Protector

by Catherine Mann

  Throughout his career in the air force, he’d flown combat in Afghanistan. He’d flown test missions on aircraft the world didn’t even know about yet. But he couldn’t make one stubborn redhead walk away from her crooked father.

  Beyond the front gate, he checked left, then right, not that there was much risk of oncoming traffic leading into the country estate. As he looked out the passenger window, something off-kilter snagged his radar eye, something on the opposite seat.

  A thumb drive?

  A thumb drive had slid from beneath the envelope, the edge just poking out. Chuck snatched the thumb drive from under the envelope, a slip of paper fluttering to the floor.

  He opened a note written in Jolynn’s scrawl. Someone has access to the microprocessor timing code for the slot machines. The code is being used to launder money through the casino through rigged wins.

  Chuck twisted to look over his shoulder at the sprawling house. The armless statue poised in the middle of the fountain seemed to mock him across the distance, claiming Jolynn once and for all.

  The gates clanged shut, locked, sealed. And what he held in his hand very likely didn’t have a damn thing to do with money laundering.

  But could well offer a clue about how data to build a dirty nuke was being shuffled through Fortuna slot machines.

  * * *

  Jolynn savored the caress of water streaming from her body as Chuck loved her. He held her close, safe. His hands now skimmed over her body, curving around the gentle swell of her stomach where she carried his child, their child.

  The spray of the shower chilled to a biting sting.

  He pulled away, his brown eyes filled with scorn.

  “Chuck?” She tried to reach for him, but her arms wouldn’t obey. She looked down and her arms were gone, just like on the amputated Venus statue.

  “Good-bye, Jolynn.” He backed up another step, their baby cradled in his hands now in that crazy senselessness of dreams.

  “Chuck, come back. I don’t understand.”

  “I want you, Lynnie, not some cold, stone statue.”

  His words rang like a gunshot through the maze of hedges, like the bullet that had taken down her uncle. Chuck’s body blurred and became two men, just like that day, two faceless gunmen…

  Jolynn startled awake, the wood planks of the gazebo uncomfortable beneath her. Exhausted from a night of no sleep and the wrenching emotions of the day, she realized she must have fallen asleep. She brushed a hand across her brow, smoothing her hair from her eyes.

  She wanted to cry.

  She needed to cry.

  But the tears wouldn’t come.

  No great surprise since she felt dried up inside. Her head flopped back against the wall. He was gone. She could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers, smell him, feel him. Want him.

  A month ago, she would have given anything to hear her father’s explanation for why he had turned from her after Uncle Simon’s death. Any joy was obliterated by the ache of having lost Chuck.

  At least he was safe.

  What if she and Chuck had met under normal circumstances, maybe at some vintage car show. She had often wondered if there could ever be a man for her, Jolynn Taylor, a brainy, awkward girl who liked old cars and hated cooking.

  From the middle of the garden, Venus de Milo showered water over the choir of fish at her feet. Jolynn studied the statue she’d thrown rocks at eighteen years ago, the day her uncle had died. The day she’d waited out here for her father, hoping he would finally notice her. Only now, she felt none of the inadequacies, none of the insecurities.

  Again, she’d lost the most important man in her life, Chuck, instead of her father. However, this time, the man had left her something. A sense of her own self-worth.

  “Hey, little girl.”

  Jolynn looked beside her and found Hebert waiting at the base of the gazebo steps. His beefy arms unfolded and spread wide. She flew into his embrace.

  He patted her back with his clumsy paw of a hand. “You okay?”

  “Not right now, but I’m going to be.”

  He held her tighter, the almost bruising force of his hug a welcome ache in exchange for the security of his love.

  How many times had she run to Bear during her childhood? Even before her father had distanced himself after Uncle Simon’s murder, Hebert Benoit— Bear— was the one she’d turned to with her problems.

  She pulled back, staring up at his dear, craggy face. “Thank you, Bear.”

  He smiled.

  She cried.

