She waved at Brent Graham. “Hopping into bed with a tried and convicted crook doesn’t keep you awake nights?” She balled her hands into fists at her sides and stepped closer. “What about killing an old man, Edward?” she asked softly. “Does that sound like nobody is being harmed by your greed?”
Edward stepped back, clearly surprised. “We didn’t kill anyone,” he said. He darted a nervous glance at Graham, then looked back at Willow. “The deal was, nobody got hurt. We just needed to keep you from putting everything together for two more days.”
“Tell that to Cecil Fox. They just found his boat ninety miles east of here, burned to the waterline, and no sign of him.”
“What makes you think we had anything to do with that?” Edward asked, paling.
“Gramps was following the boat you sent to Thunder Island to pick up your latest—leaking—shipment of poison. What happens in two days, Edward?” she asked, studying his eyes. She’d never noticed before, but Edward Simmons had beady little eyes.
“It’s none of your business,” Graham said.
“We’re selling Kingston Corporation,” Edward told her, despite Graham’s warning. “We sign the papers and then I’m on a plane out of this backwoods state. I intend to disappear.”
“Duncan Ross will hunt you down,” Willow said calmly. “There isn’t a corner of this world where you can hide from him.”
“Ross will be in no position to hunt anyone down,” Graham said, standing up and walking from behind the desk.
Willow turned to him. “Then there are five more men right behind him,” she told Graham. “They make their living hunting crooks like you.”
“They won’t come after us as long as no one gets hurt,” Edward said to Brent Graham. “We just have to make this little problem go away for two more days. You promised, no killing. Selling contraband is one thing, Graham, but I draw the line at murder.”
The two men who had caught Willow and Jane, who had remained quiet up until now, suddenly started moving restlessly. “We didn’t sign on for no killing,” Stokes said, his face pale. “We’re just security guards.”
“We aren’t killing anyone,” Graham snapped, waving a hand in dismissal. “We’re only holding them for two or three days.”
The door opened and Shotgun Guy turned, pointing his gun at Duncan and Jason as they sauntered into the office. Both men looked unusually calm to Willow, and reassuringly big.
“We’re here,” Duncan drawled, taking in everyone in the crowded room, his gaze finally landing on Willow. “Are ya hurt, lass?” he asked.
“No. Just mad. Duncan, this is Edward Simmons. And this,” she said, waving toward Graham, “is Brent Graham. They’ve been selling the pesticide for four years, and they killed Gramps.”
“We did not,” Edward growled, darting a worried look at Duncan. “I don’t know what happened to him, but we are not murderers.”
“Just common thieves,” Duncan said softly, stepping over to Willow and taking hold of the back of her neck as he trained his gaze on Graham, apparently deciding he was the real threat. Duncan then started to gently massage her, and Willow guessed she must look a bit tense. “So, gentlemen, what now?”
“Now you go for a little ride,” Graham said, picking up the walkie-talkie. “I do hope none of you gets seasick. Joe. Mike,” he said into the radio. “Bring the truck down to the office and pick up your cargo.”
“We’re not going to hurt any of you, Willow,” Edward assured her, glancing at Duncan and taking a step back before continuing. “In a few days this will all be over. Kingston Corp will have been sold to a perfectly legitimate company from Utah, all the pesticide will be gone and the lobster will recover, and Graham and I will fall off everyone’s radar screen.”
“And Cecil Fox will still be dead,” Willow whispered.
Chapter Nineteen
They endured a bruising ride in the back of a cargo truck, were dragged onto a lobster boat at an isolated dock down the coast, and sped through the Gulf of Maine until they met up with a fishing trawler in the middle of nowhere and were shoved down into its stinking hold.
The four of them had had their pockets emptied back at the office, and had been tied up like Christmas turkeys readied for roasting. Jason had a swollen cheek and a black eye from when he’d gone after the guy called Mike, when Mike had made Jane’s knots too tight and she had hissed in pain.
