“You’re wrong.” She ripped the sleeve from her jacket. “Stuff would be lost. Or scrambled.”
“Now you’re talking about my specialty.” He tied a length of her hibiscus dress to her panties. “I’m an expert at retrieving lost files and unscrambling messed-up ones. I could straighten us out in no time.”
“Maybe so, if you weren’t in the middle of some exciting new software project, which is what you would be the minute we get back. You’ll be behind and have to work overtime to catch up.” She removed the other sleeve and started ripping the jacket’s side seams.
“You have it all figured out, don’t you?”
“I believe I do.” She finished taking the jacket apart and got to her feet. “That’s the end of the clothes. Are we going to use the beach towel, and should I start cutting it down the middle?”
He stopped tying and studied her. “Is that a trick question?”
It was. Once she destroyed the beach towel, they’d have nothing to lie on and would have a tough time using that last condom. He wanted a relationship after they got home. She didn’t. She thought he should be the one to decide if he wanted to have sex with her again or start keeping his distance.
“Don’t cut up the towel,” he said.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” He smiled at her. “I want one last chance to change your mind.”
“You won’t, Jack.”
“Since you’ve made such a point of me being a genius, and I do score that way on certain tests, let me remind you of the single-mindedness part of that profile. Once I decide a problem is worth solving, I don’t give up until I solve it, no matter how long it takes.”
Now, that kind of statement made little squiggles of anticipation run through her. For a moment she allowed herself to imagine being pursued by Jack and letting him catch her. But once he did, once the challenge was gone, he’d be back in front of his computer screen, sure as hound dogs have fleas.
But she folded up the beach towel and put it in the suitcase, anyway. She wouldn’t mind having sex with Jack once more, because that would probably be the last time she’d have one hundred percent of his attention.
Because of Jack’s tender feet, Genevieve did most of the work creating the X. Then she weighed it down with rocks. Every once in a while she scanned the sky, hoping to see an albatross, but the birds overhead were smaller, mostly terns.
Finally they’d done the best they could with what they’d had to work with. After they shared one of their store of guavas and sipped a little water, Genevieve led the way to the trail she’d found, the one that ended up at another white sandy beach.
The trail was rocky, and she kept looking back to make sure Jack was behind her. “I feel like I should try to carry you,” she said. “Or at least carry the suitcase. This must be murder on your feet.”
He flashed her a toothy grin. “I’m keeping the suitcase. It has the important supplies in it. Besides, I’m not thinking about the pain. I’m thinking about what I have waiting for me at the bottom.”
She pretended not to know what he meant. “Another soothing saltwater bath for your feet?”
“That, too.”
She could hardly wait, either, but she couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “You know, maybe we shouldn’t, after all. Now that we’ve made a signal up above, we wouldn’t want someone to fly in to rescue us right when we’re—”
“I’m willing to take that chance. But maybe you aren’t.”
She laughed. “I’m willing to take that chance. After all, we only have one condom left.” She touched soft sand with her feet. “You’re almost there, Jack. Only a little more.”
“I’m counting the steps.”
She turned back to watch him hobble the last couple of yards. “Good job.”
He glanced up. “It’s all in the reward. I—” Then his eyes widened. “Gen! Look—”
Before he could finish, before she could turn to see what had startled him so, an arm came around her neck and something hard pressed against the side of her head.
Chapter Eighteen
Jack wanted to throw up. This couldn’t be happening, not twice in two days. They’d survived this madman yesterday, and damned well, too. He was supposed to be gone forever, off to spend the millions he’d embezzled.
Flushed with fear, Gen stood trembling in Brogan’s grip, her eyes huge behind the lenses of Jack’s glasses. She still couldn’t see who had her.
“And I so hoped you were dead, Brogan,” Jack said, to clue her in.
“Nick?” Gen sounded terrified, and Jack didn’t blame her one damned bit. This was the stuff nightmares were made of.
