His Only Obsession (Protectors #27)

by Beverly Barton

  Suddenly, only seconds after the first shot, another exploded between the two prone men. Gwen hollered, an involuntary reaction. Before she had a chance to search for a weapon of some kind, the man on top of Will lurched upward, then fell sideways and rolled over onto his back. She stared down at Will, at his bloody hand clutching his gun. Huge red spots covered his tan shirt, from belly to shoulder. Splatters of crimson dotted his jeans, his arms and his face.

  Grunting, Will lifted himself into a sitting position. The men they had heard talking when they first arrived began shouting.

  Gwen leaned down over Will. “Are you hurt?” Had he been shot? Or did all that blood belong to the dead man lying beside Will?

  Will came to his feet, wincing as he tensed his left shoulder. Then he grabbed her arm and said, “We have to get out of here, now!”

  As they backtracked their steps, Gwen could barely keep up with Will. Twice he had to slow down until she caught up. When they reached the parked motorcycle, Gwen jumped on behind him as he revved the motor. Holding on for dear life, she glanced over her shoulder as they sped through the underbrush. She caught glimpses of two men chasing them on foot, but by the time the cycle hit the dirt path, she could no longer see anyone behind them.

  “We’ve lost them,” she shouted over the roar of the cycle’s noisy engine.

  “Not hardly,” Will shouted back at her.

  That’s when she heard a vehicle bearing down on them. When she looked back, she saw a tattered old Jeep tear through the woods and onto the dirt road.

  “Hang on,” Will told her.

  She clung to him, all the while praying like she’d never prayed in her life. Their pursuers fired at them, bullets sailing all around them, one hitting the cycle’s back bumper. Will zig-zagged the motorcycle back and forth, then suddenly formed the figure eight by back tracking, swirling around, crisscrossing, and then, when the Jeep finally turned and headed toward them, he went in the opposite direction. By the time the Jeep caught up with them, they had reached the main paved road into Baccara.

  Although their hunters ceased firing when they reached civilization, the Jeep continued following them, all the way into downtown Baccara. Once among the traffic and the congested streets, Will managed to maneuver them in and out, around and about, until Gwen had no idea in which direction they were headed. But she didn’t care because she hadn’t caught even a glimpse of the Jeep for the past few blocks.

  Will pulled into an alley behind a hotel, parked the cycle and got off. Gwen didn’t wait for his assistance. By the time he held out his hand, she was already on her feet.

  “I need you to go into the hotel and ask them to call a taxi for you,” Will told her. “I’ll wait outside until the taxi arrives, then I’ll get into the backseat right after you.”

  “You want me to get a taxi?” Her voice quivered.

  He grasped her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Take a deep breath.”

  She did.

  “Listen carefully,” he told her. “We’re safe for now. I lost those guys. But we need to leave Baccara as soon as possible. If anyone sees me looking like this—” he glanced at his bloody clothes and skin “—they might call the local police. We don’t want that happening.”

  “Because you…you killed two men.”

  “Yeah, because I killed two men.”

  Gwen nodded. “I’ll get us a taxi.”

  He squeezed her chin, then released her. “Good girl.”

  Breathing in and out slowly, taking deep, calming breaths, Gwen walked out of the alley and onto the street in front of the hotel. Fixing her loosened ponytail, she straightened her shoulders, walked into the hotel lobby and went directly toward the desk clerk.

  What language did they speak in Baccara? Spanish? French? English. Think, Gwen, think…. English. They speak English.

  She marched up to the desk clerk, forced a cautious smile and said, “I need a taxi, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the clerk replied and made a quick phone call before informing her that the taxi would arrive shortly.

  Barely keeping her smile in place, she nodded, said thank-you and walked outside where she waited in front of the hotel until the taxi arrived, approximately five minutes later. While she waited, she glanced toward the alley once, but didn’t see Will.

  He’s there, she told herself. He’s just staying out of sight.

