by Lakes, Lynde
She stared at him, her forehead furrowed. “This is the right thing to do. Don’t back out now. Please.”
The confidence in her soft voice weakened his own determination, and he parked. Rather than get out of the car, he just sat there staring at the woman he’d held in his arms all night. She wouldn’t purposely set him up; she wouldn’t want his daughter’s blood on her hands.
After seconds that seemed like hours, she opened the door. “Let’s go. It’ll be all right. I promise.”
As they walked to the elevator she entwined her fingers with his. They were strong for someone so delicate-looking. She held tight as they zipped up seventeen floors to Madden’s office. A secretary with silver hair swept back in a knot and bespectacled eyes gave their rumpled, disheveled appearance a once over, then immediately led them into a corner private office with a panoramic view of the ocean.
Duke Madden was tall, with a flat stomach and the overall appearance of fitness. His front baldness emphasized clear blue eyes that sized Rick up in a single sweeping glance. The lawyer strode around the desk and shook his hand with a firm grip. After he hugged Mele, he gestured for them to sit down.
Rick glanced at the closed door, hesitated, then eased into a chair in front of the wide, glossy expanse of Madden’s desk. While Madden and Mele talked, Rick took in his surroundings. Madden had covered a wall with all sorts of plaques and photos taken with city officials and even one of him with the President. Unimpressed, Rick scanned the personal pictures on a low built-in wall shelf behind Madden’s desk. A picture of Madden and a girl about Bethy’s age caught Rick’s interest.
He nodded toward it. “Your daughter?”
Madden smiled, his blue eyes twinkling like he’d won the lottery. “The light of my life.”
Rick exhaled, letting some of the tension roll from his body; he’d come to a man who could relate and would try to help. When Rick learned of Duke’s connections with the Coast Guard, he felt even better.
The plan they devised included using Duke’s cabin cruiser. Mele was experienced in its operation, which was a good thing because Rick wasn’t, at least on a boat like Duke’s.
While he and Madden solidified their plan, Mele excused herself to go to the restroom. “We’re almost done here,” he said urgently, not wanting to let her out of his sight.
“It’s just around the corner. I’ll be right back.”
****
Mele walked quickly. She hated to deceive Rick, but she had to call Geoffrey. Passing the secretary who was busy at her computer, Mele slipped into one of the vacant outer offices.
After several rings Geoffrey came on the line. “Mele! Thank God you’re all right. I heard about the accident,” he said, his voice tight with worry.
“Geoffrey, we have to talk.”
“The police told me the details, and then Mr. Jones from the FBI said they were afraid you’d been kidnapped because you’d disappeared.”
“I’m fine, Geoffrey, but there’s—”
“They’re all looking for you, Mele. Jones is here now. Shall I put him on the line?”
Eager to get things off of her chest and without fully absorbing her fiancé‘s words, she
rushed on. “Geoffrey, I have something to tell you that’s very hard for me to say, so please just listen.”
“All right. Go ahead. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
Why did he have to add that? His gentle concern only made what she had to say more difficult. Her hand trembled so badly she could scarcely hold the receiver. How could she get through this without hurting him?
“Mele? Are you still there?”
She took a deep breath and blurted, “I can’t marry you, Geoffrey. Not today – not ever!” She hurried on, needing to get it out quickly. “I adore you, you know that, but I don’t love you in that intimate, passionate way a wife should love her husband.”
She blinked when Geoffrey laughed and said, “Bless you for having the courage to say what I couldn’t.”
Both disappointed and relieved that he’d made it so easy, she listened as he hinted that there had been someone else in his life for several months now. Although ridiculous under the circumstance, his deception still hurt.
“Where are you?” he asked. She thought she’d heard the low rumble of a man’s voice in the background feeding him the question.
“I can’t tell you exactly where, not yet anyway. But I’ll stay in touch.”
“Call your folks. They’re crazy with worry.”
“Please, call them for me. I have to get off the phone now.” She didn’t have time to handle their ranting recriminations – not until Bethy was safe.
