Behind her, the lagoon was virtually empty. The huge yachts had apparently picked up their owners and left at the first sign of orange and white. Mooring buoys floated forlornly in the blue water. Even the tall sailboats had gone.
Finally, McLellan walked down the pier beside a cuffed and slightly limping Jerome Scintella. Scintella spared Chris only the smallest glance, then stared straight ahead. At the dock’s end, McLellan formally handed him over to a group of men dressed in black with DEA emblazoned in white on their caps and wearing badges on their belts.
So he’d chosen to let Scintella live, to give him justice rather than death.
McLellan strode back toward the resort, tall and handsome and looking exactly like the officer he was, but halted at the bowsprit and looked up at her.
She called down to him, “Who said, ‘Fear makes demons out of angels’?”
He frowned. “Sounds like Shakespeare.”
“I’m just trying to figure out which you are.”
“Safest bet’s neither.” He watched the armed DEA agents escort Scintella inside the cutter, then said, “Got a minute?”
“Come on up.”
As he climbed aboard, she thought, Screw the plan. None of her plans had made any difference to what had gone down. What mattered was that Natalie was safe. The things she and Connor had said to each other…well, there wasn’t much point in getting into it right now.
When he joined her on the bow, his gaze swept over her. She’d shed the stuffy captain’s blazer and wore her normal tank top and shorts.
“You’re not hurt.” He sounded like he wanted to reassure himself.
“Scintella’s in custody.”
He turned to lean, like her, on the steel railing, watching armed men in black escort unarmed men in black onto the Coast Guard cutter. “Yeah.” He tipped his hands up, studied his fingers. “You were right.”
“About what?”
He was quiet for a long time, then said, “I wanted to kill him. I didn’t plan it. Not consciously. But when you’d brought Natalie and Jacquie down and I was cuffing him, looking at him, I—” he broke off. “I thought how easy it’d be to just put one bullet in him, call it self-defense.” He turned to look at her. The breeze lifted his hair across his forehead, blew his shirt collar against the strong column of his neck. “I killed the old dream instead.”
Chris, trembling, stroked his arm and in an instant, she was in his embrace, burying her cheek against his chest, smelling his scent. How tightly his hands gripped her, like a drowning man, she thought. But neither of them would drown. Not today.
And now, after seeing Smitty again, after trying to protect Natalie, after the gunfire and the running and facing down Jerome, she understood why he’d stolen her GPS and her engine keys, tried to keep her away. Hell, yeah, she was angry about it, would be for a while. But she felt his fear for her in his kiss, in his rough hands moving over her back.
“It’ll be okay,” she said when he finally released her lips. “We’ll be okay.”
He nodded, pulled her tight against him. “We’d better.”
“Tricky with the transponder,” she grumbled.
“Tricky with the GPS. Damn near put us fifty miles off.”
“No less than you deserved.”
“Spare set of keys?”
She held out her hand as she glared up at him. “Trade secret.” When he dropped her engine keys into her palm, she said, “Still coming to Galveston?”
“Damn right I am. By way of Key West. I’ve got the debriefing from hell so I’ll be a few days behind you.”
“Is your career over?”
A hint of shadow crossed his eyes. “We can talk about it in Key West.”
“I’ll see you there.”
“Don’t be late,” he murmured, still not letting her go. “I stuck my neck out—again—to convince my superiors to let you bring Obsession back yourself. We both have a lot of explaining to do.” Then he kissed her hard, quickly. “Be careful getting there.”
“I promise,” she said in a low voice, liking how his eyes warmed when she said it.
“Chris!” Natalie called from the dock, a big, muscular man by her side. “Are we going yet?”
“Soon!” She reluctantly pulled from McLellan’s arms. “Who’s that?” she wondered aloud.
“The Hulk is some guy called Gabriel.”
“The guardian angel. He was noticeably absent when I found Nat.”
“We found him in the communications room, on the horn with the Coast Guard to let us know Scintella was on the island.”
“A bona fide good guy.”
“Appears to be.”