  When the cabby got out, he stared at Gwen, then asked, “You do not have luggage?”

  “No. No luggage.”

  He opened the taxi door for her. She paused, glanced over her shoulder, didn’t see Will and hesitated.

  “Is something wrong?” the driver asked.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  She slid into the backseat. The driver rounded the trunk. By the time he slid into the front seat, the back door flew open and Will scooted into the seat beside Gwen.

  The driver swiveled around, stared at Will and asked, “Is this man with you?”

  “Yes.” Gwen barely managed to gulp out the word.

  Will issued the driver orders, telling him where to take them—back to the marina where the Footloose was docked.

  Gwen reached over and grabbed Will’s hand. He squeezed her hand tightly.

  The driver started the taxi and moved into afternoon traffic. On the drive to the marina, he kept glancing in his rearview mirror, no doubt wondering why Will’s clothes were soaked in blood.

  When they reached the marina, Will got out and all but yanked Gwen from the taxi. While she waited, he pulled out several bills that she suspected were hundreds and handed them to the driver.

  “You haven’t seen us,” Will said to the driver.

  “No, sir, I have not seen an American woman with a man covered in blood.”

  Will gave the man a another bill. The driver grinned, then got in his taxi and drove off down the road.

  Will clutched Gwen’s elbow. “We need to leave Baccara as quickly as possible.”

  “And go where?”

  “Out to sea. We’ll drop anchor once we’re out far enough, and then I’ll plot our course for tomorrow.”

  “What about the Sun Dancer?”

  “My guess is they’ll head for Bermuda first thing in the morning.”

  “What were all those gunshots about?” Jordan asked Mick McGuire the minute he and Molly returned from their trip ashore.

  “Nothing for us to worry about,” Mick said. “It seems they caught a couple of people trying to rob one of the boats anchored here.”

  “They caught them and called the police,” Molly added, a wide smile deepening the wrinkles around her eyes.

  “See, Jordan, I told you it was nothing that concerned us.” Dr. Arnell patted Jordan on the back, then opened his arms to welcome Molly.

  Hugging The Professor, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his wrinkled cheek. “Did you miss me, darling?”

  “I always miss you when you’re away from me, but I know you and Mick had business to attend to.” He glanced at Mick. “Are we all set now? Do we have everything we need for our trip?”

  “We’re all set.” Mick winked at Jordan. “Are you ready to head into the Triangle and rediscover The Professor’s island?”

  Jordan didn’t especially like Mick and sometimes got the feeling the guy was making fun of him and The Professor, but Mick was a seasoned captain and seemed perfectly willing to take them into the Devil’s Triangle, in search of the mythical island. Besides that, Mick and Molly had put up part of the capital to fund this expedition.

  As giddy as a child on Christmas morning, The Professor beamed with happiness. “If we leave in the morning, then tomorrow we can sail directly into the Triangle, straight to my island.”

  Mick grinned. “That’s what we’re hoping for, but it’s a big ocean out there and there are no guarantees. We could wind up with no choice but to go on to Bermuda.”

  “No, no, that won’t happen.” Dr. Arnell slipped his arm around Molly’s slender shoulders. “You’re
going to be so proud of me, my darling, when I rediscover the island and am able to bring long life and good health to the entire world.”

  “Emery, you must know that I hope we find your island,” Molly said. “I can’t bear the thought of your being disappointed.”

  “I won’t be disappointed. Tomorrow we will find my island, exactly fifty years to the day of my first arrival there.”

  “You seem so certain.” Molly gazed lovingly into The Professor’s eyes.

  Jordan wondered if the woman actually cared about Dr. Arnell or if she was simply infatuated with the thought of being married to man who might soon be famous and possibly rich.

  “I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” The Professor said. “The island will be visible tomorrow. It’s out there…waiting for me.” He looked from Molly to Mick and then to Jordan. “It’s waiting for all of us.”

