by Cherry Adair
"So you're going to kill everyone on the island? To prove what, for godsake? That you can?"
"You were supposed to be dead. I wasted a beautiful yacht for nothing, goddamn it!" He jerked up hard on her arm, making her scream with pain. Agony shot through her shoulder, and her hand went numb. She swung with her other arm in a futile effort to connect. Her swing went wild.
"You would have been dead, I would have been dead—" Arnaud continued furiously. "What the hell are you? A cat with nine lives?"
"If I saw you, someone else must have," Tally pointed out breathlessly.
"If they did, nobody will tell. Except for you. You piss me off, Tally, you really do."
"Gee, Arnaud, I'm not feeling particularly warm and fuzzy about you, either. Here's a plan. Why don't I stroll back to Auntie's, and keep very quiet about your miraculous resurrection, and you go your merry way?"
"Because your father and my buyers are arriving in a few hours, and you have to be gone before they get here. I don't want you opening your big mouth and blabbing to your father about things which don't concern you. You know me. I don't like little loose ends. Everything needs to be neat and tidy."
"Fine. Let me save you the trouble." She tried to turn out of his grasp, but he held on more tightly. "Let me go, and I'm outta here. For heaven's sake, Arnaud, I can't believe anything is worth killing three people for." Especially if I'm one of the dead people.
"You have no idea what your father does, do you, you skinny little hag?" He laughed. "Taking over Church's business is worth killing a hundred people for. A thousand, a—"
"I get the picture," Tally said dryly. "Hag" was a little harsh, even for a killer. "Arnaud, listen to me. Do you really think my father will be pleased when he arrives to find me bloating on the beach?"
"Get a fucking clue. He thinks I'm dead. And he has no idea you're even here!"
"Of course, he does. He's the one who invited me."
"No, he didn't."
"Who did?" she asked with dawning horror. "You?"
"We were having a bit of a problem offing you in Chicago."
"Offing?" God. She was in the middle of a Sopranos episode. They were at the far end of the cove. She couldn't match him in strength. She had to outwit him. Hard to do, when her brain was a gibbering, screaming blob of fear.
"It was supposed to look like an accident. A fall in front of the train. A trip down the stairs in a dark movie theater. But you appear to have rubber bones, and the devil's own luck. Never mind. Apparently, if I want the job done right, I'm going to have to do it myself."
"I agree a hundred percent."
"You do?"
"Hell, yes." Tally twisted and, with the full strength of her body behind the blow, kneed him in the groin.
Miraculously, it was a direct hit.
With a girly scream, Arnaud fell to his knees, clutching his balls. She kicked him again. Hard. This time on the thigh. He fell to his side, howling, curled in a fetal ball, his hands between his legs.
Tally started sprinting back toward the marina. Back toward Michael and safety. She made it halfway to the other side.
Arnaud tackled her from behind. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs. He pinned her upper body with his chest, and her flailing legs with his own.
Struggling to push him off her while attempting to draw air into her lungs, Tally managed to scream at the top of her lungs. Her cries for help were cut off when Arnaud slammed his forearm across her throat. She gagged.
"Shut the fuck up, bitch."
Not having a choice, Tally complied, but she sure as hell wasn't going to lie there with him on top of her for any longer. She grabbed handfuls of sand and aimed for his eyes. That didn't deter him much.
He rolled off her and jerked her to her feet. "One more sound out of you and I'll kill you right here. And, believe me, I'll enjoy every second." He dragged her toward Brian's body. "Grab his legs and help me."
Tally stood her ground. "Go to hell."
This time, Arnaud punched her. The blow to her jaw snapped her head back, and it was only his grip on her arm that prevented her from falling backwards.
Blood flooded her mouth. "Fine. Go ahead. Then you'll have two bodies to drag wherever. But I refuse to help you. And I'm sure as hell not touching your friend. I didn't even like him when he was alive."
"The only damn thing you can do is to help me hide Brian, and die without me having to expend too much energy."
"Fuck you." Her jaw throbbed, and her lower lip felt bigger than one of Arnaud's promises. The skin on her upper arm leeched white from the pressure of his fingers, and the pain radiated all the way to her shoulder.
