by Cherry Adair
"I never said it was equitable, did I?"
She wrapped her arms around his neck and dug her heels into his butt, and held on.
Together they flew over the edge of the world.
Since they were the only UTD/SEAL team inserted, Michael and Hugo each carried several limpet mines attached to a simple harness on their backs. Although the mines contained very little explosive, it would blow them to smithereens if they weren't careful. They were very, very careful.
They'd also brought along some C4, with a waterproof M-60 underwater lighter, and a timer fuse as a chaser. They were loaded for bear and loving it.
Although Michael couldn't see Hugo in the dark, he could imagine Hugo's grin.
His friend's favorite saying was, "There are very few of life's problems that can't be solved with high explosives and a big bang! Hoo Yah!"
Ahead, the shadowy bulk of the Marie Jose.
Hugo is going to get his heart's desire, Michael thought, mentally grinning at his friend's enthusiasm. This was going to make one helluva nice bang. All they had to do was plant the explosives, detonate them, and get the hell out of Dodge before the bad guys knew what hit them.
Piece of cake…
Fresh from her shower the next morning, Tally finger-combed her hair and watched Michael and several men hoist the tall mast on the Nemesis. Wearing another of Michael's T-shirts, and a ragged pair of orange shorts, she stood on the upstairs lanai and looked out over the marina.
Ye gods. What a night. She ached in places she didn't think had names. She smiled, wondering how Michael felt this morning. She'd eventually had her turn to be the boss of him, and he'd begged for mercy. Twice.
It had taken forever to wash the pearls. Of course she'd been wearing them at the time, and Michael was finicky about cleanliness. Tally held on to the wood railing, almost melting at the blurred memories of last night. She got wet just thinking about it. About him.
She tried to shake off the sensual lethargy. That was then, and this was now.
Unlike her limp self, Michael had seemed tense, on edge, this morning when he'd leaned over to kiss her before leaving. Could it be that he was feeling a little of what she was feeling? Separation anxiety? She smiled wistfully.
Not likely.
She suspected the prolonged stay on Paradise was stretching Michael Wright's limit for being in one place. It was clear he was ready and rarin' to be off on his next adventure.
How long after the last of the repairs to his boat were complete would he stay? An hour? A day?
It was barely nine in the morning. Feasibly, they'd finish securing the mast long before afternoon.
He knew her father was arriving late today. They'd talked about it last night. Michael knew how eager she was for this meeting to go well. He knew the emotional investment she'd made.
Would he stay to be with her? To see how things worked out with her father? Or would he decide it was past time to move on, kiss her good-bye, and wish her luck?
She ran her fingers through her drying hair again, and tried to focus on the more immediate and the mundane.
Her clothes situation was pretty dire. She didn't want to meet her father dressed in a pair of Michael's fluorescent shorts, nor did she plan on wearing island garb for their first meeting in six years.
"If I sewed, which I don't," she told Lucky, who sat in the chair licking himself, "I'd make something elegant out of my drapes, like Scarlett O'Hara." It was a good thing she didn't have to depend on her nonexistent seamstress skills.
Fortunately, she'd remembered that she'd stuffed her shorts and tank top in her tote at the beach. Along with a pair of sandals and a small, emergency makeup pouch of basics. "At least I won't look completely awful."
She'd washed the shorts and top and hung them over the back of the chair to dry.
Anticipation hummed through her. Anticipation for the meeting with her father this afternoon vied with thoughts of last night, and Michael. Neither man gave her enough mental peace to wait passively. She needed action.
Tally paced from one end of the balcony to the other and back again.
Oh, God! She'd done something really, really stupid.
She was afraid she'd fallen in love with her vacation fling.
Not just stupid. Exceptionally stupid.
She hadn't asked him to stay once his repairs were done. But if she did… would he?
If she herself wasn't so tense about this upcoming meeting with her father, Tally was sure she would've asked Michael to stay for a few more days. And yet what would she achieve in the long run? Nothing. Eventually he'd be on his way, "seeing what he could see" around the world. With no desire for a home, and no need for a destination.