“I had hoped the same thing about you two,” Brogan said. “But here you are, anyway, so I’ll have to kill you again, apparently.”
“Nick, why are you here?” Gen’s eyes were wide, as if she was in shock.
“There’s always a snake in paradise,” Jack said. He hated hearing Brogan’s first name coming out of Gen’s mouth, hated thinking about the plans she’d had for the slimeball. Once his nausea passed, rage moved in. Even without his glasses, he was sure he’d be able to find the exact spot on Brogan’s throat where his thumbs needed to go. Choking him to death would be easy, and oh so satisfying.
“I’m not any happier to see you two than you are to see me,” Brogan said. “I was hoping you were a couple of bird-watchers, somebody who would have a boat. Somebody with food and water.”
Jack thought of the small amount of water and the five guavas in the suitcase. There was no reason for Brogan to think they had anything to eat or drink, and Jack planned to keep it that way as long as possible. “Sounds like somebody ruined your little party.”
“Stupid assholes are probably circling one of the other islands and wondering why I’m not there. They have the brains of termites.”
“It’s so hard to get good help these days.” Although Jack’s dearest wish was to rush the guy and grab the gun, he couldn’t guarantee Gen wouldn’t get shot in the process. He remembered what it felt like to have a gun barrel shoved against his temple. He didn’t want to make any moves that would scare her even more.
Brogan nodded toward the suitcase. “I see you still have that dorky suitcase. How in hell did you make it out alive, let alone save that ridiculous suitcase? You couldn’t possibly have landed the plane.”
“Ha! Jack did land the plane.” Gen’s fire seemed to be returning. “And then he saved my suitcase. And don’t you dare insult my luggage, you murdering, lying—”
“Oh, you can’t call me a murderer yet, Genevieve.” Brogan tightened his arm around her neck. “You’re both still alive. But I’ll be taking care of that detail shortly. I just need a little more time.”
“Time isn’t going to help,” Jack said. “Your whole program has been shit-canned, and you know it. You can’t leave behind a couple of dead bodies with bullets in them that could be traced to you.”
“I always knew you were a genius, but I’m no slouch myself. I figured that one out, which is why you’re both still breathing the cool salty air.”
“You’re looking a little ragged around the edges, Brogan.” Jack’s vision might be blurry, but he could see that the guy’s presentation had taken a hit. His Italian shoes were gone, probably kicked off during his swim to shore. He must have deep-sixed his jacket for the same reason, because it wasn’t in evidence, either. His imported silk shirt and slacks were ripped and stained.
Brogan stiffened. “Nothing that a few days in Fiji won’t cure.”
Jack detected a little bit of belligerence, a crack in Brogan’s layer of suave confidence. Gen might be right about this grooming thing affecting how people thought of you, because Jack had trouble believing that Brogan, looking the way he did, would end up on a beach in Fiji sipping an umbrella drink.
Without the advantage of Gen’s sunscreen, the guy’s face was all blotchy except for a few bristly patches of hair. Apparently Brogan couldn’t grow much
of a beard. The previously GQ-worthy babe magnet resembled something the cat had dragged in. By comparison, Jack felt like a stud.
While this pleased him no end, he decided not to make any more remarks about Brogan’s appearance. The maniac’s vanity might override his logic and Jack would end up with a bullet in his brain because he was sporting a better look.
“Tell you what,” Brogan said. “Let’s move this little party down to the beach, so I’ll be able to see if and when those two morons show up. Farley, you first. If you try anything, Genevieve becomes one dead secretary. Disposing of the body is a problem, but not a huge problem, so don’t test me.”
“Hey, I’m a computer geek, not a hero.” Jack stepped onto the sand and gave Gen a reassuring glance as he moved past her.
“I’ve been counting on that,” Brogan said. “Which is why I can’t figure out how you landed the—hold on. You’ve flown simulations, haven’t you, you son of a bitch!”
“He was wonderful,” Gen said. “He kept his head and saved our lives.”
