Ready for Anything, Anywhere!

by Beverly Barton

  “I don’t know, damn it, but you are not going to kill her—” Molly lowered her voice to a whisper “—not the way you killed that other girl.”

  “If I’d known there was another one hiding out on this boat, I’d have gotten rid of them both at the same time,” Mick said.

  “As long as she believes we’re Emery’s friends, just investors in his hare-brained scheme, she won’t be a problem. We can just unload her in Bermuda with Emery and Jordan.”

  “Are you really that stupid?”

  She glared at him. “Yeah, maybe I am, so why don’t you explain it to me.”

  “Baby doll, the old man, the kid and the redhead—we’re going to have to dump them overboard some night before we reach Bermuda.”

  Baccara was the capital city of the tiny island nation of Latille, a tropical paradise with a rotting underbelly of crime and corruption. Will had been here once before, nearly five years ago. Even before he and Gwen stepped ashore at the marina, his gut tightened. He possessed a sixth sense when it came to trouble. That’s why he’d slipped the 9 mm Ruger under his lightweight jacket.

  “Are we meeting someone here?” Gwen asked.

  “Not here. I have to go into town to meet our guy.”

  “You mean we have to go into town.”

  “You’re staying here at the marina. There’s a halfway decent restaurant where you can eat lunch and—”

  “I’m not staying here. I’m going with you.”

  He took her shoulders gently. “It’s too dangerous for you to go with me. The part of town where I’m meeting my contact isn’t safe, especially not for—”

  “This guy is going to take you to where the Sun Dancer is anchored. If you go without me, what excuse will you use when you approach Mick McGuire? If I’m with you, I can tell him the truth, that I’m The Professor’s daughter and tracked him down to make sure he’s all right.”

  “I shouldn’t have told you that the Sun Dancer is here.” Dropping his hands from her shoulders, Will huffed. “There’s a good chance McGuire killed Tori Boyd and that she wasn’t the first person he’s killed. The guy’s dangerous. I know how to deal with dangerous people, but if you’re there, you’ll be in the way. I’ll have to take care of you.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “You think you can.”

  “If you try to leave me, I’ll follow you.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  He could easily give Gwen the slip, but then she’d be wandering Baccara alone. Because, no doubt, she’d try to find the Sun Dancer on her own.

  “Okay, you’re going with me,” he said, knowing a no-win situation when it slapped him in the face. “But you will do what I tell you to do without question. Understand?”

  “No, I don’t understand, but I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do.”

  He eyed her skeptically.

  “Cross my heart,” she told him.

  “Stay at my side, keep your mouth shut and don’t do anything unless I tell you to. Can you handle that this time?”

  She stared daggers at him but kept silent. He took that as a yes.

  “Why did Mick say we were stopping again?” Jordan Elders asked The Professor.

  “He and Molly need to transfer some funds,” Dr. Arnell replied as he sipped leisurely on his rum and cola.

  “I don’t understand why they didn’t take care of everything before we left Puerto Nuevo. We’re wasting a lot of time—”

  “Actually, if my calculations are correct, we’re right on time. These little delays have been no problem, because if we headed due north earlier, we would have been too soon. As of tomorrow, we should be able to find the island. It was precisely fifty years ago tomorrow that I washed ashore there.”

  “Professor, I know your theory about the island being hidden by some sort of cloaking device is as plausible as the belief in the plant that can produce longevity and good health to the people of the island, but it’s totally illogical.”

  “I’ve spent the better part of the past forty-five years searching for the island,” Dr. Arnell said. “I’ve borrowed money, acquired grants under false pretenses and used up all my own resources to fund expeditions into the vast unknown between the West Indies and Bermuda. If the island is visible at all times, then why haven’t I been able to find it? Why has no one else been able to find it?”

  Because the island doesn’t exist. Jordan wanted to believe in the island, in the miracle plant that grew there, because he longed to be a part of the discovery that could help mankind. And because he not only respected Dr. Arnell, but he genuinely loved the old man. The Professor had taken him under his wing when he’d been his student, had become like a father to him. Without Dr. Arnell’s help, he would never have gotten the scholarships to finish his studies and go on to graduate school. If nothing else, he owed the old man his loyalty on what could be his last great adventure.

  “You aren’t beginning to doubt me, are you, Jordan?”

