Dangerous Waters

by Janice Kay Johnson

  "How many months is it that I've already wasted? Three? Four? And the bastard found me anyway. I've done enough running. It's time to end this thing."

  Norm had the other chair in the office, though he'd remained silent until now. "We have Silva," Norm reminded him. "He doesn't owe Saldivar any loyalty. He's a smart man..."

  "Too smart to talk." Mac shook his head. This conversation was a rerun. "As things stand, he'll serve a few years in prison, be back in business. There won't be any business if he doesn't prove now how discreet he can be."

  "Sooner or later, something will break."

  "We've tried that way," Mac said flatly. Later would be too late for him. Maybe he was a fool to think he had a chance at a future with Megan, but he knew there wouldn't be any future if he had to run forever.

  "So what do you have in mind?" Mac's superior asked. "Do you plan to take out an ad in the Herald?"

  "If that's the best way to get word out," Mac agreed coolly. "We've played the waiting game long enough. He wants me badly. We can use that. You know how he feels about failure. His pride'll be hurt. If Saldivar has a vulnerable point, his pride is it. Let's set him up, and make sure it works."

  "And if it doesn't?" his boss asked.

  Like a kid playing cops and robbers, Norm pointed at Mac and clicked with his tongue as he pretended to pull the trigger. Mac didn't let his expression show any change. He just waited for the silence to end.

  At last his boss nodded abruptly. "Okay. Maybe you're right. Maybe we have screwed around long enough."

  Mac leaned forward. "Then let's make plans."

  "This time, let's bring some more people in on it. I've stayed in touch with the Miami police on this, and I think the DEA can help us. They both want him as badly as we do."

  "You'll set up a meeting?"

  "For tomorrow, if I can get everybody together that soon."

  "Good," Mac said fiercely.

  At a knock on the frosted-glass inset of the door, Mac's superior raised his voice. "What is it?"

  Bill Marshall opened the door and stuck his head around it. "We have a big problem," he said, in a voice that had Mac and Norm rising to their feet. Bill's gaze went straight to Mac. "Megan Lovell's been kidnapped. Her mother just called."

  *****

  Megan had spent the flight replaying in her mind the last days and weeks, knowing it was pointless but unable to stop herself. Would Mac come to her when Saldivar was stopped?

  At least she knew now that he loved her, but in the end that might not be enough.

  She wondered if he really believed that for him she was willing to walk away from everything that had ever been important to her. Remembering her stubbornness those first days after she rescued him, she couldn't blame Mac if he didn't believe her. It amazed even her how utterly she had changed. She had been so certain her life was satisfying! And now?

  Now it would be empty. Unseeing, Megan gazed out the small window beside her seat. Her cottage— it would be hardest to bear, because every room was imprinted with memories of Mac. The meals they had cooked and eaten together, the bathroom where his towel had hung beside hers, the living room where he slept—she hadn't even stripped the sheets off the sleeper couch, she thought. Her bedroom... She drew a shuddering breath. How could she go home?

  School would be starting in... It took her a moment to calculate. Four days. Other years at this time, she had been excited, planning eagerly, reading the files on her new students. Now she couldn't seem to recall a single name.

  Megan leaned her head back and closed her eyes. All she knew for certain about the weeks to come was that the tension of waiting would never leave her. Every time the phone rang, she would answer with breathless fear, afraid to hear the worst.

  She was bone-tired by the time the plane landed in Portland. Her father was coming to meet her, but she'd arranged for him to pick her up at an airport hotel in the morning. She had intended to finish replenishing her wardrobe, she remembered. She wasn't in the mood anymore, but she was glad she didn't have to face him immediately. Perhaps by morning she would have come to terms with herself and be ready to hide some of her desolation.

  Once her flight landed, Megan exited the plane and collected her baggage. With only her purse, a small case, and the one large suitcase that rolled on wheels, she dodged the porters and headed for the doors.

