by Cherry Adair
"Because they are perfectly matched and priceless. And I was wearing them the afternoon he went to meet you for your birthday. He was angry with me. And he took them and gave them to you for spite. I want them back."
Tally had felt so grown up when he'd handed her the pearls over dinner. Damn it. She'd pretended he actually gave a damn about her. "I'll give you the pearls when we get back to the island," Tally told the girl.
She covered the horrible, burning pain in her chest with her hand. Her throat worked, her eyes stung. She blinked back the tears and forced the numbing pain somewhere manageable. She'd be damned if she'd cry in front of Leli'a.
"Tell me where they are," the girl said. "You won't be going back."
"Oh, for God's sake," Tally said, throwing up her hands. "Are you threatening me, too? What is it with you and Arnaud? Haven't you ever heard of discussing a problem without killing the person because they disagree with you?" Tally glanced over at Michael. His head and shirt, and the deck around him, were soaking wet. But he still hadn't moved.
Of the multitude of emotions rushing at her, Tally allowed anger to win out. "Whatever you two are up to, I just don't, care. Got it? I don't give a damn. My—Trevor is expecting to see me this afternoon. If I'm not there, he'll want to know why. When I've seen him, I'll leave. Until then you're S.O.L."
She sensed someone behind her just as Arnaud's attention flicked over her shoulder. She tried to turn, half-rising out of the softly padded chair. She was unceremoniously shoved down by two rough hands on her shoulders.
"What the hell do you hope to achieve with this, Arnaud? Trevor is going to have your guts for garters when I tell him what you've done to me."
Arnaud laughed mirthlessly. "Non. I do not believe your father will care one way or the other."
Unfortunately, that was probably, and sadly, true. One of the men grabbed her arms and held her hands together as the other guy wound a thin, hairy rope about her wrists. "Ow, damn it. That hurts!"
"Tie her tightly," Leli'a instructed, sipping at a glass of wine. "Tighter," she snapped.
"You won't get away with this," Tally said furiously, hoping, praying Michael would wake up and save the day. This was not looking good. There was no point straining against her bindings, Leli'a had them tied so tightly, Tally couldn't feel her fingers.
"Auntie and Henri know I was here. People will talk. Trevor will kill you for this."
"He is my father. You think he has given you a moment's thought in the last twenty years? No, he has not. I am his daughter. I am the one he cares about, not you."
Direct hit. And it hurt, damn it. "I'm the one he gave the pearls to."
Leli'a hissed in a breath. "Where are they?"
"I forget."
"You stupid, bloody bitch. My father won't care when you die. He's never cared about you."
"Whether he cares or not, when he finds out I've been here, and then suddenly disappeared, he'll start asking questions. It'll be suspicious that we're all gone at the same time."
"Yes," Arnaud said pleasantly. "The staff is taking you and your lover to Bora-Bora to catch a plane back home. A romantic cruise to end a pleasant vacation. Nothing more. A favor for the boss's daughter. They will return, tell him they dropped off the lovers in Bora-Bora, and you won't be heard of again."
"And you don't think he'll be slightly put out I came all this way to see him and then didn't bother waiting for him to show up?"
Arnaud laughed. "I have worked these many years to impress upon your father how American you are—thoughtless. Selfish. Inconsiderate. No, he will think nothing of this quite normal and inconsiderate behavior." Arnaud pulled a red grape off the bunch on his plate and brought it to his mouth. "Here are your choices, Tallulah. One, you tell us where the control is hidden. Two, you don't—"
"Good. I choose door number two."
Arnaud continued uninterrupted. "And we torture your friend here until you spill your guts." He nodded at one of the soldiers. The man drew back his booted foot and kicked Michael hard in the ribs. "Once more. No," he snapped. "Not forceful enough. Again." Satisfied, he turned to Tally. "Which is it to be?"
"Wow. Hard choices," she said, her brain going a mile a minute, and bile climbing her throat at Arnaud's casual brutality. If she told Arnaud and Leli'a she didn't know where the device was, they'd kill her and torture the information out of Michael. If she told them she was the only one who knew where it was, they'd kill Michael in a heartbeat. "Michael took it apart."
