ALIAS SMITH AND JONES

by Kylie Brant

  "No, thanks."

  He didn't respond right away; he was too busy combatting his involuntary reaction to that recent mental image. When he did register her meaning, saw her turning to walk across the deck, he strode after her. "Hold on. I said I'd take you. Give me some time to clean up."

  She turned, gave him a considering look. "Somehow I don't think you're the type to enjoy a night out on the town. At least, not in places I'd care to go."

  Since her words were true enough under normal circumstances, he saw no reason to dispute them. Especially when he didn't care to reflect too hard on his reasons for making the offer. "You shouldn't be out on your own in a strange country at night. Give me fifteen minutes to change and I'll meet you back here."

  Again her lips curled in that tiny little smile. He didn't know what to make of that expression, not then. Going below deck, he shaved three minutes off the promised fifteen and headed back up dressed in clean khakis and a dark shirt. The deck was empty.

  Throwing an impatient look around, he expected to hear voices alerting him to where Ann and Pappy were talking while she waited for him. What he didn't expect to see was the cab at the end of the dock pulling away.

  * * *

  Ana handed a bill to the waitress and took the fruit juice she'd ordered. It was her second at Le Dauphin, and her stomach was already sloshing with the water and juice she'd imbibed this evening. Had she been ordering alcohol tonight, she'd have been comatose an hour ago.

  Impatiently she sent another look around the dimly lit interior of the place. Like Laval's, it was loud, noisy and filled with people grouped around tables or gyrating on the tiny dance floor. Although there had been a steady stream of customers through the place, most looked like tourists. And none of those who appeared to be native islanders seemed old enough to be government officials.

  The plan that had brought her here tonight was clearly a long shot. But the only chance she was going to have to question government officials about the mysterious stranger they were seeking would be in a setting where they wouldn't suspect her interest. As time went on, however, that possibility seemed to be growing more and more remote.

  Stirring her drink idly, she glanced at the slender watch on her wrist. The glowing numbers revealed it was barely eleven. Stifling a yawn, she resigned herself to a late night. She'd already learned that the bars here didn't close until near dawn.

  "Did you buy that drink for yourself, my lovely? I told you I'd be happy to get your next one for you."

  Giving an inward sigh, Ana pasted a disinterested smile on her face and turned to the man addressing her. It was the third time he'd approached her since she'd entered the place, and he seemed to get more forward with each drink. Italian, she thought, given his accent, and very close to total inebriation. Clutching her chair as much for stability as for proximity, he leaned closer to her.

  "Thank you, I'm still waiting for someone."

  "A man is a fool to leave you alone for so long. He does not deserve you." He swayed, nearly landing in her lap.

  Curbing an impulse to elbow him where it would do the most good, she merely gritted her teeth. "Please go away."

  Instead of obeying, he pulled out a chair and sat down near her. "It is not safe for a woman as beautiful as you to be left alone in such a place. Better that I stay and keep away the bothersome men, hmm?"

  It was on the tip of her tongue to let him know that he was the most bothersome of all the men who'd wandered by her table that evening when the door to the bar opened again. Habit had her glancing that way, shock had her freezing.

  Jones stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping the area. Ana's heart, which had seemed to stop for an instant, began pounding. What in heaven's name was he doing here? She would never have imagined that he'd choose such a noisy, crowded venue to spend his free time. The tavern she'd found him in on Bontilla bore no resemblance to this place.

  She watched as he chose a section close to the door and began pacing it. A frisson of warning shot down her spine. Jones hadn't ducked in for a nightcap. He made no attempt to catch the waitress's eye. He was prowling the area with the deliberate air of a panther stalking prey. It had never occurred to her that he would come after her. He'd made his lack of interest in her blindingly clear. Except, of course, when he'd issued orders.