  Outside was the usual chaos: cars parked and double-parked while passengers unloaded or loaded luggage and kissed drivers hello or goodbye. Taxi drivers honked and several hotel shuttles were departing. Megan stood for a moment, disoriented. Real life with a vengeance. She wasn't ready for it.

  Ahead she saw a taxi, a departing passenger leaning in the window to pay off the driver. She tugged on her suitcase and hurried toward it.

  Behind the taxi was a blue sedan she scarcely noticed. Two men had gotten out and were passing her on their way toward the doors into the terminal. When one of them bumped her she said an automatic. "Oh, I'm sorry," and didn't really even look at him.

  That was her mistake.

  Before she could even react, Megan's arm was grabbed and she was hustled toward the blue car. "Hey!" she protested, just before she was stuffed into the backseat.

  "Wait a minute!" She scrambled toward the opening, but it was blocked by a large, dark-suited man who slammed the door. "Let me out!" She pounded on his shoulder and tried to shove past him. Her only reward was the sound of the trunk closing, presumably on her luggage.

  "I'm very sorry," the man said, and slapped a hand over her mouth and shoved her down.

  Megan fought for all she was worth, but fruitlessly. The car moved smoothly away from the curb and joined the slow traffic passing the terminal. A moment later, it picked up speed.

  The man released her mouth. "You can sit up now if you want."

  She was shaking and gasping for breath. Instead of docilely settling back in the seat, she grabbed for the door handle on the opposite side of the car from the man. It was locked.

  Before she could find the lock, his hands closed around her wrists and he shoved her back in the seat. Out the window she could see that they were moving fast now anyway—too fast. She would die if she jumped from the speeding car.

  Her breath came in little sobs as she sank back against the seat. For the first time she looked at her abductors. All Megan could see of the driver was close-cropped dark hair. Another man was in the front seat: short black hair, a business suit, and dark skin. The one beside her, although larger and somehow tougher-looking, matched in all essentials. All three were Hispanic.

  If anything, terror tightened its grip on her throat. Saldivar. They must work for Saldivar.

  "Why are you kidnapping me?" she asked, in a voice that shook only slightly. "I don't understand."

  The man riding in the front seat beside the driver turned his head and raised a skeptical brow. "No? I think maybe you could guess."

  "If this has something to do with the man I rescued from the lake..."

  "Special Agent James McClain."

  "I didn't see the men who tried to kill him. It was getting dark..." She had to swallow. "I couldn't possibly identify them."

  He shrugged. "We don't care about that."

  "Then...then what?"

  "You're bait," he said bluntly. "We're guessing that McClain won't take a chance with your safety."

  "You mean I'm a hostage."

  "Yes. You have nothing to fear if the man you were foolish enough to resurrect is willing to pay his debt to you."

  "You'll let me go."

  "Yes. You're of no interest to us. Well," he smiled amiably. "That's not quite true. I must admit to personal curiosity about you. A pretty young woman like you, yet you must have ignored the boys to live in the swimming pool. What made you?"

  Oh, God! Megan thought, knowing she was on the verge of hysteria. He wanted to discuss her past as a competitive swimmer! But hadn't she read that if you were kidnapped it was a good idea to make your captors like you?
<
br />   She knew that advice was probably aimed at the hostage of some nut who'd gone over the edge, not cold-blooded businessmen who wanted to converse. But surely even they would be less likely to want to kill her if she'd been cooperative.

  So she said, "I don't really know. I just...felt like I belonged in the water from the time I started lessons. Sometimes I wanted to quit, but... the reasons for quitting were never as strong as my desire to swim."

  His very dark eyes scrutinized her. At last he nodded. "Interesting. Tell me, was it hard to rescue such a large man?"

  She swallowed again. Her mouth felt too dry to talk, but she answered anyway. "Yes. If it had been much farther, I might not have made it."

  "So the location wasn't badly chosen. It was just bad luck that you of all people happened to be there."

  Now she was supposed to critique how good a job a couple of hit men had done! This was insane. Or was she the one who had gone around the bend?

  "That's true," she agreed, trying to sound grave.