"Christ." Arnaud went pale. "Well, where the fuck is it?"
"I only know where my half is. Sorry."
"She's lying!"
Tally looked from one to the other. "If you think so, might as well kill me now. I'm not telling you. Isn't it funny how thieves and liars always expect the same thing from other people?"
Leli'a reached out and slapped Tally hard across the face. Tally's head bounced on the cushion behind her head, then she was up and out of her seat.
She might not have the use of her hands, but her feet were just fine, thank you very much.
She kicked Leli'a a hard whack in the boobs. The girl gasped as the impact knocked the air out of her lungs. She and her chair skidded across the polished deck and clattered to a stop against the railing.
Tally staggered back several steps to regain her footing.
"I'm damn sick of you people slapping me around. Knock it off!" She was panting, hard and fast. Damn it, her wrists felt like hamburger meat, her eyes were tearing, and Leli'a was screaming like a madwoman as two sailors tried to help her up.
Arnaud suddenly stiffened. Tally followed his gaze. High above them was the tiny speck of a plane, the faint hum of the engines carried on the breeze.
Trevor, Tally almost cried with relief.
"Leli'a, stop that goddamned caterwauling and get over here. Now." Arnaud rose and motioned impatiently to his men. "Take them below. I'll talk to them there."
Hurry, Dad, Tally screamed silently. Hurry. It was a testament to her terror that she had never called him "Dad" in her life.
Chapter Eighteen
« ^ »
Under the hull of the Marie Jose, Michael carefully and efficiently removed the harness of the limpet mine on his back, knowing Hugo was mirroring his actions nearby. He pried the magnets from the steel plate which held each in position, then placed it against the steel hull of the vessel. Next, he removed the plastic explosive from its pouch and molded the C4 between his hands.
He'd precut lengths of M700 time fuse and removed them from his pack along with the M-60 fuse lighter.
Ready to rock and roll.
A quick check of the Rolex on his board. They were right on the nose, time-wise. The wet sub waited a klick away, ready for extraction. The op had been textbook perfect.
Hugo tugged on the line.
Michael set his fuses, and pushed off.
Time to go home.
Suddenly, and without warning, bright light flooded the murky water. Michael blinked, and narrowed his eyes. The water was alive with bubbles, lights, and a dozen divers. The enemy was suited up, and armed to the teeth.
Michael and Hugo were outflanked, and way the hell outgunned. Michael signaled his intent, and slashed at the line between them, freeing them both. He signaled his next maneuver to Hugo, who, thanks to the near-spotlight brightness, was as clear as day, although he was already twenty meters away. The key was to take this unexpected fuckup and turn it into a victory.
Hugo signaled back.
As one, they swam directly at the biggest cluster of divers. Straight into the ambush, weapons drawn, thereby changing a defensive action into an offensive action. If they could pull this one off, they'd win. If they couldn't, they'd die trying.
His heart was beating loud and strong in his ears. The rebreather was getting a workout, but they were out of options. The first spear glanced off Michael's left thigh. Didn't hurt. He knew it'd made contact by the mist of blood around him. The water churned with the flash
and dash of black bodies. Kicking, firing off their harpoon guns, thrashing about, wondering what the hell these two fucks were doing swimming at them instead of away.
Michael fired his modified Glock 17 from close range, and got a twofer. One guy behind the other. The two men jerked in unison, then separated to drift in the bubbles from their aerators. Plenty more where they came from.
The sound of the blood rushing in his ears, the thud of his heartbeat, made Michael feel gloriously alive. Hell. Invincible.
He saw Hugo out of the corner of his eye, weapon drawn, giving as good as he got.
Hoo-yah.
Michael fired off another round from the Glock. The enemy was close. Damn close. He whipped out his K-bar knife from its holster and went in. Up close and personal. Man, he loved this shit.
The water churned red. Auroras of light backlit the enemy divers. Everything happened in slow-mo. Hand to hand, nasty and messy. He cut one guy high on the shoulder, another in the throat. Some dude came up behind him, trying to pull off his mask. Michael moved like a great white, turning on a dime, flipping, and coming up behind him. In seconds, Michael had the bad guy's mask-hose cut. The guy drifted away as quiet as you please. Next?
