around the structure first.
No repairmen this time, nobody on the roof.
She kept low and sneaked up to the window she’d gone through the day before. A man sat by the desk with his back to her. Mark? Probably. She pulled back. No sense in letting him catch her reflection in the computer screen.
She tried the next window. A jumble of wires in there but no people. The next room held wall-to-wall metal cabinets; the last room, the biggest of them all, had giant pipes running through it.
Mark seemed to be the only person in the building. She should be able to evade him. She wanted to check the rooms, make sure there were no secret passages, no hidden doors, like to an underground suite where Tsernyakov was hanging out or to some hidden lab.
This was the type of information Brant Law and the commando team on standby was expecting once the women made contact. She thought of the helipad again. Maybe they could go on a hike later and look for it. How had the doctors found it? Moseying around in the forest? Or had they been brought in on a chopper?
She made her way around the building but didn’t find a single window open. No surprise there. The air conditioner was going full blast. She circled back to the front to try the door, prepared to use her lock-picking tool kit if she had to. She’d been taking lessons from Sam.
No need for tricks, though. She found the door open.
She pushed it in carefully, peeking into the hallway. Nobody there. She slipped inside. Six doors opened from the hallway—three to the left and three to the right. She already knew that four of those opened to the rooms she’d seen from the outside. What were the other two? One could have been a bathroom, the other a storage closet. Seemed reasonable enough. Now she just had to figure out what door opened to where. Without bursting in on Mark.
She pictured the building from the outside, guessing where the rooms she’d seen were located. Mark’s office would be somewhere to her right. She began her search on the left. The first room was the one with the pipes. Some kind of water-cleaning setup? There were gauges and bottles of chemicals, none of which she recognized by name. There were two small closets. She tapped the backs of both. No hidden passageways there. Gina walked to the door and listened before stepping out into the hallway.
The next door led to a small powder room, the one after that to the room with the metal cabinets. They were all locked, some swishing noise coming from behind them. Maybe it was all part of the water-cleaning system along with the other room. Once again she checked for noise from outside before she left the room.
She’d just stepped out into the hallway when a phone rang somewhere. She froze.
The ringing stopped.
“Dumb bastard,” came Mark’s voice from the other end of the hall.
She sneaked closer.
“He better not have come back without getting it done.”
She identified the room where he was talking and stopped in front of the door to listen.
“We need the connection. That storm blew through four days ago. Why are we still not fully operational?” He listened for a few seconds. “Well, dammit. If the idiot can’t comprehend how important it is, make him. He’d better get back up there and not come down until the job is done.” He slammed down the phone.
At the same time, Gina became aware that she was no longer alone in the hallway. She spun around, only to see Calvin Spencer standing in the entry door, watching her. She’d been too busy eavesdropping to hear the outside door open.
“Lost?” he asked with his patrician eyebrow pulled up, his voice dripping with irony. “Again?”
He was definitely the guy from the picture, easier to recognize up close and without all the dust on his face. He was way better-looking than the magazine photo. His green-blue eyes held her to the spot as he walked closer.
“I was out admiring the flowers and I saw this building. Thought there might be a bathroom in here.”
He tilted his head—masculine jawline, aristocratic nose, to-die-for lips—and clearly didn’t believe a word she said.
She smiled to cover up how flustered she felt, then smiled wider to cover up how annoyed she was for feeling flustered. She was an ex-cop and an ex-con. Where did he get off flustering her? She’d seen her share of handsome men in her time. She was into the rugged type, anyway.
The door opened behind her.
“Hey, Cal,” Mark said, then looked at her. “Can I help you?”
“Is there a bathroom in here, by any chance?” She smiled, brushing her short hair behind her ear.
Mark smiled back and pointed down the hall, and she scampered off that way. She stopped inside the door to listen.
“What’s up?” Mark was asking out in the hallway.
“Came by to see if I can help.”
Yeah, right. Is that what he’d been doing up in the ceiling the day before? Helping? He clearly worked for Tsernyakov. Was he stealing from the boss? Whatever he was doing, he was getting in her way at every turn. She had to get him to stop.
“The cleanup is done. Mario is bringing over some ceiling tiles later.”
“So what’s the damage?”
“Don’t ask. It’s been a hell of a day so far. Sergey just came back from the mountain.”
“Satellite is back to working?” Cal asked.
“Hell, no. Stupid idiot couldn’t do it.”
Gina flushed the toilet to justify her being in there, silently cursing the noise that blocked out the next bit of exchange.
“Want me to take care of it?” Cal was saying outside once the rush of water stopped.
She ran the tap for a few seconds, missing some more words. Then there was no further excuse for her to stay in there, so she came out.
“Thanks. Bye.” She moved past the two men, toward the door.
Cal reached for her hand and grabbed it. “Wait.”