Crew Cut, the man Chris had earlier mistaken for Russ, cleared his throat behind Natalie, who spun on her heel. While he spoke to her, her body relaxed slightly and she became more animated, more like the Natalie Chris knew. She’s enjoying the attention, Chris thought. Is that what had drawn her to this dangerous life? The thought she’d be important?
“And who’s that?” Chris asked, studying Crew Cut. Close up, she saw the man had about fifteen years on Russ.
“Homeland Security.” At Chris’s wide eyes, he added, “Smuggling and border control was rolled into Homeland Security. His name’s Shoemaker. He worked the von Brutten case. He’s taking over.” He toyed with her fingers. “I’m going to miss you on the trip to Key West. Even with one of our agents aboard.”
“It’s a short run,” she replied. “Just a few hours. It looks like we’ll have Gabriel, too.”
“Are you going to take Russ and Jacquie with you?”
“Russ needs to fly Jacquie straight back. Her head injury’s giving her some stick.” She squeezed his fingers. “Thanks for making it okay for me to bring Obsession home.”
He nodded. “I know how important she is to you.” He opened his mouth as if to say something, but changed his mind. Then he said, “Do what you need to.”
Chris smiled and squeezed his fingers back. “I always do.”
Hortense and Claire started easily, still warm from their journey south early that morning. In the pilothouse, Chris automatically checked engine hours in the log, then switched on the VHF radio and radar. She’d pilot from inside for a change, get out of the sun. Her sunscreen had worn off long ago and her natural light golden color was darkening more than she liked. The black-uniformed DEA agent stood on the bow, apparently assigned to keep her from sneaking off somewhere, from skipping her appointment with the powers that be.
Natalie slipped her arm around Chris’s waist and leaned her head on her shoulder. “Thanks for coming to get me,” she said. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Chris held Natalie for a long moment while they both cried. The lingering scent of Nat’s perfume—peaches, like their mother’s—cocooned Chris in painful memories that Natalie would never have: making caramel apples, folding laundry together, being held tight after a fall. Chris had at least had a mother for a few years. Natalie had only had Granddad.
“You did fine,” Chris said softly. “Just fine.”
Natalie pulled away. “I’m okay. Just kind of shocked, I guess.” Her pretty brown eyes filled with fresh tears and her chin trembled. “But I killed Smitty.”
Therapy, Chris thought. Something to help her deal with the guilt. “You knew him?” she asked gently.
When Natalie nodded, her brown curls bounced. “He was around a lot, did a lot with Jerome. I can’t believe I shot him.”
“I was going to have to,” Chris murmured. She took a deep breath, letting the memory play like another dream. “I did.”
“You’re a better shot than me.” Natalie sniffed.
Chris glanced quickly at her. Was she in some kind of low-level shock? “I have some prep work left to do before we go. Where’s Gabriel?”
“Checking the boat out. He always scopes out the place I am, no matter where it is.”
“That’s a guy who takes his job seriously.”
“That’s
what I pay him for. Can I get a drink?”
“Fridge for soft drinks. The wet bar’s got the hard stuff.”
“I need the hard stuff. You want anything?”
“I’m driving, remember? I’ll be right back.”
Chris slipped down to her cabin. Just a minute to regroup, to be quiet. Gather her thoughts. The image of Smitty turning, blood pouring from his neck, filled her mind and chilled her soul. She could use her own therapy session or two, she was sure. Unbidden, the image continued, playing without her permission. That look of surprise on his face, as if he hadn’t expected little Natalie, the quintessential girlie-girl, to pull the trigger. The Ruger’s kick as she squeezed the trigger at point-blank range. The widening red splotch on his white T-shirt.
Chris clasped her hands together to still their shaking. Get a grip, she thought wearily. Four or five hours at sea, then she could fall apart. Preferably in Connor’s arms.
If Natalie was okay. If she could leave her alone.
First she needed to get away from this damned island.