Other than that, both Jason and Duncan were so damnably calm, it was starting to grate on Willow’s nerves. They couldn’t possibly believe they wouldn’t be killed, despite Edward’s repeated assurances. The only probable motive for going through so much trouble to take them so far out to sea was so they could be dumped overboard and their bodies never found.
Just like Gramps.
Graham probably figured it had worked once, he might as well do it again. Besides, he had seemed in a rush to get them off Kingston Corporation property as well as away from Edward.
Edward Simmons, despite his actions to the contrary, did not have the disposition to be a career criminal. The guy was way too nervous and he talked too much, especially when Willow subtly plied him with questions couched in the form of a discussion on obvious loopholes in the laws.
She got Edward to explain how they had used five different islands over the years to stash their contraband, and it was only bad luck that the quarry had flooded last winter, otherwise no one ever would have known about their harmless operation. Yes, Edward was still maintaining the illusion that no one was being harmed. He’d also let it slip, while he’d nervously watched Mike tie Willow’s hands in front of her in deference to her splinted right wrist, that pesticides weren’t the only commodity with an overseas market.
That was when Graham had lost his patience and gotten them hustled out of the office, sending them on the harrowing journey that had ended in this cold, damp, smelly hold.
“How are ya doing, lass?” Duncan asked through the darkness from someplace off to her right. This was the first time they’d been left alone and were able to talk, though they were competing with the noise of the droning diesel engine. “Did they tie the rope on your cracked wrist too tight?”
“No,” Willow said, wiggling her hand inside the splint. At least they had bound her hands together in front of her, but then Mike had run the rope around her waist so she couldn’t use her teeth to untie the knots.
“Can ya slip out of the splint, Willow,” Duncan asked, “and get yourself free?”
Finally, they were going to take some sort of action to save themselves. “It’s about time you came up with a plan,” she snapped, wiggling her fingers to peel back the Velcro closures. “You do have a plan, don’t you, Dunky?”
His soft chuckle echoed through the darkness. “Aye. I’m calling it plan B, since ya went and got yourself caught and blew our plan A.”
“We were almost home free,” she growled, ignoring the pain as she slowly wiggled her hand out of the splint. “We had them convinced Jane and I were lovers out parking on a moonlit night. But then your stupid cell phone started vibrating, and the guy named Stokes heard it. What’s plan B?”
A loud masculine snort came from someplace off to her left. “Lovers?” Jason echoed, only to suddenly grunt when it sounded to Willow as if Jane had kicked him with her bound feet.
“It was an excellent ruse,” Willow continued. “It caught them totally off guard, and when I threatened to sue them for bruising my girlfriend’s ribs, they were helping us leave as fast as we could. My hands are free,” she said, giving a soft cry as her hand slipped out of the splint with one final, painful tug. “Does plan B involve kicking and biting and scratching? Because I’m game for that,” she said, twisting her right arm around to reach the knot at the back of her waist. “Don’t you keep a knife in your boot or something, Dunky? Or does your belt buckle turn into some sort of lethal weapon?”
There was another soft chuckle from her right. “Nay, lass. I have only my bare hands.”
She stoppe
d struggling with the knot, panting with the pain of working fingers that hadn’t moved for nearly a week. “What kind of hero are you? You need to carry backup, Dunky.”
“Hands can be lethal weapons, counselor,” he said in an even, deadly tone. “And they also have the advantage of being silent.”
Willow felt a chill run through her, knowing firsthand that Duncan wasn’t boasting. She remembered when he had come into the house where the guy had been holding her two years ago. Duncan hadn’t had a weapon then, either, that she had seen. Only his bare hands. And her jailer had silently crumpled to the floor before he’d even known Duncan was there.
“How are those knots coming?” Duncan asked, his tone now decidedly gentle.
And calm. He was so damnably calm, they might as well have been on a Caribbean cruise. Willow held on to her patience and went back to work on the knots, trusting that the calmer Duncan seemed, the better off they were. “I’m almost free,” she told him.
“As soon as ya are, put your splint back on before ya crawl over and untie me. I don’t want ya to finish breaking your wrist. Ya might need both hands for the swim home.”