  When they boarded the Footloose, Will went below to change out of his bloody clothes, asking Gwen to stay topside until he returned.

  Curious as to why he’d made that request, she waited a few minutes, then rushed headlong down the stairs to the salon. The door to the master stateroom stood wide open, but she didn’t see Will. Walking quietly, barely breathing, she entered the stateroom and found it empty. She gazed at the partially closed bathroom door.

  What is he doing? she asked herself. He probably just wants a little privacy to strip out of his soiled clothes, take a shower and put on a clean shirt and pants.

  Suddenly Will came out of the bathroom and stopped dead when he saw Gwen. Gasping, unable to remove her gaze from his totally nude body, she stammered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t…I’ll leave.”

  With heat warming her face, she forced her gaze from his impressive sex and up to his muscular chest. As she inspected his broad shoulders, she noticed blood trickling from a shallow wound and realized that all the stains on Will’s shirt were not from the other man’s blood.

  “You were shot!” Without thinking, she moved toward him.

  “Don’t go all female on me, brown eyes,” Will told her. “The bullet just grazed my shoulder. A little alcohol and a bandage and I’ll be fine.”

  “How much blood have you lost? Are you feeling faint? What can I do to help you? Oh, God, Will, why didn’t you tell me you’d been shot?”

  “I didn’t tell you for this very reason. I didn’t want you to get hysterical.”

  “I am not hysterical.”

  “Do you want to help me?”

  “Yes, of course I do.” She gazed into his gorgeous blue eyes, and all she could think about was how much she wanted to take care of this man. Well, that and the fact he was naked and absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.

  “Get me some briefs, a shirt, a pair of jeans and socks out of my duffel bag over there—” he indicated the counter space built into the wall “—while I take a shower.”

  “Of course.” She shooed him back into the bathroom. “I’ll lay everything out on the bed.”

  “Thanks.”

  As he walked into the bathroom, she couldn’t stop herself from looking and was rewarded with the sight of his firm round buttocks. What a body!

  Oh, Gwen, get your mind out of the gutter.

  She picked up his vinyl bag, set it on the bed and rummaged through his possessions until she found the items he had requested. She laid out a pair of plain white briefs, a faded pair of jeans, blue cotton socks and a light-blue cotton pullover shirt.

  “Hey, Gwen,” Will called.

  “Yes?”

  “I hate to ask, but would you mind giving me a hand?”

  “What?”

  “Toss me my briefs and then come in here. My shoulder’s gotten pretty stiff and I’m probably going to need a little help cleaning this wound and dressing it.”

  “Okay.” She carried the briefs with her, cracked open the door and tossed the underwear to Will.

  A minute later he said, “You can come in now.”

  She opened the door and found him sitting on the commode. There was just enough room in the tight area for her to stand directly in front of him.

  “There’s a first-aid kit under the sink,” he said.

  She nodded, turned around and bent over to retrieve the kit, but before she could open the cabinet under the sink, her backside hit Will’s knees. She jumped.

  He laughed, then slapped her on the butt.

  “Stop that!” she told him.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. You’ve got a nice ass, Dr. Arnell.”

  So do you. “You must be delirious.”

  He chuckled again.

  She bent back over, being careful not to rub against his knees, opened the cabinet door and pulled out the first-aid kit. When she turned around, she discovered that Will had stood and they were now face-to-face. Actually, they would have been face-to-face if they were the same height. As it was, with him barefoot and her in tennis shoes, her head hit him at chin level.

  “Maybe we should go into the bedroom to do this,” Gwen suggested.

  “Whatever you say.”

  He followed her into the stateroom, sat at the foot of the bed and waited for her to doctor him. She flipped open the kit, removed a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and searched for some cotton balls.

  “Just pour it on the wound.”

  “It’ll burn.”

  “I’ve endured worse.”

