He was rising to his feet, both hands on the desktop for leverage. Liz saw that the man with the knife was recovering. Before Liz decided between Lanjwani and the man with the knife, the woman in the wetsuit lunged past her and drove the bloody knife through Lanjwani's right hand, pinning it to the desktop. His eyes went wide and he screamed.
Liz turned to the man with the knife; he was now up on one knee. She took one step toward him, measuring the distance, and kicked him on the point of his chin, snapping his head back. Her kick drove the back of his head into the bulkhead behind him. There was a sound like a watermelon dropped on concrete would make, and he convulsed, collapsing to the deck.
She scooped up his knife and turned to see that the woman in the wetsuit had shoved Lanjwani back into his chair. She had zip-tied his left wrist to the arm of the chair and unpinned his right hand. She held the knife in her teeth as she zip-tied his right wrist to the other arm of the chair. Finished, she took the knife in her right hand and put the tip of the blade into Lanjwani's right nostril. "Don't move," she said, turning slightly toward Liz.
"Nice work," the black-clad woman said, her cold blue eyes locking on Liz's.
That was when the sound of gunfire came from below deck.
"You need to get out of here," Liz said.
"Not before I kill this comepinga," the woman said, pushing the knife, watching Lanjwani flinch.
"No!" Liz said. "I need him alive; he's got information that DHS wants. Don't worry; he'll wish you'd killed him before they're through, but right now, the local police are going to interrogate him about the murder of Herbert Watkins."
"I'll save them the — " the woman's eyes went wide with shock at the force of the slap Liz delivered to her dark face.
"I told you, get out of here. The locals are looking for you for several assaults and two killings. Go! Now!"
The woman stared at Liz and shook her head, trying to get her bearings. Her eyes flashed in anger as she stood and put the knife in a sheath at her waist.
"Four killings, and I'll deal with you later." She whirled and dashed out onto the bridge deck, clearing the rail in a perfect dive that left barely a ripple on the surface of the sea.
"Everybody freeze," Marie barked, as she rolled through the opposite door, the one Liz had been pushed through a few minutes earlier. She looked around at the carnage and shook her head, lowering her pistol. "Guess we shouldn't have hurried."
"Perfect timing," Liz said. "I heard gunshots."
"Yes," Marie said. "Six gunshots. They wanted to go to paradise, the jihadis, but too bad. No virgins for them. They were killed by a mere woman."
"Where's everybody else?" Liz asked.
"Jean-Luc and his guys are cleaning up. The bodies will go with the team who picks up Lanjwani after we record his confession. And — "
"You must be Ms. Chirac," the tall, slender young man in a police uniform interrupted, as he stepped through the door. "I am Cedric Jones, the — "
"You? You're Cedric Jones? I pictured you as much older," Liz said. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me. I'm just ... "
"It's perfectly understandable, after what you've been through," the young man said, averting his eyes and taking off his jacket. Still looking away from Liz, he handed her the coat. She felt her skin flush as she remembered her state of undress. "Thank you," she said, slipping her arms into the jacket and zipping it. "You're very kind."
He turned toward her, an embarrassed smile on his face. "I'm only a Detective Sergeant, Ms. Chirac. I'm named for my uncle, the Deputy Commissioner. And he is much older."
Liz smiled. "And is he as handsome as his nephew?"
The young man looked down, fidgeting with the pistol he held.
"Video camera's rolling," Marie said, before Jones answered. "Hamid Lanjwani, you are under arrest for the murder of Herbert Watkins. Detective, inform him of his rights."
"I have nothing to say," Lanjwani said. "I demand medical attention and an attorney."
"Very well," Marie said. She stepped to the camera and switched it off. "Liz, could you and the Detective Sergeant leave us for a few minutes while I deal with Mr. Lanjwani's requests?"
"Certainly," Liz said. "I could use some fresh air, and I'd love to hear more about your uncle, Detective." She smiled up at him and led him out of the cabin, closing the door behind them.
Epilogue
Two hours later ...
As the go-fast boat idled through the marina approaching Kayak Spirit's slip, Marie leaned toward the helmsman, putting her lips to his ear. "Stop," she hissed.
