by Dana Marton
“I’m here to get information.” She didn’t need him putting her on the defensive.
“You’re not here for—Dammit.” He walked to the window and looked out. A couple of seconds passed before he turned back to her, his gaze boring into hers. “Did he touch you?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice.
She shrugged. “So what?”
“Did he—”
“I didn’t have sex with him if that’s what you want to know,” she said, angry now as she walked to the closet, grabbed a long T-shirt and pulled it over her head. “And you’re here to protect me, not judge me,” she added, although to be fair, he had never judged her, not once since they had met.
He stepped closer to her, looking calmer now. “I was just worried. That’s all.”
Okay. She took a deep breath. She didn’t want to fight with him, especially since she had been relieved to see him. “So what are we going to do about the safe?”
From the look on his face, it was clear that he recognized her attempt to distract him. “I’ll take a look at it.”
That sounded dangerous. “I don’t think you should sneak into the house. If they catch you—I mean, if they catch me—they’ll just think I’m there to—”
“What, give the lord of the manor his due?” His bad temper had returned. He threw his hands into the air in a gesture of frustration, then let them drop. “The deal is off. I’m not watching you from afar and providing only backup.”
“That’s what you agreed to with Brant and Nick and the others.” She didn’t want him to change the rules now. She didn’t want to mess up. “You were at the mansion with me last night, weren’t you?”
“I was hugging a stupid column outside while you were risking your life in there. Next time you go anywhere dangerous, I’ll be right next to you. We do this together or not at all.”
“You don’t even know what it’s about,” she shot back, her frustration matching his now.
Then again, truth be told, she probably didn’t know everything, either. She had a feeling the government only told the team as much as they absolutely had to.
“Then why don’t you tell me?” He was close enough now to touch.
“I’m not authorized.”
He spoke the words slowly. “Do you want to live?”
She looked away from his burning gaze. He was too intense, a live wire, too powerful. She’d had an easier time handling Cavanaugh. She wondered if anyone had ever managed to handle Reese Moretti.
“They showed you my file,” she said after a while.
He nodded. “I’m not dumb enough to go into a dangerous situation with someone I know nothing about.”
“You know about Philippe.”
“Some,” he said. “I’m beginning to think this mission is a whole lot bigger deal than my brother let on when he roped me into it.”
She moved away from him and walked to the window. “He didn’t think you would take it on.”
He was silent for a long second. “I had a favor to ask in return.”
“About a client?”
“My team is looking for someone. I thought the FBI had information they weren’t sharing. When David told me he was working with the Bureau on this, I figured we could make an even trade.”
“Shouldn’t you be on some mountaintop tracking down kidnappers?”
“My team is there. If I can get that information from the FBI, I can save everyone a lot of grief. It’s well worth the week this is taking me out of the action.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, thinking it odd how this undercover op was out of the action for him, while for her it was more action than she’d ever wanted. She hadn’t liked being in Philippe’s bedroom earlier.
From the time she’d been a teenager, she’d craved “safe.” She hadn’t found that at home, or in foster care, or on the streets, or in prison. And there sure wasn’t anything safe about her situation here. Truth be told, the safest she felt in a long time was when she was near Reese Moretti.
“Would you really leave? If I said we were doing this my way?” She turned back to him.
He was moving toward her, stopped, took a breath then let it out. “No.”
She let herself relax a little.
“But we are going to do this the safest way possible and that is for us to work together. Let’s scratch the backup thing, okay?”
He phrased that as a question, but she didn’t fool herself by thinking she had a choice. The decision had been made. It was written all over his face. “You’re stubborn.” Not to mention high-handed.
“And that’s a bad quality?” A ghost of a smile played about his lips. “Not anything like you, is it?”
She bit back a grin. Okay, so she had a stubborn streak, too. Point taken.
“I can handle this,” she said, not sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. After all, how many things had she gotten right in life lately?
He held her gaze. “You can. But I’ll be there with you all the same.”
Chapter Four
In the end, the following night they ended up investigating the boathouse. Cavanaugh had some business emergency and excused himself from his guests, sequestering himself in the mansion. They couldn’t very well break into his office while he was in it.
“Tell me again what we are doing here?” Reese asked.
“Looking for evidence of drug running. I’m thinking it would be best if when Tsernyakov went down, Cavanaugh went with him.”
“And your team doesn’t have enough on him yet?”
“White-collar crimes.” She made a face. “Real-estate speculation and money laundering. His connections would cover that up too easily. He is friends with just about every important person on the island. It would take something more serious to put him away for good.”
“And Anita and Brant think Cavanaugh is in the drug business?”
She nodded, keeping to the shadows as they crept toward the building. “They did seaside surveillance a couple of weeks ago and saw a ship dropping off suspicious packages.”
“I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
Yeah, he’d made sure she knew that.
“Catching Cavanaugh at drug running is not a priority. And if we get caught out here, we could get—kicked out.”
