Dead Reckoning

by Moore, Sandra K.

  She eased down the short passageway, paused at the single arched doorway. The door was half-open. Calm, her mind ordered, growing cool as steel. Focus on Natalie. Go through every room until you find her, get her ass onto Obsession, then have the lines untied and the engines running by the time Jacquie gets back to the yacht.

  Tears squeezed from her eyes and she irritably brushed them away. No time to be weak. And screw you, Granddad, she cursed before his voice could inhabit her mind, tell her she lacked nerve.

  That’s right, old man. I’m a mechanic and a captain and whether I get through this alive or not, I’m going to at least try. Chris adjusted her blazer and dropped the canvas bag from her shoulder, holding it by the straps, ready to swing. She could do this. If anyone asked, she was trying to find Miss Jacqueline Cummins.

  She nudged the door fully open. Opulent was the wrong word for what she found inside, but it was the right idea. Opulent in an island kind of way. Fresh and clean, lots of light pastels and dusky highlights, white floors and walls with a Mediterranean feel. Empty. She searched quickly but found no other exits or stairs to the upper terrace. She slipped out, drawing the door back to half-open.

  A guttural roar exploded in the lagoon as a Cigarette boat broke past the buoys. The fast boat threw a high wake as it slithered sideways in a quick turn and powered toward the pier. The motors screamed when the pilot threw them into reverse to stop the boat at the dock’s end. Six men dressed in black leaped from the cockpit onto the pier, drew their guns as they ran toward the resort.

  One of the men was tall, black-haired, with strong arms she knew very, very well.

  Chris shrank back against the stone wall. So McLellan had arrived with reinforcements. Did this mean he’d contacted his superiors at the DEA after all?

  Pistols cracked above her head, backing her up to the relative cover of the stone staircase. Shooters on the upper terrace. Shooters where she’d hoped to find Natalie. A man on the dock stumbled—not Connor—and went down, stayed there. Her hands trembled even though she held tightly to the canvas bag with both. Deep breath.

  None of the men on the various moored yachts had moved. Not their battle.

  Shouts and shots echoed through the breezeways. The rhythmic clatter of a submachine gun, stone chipping and falling. Running feet. Chris leaned her cheek against the cool stone.

  Oh God, I can’t do this.

  Then the high-pitched scream of a terrified young woman, directly overhead.

  Natalie.

  Chris ran down the steps to the foyer, then back up the second stairwell she’d noticed earlier. Those stairs led to an interior garden filled with lush vegetation, a marble fountain, and decorative bench seats. Chris quickly scanned the area and found what she was looking for: steps to the highest terrace. The stairs, cut into the stone, ran along the cliff wall that backed the resort.

  She sprinted up the first few steps, then got hold of herself. Brains, not brawn. She stopped. Deep breaths. She unbuttoned her tunic, drew the Ruger. It felt heavy, solid, in her grip. A gun in one hand, a helluva a swinging weapon in the other. Steady, no rushing. Her pounding heart had her breathing hard. I can do this. She flicked off the Ruger’s safety. For Natalie, I can do this. Three steps from the top. The underside of a wrought iron table emerged. Two steps. Dense foliage blocked everything to the right, but to the left, the table was joined by a handful of chairs. A doorway began to take shape directly ahead.

  Should she call out? Would Natalie hear her? Or would Chris just be giving herself away?

  Last step. She was on the upper terrace. Beyond the table and chairs, a hot tub squatted in the midst of a teak deck. Half-full drinks still waited; wet footprints led into a distant doorway. The door ahead of her was open, revealing a short hall and blue sky. A walk-through to the balcony.

  Below, footsteps pounded stone, then dirt, as men scrambled. She had to find Natalie, fast.

  “Chris!” a voice hissed.

  Chris’s head snapped around. Natalie, her dark hair falling in lush waves over her shoulders, pelted toward her from a doorway hidden by the bushes at the stairway’s head.

  “Oh, God, Chris, I’m so glad you came!” Natalie cried softly, throwing her arms around her sister. “I’ve been so scared.”