"What's wrong," Liz whispered, taking a cue from Marie.
"Light's on in the main cabin. Someone's aboard."
Liz stood up and stared at Kayak Spirit, a few feet away. She spotted a wetsuit hanging on the lifelines amidships, glistening in the harsh light from the sodium-vapor security lights. "It's okay," Liz said, watching as they drifted ever closer. She climbed onto the gunwale of the go-fast boat and jumped to the finger pier alongside Kayak Spirit, landing like a cat. Marie was on her heels, pistol in hand, as Liz went down the companionway.
A dark-skinned woman sat at the saloon table, her back to them. A white towel, smudged with black splotches, was draped around her shoulders. She ran a coarse comb through her wet, brassy-blonde hair. Liz caught her eye in the mirror.
"Hóla, chica," Liz said. "Como está usted?"
"Bien, gracias. Except for my cheek, where you slapped me. Why didn't you want me there for the fun?"
"Dani?" Marie asked, frowning.
"Hello, Marie."
"What happened to your hair? That color, it is — "
"I wanted to get rid of the black; I never knew there were so many different kinds of blonde hair coloring. Women are such vain fools."
"Sorry about the slap," Liz said, "but I knew Marie was bringing the local cops in. It would have been too complicated. They think you killed that guy, Watkins, and you weren't acting reasonable."
"When did you recognize me?"
"Your eyes gave you away when you looked at me after you pinned Lanjwani's hand to the desk."
Dani nodded. "I mostly wore colored glasses. I dyed my hair and my skin, but I couldn't find a place to get dark contacts."
"You were the Hispanic woman all along?" Marie asked.
"Yes."
"You knew Liz and I were here? On Kayak Spirit?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you come to us?" Liz asked. "I've been worried sick about you."
"I had some scores to settle first. I'm pissed that you gave Lanjwani to the cops; he needs killing."
"We didn't exactly give him to the cops," Liz said. "Marie convinced him to confess to the killing of Herbert Watkins to clear your name. Cedric's nephew interrogated him and Marie made a video of his confession. You're in the clear, but the Cuban woman, she's a different story."
"Cuban woman?"
"The cops think someone hired a Cuban woman to roll up the sex-trafficking ring. Some kind of turf war. Apparently, Barron had some Latin American connections," Marie said.
"Scumbag," Dani said. "I gather she killed him, this 'Cuban' woman?"
"Somebody did. Him and his bodyguard, both. The cops suspect her. She also beat up a prison warden and two guards who were in league with Barron, maybe supplying him with girls." Liz said.
"Not to mention a crooked detective," Dani added. "I think she nailed a couple of Lanjwani's thugs upstairs at the grocery store, too. What's going to happen to Lanjwani, by the way? You said something about the DHS."
"After we made the video, some masked men broke in and snatched him," Marie said. "Jean-Luc and his team spirited him and the bodies away. Lanjwani's in a black site somewhere by now, telling them everything he knows about the six terrorists and their connection in Martinique, this one they called the Sheik."
"Bodies? Terrorists?" Dani asked, her eyebrows rising.
"He was smuggling terrorists into Miami using Greek passports," Liz said. "Watkins got in the wa
y, and Lanjwani and his brother-in-law killed him. They paid a fisherman to say he saw you chase Watkins off Vengeance and kill him in some lover's spat."
"I did chase him off; he was trying to break in when I came back from dinner that night. I didn't kill him, though." She shook her head. "Terrorists?" Dani asked, again.
"Lanjwani was hiding six men who came from Syria to Martinique by way of France. He had Greek passports for them. We're guessing they were headed for the U.S., but I was asking too many questions about you, and he sent his brother-in-law to do away with me and sink Vengeance. It didn't go the way he'd planned, and I found the passports in the guy's backpack," Liz said.
"I thought Lanjwani was in a sex-trafficking ring with a guy named Barron."
"How did you discover that?" Liz asked.
"It's a long story," Dani said. "I could use a glass of wine, and I'll tell you the whole thing. But first, where's Vengeance?"