  He slipped between crowded tables with an effortless ease, despite the crowd. Ana noted the way people stepped away from him, allowing him passage. She didn't blame them. He looked more than a little dangerous, not to mention extremely pissed off. He would cover the dim, crowded club, one section at a time until he found her, or until he was convinced she wasn't there. It would be only moments before he spotted her. And his presence by her side for the rest of the evening would put paid to her plans.

  The realization propelled her to action. "I feel like dancing," she said brightly, jumping up from her chair and reaching for her purse.

  "I have a better idea, mi cara. Let us leave this place and find one quieter."

  Ignoring the man's slurred suggestion she turned to make her way to the dance floor, intent on losing herself in the crowd there. But while she might have escaped Jones's notice, she didn't succeed in evading the amorous man at her side. Despite his uncertain equilibrium, he followed her.

  The lights above the dance floor sent spinning splinters of color over the mass of gyrating bodies. Ana slipped into the crowd and began moving to the music. She maneuvered around her companion until his back shielded her from Jones's gaze. And then she craned her neck to locate the back entrance.

  With a studied movement she swung her purse to deflect the Italian's roaming hands. Although Jones was no longer in view, she didn't fool herself into believing he'd left the club. He didn't strike her as the kind of man who did anything by half measures.

  The crowd swelled around her, pressing her closer to her companion, who took the opportunity to pull her into his arms. The bass of the music seemed to well up from the dance floor and pound its way through her body. She used her elbows to wedge some space between her and the Italian, who was using the opportunity to lean heavily on her in a move owing more to inebriation than desire. Squirming away, she checked the path toward the exit again. The place seemed to be filling up with even more people, but she'd have a clear shot, if she was going to avoid Jones, it was now or never.

  She stopped moving and let her body go limp. The Italian, who had begun using her for support, stumbled, nearly fell. Ana used the opportunity to slip out of his arms and push her way through the throng of people until she got off the dance floor.

  There were numerous disadvantages to being short, all of which she'd been enumerating since she was fourteen and it had become apparent that nature wasn't going to bless her with the height her brothers enjoyed. But for once her stature worked in her favor. She pushed and twisted, ducking between people and squeezing through the narrow aisles until she finally was able to reach the back door. She burst through it to lean against its other side.

  The outside air seemed fresher than normal, in contrast to the smoke-infested atmosphere of the nightclub. She filled her lungs with it once, twice, and ordered her raging pulse to calm. It was only then that she focused on the frozen tableau before her.

  Two men were staring at her, one hunched over a satchel that looked like those sold in the marketplace, adorned with colorful sea birds. Except that it wasn't tilled with shells or gaily patterned scarves. There were white bars spilling out of it, glistening in the moonlight.

  Cocaine.

  She recognized the substance in an instant. Cade had shown her pictures of busts he'd made working narcotics in New Orleans. The man with the satchel held a knife. She assumed he'd been in the act of using it to shave off a corner of one bar, to test its authenticity. In the next moment he shifted the knife in his hand, turned to face her and raised it threateningly.

  "Vlados, chita."

  With his gesture, she understood the command, if not the words, but there was no way s
he was going to obey. Keeping her back to the building, she began a frantic search with her hand behind her, until she found the door handle and yanked.

  Nothing happened. The man with the knife started coming toward her rapidly, a steady stream of what was certainly curses falling from his lips. His companion was frantically raking the goods back into the satchel. Ana tried the door again but it had obviously locked after her. A precaution to ensure that all patrons would have to pass through the front and pay the cover charge, while still obeying any fire regulations the island might have.

  There was no other way into the building from here. It was unlikely that anyone in the noisy bar would hear a woman screaming in the small courtyard out back, so she didn't waste her breath. Instead she threw herself sideways as the knife-wielding man reached for her, thrusting her hand into her purse and searching frantically until she withdrew the small cool cylinder. She held it up as the man lunged toward her and sprayed a long blast of pepper spray in his face.