****
Dom had expected Mele to call her fiancé, but he hadn’t expected the breakup. He couldn’t believe that her dense ex-fiancé let her get away with keeping her whereabouts a secret. Dom didn’t give up so easily.
“Do any of Mele’s friends have a boat?”
Geoffrey’s brows drew together in a frown. “Why do you need to know that? What’s going on?”
Dom told him a half-truth about Rick, and that he suspected the man might be holding Mele against her will. “She’s probably all right, but I’ll feel better after we talk to her in person.” He forced a smile. “I’ll keep you and her family informed, of course.”
Geoffrey exhaled a rush of air. After a moment he scratched his head and squinted his eyes like a stumped contestant on some game show where they gave away cash. Based on the ritzy apartment and antique oriental furnishings, Geoffrey didn’t need a game show; he had more money than sense. Dom decided he would help himself to some of that before he left.
Finally, Geoffrey came up with three names. Dom knew how to narrow them down to the most likely.
With no more time to waste, he scanned the room. A crystal paperweight sparkled in the sunlight like diamonds. He could imagine it covered in his victim’s blood, but it wasn’t the perfect weapon. The Ming vase was too heavy and cumbersome. What about the ivory letter opener? Too ordinary. He spied a bag full of golf clubs.
“So you’re a golfer,” he said casually. “Me, too, when I can spare the time. Which is your favorite club?” He walked toward the clubs, and like a child following the Pied Piper, Geoffrey followed and handed him a sterling silver putter with a leather grip. Dom weighed it in his hands. It was heavier than a standard putter. “Good feel. Which one do you tee off with?”
The fool turned to proudly select another club for Mr. Jones’s edification.
Dom lifted the sterling silver putter and brought it down with all his might on Geoffrey’s skull. The hollow thud reminded him of the time he’d spit a watermelon with a piece of pipe. Before he dropped the club, he admired it again. It was one fine putter. He smiled at the irony of such a fitting end for a golfer.
He checked the caller ID on the telephone for the number of the last call and matched it to Mele’s address book. Duke Madden. She’d called from his office. But he knew she wouldn’t stay for long. He’d learned from Geoffrey that Duke Madden was one of the few in Mele’s acquaintance who owned a boat – the MaryAnn.
After he called Harbor Control and learned and which slip was rented to Madden, finding the boat was easy. It rocked gently on glistening water, peaceful, unsuspecting of what lay ahead – just like his prey. Armed with the butcher knife he’d taken from Geoffrey’s kitchen, he looked around then boarded. Having no idea how long he’d be there, he stretched out on deck behind some crates and listened to the rhythm of the lapping of water, against the side of the boat. He was a patient man, and this quiet lull gave him time to come down from the high of killing.
He grinned. It had been a busy morning.
Inhaling salt air, he studied the clouds in the blue expanse of sky. He made out the shape of a skull, an upside-down car, a dagger, and a pot of gold. How well nature reflected past and future events!
Within the hour, Mele and Rick boarded the boat, their arms loaded with supplies, as they laughed over some shar
ed joke. Dom wondered how they could laugh. Rick’s daughter was as good as dead, and Mele’s fiancé was already in heaven – or hell, if there were such places. He eased to his feet and crouched, ready to spring as soon as Mele came a little closer.
This was all just too easy.
****
Mele stiffened at the sound of rushing footsteps. Before she could turn, Dom grabbed her and pressed a butcher knife to her throat. She heard his laugh of supremacy. Damn him, he was enjoying her helplessness. She tensed, waiting for an opportunity to prove him wrong.
Rick cursed and slung the supplies in his arms at Dom. Like a dancer attuned to her partner’s timing, Mele pushed the knife away and twisted free in one fluid movement. In the process the cold blade grazed her throat, and blood trickled down between her breasts.
Dom fended off the gallon water container that Rick tossed at his head, then scrambled after Mele. She fled hastily toward the side railing, climbed over it and dove into the water. As her hands parted the cool water, she prayed that without a hostage Dom would lose his edge, and Rick would overpower him.