Within seconds, Hugo was surrounded. The bad guys closed in for the kill. Michael streaked through the clouds of blood, straight for the kill zone.
The last thing he saw was Hugo's face. Fierce. Determined. Michael had a "come to Jesus " moment, and everything went dark.
"Michael? Wake up. Come on, wake up. We're in deep doo-doo here!"
Hugo?
"Michael!"
Tally. He groaned and squinted his eye open. They'd dumped him on the floor like yesterday's trash. Tally was on the bed, trussed up like a Sunday goose.
"Did the sonofabitch hurt you again?" Michael demanded, ignoring what was clearly a broken rib, and a mother of a headache. His hands were bound behind his back, then tied securely to his roped ankles.
"Let's put it this way: It's been an enlightening afternoon."
"Yeah?" He tested the strength of the bindings on his wrists. They'd done a damn fine job. "Could you give me a quick overview? I doubt we have much time."
"A quick overview?" Tally repeated, her tone way too mild. "Certainly. Hmm, let's see… Arnaud wants to take over my father's business. Oh, yeah, already knew that one. Turns out Leli'a is my sister—half-sister. You screwed my brains out for your own perverse reasons. Oh, yeah, and you're here to kill Trevor. Whose plane, by the way, is probably landing on Paradise as we speak. And in a while, Arnaud is going to persuade us, probably violently and painfully, to give him that control thingy. That quick enough for you?"
Tally turned her head so she could look him in the eye. "Oh, yeah, Lieutenant. One more thing. I'm glad you're not dead. Because, if we ever get out of this mess you've gotten us into, Ollie, I'm going to kill you myself."
"Jesus, you're bloodthirsty. Could we at least get free before you bump me off?"
"And just how are we supposed to do that?" she whispered hotly. "You're way over there, and I'm a little tied up myself."
There was a slight quiver in that bravado, but Michael blocked any feeling of sympathy. Time was of the essence.
Whatever the reason Arnaud was not down here beating the shit out of them, Michael was grateful, but their luck wasn't gonna last. He fumbled around, teeth gritted, until he could reach his ankle.
"Got fleas?" Tally asked sweetly.
"Knife," he grunted, as he managed to pull it free from the ankle sheath with his bound hands. He couldn't get enough give in the ropes around his wrists to cut them.
He felt the throb of the engines beneath the floor. They hadn't turned around yet—but if the positions were reversed, Michael would head out to sea. Away from the island. Away from Church.
"You're going to have to help me with this." Michael rolled over twice, hoping to hell he didn't puncture a lung with his broken rib, and came to rest beside the bed. "Any give in your bindings?" he asked.
"No."
He rolled up onto his knees. Jesus. They'd bound her wrists so tightly, her hands were bleached white, then they'd tied them to the railing that ran behind the bed. She was stretched out like a sacrificial lamb. Obviously in pain, she looked at him without complaint.
Michael leveraged his weight onto the bed. He was half on top of Tally when he landed. She grunted. He rolled to the side, then shifted onto his knees to bring his own bound hands level with hers. "Did Arnaud tie these?" Sadistic bastard.
"Better." Tally shifted uneasily as he positioned the small sharp knife between the rope around her wrists. "My new sister supervised. Arnaud was in charge of having you kicked back to consciousness. It's a good thing they didn't find the knife, otherwise you'd have to gnaw your way through the rope like the rat you are."
He glanced over his shoulder and cocked a brow as he sawed at the rope. She bit her lip and turned her head away. Michael could smell the soft fragrance of her hair. He concentrated on helping her work the ropes. Cursing silently at the tightness of the cords. That sister of hers was a vicious piece of work.
Tally closed her eyes and rested her head on the pillow. This was going to be a long process, so she might as well be comfy. "I told Arnaud you took the detonator apart, and we each hid half."
"Smart thinking."
"I thought so. What did you really do with it?"
"Tossed it overboard."
Tally stared at him. "Are you sure that was a good idea? What if we need it to bargain with?"
"The people we're dealing with don't bargain. Let's keep the truth our little secret."