And eventually she'd go back to Chicago.
Their lovemaking last night had been magical. She'd relished the hours they'd spent in his bed. Making love without restrictions, expectations, or boundaries had been incredible.
But falling in love with the man had been the ultimate folly.
"He's the wind, and I'm the earth." And while he would skim across her surface, he'd never settle. Tally turned to look at Michael's cat. "Pretty poetic, huh?"
Lucky looked at her under his upraised leg, then went back to his ablutions.
She returned to her view of Michael working on his boat. The boat which would take him away from her, and out of her life, within hours.
Her heart ached, and her eyes stung. He'd never made any promises. It was her own foolishness that had gotten her into this emotional mess.
From her vantage point, and from this distance, she couldn't see details, like the sweat gleaming on Michael's brown skin, or the way his muscles moved as he worked, but she could use her imagination.
"What am I doing up here, longing to be with him, when I could at least be down there with him?" she asked the disinterested cat. "Wanna come with me?"
Lucky rose, stretched, and gave her an unblinking green stare.
Tally tried to pick him up, but he flattened his ears and arched his back. "Make up our minds if we're friends or not, Cat. Fine. Follow me if you want to, or don't—"
A glimpse of a shiny blond head on the beach caught Tally's eye, and she turned for a better look. It looked like—no—yes! "Arnaud!"
Without giving it much thought, she shot through her room and raced downstairs.
As she tore through the bar, Auntie gave her a startled look. "What you bei—"
"Going for a run, maybe a swim. Be right back."
"The hottie say you be staying right…"
Her words faded as Tally raced across the shell path and down the small grassy incline to the beach. Arnaud, if it had been Arnaud, and not some sort of reflection of the sun off the rocks, was gone.
"You're losing it, Tallulah." But she kept up a steady loping pace as she ran on the hard-packed sand at the waterline.
Only one person on the island had that pale, bright blond hair. Arnaud. The slimy turd.
By the time she arrived at the rocky outcrop a few miles down the beach, she was out of breath, sweaty, and doubting what she thought she'd seen. She scrambled over the rough a'a lava, anyway.
On the other side, a small inlet, a miniature of the larger beach, was surrounded by rough rocks. The tide was coming in, and the beach was just a sliver of pale, exposed sand. Tally scanned the area—
"Oh, shit. Not again!"
In the shadow at the base of the cliffs lay the crumpled form of a man. His back was toward her. He wore the ubiquitous khaki shorts and T-shirt of half the island's inhabitants.
She hesitated, looking around quickly to see if the assailant was laying in wait hiding, for his next victim.
Her.
The cove was quiet. Not another soul around. And there was a possibility that the guy was just sleeping on the beach. Yeah, right, while the incoming tide sucked at his ankles. Not.
Tally ran over and fell to her knees behind the man. "Don't be dead. Don't be dead." She placed her hand on his shoulder
covered in a wet, sandy T-shirt and gave him a little shake.
"Wake up, okay? I've had my fill of things that go bump in the night already." The guy half-rolled, and she recognized him immediately. It was Brian, the Australian, from the marina.
He wasn't going to wake up.
He was stone-cold dead.
Chapter Fifteen
« ^ »
A shadow fell over her as she crouched over Brian's body. "Oh, thank God, I was just c—" Tally turned, expecting to see Michael.
"Arnaud!" She jumped to her feet, heart sinking to her bare toes. She'd followed him to get answers, but now that he was right in front of her, she'd lost her enthusiasm for explanations. What she really wanted was distance. Until she learned differently, Arnaud Bouchard was her number one suspect in the murders of both Lu and Brian.
She stood three feet away from a killer. This was not good. The curve of the island hid the cove from view of the marina and hotel several miles away. As far as Tally knew, the two of them were here alone with nothing more than a dead body between them.