When she went back through the salon to go into the pilothouse, Natalie waved to her from the aft deck where she sat back in a deck chair, a tumbler in her hand. Gabriel towered over her chair. He was too tall for the aft deck, Chris noted. He had to keep his head cocked slightly to one side so he wouldn’t scrape the ceiling.
“Did you know there are two bullet holes in the stern?” Natalie asked Chris when she joined them.
“Show me.”
“Just look over. You’ll see them.”
Chris leaned far over the railing. Two bullet holes. Unbelievable. She studied the splayed edges of cracked fiberglass around the holes that rode high on the stern. The bullets were probably buried somewhere in the lazarette. In fact, she’d bet on it because she smelled gas, where one must have punctured the gas can. At least there was enough metal down there to have stopped the bullets passing through the lazarette and into the cabins.
She could stop to clean it up, but she wanted to get away from Isladonata. Now. She wanted to erase every trace of the island’s existence—hell, of the trip, except for the hard work they’d done on Obsession, and Connor—from the yacht and her heart and her soul.
“The holes are fine,” she said. “Let’s get out of here. Will you help cast off?” she asked Gabriel.
The bodyguard waited for Natalie’s nod to say, “Yes, ma’am,” but didn’t move.
“Chris,” Natalie said, “let’s talk about where we’re going.”
Chris walked into the salon as she said, “Key West. Then Galveston.”
“I don’t think we should,” Natalie said, following her inside, the massive Gabriel in tow. “I think we should go to Jamaica.”
“That’s not the plan.”
“I know it’s not your plan,” Natalie said, “but I’m counting on it.”
“We can’t just go to Jamaica. We have to go to Key West. Fill out forms, give more statements, whatever the DEA wants us to do. The agent they’ve assigned to us will make sure of that. They’re going to want to interview you about Jerome’s friends.”
“I don’t know anything about his friends. Look, the emergency’s over.” Natalie smiled, tossing her lush curls over her shoulder. “Now we can do what we want.”
“You think this is some kind of vacation?” Chris asked, angry. “I nearly got myself killed coming after you. You have no idea what I’ve had to do to get here!”
Natalie nodded her head sympathetically, her expression that of a much older, wiser woman. “Yes, Chris, I do know.”
And suddenly Chris saw in her mind’s eye the charts and maps fading, all the trusted navigational aids losing their magnetic north, the stars fleeing, and knew she looked into the eyes of a dragyne. “Tell me,” she said softly. “Tell me what you’ve done.”
“I told you she was sharp.” Natalie smiled up at Gabriel. The man folded his heavy arms over his chest and said nothing.
“Is he really your bodyguard?” Chris asked. And where’s the DEA agent?
Natalie tucked her leg under her as she sat on the sofa. “He’s my business partner after Smitty didn’t work out.” Her eyes filled with tears, but didn’t spill. “I’m sorry he tried to hurt you. That wasn’t part of the plan.”
Chris gritted her teeth, clenched her fists. Calm. She had to stay calm. “So Smitty worked for Jerome or for you?”
“Jerome first, then me.” Natalie leaned forward. “Jerome’s an idiot. His brother said so to his face. I was there. But Jerome wouldn’t listen to me. He said…terrible things to me, called me names, told me I was stupid. You know what that’s like.”
With a slowly dawning dread, Chris nodded. “Just like a man to think he’s right all the time.” She glanced around the salon. No agent. No good guy in black anywhere.
“Jerome couldn’t handle the pressure. His family was trying to get him to hand part of his territory over to his younger brother but he wouldn’t do it.” Natalie sipped her drink. “You wouldn’t have been so selfish. You’d have given me a chance.”
“Like the one you hope I’ll give you now.”
“Exactly.”
Chris was silent for a long moment, trying to quell her rising anger. “So you did steal Jerome’s money.” And cause Falks to come after me. And scare me to death. And cause Smitty to want to kill me.
“I needed seed money for my venture. The inheritance just wasn’t enough.”
“Smitty was your business partner.”
Natalie’s eyes shone with excitement. “He intercepted the courier and I sent the money to you. Great plan. It worked beautifully.”