  Those dark eyes studied her for a moment longer, and then the man turned to face the front. He said something to the driver in Spanish, and Megan glanced out the window. They seemed to be leaving the city. She saw a road sign that said Beaverton. If they went into any town, there would surely be stoplights.

  Out of the corner of her eye she located the button that released the door lock. If the car began to slow, if she could move quickly enough...

  She never had a chance. The car exited the freeway, but the man beside her grabbed her hands and pushed her face down onto his thigh. Megan wriggled and fought, but his powerful hands held her effortlessly. When the car did stop, she would have rolled onto the floor were it not for his grip.

  But her mouth... He couldn't hold her hands and her mouth at the same time. Megan drew a deep breath and screamed.

  Almost instantly she was drowned out by rock music. "Born in the U.S.A." Surely passersby would wonder about a car full of dark-suited businessmen listening to Bruce Springsteen at a deafening level! Wouldn't they look? Remember it later?

  Still she fought the hands pinioning her. And screamed. Her throat was raw from her screams. She was rocked back as the car began to move again. They stopped at another light, accelerated again, and this time picked up speed. After a nightmare few minutes, the man released her.

  "Don't waste your breath," he said coldly.

  Megan pushed herself up to a sitting position, as far across the seat from the man beside her as she could get. The highway had narrowed, and beyond barbed wire fences were green fields.

  "Where are we going?" she whispered.

  The man in the front seat barely spared her a glance. "We've rented a house. It will do, while we wait."

  Wait for Mac, Megan thought. Wait for him to offer himself. For her.

  She had no doubt at all that he would come. A stranger in a hospital bed, he had said, "You save a life, it belongs to you. So what are you going to do with mine?"

  Now she knew. The rescue had been futile. For her sake, Mac would die anyway. He would do it to save her, but something told her his sacrifice also would be futile. These men, who had allowed her to see them, would never let her go.

  CHAPTER 12

  Four hours later, Mac's rage and fear hadn't abated at all. He slammed his fist down on the desk hard enough to make coffee cups jump. "I should have seen this coming! Damn, I know the man. Why didn't I expect—"

  Norm interrupted him. "How could you have predicted this move? Megan shouldn't mean anything to Saldivar."

  Bitterly angry at himself, Mac leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "He kidnapped Mercer's wife. She didn't mean anything to him, either. When something works, he uses it again. I should have seen it coming."

  "What could you have done, hidden her forever?"

  He opened his eyes to stare savagely at his boss. "If I had to."

  "How'd the snatch happen?" asked the man from the Drug Enforcement Agency who'd joined them.

  "I thought her parents were picking her up at the airport," Mac said, leashing his inner frustration. "Turns out, she decided she'd like a day in Portland on her own and changed arrangements. I guess she just intended to grab a taxi. Not that it would have made any difference either way. They'd have gotten her sooner or later. Anyway, a porter saw her pushed into the car and called the police, but he didn't remember the license plate. They didn't have anything to work with until Megan's parents got the call."

  "Any demands yet?"

  "The caller said she'd be returned safely when they have me. I'm to go to Devil's Lake alone. A meeting is set for tomorrow evening. If there's any hint that I have company or I'm being followed, she's dead."

  His words hung in the silence, sickening him. Rage tightened its screw and he had to stand to pace. Megan had had to pay over and over again for his sins. This time, he might not be able to save her.

  Might not. Who was he kidding? He didn't have a chance in hell of saving her. They had let Maria Mercer go because of the reason they had held her. They operated here in Miami. If they were seen not to keep promises, the next time they tried to put that kind of pressure on a cop, he wouldn't play along. They'd been damned careful not to let Maria see faces; grabbing her had been easy, and they'd basically thrown her in a room and locked the door, except for meals and the phone calls. Her jailer had been masked, Maria said. Or else she was just too afraid to identify him. Mac wouldn't blame her.