“Temporarily,” Brogan said.
“I was lucky that I didn’t kill us both in that plane.” As much as Jack enjoyed having Gen sing his praises, he didn’t want Brogan to think of him as a threat. The chances of catching Brogan off guard were better that way.
“It was more than luck,” Gen said. “I don’t know many folks who could have done what Jack did. He was cool as a lemonade jug floating in the crick.”
“I was a basket case,” Jack said. “It’s a miracle I held onto the controls.”
“So it’s Jack now, is it?” Brogan said, a sneer in his voice.
“All my friends call me that.”
“Not that I ever heard. How interesting. And, Genevieve, you’re sounding like a little hillbilly! I always wondered if you were what you pretended to be. Seems a little of the polish has worn off.”
“I’d rather be a hillbilly than a slimy excuse for a—”
“Now, now.” Brogan tightened his grip on her neck. “Better watch yourself, little girl. I’m sure Jack doesn’t want you dead any sooner than necessary. I have the feeling you two have become much better acquainted since I last saw you.”
Now there was a subject Jack really didn’t want to get into. “Are you kidding, Brogan? Do you think a good-looking chick like Gen would have anything to do with a nerd like me?”
“Good point. I suppose she’s grateful that you saved her life, but not that grateful. Right, Genevieve, sweetheart?”
“A man like Jack is a darn sight preferable to a toad-sucker like you.”
“Well, damn.” Brogan’s laugh had a crazy edge to it. “I guess this means the offer of a blow job has been rescinded.”
Gen made a noise low in her throat.
Jack was afraid she might let her temper get the better of her, so he decided to change the subject. “What kind of boat do your pickup guys have?”
“Why, you gonna help me keep a lookout? How Christian of you.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re stranded on this island, too,” Jack said. “Getting picked up by a couple of stupid bad guys is better than not getting picked up at all.”
“Or so you think. Okay, what the hell. They have an old beat-up trawler, dirty white with green trim. I thought a fishing boat would be less conspicuous, and they looked like they could use the money.”
“And they had the conscience of a cockroach, just like you,” Gen said.
“Well, I guess the romance is definitely over between us,” Brogan said. “Okay, we’re close enough to the waterline now. Genevieve and I will sit on this lava rock and make ourselves comfy.”
Jack tried to think of some way he could get Brogan to point the gun away from Gen. He came up blank.
“Farley, you stay right there and open the suitcase so I can find out if there’s anything useful in there.”
“There’s not a blessed thing in there that you’d want,” Gen said.
“There must be something of value, Daisy Mae, or you wouldn’t have asked Lil Abner to haul it all the way from the other side of the island.”
“Maybe we happen to like this suitcase,” Jack said.
“Well, that figures with a couple of losers like you. And I have to tell you, Farley, that wearing it like an oversized purse does nothing for the castaway look you have going.”
Oh, what a great opening for a slam. Jack had to really control himself. He wished Gen could get a gander at her former dreamboat, but Brogan kept a tight arm around her neck and the gun right up against her temple.
“Dump the stuff on the sand, Farley.”
Jack lifted the cord over his head, held the suitcase against one hip, and snapped it open, all the while trying to think what he might do with the contents to get the edge on Brogan. He could throw a guava at the guy, but that would just make a mess and might get Gen shot. The curling iron was a better weapon. Gen had insisted on packing it, even with the cord cut off. To leave it, according to her, would have been littering.
If Jack was thinking of throwing something, he had to factor in his aim, which would be lousy considering Gen was wearing his glasses. He’d have to get close enough to jab Brogan in the eye, but that wasn’t likely, and there was still the problem of Brogan firing the gun.
Every possible move Jack could make carried that danger. He could toss the beach towel over Brogan’s head, but Brogan could still shoot Gen.
“Dump the damned suitcase, Farley!”
“There’s a small bottle of water,” Jack said. “It could get br—”
“Water? Shit, leave the rest of it right there and bring the water. And don’t try anything, or I’ll shoot your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my—”
“Bring me the fucking water!”