Arnaud jerked her after him, then flung her down to the sand. Tally went sprawling, a hard rock under her left hip. She slid her hand beneath her body and tried to pry the rock free.
Arnaud removed a gun from the waistband of his slacks at the small of his back. Tally's gaze was drawn to the disproportionately long barrel of the nasty-looking weapon. The smooth rock beneath her refused to budge. She lifted her body a little for better leverage, and tried to get a better grip on the slippery surface.
Arnaud checked to make sure the silencer screwed correctly into the barrel, then raised the pistol and leveled it at her head.
The fist-size rock came free. Tally closed her hand around it. With blood in her eye, she rolled over, scrambled to her knees, and lunged for Arnaud's legs.
Her shoulder hit him mid-thigh. The gun went flying, discharging a harmless, almost silent, shot into the air.
Until this trip, she'd never been in a fight. Never feared for her life. Desperate to survive, Tally started throwing punches. She didn't give a damn about finesse, or even accuracy. As long as some part of her made contact with some part of him, and made it first, she considered herself fortunate.
Fist. Rock. Fist. Rock. Bite whatever came close enough. The son of a bitch wanted to kill her. She refused to die without a fight.
Arnaud slugged her hard and fast. He and Tally were matched in height, but not in body weight. His punches hurt like fire. Blood trickled down her chin. Sweat ran into her eyes. Every time she hit him, it hurt her.
She managed to sink her teeth into his shoulder, biting down as hard as she could. He bellowed with rage, and tried to throw her off. While he was concentrating on her terrier hold on his shoulder she brought her knee up and slammed it into his groin again for good measure. It seemed as though her jaw were locked as they went down, Tally on top this time.
Not releasing her bite on the meaty part of his shoulder, feeling his blood slowly fill her mouth, Tally punched, kicked, and struggled against his hold.
He brought both hands up to her throat and squeezed.
The bright sunny day faded almost to black, and she undamped her jaw to drag in more air. He shook her like a rat and rolled on top of her. "I take it back. It's not going to be quick."
He squeezed her throat with a slow, consistent pressure. Tally's eyes rolled back in her head. Unconsciousness lapped. Gagging and fighting to stay alert, she realized that if Arnaud thought he'd subdued her, he'd probably release her. Tally closed her eyes and went limp. It was hard to do. Her body was struggling for a small sip of air, and she was almost out. But she managed to lay flaccid and unresponsive between his hands.
Gradually his fingers eased their grip. Tally fell back on the sand, remaining limp. Arnaud's hands loosened around her throat.
"Jesus. If there's a way for you to fuck with my life, you'll find it, won't you? Stay unconscious until I get b—"
With a last burst of energy she brought her arms up between Arnaud's, and surprised him enough to shove her palm up, and under his nose. She had the satisfaction of hearing a distinct crunch as she broke his nose. Blood spattered her arms. She shoved his arms aside as he made a grab for his face.
"You bitch!" He slammed his arm across her already bruised throat. Tally bucked, kicked, and punched as they rolled across the beach in a macabre deadlock.
"You two-timing son of a bitch!" Leli'a straddled Arnaud's chest. Tally rolled aside as the Tahitian girl pummeled her lover.
Saved by the belle, Tally thought wryly, staggering to her feet. Arnaud covered his head as his girlfriend yelled obscenities, and tried to explain that far from having wild monkey sex with Tally, he was attempting to kill her. Apparently honey-lips wasn't going for it.
Tally didn't waste time eavesdropping. She ran. And ran like hell.
Michael.
Michael.
Michael.
Up and over the rough a'a rocks as if jet-propelled, Tally scaled the mountain between herself and safety, feeling no pain.
She clambered to the top, and glanced back. The couple continued rolling around, spraying sand and obscenities.
Tally almost tumbled down the other side, ignoring the scrapes and cuts from the rocks on her already battered body.
Michael.
Michael.
Michael.