  * * *

  Wearing a ball cap and using one of the fake IDs Berg and Nuñez had cooked up, Chuck slipped back onto the Fortuna at this final stop before they reached Genoa. No doubt, Chuck Tanaka wouldn’t be welcome. However, “Tim Kano” had been listed in the ship’s computers as a guest for the whole cruise for just such a scenario if his Charles Tomas cover was blown. In fact, they all had a second name and room booked in case their identities were compromised.

  Angry as hell at life, he charged down the corridor deep in the ship’s belly, thumb drive burning a hole in his pocket. The engine room hummed louder and louder the closer he came to Berg’s crappy cabin that most travel agents couldn’t give away. Chuck keyed open the lock and shoved inside. Colonel Scanlon sat in front of the computers while Berg sprawled on the top bunk snoring lowly.

  Chuck pushed the door closed tightly. “Where’s Nuñez?”

  “Mingling. Chasing down some leads the authorities got out of Grassi. Keeping an eye on our favorite row of slot machines, looking out for our three suspects. If anyone can spot a person in disguise, it’s Nuñez. Today, he’s pretending to be a French artist looking to win enough money to fund his own gallery showing.”

  “This may help you.” Chuck slapped the thumb drive by the computers.

  Scanlon’s eyes narrowed. “Have a seat, Captain.”

  Chuck didn’t budge.

  “Sit. That’s an order.” His tone brooked no argument.

  Too weary to argue, Chuck fell into the chair.

  Scanlon reached across and raked the thumb drive to his side of the desk. “What do we have here?”

  “Data straight from the Fortuna’s accounting office. Jolynn passed it along thinking it would help us with a money-laundering investigation. I suspect this may be why they were after her by the catacombs, regardless of what Grassi said.”

  He suppressed a yawn as he rubbed his neck. Glancing around the room, he wondered where they stashed the coffee machine. He could use a cup… or five. “There’s data from the fund-raiser, which is funded by a percentage from the slot machines. The way those slot machines keep popping up in the investigation makes me wonder if they’ve been using the scholarship fund to move cash to fund the whole terrorist operation.”

  Colonel Scanlon plugged in the thumb drive, his brow furrowing while he waited for the data to upload. “Could well be. What’s your take on Lucy Taylor? Do you think she worked with Adolpho Grassi in spite of what he says? He’s her fiancé and she was in charge of the scholarship. She’s got expensive habits. Big debts. Makes sense that Grassi would fall on his sword for the woman he loves. Quite frankly, I just can’t see him pulling this off on his own the way he claims.”

  “My gut says it’s not her, but you know my faith in my gut isn’t at an all-time high right now.” He had to believe Lucy hadn’t known about the death threats, or he’d go crazy worrying about Jolynn alone with her.

  The colonel turned away from the screens. “Are you all right?”

  “Just make sure she doesn’t get hurt.” With a strange feeling of déjà vu, he heard himself utter almost the exact words Taylor had said to him the day before. Standing in the old man’s shoes pinched.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “That’s your job. It’s not me she wants, Captain.”

  “How about you tell her that.” Bitterness crept into his voice.

  The colonel looked heavenward. “Lord preserve me from
ignorant company-grade officers.” He jerked a thumb toward the computer screens behind him filling with encrypted data. “Think about who gave you this. I’m curious as to when she passed it over.”

  “When she pitched me out of her father’s house.”

  “Why would she do that?” Scanlon’s voice sounded suspiciously condescending. “What would you have done if she simply passed the information over to you?”

  “Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t have left her in that pit of vipers. She should be with me right now. This thing’s bigger than Grassi, and they won’t want Jolynn snooping around. If she stays with me while we find the proof, I could be there the next time they try to… shoot in her direction.” He deflated into the chair. His arms hung limp, knuckles dragging the floor.

  The colonel nudged.“She wanted to…”

  “Keep me safe?”

  “Bingo, Captain.”

  “Damn…” Chuck forked his fingers through his hair. “When did you go into the Match. com business?”