  A lot worse. Although unspoken, she heard those words inside her head. She unscrewed the lid on the bottle, lifted a piece of cotton gauze to catch the overflow and poured the alcohol directly over the gaping wound on his shoulder. He winced slightly. She blew on his shoulder. She laid the wet gauze aside and retrieved another piece, then placed it over his wound. Holding the dressing by the top edge, she used her other hand to pick up the roll of tape. Luckily, the tape tore easily, so she managed to rip off four strips and secure the bandage in place.

  “I think you need stitches in that shoulder,” she said.

  “Probably.”

  “Otherwise, it’s going to leave a nasty scar.”

  “It won’t be my first scar, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  She really hadn’t noticed, but now that he mentioned it, she ran her gaze over his chest and saw two separate scars, both faded to a creamy white. One slashed across his abdomen. A knife wound? The other was smaller and almost round, located on his right side. A bullet wound?

  He turned sideways so she could see his back. Another scar. Ragged and pink. A more recent wound?

  “Compared to the others, this is just a scratch,” he told her.

  She stepped back, away from him, and their gazes met. “Do you need me to help you get dressed?”

  He shook his head. “I think I can manage.”

  “It’s been years since I was on a boat, but if you gave me some pointers, I might be able to—”

  “I can handle things. And we’ll leave just as soon as I get dressed. Why don’t you rustle us up something to eat and bring it topside?”

  “All right. I’ll see what I can dig up in the kitchen. I mean the galley.”

  When she turned to leave, he said, “Gwen, everything’s going to be all right. If we don’t encounter the Sun Dancer out at sea, we’ll catch up with them in Bermuda.”

  “I hope you’re right, but after what happened on Baccara—”

  “I won’t tell you not to worry about your father. He’s gotten hooked up with a couple of really bad characters. But as long as he’s useful to them…”

  “And when my father’s no longer useful to them, they’ll kill him, won’t they? Daddy and Jordan and the Kress girl, if they haven’t already killed her.”

  “I’m not going to lie to you— Yes, there’s a good chance they’ll kill them.”

  “Before they reach Bermuda?”

  “I don’t know. Possibly not, unless Bermuda is their final destination.”

  Gwen stood frozen to the spot, feeling as if she might burst into tears at any moment and knowing she’d hate
herself if she shed one single tear. At least, not in front of Will. She figured he was the type who not only wasn’t affected by a woman’s tears, but would consider her weak and foolish to waste energy crying.

  She turned and walked out, choking back unshed tears.

  Will sat in the cockpit, drinking a beer and staring up at the night sky encrusted with countless glittering stars. Gwen sat beside him, her legs against her chest, her arms draped around her knees. The balmy, tropical breeze blew softly through her long dark hair, which fell loose about her shoulders.

  Figuring the Sun Dancer wouldn’t head out to sea before morning, Will felt safe dropping anchor for the night. At first light he would take the Footloose directly into the Bermuda Triangle, and hope for a miracle—that they would encounter the Sun Dancer at sea. His job was to rescue Cheryl Kress. His last report from Daisy had been that Cheryl’s parents were probably worried out of their minds because she was still missing. He knew if his daughter was in the situation Cheryl was… His daughter? Yeah, like he would ever have children. He was the kind of man who thought kids should be born to a married mother and father, so the odds were against his ever having a family of his own. After all, he was nearly forty, and since his first marriage had ended—a mutual decision that they were wrong for each other—Will hadn’t loved another woman. There had been a couple of long-term relationships, if you can call eight or nine months long-term, and he’d dated dozens of women, some dates ending in bed, others ending with a kiss good-night.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Gwen said. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  “You wouldn’t believe what I was thinking about if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  “I was thinking about how worried I’d be if I had a daughter in Cheryl’s situation.”

  “Why did you think I wouldn’t believe you?”

  Will shrugged. “I figured you didn’t see me as the family-man type.”

  Gwen lowered her legs and turned sideways so she could look at Will. “Do you want to get married and have a family?”

  “What woman would want a beat-up old warhorse like me?”