"I am so glad to see you," Tally lied cheerfully, mouth as arid as the sand behind her. She hoped to God that Arnaud wouldn't notice the rapid pulse beating at the base of her throat. "We—I thought you'd drowned. Where on earth have you been?" She kept her tone light with effort. Given more than two seconds to think about it, chasing after Arnaud had not been the brightest idea in the world.
For a mad few hours, way back in the mists of time, she'd thought Arnaud Bouchard's Nordic good looks and slight French accent the sexiest thing since sliced bread. Until she remembered that she hated white bread, sliced or otherwise. They'd slept with each other for almost the same reason: to stay in Trevor Church's orbit. Each thought a relationship between them would cement their places. In fact, Arnaud had proposed to her the next morning without a spark of passion or even liking in his ice blue eyes. It was only after she reminded them both that she was pretty sure Trevor didn't give a damn about her, one way or the other, that Arnaud had come to his senses.
On those rare occasions Tally actually thought about it, the memory gave her chills.
Blond hair gelled to perfection unruffled by the ocean breezes, khaki slacks neatly pressed, and an open-necked black shirt, Bouchard appeared the epitome of a GQ model. All that marred the perfection was the angry red stain in his tanned cheeks, and the vein throbbing in his forehead.
Arnaud grabbed her upper arm and shook her. Hard. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
She licked desert-dry lips. Oh, God. Michael, where are you?
"Hey. Don't get all pissed off at me. I'm the one you left for dead, remember?" She yanked her arm from his clutches. "I saw you out the window a few minutes ago. Of course I followed you. Geez, Arnaud, I thought you were a ghost when I saw you. I think I deserve some explanation for why the boat blew up, and also why you didn't have the courtesy to let me know you made it."
Arnaud stood between her and the rocks. How to get around him without being obvious? She had to mention Brian. The dead body was like the two-ton elephant in the living room everyone pretended not to see. "In the meantime, we have more pressing business. I think Brian"—Is dead, Jim, dead—"must've drowned. Shouldn't we go and get hel—"
Arnaud stepped between Tally and the open stretch of beach. This time when he grabbed her arm, he almost yanked her off her feet.
"Hey! Get your damn hands off me." She tried to shake him off; his grip tightened, and her heart skipped a beat.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, ignoring the rest of her babbling.
Okay. That hadn't worked. "Damn it, Arnaud. I want some answers. How did the Serendipity blow up? Hell, why did it blow up? How did you manage to get off without me seeing you? And what about Lu? Why did you—"
"Shut the fuck up." Arnaud drew back his arm and struck her across the face.
The force of the slap sent Tally stumbling backwards. Her bare heel collided with Brian. She tripped over him and landed on her butt in the hot sand, one leg draped over the dead man's waist. Oh, God. Oh, God. She lifted a shaking hand to her hot cheek and scooted out of range.
Anger warred with pure, soul-numbing fear. "What is wrong with you?" Tally shouted. "Are you on drugs or something?"
Arnaud strode around the body and jerked her to her feet. She slapped at his hand. Gone was the suave charmer who had served as her father's right hand. In his place stood a man with chillingly dead eyes, and an agenda of death. The alarm bells in her head clanged with deafening clarity. Tally tasted the metallic tang of fear in her mouth. Adrenaline raced through her, causing every fight-or-flight signal to tangle in a scary mess inside her.
"I told her I didn't want you here. Incompetence must run in your family, for Christ sake!" He was almost dragging her across the sand. Away from the marina. Away from help.
Away from Michael.
He was heading toward the end of the small cove. As far as Tally knew, the only thing beyond this point was a rocky cliff face, and a lot of water. She dug in her heels. "I'm not going mountain climbing with you."
"I was about to drag my old chum, Bri, a little farther out so the tide could do my cleanup for me. Grab his leg and help me pull him over there."
"Are you out of your mind? Jesus, Arnaud, listen to yourself!"
He backhanded her.
Her eyes filled with tears of rage. She swung at him blindly, and missed. His arms were longer than hers, and she couldn't get close enough to make a connection.
"It wasn't a request. Grab his leg. Now."