  The knife dropped as the man cried out, brought both hands to his eyes. Ana swung around, brandishing the canister, but she didn't have to worry about the second man. He was already running in the opposite direction, the bag clutched to his chest. Because the idea had merit, she did the same, fleeing around the corner of the building toward its entrance.

  The street in front of the nightclub was jammed with people, and it was toward the mob that Ana headed. She threw one quick glance over her shoulder to see if the man with the knife had recovered enough to follow, and only when she ascertained that there was no one trailing her did she dare slow down to a fast walk.

  Letting the crowd of people swallow her up, she was content to allow herself to be eddied toward the entrance of the club she'd left only minutes ago. She watched until another throng exited the club and drifted toward them, heading in the opposite direction, toward Laval's.

  She never noticed the man step out of the shadows to fall in step behind her.

  * * *

  Ana spent a half hour in Laval's, but her concentration had been shot. Stumbling upon the drug dealers had spiked her adrenaline to a fever pitch. But that peak had long since faded, leaving her shaky with nerves. She'd once had a narrow escape when a courier job had gone very, very wrong, and was familiar with the way adrenaline faded into shock. She would get very little else accomplished this evening.

  For the dozenth time she looked toward the bar, considered summoning the local police. For the dozenth time she discarded the idea. She couldn't afford the scrutiny the revelation would bring her, and especially didn't want to alert any law enforcement official to look more closely at her forged papers. The man she'd acquired them from had assured her of their quality, but there was no use inviting trouble. She rose, ready to admit defeat for the evening.

  Intent on hailing one of the taxis that waited, lined up at the curb, she left her fruit drink and started for the doors. The club was as crowded as Le Dauphin had been, although more spread out. There were two levels to the place, with the dance floor and band on the bottom and extra seating above. It seemed to her that the entire area was filled with shouting, laughing people intent on drinking themselves senseless.

  She got as far as the doorway before she felt a hand on her elbow. Operating solely on instinct, she drove it backward and spun around even as her free hand went in search of the canister in her bag. She heard a rush of indrawn breath, telling her that her elbow had found connection, and then a strangled voice.

  "Pardon, je manque."

  The man she turned on wore a pained expression. Short and slender, he had thick, dark hair ringing a rapidly receding hairline and eyes as droopy and sad as the hound dog she'd had as a child. Whether in response to the look on her face or to the blow she'd already landed, his hands were raised in a gesture of surrender.

  "Please, I mean no harm." His English was halting. "There is one who would speak to you." He stopped then, as if searching for the words, before shrugging helplessly. "If you would please."

  "Who?" Ana hadn't released her grasp on the canister in her purse. No one else seemed to be paying attention to them.

  "Icanno Shala. Il est un homme très important dans notre gouvernement."

  The name meant nothing to her. Drawing on long-ago memories of high school French, she struggled with the translation. An important man in the government? A bud of interest unfurled.

  "Please." The man was becoming more insistent, if not braver. He didn't touch her again, but he was attempting to subtly herd her along with him.

  Ana's mind was racing. Her nerves from the drug deal she'd stumbled upon hadn't completely dissipated, but if this Shala was a government official she might be able to learn some information about Sam.

  Her mind made up, she looked at the man and said, "Wait." Then she walked to the long, gleaming mahogany bar and gestured to the young bartender. Wiping his bands on a towel, he approached her, smiling flirtatiously.

  "What can I get for you, beautiful lady?"

  "Can you tell me who Icanno Shala is?" Her words succeeded in wiping the smile from his handsome face. "He is a cabinet minister, miss, for the Laconos government."

  "And is he here tonight?"

  The bartender nodded slowly. "Upstairs."

  Smiling her thanks, she turned to the man who'd approached her. "Let's go."

  If he was surprised at her sudden acquiescence, he didn't show it. As a matter of fact, his face, as they made their way toward the back of the club and up the steps, bore an unmistakable stamp of relief.

  It wasn't until they had walked across the upper level and stopped before a large booth that the man spoke again, not to Ana, but to another sitting inside the dimly lit booth.

