by Cherry Adair
"Back, left?"
"Yeah. Back, left." He opened the stateroom door quietly, stuck his head out, and checked the companionway. All clear. He pulled Tally after him.
Voices came from the salon. Arnaud, Leli'a, and several men. It would be nice if everyone was in there, but not likely.
He glanced back. Tally had her weapon pointed in the middle of his back. He turned slightly and nudged the barrel slightly to the side. Hey, he didn't mind getting shot, but he'd be damned if he'd get it in the back from a pissed-off lover when there were so many others waiting for a chance at him. He motioned Tally to wait, then moved stealthily toward the salon. The door wasn't quite closed. Inside, Leli'a sat on the sofa; he could just see her swinging foot. Three men lounged in the armchairs opposite, facing the woman, and talking to Arnaud, who must have been standing beside her.
Michael motioned Tally the other way, and they ran silently down the corridor. They headed for the aft stairs. So far, so good.
He and Tally charged up the stairs, taking them two at a time. There was a closed door at the top which he opened cautiously. He glanced around, and motioned Tally through.
His limited visibility had already proven to be a liability. Michael knew there were at least three more men somewhere, plus five or six crew members. He wasn't taking any chances. As much as he wanted to race across the wide, open deck to the speedboat hanging against the side, he took time for a thorough reconnaissance.
They had one shot at getting this right.
The sound of low voices carried in the balmy air. Two men. Ten to twelve feet away. He motioned Tally to close the door behind her and lock it, then held up his hand for her to stay put. She obediently crouched low in the doorway.
Michael snuck around the corner and spotted two armed men having a smoke as they checked out the Nemesis, which still rode anchor near the cliffs in the distance. They hadn't gone as far out as he'd thought. Excellent.
The men stood between him and the small boat they were obviously not guarding. He tilted his head so he could see all the way down the deck to the prow. All clear.
Which didn't mean shit. The rest of the bad guys could be an inch out of view.
He slid the knife from the ankle sheath and checked the guys' shadows. The sun was slightly in front of them, casting their shadows toward him. Perfect. They wouldn't see him coming.
Stealthy as a cat, he shot across the few feet separating them. In a swift, silent move, he shoved the knife up high in the closest guy's kidney. The man dropped to the deck without a peep. By the time the other one turned, not even alarmed, Michael had the knife to his throat.
This dude wasn't going quietly. He spun around, weapon up. The moron had the safety on. He pulled the trigger. Click. He opened his mouth to yell a warning, but Michael's knife silenced him in mid-squawk. He gurgled, then dropped to the deck beside his friend, sightless eyes staring at the bright blue sky.
"Sayonara, asshole." Michael wiped the knife clean on the guy's shirt.
He kicked the start button to lower the small speedboat down the side and into the water. It was a slow process. While it winched down, Michael dragged the two guys by their collars, then hefted them one at a time and threw them over the railing into the wake of the Beautiful Dreamer.
He sprinted to get Tally. She was exactly as he'd left her. Pale-faced, wide-eyed, and clearly terrified as she lip-synced a song to keep herself busy. And sane.
He grabbed her arm, indicated she should stay low, and raced across the deck. She hesitated at the bloodstain on the deck, but Michael wasn't taking time for explanations. "Over the side, it's a small drop."
"Oh, my God," Tally said, horrified. "We can't swim that far." The island was five klicks behind them.
"Down there." He indicated the slowly descending speedboat. "Make it snappy, we have company. Here, give me that." He grabbed the weapon out of her hand, and she threw her leg over the railing as three guys came barreling down the deck toward them.
"Jump," he told her, then opened fire on the bad guys. Shit. He'd needed a couple of extra minutes to lower at least a couple of the other speedboats. He was out of time.
He heard the thud as Tally's feet gained purchase on the smaller boat.
The bad guys fired back. They were shitty shots; nevertheless, there was a hail of bullets as Michael threw his leg over the railing and paused to return fire.