  “Let’s just say this cruise has been a real eye-opener for both of us.” Scanlon clapped him on the shoulder, his assessing stare too insightful. “You have to know by now, Chuck, you’re not only about the flying and techno details. You’ve got an instinct for this work. It carried you through that hellish time in Turkey and it’s served you invaluably here as well.”

  Chuck looked away before the colonel could see just how much Jolynn had knocked him off balance. He studied the computer screen behind the colonel with the encryption decoder picking apart the puzzle like a car engine and…

  “Holy shit, sir.” Chuck shot to his feet and thumped sleeping Berg awake on the top bunk. “Get up. Now. Grassi has been playing us with his confessions. I know exactly how they’re moving the data, and if what I’m seeing is right, the final transmission will take place here on the Fortuna tomorrow night.”

  EIGHTEEN

  “Who wants eight the hard way?”

  “I’ll take that. Give me twenty on eight.”

  “Come on, little Joe from Ko-ko-mo!”

  Jolynn parted the pervasive smoke with her body, winding around slot machines and frenzied gamblers. Her eyes stung, and she tried to attribute the moisture to the cigarette haze.

  Right now, she wanted to be done with the fund-raiser so she could ditch her high-heeled shoes and simple black evening gown— and figure out what to do with the rest of her life once she left Genoa. The nerve-tingling clamor of the casino contrasted in her mind with the quiet sterility of her empty future.

  Amid the chaos of chiming bells and flashing lights, she elbowed through the crowd in search of her father. He was somewhere here sitting in a chair holding court. He’d done his best to persuade her not to come. But she had to, for her uncle’s memory and for Lucy, who she hoped would find some peace in commemorating her father. Instead, her cousin was still hollow eyed from the betrayal, her olive green dress making her look all the more sallow and sad.

  This wasn’t the big event they’d all been hoping for. Five more hours of the required polite greetings and she could go back to her stateroom on the ship, peel off her basic black evening gown, and pack her bags with a clear conscience.

  “Hey there, pretty lady!” A sailor extended one hand while he palmed her thigh with the other. “Come stand by me for luck.”

  She offered him a polite smile Venus de Milo would have disdained and kept her chin high, her emotions behind the staunch wall. “I think not.”

  How long before Chuck traced the information she’d given him and arrested— She didn’t even want to guess who. Accusing anyone close to her seemed disloyal.

  Like turning over the thumb drive wasn’t disloyal?

  But looking away, hiding would have made her just as guilty.

  Her gaze scanned to the blackjack table. A wiry old man with a goatee encouraged the patrons encircling his area. Their faces, twisted with laughter she couldn’t hear, seemed so surreal.

  From behind the clutch of gamblers, a sleek dark head gleamed under the chandelier light. Lean and handsome in a white tuxedo jacket and black pants. She looked harder, studying the muscular figure, and oh my God, there was no mistaking it.

  Chuck stood by a pack of heavily jeweled gamblers at the roulette wheel. Hope trembled low inside her. Had he come for her? Why else would he be here? He had the proof he needed, and yet still, here he was. As much as she wanted to shield him from her father’s world, she should have known Chuck wouldn’t give up on her.

  And as much as she worried for him, she still couldn’t hold back the joy at seeing him. Even a few hours away from him had been awful. How could she face a life without him?

  The room was too noisy and packed for her to shout to him or push through quickly, so she called out to him with her eyes, her stare. He glanced over the heads of the well-dressed crowd, their gazes connecting with the familiar crackle of awareness. Memories of their time together at the cottage came rushing back. She couldn’t have stopped her feet from moving toward Chuck if she’d tried.

  The gleam of Hebert’s bald head shone just beyond the clump of gamblers around the blackjack table as she walked. She stifled a smile. He looked profoundly uncomfortable stuffed into his tuxedo. Seeing Chuck and Bear so close, she was amazed that she’d ever missed the similarity in their strengths, a quiet steadfastness. Who needed flowery words?