“It worked?” The fury welling in Chris exploded. “Eugene Falks attacked me as a warning to you not to get involved! He threatened me and you over this money! Was that part of your plan?”
“Oh, God, no! Chris, I would never have done anything to get you hurt.” Natalie leaped from the sofa and threw her arms around Chris. “I just wanted you to come and get me, take me away from Jerome! That’s all.”
Natalie’s arms felt suddenly like a vise. Chris pried herself from her sister’s grip. “Then why was Smitty trying to kill me?” she demanded.
“He told me he didn’t think you’d go along with my business venture.” Tears trickled down Nat’s face, dragging her mascara in dark runnels over her cheeks. “He thought you’d turn us in. I kept telling him you wouldn’t do that, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Then why get me involved at all? Why didn’t you and Smitty just leave Jerome and go off on your own?”
Natalie’s tears waned and she sniffed. “Because we had to do something about Jerome. I couldn’t just leave him. He’d never let me go. And even if I got away, he would have ordered me killed. I had to get someone else to take him out.”
Chris thought about McLellan escorting Jerome Scintella down the pier toward the waiting Coast Guard cutter. How easy it would have been for Natalie and Smitty to connect the dots between Chris and the DEA, knowing Chris would turn first to Gus Perkins, her sailing instructor, then to his old HPD partner. The same partner who’d tried to help McLellan dig his brother out of Scintella’s drug cartel.
“That’s a helluva chance you took,” Chris said. “What made you so sure Jerome would end up arrested?”
“Smitty would have found a way of handling that.” Natalie’s confidence struck Chris as awful. Frightening. “He was DEA from way back, of course. The right word in the right ear would have done it. The fact you ended up with him aboard was perfect. Better than we could have dreamed.”
“Until Smitty decided I wouldn’t play the game.”
Natalie’s normally open and happy face darkened. Their grandfather suddenly stared out from her visage, chilling Chris’s blood in her veins. “That’s why I had to kill him,” Natalie said, her voice sharp, unforgiving. “How dare he try to hurt my sister.”
“He didn’t expect you to shoot him,” Chris said, taking an involuntary step back.
�
�He should have,” Natalie asserted. “He knew how I felt about having you with me.” Her frown deepened. “But he was wrong about you, wasn’t he? You’ll help me now.”
Chris looked at her sister, this woman Connor had warned might be different. But Connor was wrong. Nat hadn’t really changed. Natalie was her grandfather’s granddaughter, through and through.
They’d played this game more than once, Chris suddenly realized. Over the shoplifting, over cars and clothes and a condo, Natalie reaching for all she could get, Chris coming along behind to clean things up, make things right. Natalie had seen what Jerome’s power and wealth could do, and coveted them for herself.
There was no way in the world Chris could fix this.
Oh, Natalie, Chris despaired. Then, Damn you to hell, Grandfather.
“No,” Chris said quietly. “Smitty was right about me. I won’t do illegal and immoral things to help you make a lot of money.”
Natalie smiled. “You and I make a great team.” She held her hand out to Chris. “Come on. We can have anything we want if we work together.”
Anything we want.
No more watching Natalie get the terrific toys and vacations and attention while Chris got nothing. No more waiting to be noticed by the people who accepted Natalie so much more easily because she was the real Hampton. No more fighting with men to get ahead, to get what she wanted, for their respect.
She could have anything she wanted.
Except a life she could live with. Except Connor.
Chris slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I can’t do that. I won’t do that.”
“Chris, please,” Natalie said. “It’ll be so much easier if you just go along. I want you with me on this. We have the money already—”
“The thirty million dollars?”
“I sent it to you ages ago.”
Natalie turned the antique brass compass upside down. The dial thunked into the lid, making Chris wince. Chris forgot it was an eighteenth century artifact when Natalie took a tiny key from a chain around her neck and fit it into an almost invisible pinhole slot. She turned gently and the compass housing’s false bottom flipped open. Inside lay a black velvet bag.
Dead Reckoning Page 24