  “I know. We have to get out,” Chris said, backing away so Natalie would let her go. “There’s a bunch of men here—”

  “They killed one of Jerome’s guards!” Natalie said, tears streaming down her lovely face. “The guard on the roof fell all the way to the—” She stared at the gun Chris held. “God, Chris, you have a gun!”

  “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out.” Chris glanced over her sister—light cotton dress, flat sandals—and holstered the Ruger, tugged the blazer over it. “We’ll have to run for it.”

  “I’m not sure I—”

  “Natalie!” Chris snapped, trying to keep her voice low. “Don’t get difficult on me now. I need you to cooperate.”

  “I’m not trying to be difficult, I just—”

  “She’s not going anywhere.”

  Chris turned and faced the man who, from Natalie’s descriptions, could only be Jerome Scintella. Handsome in a fleshy way, broad-shouldered, with sensual lips that curved into a smile that was borderline cruel. His Polo shirt was stretched taut over a bulky chest; his slacks suggested powerful thighs.

  He was unarmed.

  That huge, that mean-looking, he didn’t have to be.

  “Mr. Scintella, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Chris said. Play for time, wait for Jacquie. Use the Ruger as a last resort.

  “I wish I shared your sentiment,” he replied.

  His voice sounded like gravel. Too much shouting, she thought. Too many late nights partying hard and ordering executions.

  “Natalie’s coming with me,” Chris said.

  “If you can afford her.”

  “Natalie, move back.”

  Chris felt her sister step away as the familiar preternatural calm descended. She knew suddenly what a mother felt protecting her child, knew she’d allow and submit to horrific things if only her loved one stayed safe, unharmed. But horrific things hadn’t happened yet. Not yet.

  “I still want my thirty million dollars,” Scintella went on. “And since Falks told me you have it, I have to assume it’s somewhere on that pretty boat you’ve been working so diligently to repair.”

  “That’s what Falks was looking for the night he broke in, wasn’t it?” Chris said.

  Scintella shrugged his massive shoulders and took a step toward the stairway. “I hear he plays a little rough with his targets. Other than that, I don’t really know what Falks gets up to in his spare time.”

  Chris tucked her left hand into her blazer. “Nothing now. He’s dead. Step away from there.”

  Scintella smiled, toothy and grim. “Natalie’s told me about you. Tough nut to crack.” He didn’t move, widened his stance slightly, like a gunslinger. “You bitches stick together like glue.”

  “Sisters do that.” Stall, she thought. Give Jacquie a chance to work her way here. “You don’t seem upset about ole Eugene.”

  “Replaceable.” The casual twitch of his lips sent a shudder down Chris’s spine. “Not like that nice yacht of yours. It’d be a shame to see it torn all to bits, wouldn’t it?” He took another step, close to cutting off the stairway.

  Chris pulled the Ruger from her blazer and held it steady. “I said back off.”

  “You didn’t tell me she carried a gun, sweet cheeks,” he called to Natalie. “I shouldn’t have listened to you. This island’s been a fucking disaster since you talked me into coming here.”

  “It’s not my fault things went bad!” Natalie’s hand touched Chris’s back. Making contact. Staying grounded.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Chris retorted. “The DEA’s here to arrest you.”

  “My men will take care of that. The agents will be dead soon.”

  Connor.

  Chris gritted her tee
th. First things first. Chris felt her arm tiring, knew Scintella could see her hand starting to tremble with the weight. The Ruger was a damned heavy firearm. It was only a matter of time.

  Then he reached behind his back.

  “Chris!”

  Scintella spun toward Jacquie’s voice. His hand, Chris saw, had been reaching for a gun tucked in his waistband. Jacquie’s diversion was enough.

  In a single smooth motion Chris slipped the canvas bag from her shoulder, felt the compass straining the bag’s straps as it dropped. Then it caught at the bottom of her swing, arcing forward in what felt like slow motion but must have taken only a second as she hoisted the bag up, levered it directly between the man’s legs. The heavy bronze compass caught him square. He grunted, then went down gasping, clutching himself.

  Jacquie bent and liberated his gun. “Remind me to stay on your good side,” she told Chris without humor. “It’d have been easier just to shoot him.”