"Ste. Anne," Liz said, opening the refrigerator. "Sancerre okay?"
"Perfect," Dani said.
"For me, as well," Marie said, settling onto the starboard settee.
As Liz poured the wine, Dani said, "Can we take Kayak Spirit back and get Vengeance in the morning?"
"There is the problem of your passport, Dani," Marie said.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"The police have it," Liz said, "to keep you from leaving the country." She handed each of them a glass of wine, turning back to pick up her own from the galley counter. "We'll get it back, now that Lanjwani confessed, but it may take a little time."
Dani grinned, shaking her head. "No, they don't have it any longer. I retrieved it a few days ago."
"How?" Marie asked.
"I may as well tell you the whole story, now. I guess we have all night, don't we?"
"As long as it takes," Liz said. "I'm glad you're back."
"You, too. I missed you. I want to hear about Belgium. How did you cope?"
"You first," Liz said. "Nothing exciting happened in Belgium, and Marie's not interested in that anyway. Start talking, woman." Liz sat down next to Marie.
Dani took a sip of the wine and turned to face them. "It started with a fight in the local prison. Some jailbird tried to take my dinner, and ... "
****
Keep reading for the sample of Bluewater Drone, the eleventh book in the Bluewater Thrillers series
Chapter 1
Dani let her eyes wander through the dimly lit bar. Dozens of sunburned tourists guzzled the potent rum drinks that were a feature of happy hour in the islands, but she wasn't interested in the tourists. Lifting her chilled white wine from the table where she sat alone, she took a measured sip.
She turned to look at Liz, perched on a stool at the bar, chatting with their friend Maggie, the bartender. Liz smiled at something Maggie said and then saw Dani looking at them. She winked at Dani and inclined her head toward the entrance, directing Dani's attention to the man with well-barbered, curly brown hair who had just stepped through the door.
Dani gasped; he was fine-looking. She put his age at about 30, and he looked at ease as he swept his gaze over the crowd. When his eyes locked with hers, she had to force herself to breathe. Catching herself before her jaw dropped, she remembered to give him a demure smile. He maintained eye contact long enough for her to feel her skin begin to flush with excitement.
He raised his eyebrows, and she nodded, directing her eyes to the empty chair across from her. She struggled to remember how Liz had told her to behave as she watched him thread his way through the crowded space. She caught her breath when he stopped at her table.
"May I?" He rested a manicured hand on the back of the vacant chair.
She nodded, studying him, taking in the dark brown eyes and the flawless, tanned skin. She saw the tan lines on his right hand from a sailing glove or a golf glove. She couldn't tell which until she could see the other hand, which hung in shadow at his side as he waited for her answer.
"If you wish," she said, feigning indifference, glad it was dark enough so that he couldn't see how flushed her skin was above the top of the strapless sundress that Liz had picked for her.
He pulled the chair out and sat, as graceful as a big cat. "Good evening. I'm Kevin Strong," he said. "Most people call me Kev." He smiled in a way calculated to show off his bleached teeth.
The teeth were just irregular enough to let Dani know that they were real. "Good evening, Kev. I'm Danielle Berger; call me Dani." She suppressed the impulse to offer him a firm handshake.
Maggie arrived before either of them could fill the brief silence. "Good evening, sir. What can I get you to drink?"
"Rum punch," he said, not looking at Maggie.
She raised her eyebrows at Dani and stepped back to the bar, pouring punch from a frosted pitcher into a tall glass. As she set it on the table in front of him, she gave Dani a wink and tilted her head toward the bar, where Liz was grinning and giving Dani a thumbs-up sign.
"To the beginning of a glorious evening in paradise," Kev said, raising his drink toward Dani.
She picked up her glass and clicked it against his. "Cheers," she said, taking a sip of her wine.
She noticed that there were no tan lines on his left hand as he rested it on the table. Golfer, she thought, disappointed.
"What's that?" Kev asked.
"What's what?" Dani asked, frowning.
"I thought you said, 'golfer.'"
"I did?"
"I thought so, anyway."
"Well?" she asked, her brow still creased.