She stilled, ready to fight if she had to. She leaned in enough so a leg hook from her would send the man sprawling. Did he have a weapon? Did Mark? She measured the distance to the door.
But Cal said, “Gina wants to look at the birds on the island. I’ll take her up, too.”
What was he talking about? She didn’t know the first thing about birds. Why did Cal Spencer want to take her up the mountain? To kill her?
Mark flashed a leering smile and clapped Cal on the back. “The tracks are washed out. There are trees across them.” He glanced at Gina.
This was her chance to back out. But if she went up the mountain, she was likely to see the helipad from up there, which would be a major piece of information. The helipad would be a strategic location to be neutralized as soon as the commando team reached the island. And a trip up the mountain with Spencer would give her time to feel the man out, decide whether or not he was a serious threat to the mission, do something about it if he was.
She shrugged. “I can handle a hike.” If Cal had any nefarious plans, she could handle those, too. It would be just the two of them. He could be eliminated and his death blamed on the rain forest.
Her muscles tensed at the thought. She could do it. She would do it if necessary. The mission was more important than any one person’s life, including her own.
“Like birds that much?” Mark was grinning like a jackass.
“My favorite hobby. Go bird-watching every chance I get.” Don’t ask anything about birds. Please. What kind of tropical birds were there, anyway? Parrots were the only ones that came to mind. Seagulls? They had seagulls wherever there was water, right?
But instead of picking up the subject, Mark laughed out loud, giving her a sly look.
What was so funny?
Didn’t matter. Going up the mountain with Cal would move the mission forward one way or the other. That was what counted. Another thought popped into her head that suggested she should go: from the top she might be able to get a closer look at those bunkers on the other side of the island. If Tsernyakov had something to hide, they looked like the perfect place.
Cal’s hold on her loosened, but he didn’t let go. “May as well leave now.” The same kind of smile played on his lips as on Mark’s. “Just as soon get up there before nightfall.”
Up before nightfall? Her eyes went wide. How about down?
Did this mean they were going to spend the night on the mountain, the two of them, alone?
Chapter Three
Not only did she not know anything about birds, she didn’t know the first thing about hiking, despite what she had told Mark. She’d been a city cop, born and raised in Philadelphia, a city girl through and through. Gina trudged behind Cal, uphill on slippery mud. Under the thick canopy, the soil hadn’t yet had a chance to dry out since the last storm. They’d had to leave their four-wheelers behind halfway up the mountain.
“Watch your step,” he said without turning around.
She didn’t respond but kept her attention on her surroundings. Without him, she would have been lost already. She did great with city mazes, back alleys, irregular streets and winding boulevards. She knew the marks to pay attention to, could orient herself by smell alone. Chinatown had a distinct scent, as did the old industrial district and its factories that had been converted into high-priced condos, the Italian market, the park system that started behind the Art Museum, the projects.
The jungle left her feeling lost and bewildered. It seemed at the same time unknown and unknowable. The impulse to get away from here, back to something familiar, was pretty strong. The scents and noises were all different, visibility no more than twenty feet in certain spots, less when they were in an area where there was a gap in the tree canopy above and the deep-reaching sunlight nurtured a jumble of bushes and other undergrowth. She felt surrounded.
Even in the more open areas the landscape was creepy, death and destruction all around. Danger, too. The soil was still too loose; a gust of wind from the ocean could bring down more trees without notice. Then there was the danger of the man with her.
She wished she had some sort of weapon besides the steak knife she had appropriated from the kitchen. He had a nasty-looking machete hanging from his belt and a 9mm Makarov tucked into the back of his khaki pants. In plain view. Was that a warning meant for her?
She considered what it would take to get the gun away from him, and since for a moment she was focusing on the gun instead of her feet, she slipped. His hand shot out and caught her, held her steady while she found her footing.
“You dropped your torch.” He bent and picked her flashlight out of the mud, then handed it to her.
“Thanks. Is that what you call it?”
He flashed a small grin that was laced with some superiority. “Proper English name.”
She didn’t comment. Bigger things stood between them than the language difference. “Isn’t there another way up?” The mountainside was fairly steep, patches of impenetrable jungle side by side with sparser areas. There were ravines that looked dangerous and rocky slopes that seemed primed for a rock slide. They were following some sort of path that had been well used, enough so even the heavy rains couldn’t wash all signs of it away.
“A few, but this is the most straightforward one. There’s a path to the east that’s wide enough for a truck. No good now. You can only drive it if the weather has been dry for a couple of days.”
Something shrieked in the distance, the sound bringing goose bumps to her skin. “Are we safe here?”
And why hadn’t she thought of that before she’d jumped into this little outing? She could have banged her head into the nearest tree, except that she didn’t want to get that close to nature. “Anything dangerous in these woods that I should know about?”