"Yeah, sure. Fine." No surprise. Michael Wright was just chock full of secrets. "Could you hurry up? Arnaud flipped out when he saw the plane. I don't know what's going on out there, but I'll bet they're planning something unpleasant. Aren't you done yet?"
"Almost. Spread your hands."
As opposed to "spread your legs." She tried to separate her wrists. The rope held fast, but a few threads unraveled. Michael continued sawing.
At last Tally was able to break the last few threads binding her hands by snapping them. "I have mobility. Here, give me the knife," she whispered. She took the sharp knife and slipped it between his wrists.
He kept a steady tension on the rope to make her job easier. The ropes separated. He flexed his wrists before rubbing back the circulation. "Thanks." He took the knife from her and cut apart his ankles, then hers, then staggered off the bunk.
He looked around for a weapon and a way to block the door. There wasn't much.
The cabin was luxurious, and clearly only for guests. He removed several of the padded hangers he found in the locker, and used them as a makeshift wedge under the door. They wouldn't hold worth a damn, but they were better than nothing. All he had to defend them was the three-inch blade of his knife. He went back to the bed.
She looked up, her eyes cerulean blue and hot. "I hate you."
"Don't blame you."
"I'll never forgive you for using me."
"Hold that thought for twenty years. Okay?"
"How are we going to get out of here? There are at least ten of them and two of us."
"Our motivation is stronger. Come on." He hauled her off the bed, then caught her as her knees buckled. "Easy."
She grabbed his chest for balance. He hooked her chin with his hand and scanned her face. Ah, hell, sweetheart, look at you. She was battered and bruised, had a fat lip, the beginnings of a black eye, and the knot on her forehead was now purple and swollen. Damned if she wasn't beautiful, anyway.
Michael lowered his mouth and kissed her gently, running his tongue along the seam of her lips until her mouth opened beneath his. God, she tasted sweet.
Tally bit his tongue.
Michael winced and lifted his head.
"Do you have short-term memory loss?" she said without heat. "I hate you."
"I know." Michael took her hand. "The door's locked from outside, and there are a coup
le of guys standing guard." He removed the dubious deterrent of the hangers under the door and tossed them on the bed. "Go lie down in the same position, and scream bloody murder. Not too loudly. We don't want everyone in here. Just the guards outside."
Tally obediently lay down with her arms extended above her head and her feet together. Michael tossed a couple of pieces of rope over her wrists and ankles. It wouldn't fool anyone who gave more than a cursory glance. But a quick glance was all the time he needed. He stood where the open door would shield him, and nodded to Tally.
She was good. Her shriek was just sufficient enough to get the men's attention. Seconds later, the door burst open to reveal the two guards, one in front of the other.
"What are you yelling about?" one man demanded, pointing the business end of his PM5 at Tally.
"These ropes are tied too tightly," Tally said crossly. "My circulation's being cut off. Come and untie me."
The guy in front laughed. The guy in back had another problem as Michael stood behind him and put one arm around his neck, the knife to his throat. He didn't make a sound as Michael gave a sharp upward twist, snapping his neck.
At the same moment, Tally whined, "Hurry up!" neatly blocking the sound. She shifted impatiently on the bed, keeping her attention on the soldier.
Without a sound, Michael dropped the other guy to the floor and quietly closed the door.
"They look fine to m—" The rope covering Tally's wrists slid off. "Hey! What—"
Before the bad guy could get to Tally, Michael grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. In a quick, lethal motion, he punched him out. The man's eyes rolled back in his head as he toppled over onto Tally's leg.
She shoved his arm off her hip, then scrambled out from under him. "Nice work, Double Oh."
"Take his weapons." Michael was already bent over the man at his feet, stripping him of his weapons.
He glanced up. Tally held an MP5 between her fingers. "We never did get to that shooting lesson, did we?"
"Apparently experience is the best teacher."
"Here." Michael checked the weapon, then showed her how to hold it. "If anyone gets in your way, point and shoot. Accuracy won't matter if they're close enough. Stay close, and don't stop for anything. We're going for the stern boat portside. Let's do it."