  “What the hell’s going on downstairs?” Chris asked, trying to still her trembling hands against the adrenaline rush.

  “McLellan’s boys crashed the party. They’re looking for Jerome.”

  “Are they okay?”

  Jacquie shot her a worried look. “I saw Russ, but not Connor.”

  Natalie clutched Chris’s arm. “What’s going on? Who are these people?”

  “The DEA,” Chris said absently. Her mind was on Jacquie, how pale she’d become. “You’re not looking good. Can we get out now without getting shot at?”

  Jacquie nodded, sweat starting to shine on her face. “I’m okay. I say we wait a little while to see if they eliminate enough of the bad guys to walk out later. Scintella’s men might start shooting at anyone they don’t recognize.” Jacquie frowned at the man still writhing on the deck.

  “Where can we wait that’s safe?” Chris asked Natalie.

  Nat pointed at the walk-through. “There’s an alcove out front. We can see the lagoon from there but it’s inset far enough into the cliff we can’t be seen from below.”

  “I don’t like the dead end, but I’ll take what I can get for now,” Jacquie said. “I’ll handle Scintella. You go on out. I’m right behind you.”

  “What’s she going to do?” Natalie stage-whispered as Chris drew her into the cool hallway.

  “I don’t know, but it’ll be the right thing. She’s one of the good guys. Here, carry this.” She handed the canvas bag to Natalie, whose arms jerked when the full weight hit. “I could use a break.”

  Chris motioned Natalie to stay put while she ducked out to check the balcony. A bench, some potted plants. No people. They could put their backs to the wall and have a clear view of anyone coming out of the hallway after them. But Jacquie was right. It was definitely a dead end. “Come on,” she said.

  She settled Natalie on the bench, then sat next to her, gun in hand. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “So much better now you’re here,” Natalie said. Her face glistened with fresh tears. “I was so worried about you.”

  “Me?” Chris leaned forward enough to see down to the pier, where a small group of armed men congregated. Scintella’s thugs? “Why would you worry about me?”

  “I-It’s a long way to come by boat.” Her wide eyes shone. “Anything could have happened.”

  “Anything just about did happen,” Chris remarked dryly. “More than once. But the important part is that I’m here now, and I’ll get you home safe and sound.” She stroked her sister’s cheek as she always had.

  “Home.” Natalie’s brows drew together, what their grandfather had called her Hampton pride-line prominent between them.

  Chris leaned forward to survey the lagoon once more. The men had scattered, leaving only one on the dock. From here, she could see the lower terraces and how the waterfalls spilled down in cooling arcs. Banana tree leaves rasped when the wind kicked up, and the pungent spice of jelly palm fruit wafted in her direction. Tattoo was right. The resort was designed perfectly for catching the breeze.

  Which was why she heard McLellan say in a low voice, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Chris instinctively dropped to a kneeling position behind the rail and put her forefinger to her lips, hushing Natalie. Connor’s calm, deep voice had come from the doorway to her left, this terrace level. Glad of her soft-soled boating shoes, she padded toward the walk-through. On the passageway’s other side, two long strides would bring her to the doorway facing the lagoon.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Smitty replied softly. “It’s the only way to get what we want.”

  Her blood ran cold in her veins. McLellan had brought Smitty to Isladonata? Because he needed Smitty as a ticket in, or because they were working together? She fought back a sudden burn of tears. Had McLellan bugged her boat because he and Smitty were working together?

  She heard Smitty’s soft laugh, then the distinctive clicks of a revolver being cocked. “Say goodbye, pretty boy.”

  “No!” she shouted and spun into the doorway, gun drawn, willing herself to see everything at once.

  Smitty, standing. McLellan, sitting on the edge of a chair, hands in the air, feet under him. Smitty’s arm swung toward her, then back before McLellan could launch himself at his ex-partner. Everything settled again into stillness: Smitty aiming at McLellan; Chris aiming at Smitty; McLellan wound like a spring, every muscle tensed and ready.

  “Drop the gun, Smitty.”