They got to a narrow, level spot and he stopped to look at her. “Me.” It was said with a smile, but his voice had plenty of steel in it.
A clear warning. She watched him. He wasn’t a small man, his body kept in pretty good shape. And he was up to no good, of that she was sure. His eyes were sharp and always alert. She didn’t think he missed much. He was impressive but not scary, the image of him tempered by his gentlemanly behavior and the British accent that she found annoyingly sexy. She squelched that thought, refusing to think about him in those terms.
She squared her shoulders and put on her tough-cop face. “So what? In addition to stealing from the boss, you also go around beating up the guests?”
She hoped to upset his equilibrium, get him to defend himself and slip. She needed to figure out what he was doing on the island and she didn’t have much time. Her main priority was finding Tsernyakov and the weapon.
One eyebrow slid up his forehead. “Stealing? Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”
“I don’t steal,” she said with emphasis.
“Right. You sneak around and break into places to get interior design ideas.” His upper lip twitched. He looked all cool and calm, as if enjoying himself. Hardly the picture of a man who was about to lose control and babble out information.
She didn’t like him. He was too smooth by half. He thought he was humorous, did he? “What were you doing in the ceiling?” she asked in her interrogation-room voice.
He paused a beat and grew serious. “There are bigger things afoot here than you need to be involved in. Take my advice—stick to the beach and the tiki bar, have a good mini vacation, then leave.”
She hated it when people patronized her. “We’ll leave when we’re done here.” She pulled herself even straighter.
Tension crackled between them. Seconds ticked by, one after another.
He held her gaze. “One last warning. Whatever else you do, stay out of my way.”
He turned before she could respond and marched forward. On their way up, he’d skirted her questions about why he’d brought her. Now it was becoming clear. To read her the riot act. If he thought—
Something dropped onto her shoulder, and she yelped when she glanced at the three-inch brown spider that was orienting itself on her shirt.
He was by her side again in a second. “Don’t move.” He lifted the beast by a hind leg and tossed it into the bushes.
She did the shiver dance—hating to give such a girlie display in the middle of their power struggle but unable to help it, brushing the spot where the spider had been. Huge spider.
“Was that poisonous?” She rubbed her arms and shivered again. God, she hated bugs.
He shrugged. “Supposedly there are no poisonous spiders on the island. Same goes for snakes. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”
Exactly. Was it too late to turn around? “So what should I be looking out for? Wild boars? Mountain cats?”
“None of that. French Polynesia in general is not known for biodiversity. And this island is worse than most. Crabs, geckos, bugs, a handful of birds. That sums it up.”
Now that he mentioned it, she realized that they had not, in fact, seen a single animal in the two hours since they’d started walking. Oh. That’s why Mark had laughed at her wanting to go up the mountain for the birds. He’d probably thought—Heat flushed her face. Mark had
probably thought she’d wanted to tag along so she could fool around with Cal, who was practically a stranger. And she’d said it was her favorite hobby. She winced. Great. Here for a day and building a reputation already.
Although if she ever did want to fool around with a stranger, someone like Cal would have been just fine—as long as he wasn’t a criminal like this one. Walking behind him for the past two hours had given her ample time to come to appreciate his sleek but powerful figure.
“So how long have you worked for Towers?” she asked to distract herself.
“Not long.”
“You manage one of his businesses?”
“I help him here and there.”
“Is he on the island? I haven’t seen him yet.”
He shrugged.
“We’re supposed to have a meeting with him.”
“Then he’ll probably show at some point,” was the only response he gave.
“What is he like?”
“Good at what he does.”
“How old is he?”
He stopped to look back at her. “Spying for the competition?”
There was that half smile of his again, but her blood ran cold from the question anyway. She still wasn’t sure he hadn’t brought her along to take her out. “Don’t be an idiot,” she scoffed.
He turned back to resume the walk. Neither of them said anything for a while.
“How come you didn’t tell anyone?” She didn’t have to specify that she was talking about their incident in the ceiling. He would know.
“Who says I didn’t?” he threw over his shoulder.
She stared at his back. “Did you?”
He ignored her for a while, then said, “No.”
“Why?”
“Because I figured I could deal with you as effectively as my cousin’s security.”
“Towers is your cousin?” This was news she could take back to the team—that was good. She’d been busted by none other than Tsernyakov’s cousin—that was bad. “So how do you plan on handling me?” she couldn’t resist asking.
“I’ll decide when I figure out who you are and what you want.”
Was that a threat? Well, she wasn’t scared. While he figured out how to handle her, she would figure out how to handle him. He was a threat to the mission. If she were a real spy, she would find a way to take him out here and now, just to be on the safe side. But killing a man that way went against what was inside her, regardless of what she had done in the past. She wouldn’t do anything as drastic as that unless she had no other choice.