She stopped again, blinking in his direction through the darkness, trying to decide if he was kidding or not. Jane squeaked in horror.
“It’s okay,” Jason said, his voice sounding as if he were straining against something. “My belt buckle is really a homing device. And my secret decoder ring just got a message that help is on the way.” He suddenly grunted again. “Will you cut that out,” he growled at Jane when she apparently kicked him again. “I’m trying to explain that plan B is already up and running.”
“I’m free,” Willow said, reaching down and untying her ankles.
“Put the splint back on,” Duncan reminded her. “And watch out for those barrels when ya crawl over here. I think one of them is leaking, and it smells foul.”
“Actually, it smells like solvent,” Jane said.
Willow snorted. “Graham never wanted to run a site to dispose of waste, he wanted a steady supply of chemicals that he could market around the world,” she muttered, feeling her way over to Duncan. “Say something nice and sweet to me, Dunky, so I know where you are.”
“Have I mentioned how impressed I am with your composure?”
“My composure? Nothing about my cute butt? Or my lovely breasts?”
“I’m impressed with your lovely breasts,” she heard Jason tell Jane. She also heard him grunt again.
“So what is plan B?” Willow asked, groping her way past the barrels, wondering why Jason and Jane got to be near each other but they had put Duncan clear across the hold.
“Plan B is Kee and Luke and Camden,” Duncan told her.
Willow stopped crawling. “Kee is home with Rachel, making sure she doesn’t worry herself sick.”
“Aye, that was your suggestion,” Duncan said with a soft laugh. “Kee didn’t care for it, though. He and Luke actually came to the waste site from the other direction to cover our backs. Camden and Ahab were standing by with your friends Ray Cobb and Frank Porter at Cobb’s boat at the Trunk Harbor pier.”
While all the womenfolk stayed home and worried themselves sick, Willow thought. She started crawling again, only to finally bump into Duncan’s legs. “They’re all part of this?” she asked in amazement, working on the knots around his ankles. “Ray and Frank, too?”
“We needed someone with a fast boat for a little insurance, just in case we ended up at sea. Cobb was more than willing to get involved, and Porter wasn’t about to be left out. He told Luke he had a score to settle with whoever scuttled his boat.”
Willow got Duncan’s ankles untied and pushed on his hip to get him to turn so she could untie his hands.
“I’m free,” Jason suddenly said.
“How?” Jane asked.
“Unlike my foolish partner, I always carry a knife in the heel of my boot,” he told her. Willow heard a loud smacking sound, somewhat like a wet kiss on a cheek. “Am I your hero, Einstein?” he asked.
Jane made a noise, and Willow couldn’t decide if she had snorted or muttered an expletive. “We might be untied, but we’re still on a boat at sea with several armed men,” Jane pointed out. “And it’s a big ocean. I don’t care how fast Ray’s boat is, they won’t have a snowball’s chance in Hades of finding us.”
“Ah, but you’re forgetting my belt buckle. It really is a transponder,” Jason said. Willow could tell by the sound of his voice that he was untying Jane. “Kee’s been tracking us since the waste site,” Jason continued. “He and Luke likely left for Trunk Harbor just as soon as they heard Graham ask if we got seasick. Did I mention my watch is also a wireless mike?”
Duncan stood up the moment Willow pulled the last knot free. He hauled her to her feet beside him, his arm around her and his other hand lifting her chin through the darkness. “Did ya hurt yar wrist again?” he asked, his lips inches from hers. “I’m sorry I got ya into this mess, lass.”
“I’m not. I’d rather be here with you than sitting at home worried sick,” she whispered back, stretching up and kissing him softly on the mouth, being much quieter than Jason had been. “Now what?”
“Now we wait for the navy to arrive, and be ready to help them any way we can.”
“I don’t suppose you have a light in your other shoe, do you, 007?” Jane asked.
There was the sound of rustling, then suddenly the interior of the hold lit with the dim glow of a disposable lighter.