She knew he’d been about to say killed. “What if the drugs are his connection to Tsernyakov?”
“I thought Tsernyakov did weapons?”
“Tsernyakov does everything.”
She stopped as one of Cavanaugh’s men came out of the house, plodded across the driveway and got into a dark pickup truck parked near the entrance. The gate opened for him silently.
“I wonder where he’s going,” he said as he pulled his cell from his pocket.
“Who are you calling?”
“Law,” he said, and Brant Law must have picked up immediately because he gave a quick description of the car and which way it turned when it left the property.
They stopped when they reached the boathouse. Sam tried the door. Locked. That didn’t pose much of a problem. She got them in under thirty seconds.
The place was empty, nothing but boating equipment, shelves of varnishes, a stack of life vests, pulleys and some kind of lifting mechanism with a small motorboat suspended from it. She couldn’t make out much more than that at first glance. The small windows provided little light, and they couldn’t flip the switch by the door without alerting everyone to their presence.
A long table took up the end of the building, reaching from wall to wall. That was where Reese headed. She followed, noting the metal boxes under the table, each one padlocked. She took out her tool kit and popped the lock. Reese dug in.
“You were right,” he said.
“What is it?” She expected a brick of heroin, and was surprised when he pulled out a fistful of empty Ziploc bags. She reached for the next box. It had a half dozen of those digital kitchen scales in it. “Redistribution center,” she said.
Th
e one thing she hadn’t gotten into when she’d lived on the streets was drugs, but she’d seen enough of the business to know what was what. She held out her ring to take a picture. “Probably not enough light.”
Reese pulled a sheet of aluminum that was stuck between the table and the wall and held the shiny metal up so it reflected all the light from the window to the spot where she needed it.
He was resourceful, she had to give him that. A good quality in a partner.
“Thanks.” She snapped two pictures only. The tiny camera’s memory wasn’t endless and they still had to search Cavanaugh’s office and bedroom.
“Hear that?” Reese lifted a hand to caution her to silence. He slipped the sheet of aluminum back in place.
Faint sounds came from outside. Sam glanced around for a place to hide.
“What idiot left this open?” The voice coming from the door startled her into action. She stepped up on the table then dived into the motorboat, Reese right behind her. She was lying on something hard that dug into her ribs, but didn’t dare move. Reese reached up to the pulley to stop the boat from swaying. He just managed when the lights came on.
“Move it, kid,” the same voice, Roberto’s, said, and there was some scuffle.
“I didn’t do it, man.” The second voice was young and desperate.
“Don’t worry about it, you’ll be fine.”
“Can you untie me?”
“No can do. The boss wants to make sure you stay here.”
“I will, I swear, man. I’m not gonna do anythin’ stupid.”
Some odd sounds came from below, then, “You already did.”
“Louise’s a lyin’ bitch. You gonna believe her over me?”
“Fact is, stuff did disappear.”
“I’m tellin’ you, man, I gave it to her. All of it.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Roberto said from the door again. “The boss will hear you out. I’ll be back in a couple of hours once all his guests go to bed.”
With that, the light went out and the door closed.
“Don’t leave me here, man!” the kid yelled below, then swore over and over again.
Sam remained motionless, fairly certain that the boss would not let the kid explain and escape in a couple of hours. Once the guests had gone to bed, Cavanaugh’s men would probably take him out in a boat. He would never return.
The big bosses didn’t forgive dirty runners. They didn’t care to find out the truth. You got fingered, you were made to disappear. She’d met kids at various shelters who had ended up like that.
The one down below knew it, too. A few moments of silence passed before she could hear the sound of sniffling.
She lifted her upper body, slowly, despite Reese’s restraining hand that tried to push her back. She came up just enough to see a boy of sixteen or so tied to a chair. He was crying.
They were trapped. All three of them.
SHE WAS GOING to do something stupid like try to save the kid, who would in turn tell Cavanaugh all about them to save his own skin, no doubt. Reese shook his head.
Even in the semidarkness, he could see the fire in her glare.
She gestured toward the kid.
He shook his head again.
The sound of scraping came from below. He looked over the edge of the boat. The boy was trying to get out from under the ropes. He gave up after about a minute. He was tied with good sail ropes and expert seaman ties. He tried to drag the chair to the door. After a yard or so, the leg got caught on something and he tripped, fell on his face. He swore and cried again, at the same time. Reese could smell his desperation from across the room.
A half hour passed before the kid made it to the door. Then he tried to open it with his mouth. That didn’t work. Turning the knob wasn’t enough. It was locked from the outside. He wasn’t going to pick that lock with his teeth.
Sam nudged Reese with her feet. Like he needed another reminder that he was on top of her; every curve that he’d spent considerable energy ignoring day in and day out pressed against him in an intimate way. She shifted and he ground his teeth together, reminding himself that she only wanted one thing from him. He shook his head with as much emphasis as he could muster. They held a glaring contest that lasted several minutes and included a lot of silent gesturing.