She hit soft sand, and paused a second to drag in a ragged, gasping draft of air. She could do this. It wasn't that far. The beach stretched out before her. White and pristine. Paradise.
A million miles before she was safe.
Tally shuddered, wishing she were telepathic. If she were, Michael would know she was butt-deep in alligators, and would come charging down that unspoiled stretch of sand, waving an Uzi in one hand and a… some other dangerous weapon in the other.
She wanted the Terminator on her side, damn it.
Unfortunately, Michael was probably stretched out in the sun, taking a nap.
Chapter Sixteen
« ^ »
Michael loaded supplies onto the Nemesis, and kept an eye on the beach where Tally had gone for a morning run. Damn, he couldn't believe she had that much energy left after their sexual marathon. The woman was one surprise after another.
This time when he glanced at the spot where she'd disappeared an hour and a half ago, he saw her racing back toward the marina.
He straightened, angling his head for a better look. She was running, all right. But with a distinct limp.
Hell. Now what?
Resigned, he grabbed a clean rag and mopped the sweat from his face before jumping down onto the dock and striding toward the beach path. Old instincts snapped to life. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. In his SEAL days, he'd learned to trust that feeling, and he didn't stop to question it now.
The closer he got, the faster he moved until he was flat-out running.
She looked like hell. This was more than a fall, more than a simple accident. Her face was battered, blood ran freely down her chin, pooling at the base of her throat. Rage fueled him, and at a dead run now, Michael reached her halfway down the beach.
Someone had beaten the shit out of her. She wasn't looking where she was going, and almost ran into him. He had to grab her upper arms to keep her upright. "Tally?"
She looked up, blue eyes dazed with shock. "Mi—" Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she slumped into his arms.
"Ah, Jesus, honey." Scooping up her limp body, he scanned the beach behind her. No one there. The incoming tide had already obliterated her footprints in the sand.
What the hell was going on?
Goddamn it, he didn't have time for this. Much as he wanted—hell, needed—to backtrack her steps, guns blazing, there wasn't a damn thing he could do without leaving Tally lying unprotected on the beach.
If she'd shouted for help, he hadn't heard her over the racket he'd made loading boxes and water tanks onboard. Shit.
He scanned the area again. No sign of anyone. He turned and loped toward the marina, Tally in his arms. Whoever was doing their best to kill his wo—to kill Tally—was going to have to go through him to get to her. And considering that his life might not be worth shit in a few hours, that wasn't an encouraging thought.
What to do with her? He glanced up at the hotel. Auntie? No. He didn't know who the hell to trust except himself. No one was around. They'd gone inside in the heat of the day. He hitched her limp form higher in his arms and jogged to the Nemesis.
It wasn't easy getting aboard with her, but he was damned if he'd let her go, even for a few minutes. He glanced at her face as he cast off one-handed. Still out. Shock? Serious injury?
Fear pounded in his chest to the rhythm of his heartbeat. "Get inside," he told Lucky, curled asleep on deck. The cat rose and stretched, then darted between Michael's legs into the wheelhouse. "Nice to have someone who listens to me," Michael muttered as he strode into the wheelhouse and started the engine, Tally still in his arms.
He negotiated the jetties and the channel at dangerously high speeds. He needed to check how badly she was hurt, but couldn't tied to the marina where anyone could board before he could protect her.
She moaned in his arms.
"Hang on. Almost there."
" 'K." It was clear she had no idea what he'd just said, but she laid her head back on his chest and scrunched her eyes closed. Obviously in pain.
Michael blocked out the sight and the sound of her distress. There wasn't a damn thing he could do to help her until they were out on the open sea, where he'd have a shot if anyone approached in another vessel.
He skimmed the northern point and motored a couple of miles behind the island, where no one was likely to spot them unless they were mountain climbing. Once there, he dropped anchor and set a few of his brother-in-law's toys to alert him of an approaching enemy. The ship secure, he took Tally below to his cabin.
He laid her carefully on the bed, then sat beside her and reached for her tank top. "Now, let's have a look at you."
She was sweating. Sweating more than the high room temperature warranted. He could see the frantic pounding of her pulse at the base of her throat, and she was struggling to drag air into her lungs.