****
Rick tensed for action. He couldn’t let Dom follow Mele. He reached around behind him for his gun. His hand closed over emptiness. A cold chill curled around his spine. Heart thudding painfully against his ribs, he tackled the Russian, knocking the gleaming knife from his hands onto the deck.
They leapt forward and scrambled for it; the knife lay just inches from Rick’s fingers. Since Dom couldn’t get to it ahead of him, the Russian kicked it to the other side of the deck.
Gasping for breath, Rick sprung to his feet. Dom did the same. “You’ve blown it,” Dom said. “Your kid will die.”
“Never. But for hurting Mele, I’ll kill you.”
High on adrenaline, they circled each other, eyes blazing fiercely. The breeze ruffled their
hair and plastered their sweat-soaked shirts to their backs. As the Russian crouched and raised his hand for a straight-handed karate chop, Rick whirled and caught Dom in the nose with a flying kick. Blood spurted and splattered.
Grimacing and uttering a feral grunt, Dom spun and returned the kick, his booted heel slamming Rick in the mouth. Pain shot clear to his tonsils; a familiar salty, metallic taste coated his tongue and filled his senses.
Rick shook his head, dazed. While Rick was off balance, Dom grabbed him and thrust him against the railing. Metal pipe dug into his back. Dom lowered his head and charged at him, resulting in a head-butt into the stomach. It knocked the breath from Rick, but he quickly recovered. Crazed, he charged Dom. Rick’s hard rapid-fire blows were met with fists of lead.
He whirled and kicked out, catching Dom in the temple. Dom thudded to the deck. Rick leaped onto him and locked his fingers around the Russian’s neck.
Dom thrust his arms up, twisted, and captured Rick in a headlock. Their action knocked a curled up rope to the deck where it unfurled like a snake.
The fight had brought them close to the knife. They both eyed it. Rick jabbed Dom in the ribs, and his spirits lifted at the loud crack. Sweating profusely, Dom threw Rick to the deck.
On his back, Rick bent his knees and kicked out. Both men bounded to their feet. With all Rick’s strength, he swung a life preserver, hitting Dom in the jaw. Dom cursed in Russian and dove for the knife. Holding the gleaming knife high, he moved in for the kill.
****
Mele had swum underwater away from the boat to elude Dom in case he followed. Out about twenty strokes she surfaced, and seeing no one following or any movement aboard the MaryAnn, she ducked under again and returned to the boat. She surfaced from the dark depths to the stillness of water lapping against the hull. There were no grunts, no groans, no whacks of fists or feet hitting body parts, no shuffles or thuds.
The silence worried her.
Mele swam the few strokes to the dock and hid behind some oil drums. Water dripped from her. She shivered, not from the chill but from sheer terror. Salt stung the nick on her throat. She could run and get help or return to the boat. God, what should I do? Rick might be badly hurt and need immediate medical attention. Until she knew his condition, leaving wasn’t an option.
Then she heard Rick calling her name. She ran to the boat and into his arms. He was dirty, sweaty and bleeding from the mouth. But he was alive.
“Thank God,” he murmured, cupping her face.
When Mele couldn’t bear the tingling warmth of his breath on her lips a moment longer, she pulled his head down and kissed him. She tasted blood and sweat; it didn’t matter – he was all right.
“Are you okay?” he asked between kisses.
She nodded, unable to speak.
“When you went over the side, I thought….” He swallowed hard then touched her throat with gentle hands. “Does this hurt?”
“It’s nothing.” She stroked his face with her fingers, feeling a welling of concern and love. “But you’re bleeding.” His left eye was swollen almost closed, and his face was a mess of broken skin and bruises.
She looked down at Dom lying in a pool of blood on the deck, his feet tangled in a rope. “Did you…?”
Rick shook his head. “He tripped and fell on his own knife.”
Mele rubbed her arms and shook off the horror. Bethy still needed them. Dom had attacked them the moment they’d boarded the boat, and they hadn’t had time to do what needed to be done. “We have to get to Duke. The Coast Guard might have news about the location of the ILAQ and Bethy.”
Forty-five minutes later, flanked by four crew members and the Coast Guard captain, Duke Madden met them as they boarded the Coast Guard cruiser. His eyes, blue and clear as the ocean around them, widened as he took in Rick’s battered face. “Wow, tough guy, who’s been using you as a punching bag again?”