When he looked back out again, the kid was slumped forward with his head leaning against the door. He wasn’t moving. His back rose and fell evenly.
Had he exhausted himself to sleep?
Even if he had, they couldn’t get out without waking him. He was blocking the door.
Reese made a small noise that could have been attributed to the wind outside. The kid didn’t look up. He made a louder noise. The boy remained sleeping.
Sam was sitting up now and watching, too. “We have to help him,” she whispered.
Yes. In a perfect world that would have been possible. But his world was far from perfect, and he had learned long ago that he couldn’t save everyone. “And put you at risk?”
“If we leave him, he’ll die.”
“Maybe he’ll talk himself out of trouble.”
Sam gave him a look full of disappointment.
For some reason it dug under his skin. What did he care what she thought of him? Why was a teenage dealer so important to her all of a sudden? Important enough to risk her life, and the lives of hundreds or thousands perhaps if this ended up blowing their cover and making the mission impossible. If they didn’t get to Tsernyakov and he was allowed to continue his activities, there would be a body count that would make a single casualty pale in comparison.
But as he watched her watching the kid, he suddenly understood. It could have been her. If she’d stayed on the streets, who knew where she would have ended up?
He drew a slow breath, considered his options then gestured for her to stay before silently lowering himself to the ground. He crept to the boy, step by careful step, drew the small pocket-knife from his pants and, as gently as he could, began to saw the rope.
The kid must have had an exhausting day. He remained passed out.
A little more. There. Reese sliced the last of the rope through, pocketed the knife then stole back to the boat, hoping he hadn’t just made a huge tactical mistake. But the gleam in Sam’s eyes when he got back felt good. She was smiling from ear to ear.
Reese banged his hand on the side of the boat.
The chair scraped below. The boy had come awake. He could hear the door handle rattle, then footsteps across the room, noise at the table.
The kid was climbing the table to get to the window above it. But from that elevated position he would be able to see straight into the boat.
Reese looked at Sam, mouthing, “Close your eyes.” Some people could sense if they were being watched. He shut his lids, too, and went limp on top of her. If the kid did look, in the darkness he might mistake them for a couple of bodies. Shouldn’t find that completely out of the realm of possibility if he’d worked in the drug trade long enough.
But no gasp of surprise came from the direction of the window, just the sound of it being opened, then a thump as the kid jumped to the ground below.
Reese didn’t want to wait a second longer and risk Cavanaugh’s men coming back and turning the place upside down. “Let’s go.”
They were out of the boat and at the door in seconds. To go through the window like the kid would have risked that they’d run into him. She picked the lock—pretty handy with the tools she wore in her hair, disguised as pins and a large barrette. He peered out carefully. The beach was deserted, not a guest in sight; even the night owls had retired to their rooms, it seemed. Sam followed him as he crept from the boathouse to the nearest patch of shadows, making his way back to their bungalow.
They got about halfway and made it to the spot where they would have to come out into the open, when Sam tugged on his arm.
Cavanaugh’s men were coming back.
THEY WERE TRAPPED in the bushes. Sam press
ed closer to Reese, to the comfort of his bulk, and watched as the two men went into the building then a second later came running out. Both were on their cell phones, spreading out, searching the grounds. A few moments later, more men came from the house.
They ran toward the beach. Did the footprints from the window lead that way?
Sam pulled Reese through the bushes to the other side. Twenty feet of open patio lay between them and the guest bungalow. The light over the front door was on. They were sure to be seen if they went that way.
“Not there,” Reese whispered as he passed her, heading toward the side that was mostly in shadow.
She followed him to a small shed, took his hand so he could help her up after him. They made it to a windowsill, hoping the air conditioner would drown out any noise they made. Then they slipped over to a balcony. Not theirs.
Roberto ran across the sand below them.
She held her breath and flashed Reese a “Now what?” look.
He gestured toward the doors.
At least they had one piece of good luck tonight. The white French doors were open. But just because the light wasn’t on inside, it didn’t mean nobody was awake.
In fact, the bed was decidedly squeaking.
She got down on her hands and knees. Reese rolled his eyes, but did the same. And then they went in.
If this suite was anything like theirs, the front door opened from the small foyer area right outside the bedroom. All they had to do was make it past the bed.
Moan, moan, squeak, squeak, moan, moan.
There seemed to be a lot of that going on at Cavanaugh’s weeklong party. His guests were by no means inhibited.
Sam held her breath as she made her way forward, froze when the noises stopped for a second, went weak with relief when they resumed again.
The few minutes it took to get back to their suite felt like hours. But they were finally there, the door locked between them, and she could breathe easier.
“Looked like those two were having fun,” she said as she went for a glass of water to cover up her nerves, which were still far from calm. It had been a busy night.