  But Saldivar had good reason not to release Megan. She was a threat alive; dead, she couldn't open her mouth. If she and Mac both died, nobody could prove Saldivar was behind it. Besides, Megan had made the mistake of interfering in a death dear to Julio Saldivar's heart. He wouldn't appreciate that, however good intentioned she'd been.

  No, she would die either way. But she wouldn't die alone. He owed her. He would have made the attempt to save her even if he didn't love her.

  As it was, he didn't want to live if she didn't.

  He hoped Megan knew that. He hoped she knew that he would come, that he'd do his damndest to pull off a miracle.

  And he hoped she knew he would have to take the biggest gamble of his life, with her life on the line.

  *****

  The sun was still high in the sky when Mac steered his latest rental car through the last curves up the wooded ridge that protected Devil's Lake. It was the end of summer, but the highway was still busy. Megan had told him that life here didn't change until after Labor Day weekend.

  If that one chance in a million came true, if he and Megan survived tonight, Mac wouldn't mind finding out what it was like around here in the quiet winter. Who knows, maybe the sheriffs’ department had an opening. Megan's brother had said the worst crime they had was an occasional boat being stolen. That would make a pleasant change.

  Mac's grip on the steering wheel was tight. Too tight. He made himself uncurl his fingers, then discovered five seconds later that his knuckles had turned white again. Damn. It wasn't like him to let tension interfere with his concentration this way.

  He glanced again at the rearview mirror, though no one car had stayed behind him for an unreasonable length of time. If he couldn't spot a tail, nobody watching would be able to, either.

  He had been directed to go to Megan's cottage—alone—where he would be contacted this evening. Saldivar was too smart to keep to a preannounced schedule, however. Mac expected that meet to be moved up.

  He didn't expect what happened as he slowed down at the outskirts of town. A dark van hurtled out of a poorly marked side road. Mac slammed on his brakes, swearing. He'd barely reached a stop on the shoulder when his car door was yanked open.

  "What the hell..."

  He recognized the man with the scar down his right cheek who grabbed his shoulder. Antonio. "If you want to see the lady alive, get your butt out of there."

  Mac let himself be pulled through the door and roughly stuffed into the backseat of the van, which took off with tires skidding on the gravel and dirt of th
e road's shoulder. Not thirty seconds had elapsed.

  How close behind had his backup been? Would they find his empty car, and have no idea where he'd disappeared to?

  When his old buddy Antonio gave one more push, knocking him painfully against the armrest, he swore again. The next thing he knew, he was looking down the short barrel of a Wesson .38 Special.

  Antonio smiled. "I never did like you."

  "I wasn't too crazy about you, either," Mac said. Tempting though it was, he didn't allow himself a glance backward. Antonio was looking for that kind of mistake.

  Unless, of course, they already knew he'd disregarded orders to come alone. Was that the explanation for the surprise pickup? Did that mean Megan was already dead?

  It was a struggle to shut his emotions off with the cool detachment that had served him well in a dangerous career. He had made the only decision he could; the only one that gave her a prayer.

  "Where's the woman?" he asked.

  The driver, who Mac didn't know, glanced in the rearview mirror. "You'll see her in a minute." He, too, smiled. "But not for long."

  Mac held his reflected gaze longer than the bastard liked. Cold anger glinted in the dark eyes before the driver had to pay attention to the next turn.

  Mac knew Devil's Lake well enough to recognize where they were. On the lake road, maybe half a mile from Megan's cottage, but heading toward the public beach. Where were they going?

  He had his answer when the van swerved into the drive of a waterfront house almost hidden by a ramshackle six-foot fence and tall trees. The place had an indefinable air that made it look deserted: the windows were dark, curtains pulled, a padlock on the closed doors of the detachable garage. A summer place, Mac guessed, used without the owners' knowledge.

  When the van stopped, Antonio reached with one hand to open the sliding door. Then he gestured peremptorily with the gun. "Out."

  Mac didn't argue. Another old acquaintance waited there, with an uglier weapon yet: a Beretta automatic. Mac had almost liked Rafael. Ironic if Rafael would be the one to kill him.