Rick shifted, looking edgy and impatient and gestured to the boat. “You’ll find Dominic Gabronski on the MaryAnn; he fell on his own knife.”
“That won’t cut it,” the captain said curtly. “We need more than that with a dead body involved. The police—”
“I’ll give you whatever you want, after my daughter’s safe.”
“Please,” Mele said, sensing Rick’s tension, his agony, “a child’s life hangs in the balance.”
Duke pulled the captain aside, and they talked in whispers. After what seemed like an eternity, Duke nodded to the guards and then to his boat moored beside the Coast Guard cruiser. “Take your pictures and gather what evidence you need – then get that slime off my damn boat. We need it to save a child.”
Mele sighed in relief. Duke’s mysterious pull and influence had come through again. She cleared her throat. “What can you tell us?” she asked him.
“I have the fake documents,” Duke said, handing Rick an envelope, “and the Coast Guard located a suspicious boat. But if they board it, it could be dangerous for your daughter.”
“I’ll do it,” Rick said. “And bluff my way. If it’s the ILAQ, I’ll give them the phony papers in exchange for my daughter. When Bethy’s safe, the Coast Guard can make their move.”
“I’ll go with you,” Mele said. “I know how to operate Duke’s boat.” She lifted her chin. “And you don’t!”
He frowned. “Thanks for pointing that out. But you’ll have to stay on the MaryAnn. Bringing a stranger aboard their trawler with me will make them suspicious.”
On the ride out, mostly to ease the tension, Mele said, “Tell me about Bethy. What’s she like?”
“Best kid ever. Straight A student and an outstanding athlete – the star pitcher of her softball team. She has an arm on her that any pro would be jealous of.”
Mele smiled. “Do I sense a bit of exaggeration?”
“Not about Bethy. Wait’ll you meet her. You’ll see that she’s everything I say…and more.”
The Coast Guard had given them the coordinates and the approximate location of the suspected boat. Mele brought them starboard of the relic that, with its mass of lines and masts, looked more like a pirate shi
p than a fishing vessel. Dirty men with narrowed eyes and grim faces stared down at them. “I don’t like the looks of this,” she said.
Rick kissed the tip of her nose. “It’ll be okay.” His unsteady tone confirmed that he wasn’t any more certain of that than she was.
“Be careful,” she whispered. Her heart pounded wildly as Rick boarded the Iraqis’ boat and disappeared from her sight.
****
Rick closed his mind to everything except saving his daughter. Motley sailors gathered around him, armed and babbling in a foreign tongue. They shoved him back and forth with the business end of their rifles. He restrained himself from fighting back and kept repeating his contact name: Abah. A dark-skinned man in a robe and turban appeared from around the bulkhead. “You have documents?” Recognizing the voice and typical demanding tone, Rick nodded and squared his shoulders. “First, my daughter!”
The yellowed whites of Abah’s muddy eyes had red squiggles running through them like rivulets of blood. The pinpoint pupils told Rick the guy was high on hashish or some other drug. Drugs made him more unpredictable, more dangerous. Rick waited for the backlash from his demand, scarcely breathing.
Abah threw back his head and laughed. “American guts,” he said.
Rick swallowed. “A deal is a deal. If you want more from me later–”
“Abah keeps his word.” He rattled off something that, for all Rick knew, could have been the day’s menu. One of the men went below.
Seconds later, Bethy emerged from the bowels of the trawler. Rick’s heart leaped. She squinted at the brightness of the sunshine, her steps slow and wary. Her freckled face was dirty and tear-streaked and her hair a tangled mop of carrot red. She looked pitifully thin in her white sailor-boy jeans and blue-striped tank top. A lump swelled in Rick’s throat so that he could hardly speak.
“Bethy! Are you all right, honey?”
She cried out, “Daddy!” and rushed into his arms.
He clutched her to him, and then holding his breath, he waited while Abah checked the documents. They must have looked good to him because he gestured with his head for them to be allowed to leave.