  Jolynn wove through the crush of people toward Chuck. What would she say to him? She wouldn’t know if she couldn’t get to him.

  Jostled, she paused, looking over to apologize. “I’m sorry.”

  The aging Italian contessa who collected a different boy toy at every port gave an offhanded smile. “Va bene.”

  She seemed more interested in hitting the slots with the hard-bodied eye candy on her arm. Something niggled at Jolynn, but she couldn’t think what. She stared back over her shoulder through the haze, but the woman was already out of sight. Farther across the room, Livia Cicero sang “Stardust” while her colonel boyfriend looked on.

  The colonel? The man who worked with Chuck was still here?

  Slowly, she realized Chuck wasn’t here for her, but because of his investigation. Where was Bear? She searched for her rock in the middle of the rapidly disintegrating world, but he was nowhere in sight now. Neither was her father. So who did that leave for Chuck and the colonel to be watching? Not Bear. God no.

  But oh Lord, please, it couldn’t be Lucy either, although logic told her it had to be her cousin with her ties to Adolpho.

  And as if her thoughts morphed into reality, the colonel pushed through the crowd in Lucy’s direction. Chuck tipped his head to the side, then started walking away from her, toward Lucy.

  Jolynn wanted to scream.

  “No.” The word slid free on the gust of a whisper. She gasped, confused and light-headed from lack of air. Grief constricted her breathing like a steel band around her ribs.

  Like a male arm around her waist.

  “Walk,” a voice growled in her ear, a familiar voice.

  A gun bit into the tender flesh of her side.

  * * *

  Chuck focused on Nuñez across the packed casino level, dressed as the replacement blackjack dealer. The colonel was pushing through the crowd, although his gaze never seemed to stray long from Livia onstage. Scanlon had wanted her off the ship tonight— but as predicted, she’d stubbornly declared otherwise.

  Livia Cicero was the one who’d started this operation by approaching the colonel with her suspicions. She was the one who’d noticed the pattern of those three gamblers taking cruise after cruise, leading the team to see how those men always played the same rotation of slot machines as if making practice runs. But none of them could have foreseen how deep into the past this investigation would reach. Simon Taylor’s killer was here tonight, a player still jockeying for global power.

  The thumb drive data had shown collected pieces of information to build a dirty nuke. Watching those cards slide in and out of the slot machines,
it made sense now how the data had been uploaded bit by bit at different ports of call. No one having all the pieces of the puzzle, so if captured, that person couldn’t tumble the whole operation.

  But tonight, it wasn’t a dry run, and the final handoff would prove disastrous. A simplified formula for building a dirty nuke placed in terrorist hands would create havoc around the world. No subway, so stadium, no mall would ever be safe again.

  Failure was not an option. Chuck didn’t have room for doubting his edge, especially not with Jolynn in the crosshairs.

  And if— when— he got a second chance to talk to her, he wouldn’t be screwing it up or taking no for an answer. Chuck mentally reviewed his speech for Jolynn, reminding himself to say “I love you” at least three times. Because damn it, there was no mistaking the feeling pumping through him.

  While the husky crooning of the live music swelled across the room, the colonel crossed the last few steps, intercepting Lucy Taylor as she made her way toward the slots. Regret thudded into Chuck.

  He would have sworn it wasn’t Jolynn’s cousin. This would be worse for her than if it had been her father. He didn’t feel too good about it, either.

  Livia’s voice grew louder through the sound system. Chuck glanced back at her wondering what the hell was up with his old friend. Sure, her voice was huskier since her accident, but there was a strident sound… She was singing and pointing with her gloved hand as if addressing someone in the audience.

  Someone by the slot machines.

  The aging contessa was tugging her latest boy toy to the slots. A new face, but a familiar one all the same. Her young date was one of the three suspects identified by Livia from the international terrorist watch list. A student dissident from Albania.

  Chuck launched through the crowd toward the machine. They were close, so damn close, and if that card was plugged in, the data would stream through the transmission cables and link up with the rest already floating out there. There would be no calling it back.