  “Christina, just walk away.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Take Natalie and leave!” McLellan shot her a desperate glance full of everything Chris was secretly afraid wouldn’t be there: fear, longing. Love.

  “I don’t think you’re in any position to be givin’ orders to the lady anymore, pardner,” Smitty said.

  “I won’t let you kill him,” Chris said evenly, “so put the gun away.”

  “Isn’t Scintella looking for you?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “I’m so scared!” Smitty mocked. “Did you shoot him with your big nasty gun?”

  Chris spared a small smile. “Not quite.” She held the Ruger steady with both hands, exactly as she’d been taught. Breathe.

  Smitty inclined his head to her. “Move along now. I got business to finish.”

  “Put down your gun,” Chris insisted.

  “I can’t just let him walk.”

  “Why do you want Connor to die?” she stalled. Come on, Jacquie, quit fiddling with Scintella and figure out what’s going on here. I need you.

  Smitty shook his head. “To tell you the truth, I don’t care whether he lives or dies.”

  “Then why are you doing this?” McLellan asked softly.

  “It’s just business, man. You know that.”

  “Yeah, business. How long have you been working for Scintella?”

  “Long before your brother went down. That was a sad piece of work. I’m sorry I had to do it. He was a good kid.”

  McLellan inhaled sharply. “You pulled the trigger? I thought Falks did it.”

  “Falks missed the first time. I had to clean up after him. So much I had to clean up, time after time after time. Gets tiring, man.”

  “So tiring you got rid of him?” McLellan asked softly.

  Smitty burst out laughing. “Hell, yeah! You didn’t think she did it, did ya?” He shook his head. “No nerve. She’s stubborn, but that ain’t the same.” Smitty cast a dismissive glance in Chris’s direction. “You just go on now. This isn’t about you.”

  Chris took a step forward into the room, keeping the gun steady. “You tried to kill me.”

  “You don’t have the balls to pull that trigger, darlin’,” he said. “I watched you. I know you. You’re an upright woman, know the difference between right and wrong. You ain’t gonna shoot me. You think you will, but you won’t.” His smile was almost pitying. “You don’t have the nerve.”

  “Then you’ve got me wrong.”

  “Nah, I don’t think so.”

  “Why
the hell did you try to kill me?”

  Exasperated, he said impatiently, “Because you kept gettin’ in the way, sweetheart. You just didn’t have what it takes, just like I told—”

  A deafening report echoed around the room. Chris flinched. Smitty stared at her, red spouting from his neck, spraying over the light pastels and white tiles. He clasped his free hand against his throat. His mouth opened, but nothing came out except dark, dark blood, then his gaze slid past Chris and registered surprise. His arm came up, his gun aimed at McLellan.

  Chris squeezed the trigger.

  Smitty’s revolver tipped forward, slipped from his fingers as he grabbed at his own chest, twisted a handful of reddening shirt in his fist. He fell to his knees, cartilage cracking on the tiles. He went down, face-first, into a pool of blood.

  Stunned, ears ringing, Chris slowly turned her head, almost afraid of what she’d find. Natalie, shaking, held Jacquie’s pearl-handled revolver in her fingertips as though it were poison. Please, Chris prayed, not this. Not this. She can’t take it.

  McLellan put his arm around Chris, pulled her close and pressed his lips to her hair. She merely nodded. She was okay. It was Natalie she worried about. He let her go to gently tug the revolver from Natalie’s hand. Natalie turned into Chris’s embrace, weeping.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Chris murmured, holding Natalie close with one hand, her gun in the other. “It’ll be just fine.”

  Chapter 17

  Chris stood alone on Obsession’s bow, looking at the mess of the resort. A contingent of black-suited Coasties swarmed over the pier and hotel, prodding handcuffed men in black to the Coast Guard ship waiting at the dock’s end. Tattoo was being questioned by a stocky man with a crew cut Chris mistook for Russ until she saw Russ sitting on a bench next to Jacquie. Both agents were listening to the interrogation, apparently adding their questions to the list Crew Cut was asking. Stretchers bearing the injured were being carried to the upper terrace roof, where a Coast Guard helicopter waited, its blades limp.