  "Là voici."

  Although the booth was filled with people, men and women alike, Ana's gaze arrowed unerringly on one. Icanno Shala. He would be the man who wore an aura of power as easily as he did the fine linen shirt and the designer watch on his thick wrist. Although he made no attempt to rise, she thought he wasn't tall—no more than three inches taller than she. He had the swarthy complexion and stocky build of a native. One who enjoyed sampling the finer things in life.

  At a casual wave of his hand, the other people in the booth rose and wandered away, to be followed by the man who'd been sent to retrieve her.

  "Thank you for agreeing to see me. I hope you have not been inconvenienced." Unlike his employee, Shala's English was perfect. His smile a moment later revealed a crossed incisor. "I am Icanno Shala. If you would do me the honor of sitting…?"

  Remaining where she was, Ana said, "Do you have any identification?"

  The man's dark eyes blinked once. "Pardonnez-moi?"

  "Identification. I'd like to be sure who I'm speaking to." She gave a shrug. "You can't be too careful."

  Shala looked as though he couldn't decide whether to be offended or amused. He must have decided on the latter, because his smile turned rueful as he reached into his back pocket. "I suppose you are right."

  She took her time looking at the ID in its glossy black case, not because she doubted its validity but to more closely examine the government seal. Isle of Laconos, it read, depicting an unsmiling Shala as minister of interior.

  Snapping the case closed, she handed it back to him, along with a dazzling smile. "Forgive me if I seem overly cautious."

  "Not at all." He gestured for her to sit, and she did so. "A woman traveling alone cannot be too careful."

  Caution bloomed at his words. Did he assume she was alone because she was without escort, or because she'd garnered some closer attention? She wasn't given time to comment on his statement because he was already going on.

  "And now you have me at a disadvantage. You know who you are speaking to, but I know only that I'm talking to a beautiful woman."

  "Smith." Politely she offered her hand, watching him carefully. "Ann Smith."

  He took her hand in his, holding it longer than necessary. "From your accent, I would assume you're an Am
erican. Are you enjoying your visit to our country, Miss Smith?"

  "Your island is very beautiful."

  He inclined his head. "I am happy to hear you say so. But even a country as beautiful as ours is not completely without problems, is it?"

  His cryptic words did nothing to explain his motive for this meeting. Weighing the odds, Ana made a swift decision. "Apparently not. I believe I stumbled on a drug transaction earlier this evening."

  The lack of surprise in his expression told her that her surmise had paid off. Somehow this man had learned of the scene. "So I am told. Might I ask why you did not contact our police about what you saw?"

  Having made her choice, Ana gave it all she got. She shifted her gaze uneasily. "May I be perfectly frank, Mr. Shala?"

  "Please."

  "I'm in a strange country with a rather tumultuous recent history. I know little of the new government, and nothing of the criminal element. It would be difficult to know who to trust. Beautiful beaches can be found on any number of islands nearby. I don't want any trouble."

  "Of course not." He surveyed her for a full minute, during which time she strove to look apprehensive. It wasn't much of a feat. Her heart was pounding like a locomotive.

  "You didn't know if our police force was corrupt."

  "I didn't mean any offense—"

  He waved away her protest. "None taken. You were quite right. In some of the islands nearby graft is a very real threat for the local police. Not here, of course, but you could not know that."

  It was as if something inside him relaxed as he spoke the words. Although it was barely discernible, she thought a measure of tension seeped from his frame. "There is no reason for you to become involved, of course, but I would appreciate your help. We know of the two men engaged in the transaction, you see." His teeth flashed briefly. With his crossed tooth he gave the impression of a saber-toothed tiger who had bitten off more than it could chew. "Among my responsibilities is protecting our country from unlawful drug activity. We have had the men under surveillance for some time, seeking enough information to put them away for life. The Laconos government deals with drug runners very severely."