“Oh,” Jane said, reaching up and cupping Jason’s face, turning his head to see his left eye. “You poor baby. That coward sucker-punched you while your hands were tied.”
“But he was limping when he put us in the truck,” Jason pointed out, his eyes—even the bloodshot one—dancing in the faint light as he looked down at Jane.
“Bring the light over here,” Duncan instructed. “See if ya can read what’s in these barrels.”
Both Jane and Jason walked over, and the four of them crouched down by one of the barrels. “It’s industrial cleaning fluid,” Jane said, reading the label. “And this is fertilizer,” she added, moving Jason’s hand to a crate beside it. “My God, they’ve got them stacked almost touching each other. If they were to mix, the toxic fumes could be deadly. And volatile. They could blow this boat into oblivion.”
The two men straightened and started exploring their prison, Jason lifting his tiny lighter up in front of them. Willow could see that the hold was nearly as big as Duncan’s kitchen, and was half filled with barrels and crates.
“They’ve got a chemical cocktail down here that’s just waiting to reek havoc,” Jane said, scooting over to the other side, away from the cargo, dragging Willow with her and sitting down. “Don’t these guys realize that if they get into rough seas and some of this spills, they won’t be collecting whatever money Graham is paying them?”
“Apparently, they don’t care,” Willow said, rubbing the fingers on her sore hand. “I’m sorry I got you involved in this mess, Jane,” she added, repeating Duncan’s earlier words.
Jane threw her arm over Willow’s shoulder. “This is my old playground, too. And Gramps was my friend. And we’re not in a mess, we’re on an adventure. Jason and Duncan will take care of us.”
Willow shook her head, staring down at her hand. “They’re not supermen. Luke was nearly killed two years ago trying to save Rachel and me from being kidnapped.”
“I remember your telling me the story. And Luke Skywalker is right back at it, isn’t he, doing the exact same thing,” Jane pointed out.
Willow couldn’t stifle a smile. “That can’t possibly be his real name,” she said, looking over at Jane, though it was too dark to really see her. “Duncan told me Luke grew up on the streets of New York. He must have picked that name as a joke.”
“And then used it to register his truck?” Jane said, chuckling. “Jason, what’s Luke’s last name?” she asked loudly, as the men had wandered all the way down to the narrow bow.
<
br /> Jason turned, then cursed. The lighter went out, suddenly plunging them back into absolute darkness. “Damn that gets hot,” he muttered. “It’s Skywalker. Why?”
“But what’s his real name?” Willow asked.
“Skywalker,” Duncan confirmed. “Why?”
“You, ah, don’t see anything…odd about that?”
The incessant drone of the diesel engine suddenly eased to an idle, and the momentum of the trawler noticeably slowed. Footsteps scurried overhead. With his lighter glowing again, Jason walked back and sat down beside Jane, and Duncan came over, took Willow’s hand, and led her back to where she’d been sitting.
“Make it look like ya’re still tied up,” he whispered, the noisy engine no longer protecting their conversation.
He then disappeared behind the barrels, and Willow found the rope and twined it back around her ankles and then her wrists. A deafening noise suddenly sounded, making the entire boat shudder.
“They’ve dropped anchor,” Jason said. “And we’re not in very deep water, since it couldn’t have dropped more than a couple hundred feet.”
The engine revved again and the trawler started backing up. Willow realized they were setting the anchor, which meant they were planning on being here for a while. “Do you suppose they have another pickup to make?” she asked, just loud enough to be heard over the laboring engine as it tried to drag the anchor.
“What can we do with these chemicals, Einstein?” Jason asked. “Can we start a fire or make some smoke to create a distraction?”
“Sure, if we don’t mind blowing ourselves up,” Jane shot back. “Or choking to death. They’re toxic.”
“Combined,” Jason reminded her. “But what about alone? What can we do with them individually?”
Jane was silent for several heartbeats. “Well, the cleaning fluid is highly combustible. You could soak your shirt in it, light it, and throw it up on deck. You know, like one of those Molotov cocktails, only without the bottle.”
The Dangerous Protector Page 24