Michael recognized the symptoms immediately: panic attack, coupled with shock. He tried to help her sit up. Almost as though he were holding her down instead of helping her, she struggled to get free. Tally swiped her arm across his body, and tried to jettison herself off the bed. She tried to talk, but she was breathless, incoherent. She gave him a beseeching look, her eyes panicked with the attack.
"Easy, honey. Easy. Here." He braced her narrow back with one arm and held his splayed hand over her midriff. "Inhale from the pit of your stomach. Slow and easy. That's a girl. There you go. Slow. And. Easy. Just. Like. That." He breathed with her, deliberately setting a regular rhythm until her breathing slowed to near normal.
He brought his hand up and massaged the tense muscles in her neck. Jesus, she felt fragile. She had such a mouth on her, he sometimes forgot that she was just a little bit of a thing. A strong wind could blow her over. And from the look of her, something a hell of a lot stronger than wind had had a go at her.
When he found the fucker responsible for hurting her, there wouldn't be a spot in hell hot enough for him.
Eventually her breathing evened out, and he helped her lie flat again. "How you doing?" Her breathing was still a little ragged around the edges, but she had it under control.
"Okay, thanks."
"Let's see what we're dealing with here," Michael told her, suddenly aware her hand was clenched around something. "Open your hand, you're bleeding—what the hell?"
Her fingers were stiff and cramped around the object. Michael helped her peel her fingers away.
They both looked at it. Tally glanced up with a puzzled frown. "I thought it was a rock. What is it?"
Michael took the smooth, flat object from her hand. The black box had a small LCD touch pad, and was about the size and shape of a TV remote control. "Where did you get this, Tally?"
They both looked at it. She glanced at him with a puzzled frown. "I picked it up on the beach. Why? What is it?"
"It's a remote control." It
belonged with the pulse generator that Church was planning to sell. God, this was sweet.
"Oh." Tally lost interest and closed her eyes.
Michael set the box on the bedside table.
First things first.
He pulled the blood-spattered tank top over her head. She wore no bra, and her pale pink nipples peaked in the wash of air. He made quick work of stripping her naked.
He glanced up to find her watching him, her eyes large and very blue in her battered face. Sick to his stomach at the violence done to her, Michael needed to get the hell out of here and pound someone's face into the dirt. Then he wanted to stomp what was left of the sonofabitch to dust.
"Jesus."
She was a mass of bloody scratches and contusions.
"Bad, huh?" She ran her tongue gingerly across her swollen upper lip. "You should see the other guy."
"I intend to," he said grimly. "Who'm I looking for?" He rose and covered her with a blanket.
"Arnaud killed Brian."
Michael turned. "He's alive."
"Unfortunately. I found Brian on the beach. Not that I was looking for him. I'd seen Arnaud from my window and had run down to the beach to try to talk to him." She gingerly touched the cut on her mouth. "He wanted me to help him move the body. As if I would. He must be a few bricks short of a load." The bravado huffed out of her. She looked very young and afraid. "Michael, all the accidents I had in Chicago… they weren't accidents. Neither was the explosion of the Serendipity. He wants me dead. Me and my father."
Fuckwad, Michael though grimly, and I want him dead. Him and your father. "Bastard," he said. Bouchard was ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag, and Michael wanted at him so bad, his molars ached. His insides twisted with the necessity to go back to shore and finish the dirtbag off. But Tally's needs were top priority right now.
Unable to sit still, Michael walked into the galley for supplies. He ran warm water in a bowl and came back. He set the water and supplies on the bedside table, then drew the blanket out of the way.
He started carefully washing the blood off her face. "What's his story?"
Tally winced as he dabbed at the drying blood on her lip. "He's been stealing from my father. He wants to take over my father's boat brokerage business, and Trevor isn't ready to retire yet. God, I don't know." She looked up at him, her eyes haunted. "He tried to kill me, Michael." She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, the fear still in her gaze. "He tried to kill me. He wants me dead. What have I done to warrant that kind of hatred? I don't understand any of this."