"In the water yet?" Michael shouted, clipping one guy and dropping another. A bullet grazed his cheek like an angry bee. He jacked a round into the chamber of the Browning, fired off a few more rounds, and got a hail of bullets in response. Shit.
"A few more feet," Tally shouted back.
"Find the release knob on the dash."
"Got it. Now?"
"Now!"
He heard the splash, then the strident roar of the engine as Tally fired her up. Good girl.
He shot off another volley to keep the guys where they were. He was still shooting as he dropped over the side. Damn. Just like the good old days.
His landing left a lot to be desired. But he was in the boat and not in the water.
"Go. Go. Go!" Michael grabbed the wheel and hefted Tally across the seat. The small cigarette boat danced across the wake of the Beautiful Dreamer with a bone-jarring thump-thump-thump. There was no time for finesse. The boat was fast and easy to maneuver. He did a screaming uie, and took off across the water like a bat out of hell heading back toward Paradise. Behind them, everyone had arrived five minutes late to the party. He grinned as the bad guys yelled, and cursed, and fired at their spume.
"Hang on to something and don't let go," Michael shouted as water slammed over the dash and sprayed overhead. The powerboat raced across the water as if it were dragging across lumpy cement without shocks.
A shot slammed into the dash right between them. The next bullet hit the windshield with a loud crack! The impact spiderwebbed the Perspex, reducing visibility to zilch. They were flying blind. So what else was new? He was getting used to that.
"They're coming after us," Tally yelled. He twisted around. All three of the other cigarette boats were in the water, and right on their ass.
"Shit. Stay down. Stay down!" Holding on to the shimmying wheel, Michael brought his foot up and kicked at the windshield, using his full weight behind the blow. The windshield severed off the front of the boat, bounced off the seat tops, and careened in the sea.
Water sprayed over him. But at least he could see.
Another volley of shots.
And then an answering shot from directly behind him. Michael glanced around. Tally crouched in the back, firing in the general direction of the mother ship. She wasn't going to hit anything, given her inexperience and their speed, but it was a deterrent. "Good girl."
Every few seconds she'd fire off another round. "They're gaining on us."
"Think you can hit it?"
"From here? No way. God, Michael, they're closing in on us. And they do know how to shoot."
"Don't panic. Use your bullets sparingly. We're well ahead of them. How many on board the closest one?"
"Four. Guards, I think."
"Jesus, they're multiplying like flies. We weigh less. We'll go faster. Give them another blast and, for God's sake, stay low!"
She stayed low and managed another volley of shots. "They're gaining on u—ow!"
"Jesus. Were you hit?"
"No, sorry. I bit my tongue. Just drive, would you?"
In the distance, Michael made out the green peak of the volcano forming the bulk of Paradise Island. All they needed was ten minutes or so on dry land before the goons arrived. No one at the marina to block their way. And a faster boat. And no interference. Yeah. All they needed was a frigging miracle.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the nose of the other boat. Almost neck and neck. Jesus. Without slowing down, he turned and fired a barrage of shots. Several at the men, several at the engine. One guy screamed as he fell overboard. A bullet ricocheted off the side
of the other boat. A hit, but no cigar. He hoped like hell their boat stayed on course. He had no choice. They were close enough for him to see the whites of their eyes, their directive was to kill.
"Get down. Get down!" he shouted at Tally. She needed no more urging. Between the over spray and the increasing barrage of firepower there was nothing she could do but keep her head low. Michael turned to make himself as small a target as possible. He was a better shot than the three goons in the other boat, but eventually he was going to run out of bullets.
Like right now. Shit.
"Here." Tally was flat on her stomach between his feet. She held up the CAR. Michael grabbed it and fired a volley of two-fisted shots. He winged one guy, and the other fell overboard like his friend. Two down, two to go.
He accelerated. The boat was going flat out. Shaking with the increased speed, it skimmed over the water, leaving the other boats to battle their wake.
"Get up here." He shouted over the hellacious noise the two engines made, and the hard, brutal slams as they took the waves head-on.