"Well, what, Dani?" Now he was frowning, too.
"Well, are you?" She hesitated, saw that he was confused, and added, "a golfer?"
"Yes. Why do you ask?"
"Um ... I was hoping you were a sailor." She clenched her teeth, annoyed at her lack of composure.
"Sorry to disappoint you," he said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I didn't mean that like it sounded," she said. "Golf's okay. I just thought ... "
He waited for her to finish her sentence. When she didn't, he asked, "Do you golf?"
She shook her head, trying to think of a way to change the subject. "Are you staying here at the resort?" she asked, looking for a neutral topic.
"Yes. It's great. The course is just so-so, though. But you can't have everything; I guess it's suffered from the drought. Are you staying here, too?"
"No," she said, shaking her head, dreading his next question. She couldn't think of a way to avoid it, nor could she come up with an answer that wouldn't lead where she didn't want to go.
"You don't look like a native," he said, waiting. "Or are you?"
"Why do you say I don't look like a native?" She frowned at this unexpected turn in the conversation.
"Natives are color-coded," he said, grinning.
Annoyed by his casual bigotry, she asked, "Where are you from?" She was still hoping to find a safe topic.
"New York and L.A.," he said. "You?"
Becoming uncomfortable with him, she said, "I live on a charter yacht that my partner and I run. So I guess I'm sort of a local, even if I'm white."
"Uh-oh," Kev said. "Is he joining you here?"
"He?" Dani asked, a tentative tone in her voice.
"Your partner," Kev said.
"She," Dani said, irritation replacing the confusion in her voice.
"She, who? You lost me, Dani."
"She, my partner."
"Your partner's a woman?" He raised his eyebrows, his eyes wide with surprise.
"Yes. Last time I checked she was. What of it?"
"Uh, nothing. I mean you don't look like a ... It doesn't matter to ... Some of my best friends ... Are you?"
"Are you trying to ask if I'm a lesbian?" She felt her initial flush of excitement changing to the heat of anger, with which she was better acquainted.
He spread his hands, turning his palms up and rounding his shoulders. "Well," he said, eyes going wide with innocence,
"after what you said, it's an honest — "
Dani lurched to her feet, jarring the table and upsetting their drinks. "You bigoted asshole!"
Dani felt Liz lock an arm through hers and pull her away from the table as Maggie rushed up with a handful of napkins to contain the damage from the spilled drinks.
Kev stood and tried to approach Dani, but Maggie stepped in front of him, shaking her head.
"I'd just like to apologize," he said. "It was a misunderstanding. I could make it all — "
"I don't think so, jerk," Dani hissed. "Cut your losses and get out of here while you're still in one piece."
****
Andrei Ivanovitch Danilov sat at the desk in his stateroom on Platinum Odyssey studying the script that the American producer had sent. He sipped his after-dinner cognac as he read, imagining the actors and actresses as they brought the lines to life. Danilov had been an admirer of this man's work for years, from the time the would-be producer had been a fledgling actor. His track record as a producer had not been as successful as his acting career. The man had been plagued by poor financial decisions, both his own and his backers'. That lack of financial aptitude was part of what made him attractive to Danilov.
As an actor, the man was amazing; he could project emotion like no one else. That was his strength, and Danilov was betting that he could lead an entire cast to reach the same dramatic heights that he himself scaled so easily.
Danilov didn't make bets unless the odds were in his favor. He'd invested heavily in researching this man's previous failures as a producer. He'd paid a small fortune for the bankrupt production company that marked the beginning of the man's precipitous decline in the fickle world of Hollywood. The purchase had netted Danilov hours of film clips, scripts, production notes, and most comprehensible to Danilov, all the financial records.
Aside from his Ivy League MBA, Danilov had the practical experience that came from surviving the collapse of Gorbachev's regime and the evolution of Russia's so-called economy since then. A junior KGB officer when Yeltsin came to power, Danilov had been one of the first to recognize the free-market opportunity presented by chaos. Since then, he had thrived. Invisible to most, he had become one of the world's wealthiest men.
Bluewater Jailbird: The Tenth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 10) Page 20