Tally wedged her feet ankle deep into the soft sand. "No. In fact, hell no. Lift that hand to me again, and you'll regret it."
She tasted blood in her mouth, and swiped the back of her hand across her split lip. Arnaud jerked her by the arm. Tally let out an earsplitting scream for help. He hit her again.
"Michael!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. Arnaud slapped a hand across her mouth and tried to drag her.
Tally kept her feet planted. He jerked her off-balance, as she struggled and wriggled to get in a few hits of her own. Oh, damn. She was such a girl. Why hadn't she had brothers to teach her to fight? She lunged out again, connecting with his ribs.
He grabbed a handful of her hair and held her away from him. Tally grabbed his thick wrist with both hands and tried to break his hold. The bastard was pulling her hair out by the roots. She dug her long nails in as hard as she could.
Arnaud threw her aside like a rag doll. Without her hands to protect her fall, she dropped to her knees. Hard. She lifted her head, spitting out bloody sand.
"You're going to regret this, Arnaud. You are going to regret this big time!" It was the most ridiculous, and childish, of threats. He was far stronger and more determined than she was. He could do pretty much anything he wanted to her. Her mind raced like a gerbil on a wheel. What to do? What the hell to do?
She felt around in the sand for a rock, a stone—hell, a seashell, anything she could use as a weapon to defend herself.
"What? Gonna haunt me, Tally?"
Haunt? The blood drained from her head, then took up a frantic beat in her ears. She sat back on her heels. "You won't kill me." Yes. He will. Of course he will.
He stopped to look at her. "You've got more fucking lives than a goddamn cat. Hell yes, I'm going to kill you, you stupid bitch. But not here. I don't want Daddy falling over you until I'm good and ready for the big finale."
"Are you going to tell me why?" Tally asked calmly, heart racing. "In mystery novels, the killer always bares his soul before he kills his victim."
"You read too much."
"How about a little clue?"
"How about shutting the fuck up so I can hear myself think?"
He'd apparently done enough thinking already. "Let go. You're breaking my arm."
His fingers tightened cruelly. "In a few hours you won't be feeling any pain at all."
Keep him talking. "Come on, Arnaud. At least tell me why?"
"What the hell difference does it make?" he sneered, hauling her to her feet. "Let's see." He rubbed his chin as he pulled her toward the rocky beginning of the cliffs. "Save the girl, and lose millions. Kill the girl, and get away clean. Hmm, real hard choice. I know. Kill the girl. And for God's sake, spare me and don't start singing. For old time's sake, I'll make it quick."
"Damn nice of you." Her mind was going a mile a minute. While her brain reconciled this Arnaud with the Arnaud who'd worshiped at her father's feet, she was slowing him down by literally dragging her feet. Tally leaned more and more of her body weight away from the arm he held. Her shoulder joint screamed for mercy. Her heart pounded. His large hand held her upper arm so tightly, he was cutting off her circulation. She considered dropping and rolling. There were a few rocks on this part of the beach. But better a few bruises than dead. She waited for just the right moment.
If Arnaud managed to get her beyond this small cove, there was a pretty good chance he'd make good on his threat.
Never leave one crime scene for another. Thank you, New Detectives on the Discovery Channel. Great advice. Her heart was pounding so fast, it felt like there was a rabid animal scrabbling around in her chest. Her breath hitched. She was about to have a full-fledged panic attack.
Help… I need somebody… Help, not just any… booody… HELP! "Why would you kill Brian? Wasn't he your friend?" And why do you want to kill me?
"I needed Brian for a while. Our partnership didn't suit him. He failed to understand that we both needed to be dead to make this work. He thought he could screw with me and walk away."
This had to be about money. A great deal of money. "What did you do? Rob my father? Have you been skimming money from his business?"
He smiled, but it didn't come close to reaching his eyes. "That's how it started. A little here. A little there. Hell, old Trev has enough to share."
"But you got greedy."
"He's getting old. Soft. He refuses to take an early retirement."