Tally staggered to her feet, more crouching than standing. "Grab the wheel and stay on course."
She braced her legs on the seat, leaned back, and clutched the wheel in a white-knuckled grip. The muscles in her slender arms strained. She gritted her teeth and held on, her expression grim. He repositioned her hands for better control, then crawled to the back of the boat. He whipped the canvas cover off the Rocket-Propelled Grenade—the RPG—bolted to the back.
The RPG launcher was top of the line, U.S. issue. Michael could've kissed it. If he'd had time. Locked and loaded. Hoo-yah.
He fired. The grenade went wide as they slammed down a trough. They fired back with their own RPG.
"Incoming. Hold on," Michael yelled, as their boat skittered across the water with the impact. Tally struggled to maintain control. Michael got off a few rounds from the MP5, until Tally realigned them. He wasn't wasting the grenades if there was no chance of a strike. The boat slid to port, then starboard. It jumped and jived, slamming up, then down. He didn't waste time telling Tally to hold it steady. She was doing the best she could. And her best was damn good.
She finally had it. The little boat slammed down hard, then continued in a direct hell-bent-for-leather path toward the marina.
Michael braced his feet and repositioned the RPG. Fired again. Direct hit. The boat blew, blooming like an orange rose on the frothy white water of their wake.
There was a second speedboat right behind it. The driver did a slick evasion tactic and was coming at them fast, guns blazing.
"Go, go, go!" Michael yelled at Tally as he got off a shot that clipped the prow of the other boat. Chunks of white Plexi flew into the air. It took a licking and kept on ticking, closing the distance between them. Reinforced. They were used to getting shot at.
"Marina?" Tally shouted.
"Beach," he yelled back. "Hang on, I'm coming."
Their speed, and her inexperience would land them nose-deep in Auntie's kitchen. He used the spent MP5 to jam the trigger mechanism of the RPG launcher. The result was a hail of grenades. Although the other boat wasn't being directly targeted, it was a handy-dandy deterrent.
He climbed over the seats and stood behind Tally. She leaned in to his body as he grabbed the vibrating wheel, and they held on to it together for a few seconds. "Got it. Get down."
She sank to the floor and scooted from between his feet in the narrow space under the dash.
Marina dead ahead. Michael veered off to the left and headed for the small cove near the base of the hills. Right now he needed cover, and God only knew who was waiting for them at the marina.
Tide was in. The water was fairly deep, covering at least half the beach. He powered down, slowed marginally. "Get ready to bail."
Tally staggered to her knees beside him.
The nose of the speedboat bit into the sand. The back end came up, vibrated, then slammed with a bone-jarring slap back in the shallow water. The engine screamed a protest as Michael shut her down. "Go!"
He grabbed her hand and pulled her over into the surf. The water hit him mid-thigh; Tally staggered in waist-deep water. "Where are we going?" she demanded breathlessly, clinging to his hand so hard, his fingers went numb.
She shot him a quick glance. His face was hard, his jaw locked. He had the strangest expression on his face. "Were you hit?" she demanded, scanning his taut features, then running her gaze down what she could see of his body.
"I don't have time to deal with this shit," he muttered under his breath. "I'm fine. Come on."
Oh, God. Oh, God. Where could they go? Arnaud and Leli'a were crazy enough to kill them in front of everyone. She didn't trust this man with her heart, but she did trust him to keep her safe until they could… what? Get help? From where? Leave? How? It seemed pretty damn hopeless to Tally. But Michael was crouched low and running across the soft sand, and she didn't hesitate to follow him.
She skinned her knee as he hauled her bodily up and over the rough rocks. "Where are we going?"
"There's a cave up ahead. Move it!"
A cave? She hesitated. Oh, no. No way. Too small. Too dark.
"Don't think about it," Michael said grimly, not letting go.
They rounded the corner at a dead run only to be brought up short by the sight waiting for them at the mouth of the cave.