Jack pulled out the shampoo bottle with water in it and dropped the suitcase to the sand. Then he started toward Gen and Brogan.
“Hold it.”
Jack stopped walking.
“This is damned inconvenient,” Brogan said. “If I let go of Little Miss Muffet to drink the water, one of you is liable to get some stupid idea of escaping. But I have to have that water.” He sighed. “Leave it right there and go take that ridiculous cord off the suitcase.”
Jack put the water down and started back to the suitcase.
“And make it snappy, or I’ll just shoot Genevieve and reduce my problems by half.”
Jack ripped the cord out, making the holes in the suitcase even bigger. He hated to, but he completely believed that Brogan would shoot that gun without hesitation. According to what Jack had read on the subject, sociopaths didn’t much care what happened to the people who got in their way. With the cord in his hand, he turned back to Gen and Brogan. “Now what?”
“You’re going to walk over here nice and easy, and hand the cord to our Playmate of the Month. Then you’re going to lie down with your back to her while she ties you up. If you make even one suspicious move, she’s history.”
Jack did as he was told. He tried to communicate some hope to Gen as he handed her the cord, but at this point he couldn’t figure out how to get around the damned gun. Moving slowly, he lay down in the warm, gritty sand, his back to them.
Brogan directed the operation, instructing Gen to tie Jack’s hands behind his back and then loop the cord around his right ankle, so he was trussed up like a calf in a rodeo. She did a good job, because Brogan had threatened to shoot her if she didn’t. He felt the quiver of her hands each time she touched him. He wished this was a game they were playing, like last time. But this was no game. So much for catching Brogan off guard.
“Okay, now, sweet peach,” Brogan said when she was done. “I want you to go get the water and bring it to me. I’ll have the gun pointed at the back of your hero’s head the whole time, so keep that in mind.”
His cheek resting on the sand, the barrel of the gun pressing against the base of his brain, Jack had a fuzzy view of Gen’s legs as she walked to the water bottle, picked it up
, and came back.
“Take the top off,” Brogan told her.
Jack was getting very thirsty himself, so when he heard Brogan gulping the water, he groaned softly.
“Don’t drink it all!” Gen said. “Then we—you disgusting nightcrawler! You drank every blessed drop!”
“Kiss my ass,” Brogan said. “Now go get the suitcase and dump it over here so I can see what else is in there.”
Once again Jack watched as Gen walked across the sand, hefted the suitcase, and walked back. When she dumped it, a guava rolled past his nose and lay three inches from his mouth.
“Guavas, huh?” Brogan said. “How thoughtful. Let’s see, in order to eat one, I’ll need to have both of you tied up.” He paused. “Genevieve, be a good little secretary and take off Farley’s belt.”
Gen walked around in front of Jack and knelt down on the sand. “You okay?” she murmured as she fumbled with his belt.
He thought of the last time she’d unbuckled that belt. “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah. I—”
“Shut the hell up!” Brogan said. “And, by the way, how come there aren’t any clothes in this suitcase?”
“We used them to make an X on top of the lava plateau,” Gen said.
“Goddammit! You people are way too much trouble. Now I have to worry about going up there and taking that apart. All I need is for some Coast Guard helicopter to spot that.” Brogan sounded frazzled.
A frazzled bad guy could be a good thing or a bad thing, in Jack’s estimation. He might get careless, but he might get an itchy trigger finger. It could go either way.
Gen pulled his belt free of the loops. She didn’t seem quite as shaky, so he was hoping maybe she wasn’t so scared. Well, the gun was pressed against his head now, not hers. He’d rather have it that way, although if Brogan killed him, there would be no one to watch out for Gen.
She stood, her toes not far from his face. Such nice toes. Everything about Gen was nice. The idea that something bad could happen to her made him sick to his stomach all over again.
Nerd in Shining Armor (The Nerd Series Book 1) Page 24