Tally almost collapsed with gratitude. "Daddy!"
Chapter Nineteen
« ^ »
With a relieved sob, Tally ran toward her father, who stood watching the drama play out in the company of a dozen men. He held a hand up to stop her, then instructed several of his men to take care of their pursuers who were circling in the surf nearby, like sharks waiting for the kill.
Her father asked no questions. As the other boats aimed for where they stood on the beach, Trevor's men opened fire. Tally flinched as she saw the face of the driver seconds before a bullet hit him in the forehead, leaving a small, neat, black hole. She looked away and shuddered at the casual violence.
Without a driver, the speedboat went up the side of the rocks at full-throttle. Bodies flew as the boat looped, ass over prow, and landed upside down in the surf like a pregnant turtle.
Tally turned away and looked at her father, trying to reconcile this man with the person she'd seen in London several years ago. He'd changed, and not for the better. Or perhaps she was suddenly seeing the real man.
Trevor Church had always been large, tall, and robust, but in the last few years he'd packed on a good fifty pounds, which strained his white shirt across his belly. The shirt was open to mid-chest, exposing a glint of gold chains against his tanned chest. Fleshy jowls hung from his square jaw. The change made him appear dissipated, like a man who spent too much time hovered over a whiskey bottle. He'd shaved his head, and now sported a small gold earring in his left ear.
Emotion poured through Tally at the sight of him. Hope. Pain. Anger. Relief.
Before she got near the small cluster of men, Michael grabbed her arm and pulled her back sharply. Off-balance, her body slammed into his chest. "What are you doing? Let go." She tried to tug herself free.
Michael pulled her up hard against him with one arm around her waist. She felt the steady thud of his heart against her shoulder. "Stay with me," he said grimly.
Tally wriggled to get free. "Don't be silly. That's my fathe—"
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Trevor Church demanded, his British accent crisp and as cutting as broken glass. Eyes distant, mouth grim, he remained where he was.
At her father's words, Tally stopped struggling out of Michael's hold. "I—what?"
"I can't believe your stupidity. Why are you here, Tallulah?"
His reaction wasn't unexpected, but her heart pinched all the same. Tally lifted her chin. "Gee, it's good to see you, too."
"I repeat. Why are you here?"
"You know, I've been asked that question so many times, by so many people lately, I'm begi
nning to think I'm just not welcome," Tally said tartly. She and Michael weren't touching, but she could feel him right behind her, only inches away.
Her father scowled. "We meet where and when I say. You have never been welcome here." He glanced past Tally and smiled unpleasantly at Michael. "Came back for more, I see, Lieutenant. This time will it be my daughter you kill instead of your partner?"
"You're a real prize, Church."
"And you're a dead man." Trevor jerked his head, and his goons strode forward. Three circled behind Michael, one roughly grabbing hold of Tally's arm.
Michael's arm tightened about her waist, pulling her hard against him. "Tell your people to back off," he told her father.
"Or what, Lieutenant?"
"Or someone is going to get seriously hurt."
"Are you going to stand there using a woman to shield you?"
"This has nothing to do with Tally. Tell your apes to back off, then let her go. This is between you and me. No one else."
"As much as I'd relish finishing what I started last year, Lieutenant, I don't have time today." Church jerked his chin.
His men grabbed hold of Michael from the back. Tally felt his body jerk, and heard his grunt of pain as he was hit from behind.
The man beside her tried to pull her free, almost ripping her arm out of its socket.
"Hey! Do I look like a damn wishbone?" Tally twisted and kneed the man holding so tightly to her left arm. With a shriek he doubled over, holding his groin. She jerked herself free of Michael's hold and stepped away from him, then glared from him to her father, encompassing all the men in their audience. The testosterone level in the air was as thick as pea soup.
At the end of her emotional and physical rope, Tally snapped. "Stick a fork in me, guys, I'm done. I'll just stand here and watch while you shoot one another. Last man standing can help me get off this damn island."
"You'll do what you're told," her father said.