  “No, sir. I want you to find your island and I want to be at your side when that happens.”

  The Professor lifted his wrinkled hand and clasped Jordan’s shoulder. “As soon as Molly and Mick return from their little errand, we will go back to sea, due north. I remember my father setting a course straight for Bermuda. If we retrace the journey I took with my parents and brother all those years ago, I’m certain we’ll find my island again. Fifty years to the day.”

  Fifty years to the day. The Professor now believed that the mythical island was visible only a few weeks every fifty years. What nonsense!

  Or was it?

  Gwen had never ridden a motorcycle and she wasn’t finding this experience something she’d ever want to repeat. Will had explained that they needed fast, reliable transportation to whip down back alleys, up on sidewalks and down dirt paths. Knowing absolutely nothing about motorcycles, she had no idea what make or model she was at present sitting astride behind Will, but her guess was that the monstrosity was far from new. It smelled awful, sounded awful and resembled a rebuilt piece of junk.

  Downtown Baccara looked a great deal like most Caribbean cities, and once again, she was missing everything of any interest because they were continuing their frantic wild-goose chase. Only this time, if luck was on their side, they’d make it to the Sun Dancer before she set sail again. They whizzed by groves of banana trees and fields of sugar cane.

  When the scenery changed dramatically from what she’d seen at their other ports of call, a sense of foreboding crept up her spine. Shacks and dilapidated shanties dotted the roadside.

  Gwen hung on tightly around Will’s waist, her heartbeat accelerating as Will slowed the cycle, exited the street and crept up a back alley. She felt open and exposed, knowing there was no protection between them and the sinister ugliness around them. They weren’t even wearing helmets. A mixture of odors assaulted her when Will stopped and parked the cycle behind a ramshackle house. Rotting garbage. Stagnant water. Human waste.

  God, she was going to be sick.

  “Wish you’d stayed back at the marina?” Will got off the motorcycle, then turned and helped her dismount.

  She couldn’t speak, afraid that if she opened her mouth she’d vomit on the spot.

  “You look green around the gills,” Will said. “If you’re going to throw up, do it now and get it over with.”

  Unsympathetic bastard! At that precise moment, Gwen hated him for being so smugly superior, for not being nauseated himself and for not giving a damn that she was.

  Okay, Gwen, stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re a big girl. Deal with it. You can’t blame Will. He did advise you to stay at the marina.

  Being here in this godforsaken, rancid alleyway was her own damn fault. And the fact that she was on the verge of upchucking was something Will could do nothing about one way or the other.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, before covering her nose and mouth to shield them from the stench.

  “Shh … “ he cauti
oned her.

  A slender, ragged figure appeared as if from out of nowhere. He spoke English with a hint of an accent, his voice low and gruff.

  “You got the money?” he asked, his gaze darting in every direction.

  Will pulled a couple of hundred dollar bills from his pants pocket and offered it to the man. He grabbed the cash, inspected it and stuffed it into his shirt pocket.

  “I’ll show you where the Sun Dancer is docked. That’s all your money buys you.”

  Will nodded. “That’s good enough.”

  Gwen’s heartbeat quickened, and uneasiness shivered through her. The man, the place, the tension radiating from Will combined to issue her a warning. She was in the middle of something she knew nothing about, something dangerous.

  The dirty little man eyed Gwen. “You should not bring your woman with you. For another hundred dollars, I can take her back to town and guard her for you.”

  “My woman goes where I go,” Will said in a voice that allowed no argument.

  They followed their Baccara contact, the first one that had to be paid in cash, as he turned the corner and led them along a back street. Will rolled the motorcycle along with them as they left the alley, until their guide mounted a black Moped. When Will got on the cycle, Gwen positioned herself behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Will’s two-hundred-dollar contact led them along a dirt path, through a weed-infested area of high grass and down to the backwaters from the nearby lagoon. The guy made a U-turn, pointed northeast and zoomed back in the direction from which they had come, leaving Will and Gwen alone. Will parked the motorcycle behind a stand of tall trees, then helped her off.

  “Where are we going?” she whispered.

  “Northeast,” Will told her in an equally low voice. “My guess is that there’s a small harbor nearby, probably one used by smugglers and other unsavory characters.”

  Gwen groaned silently, wondering if, in her own way, she wasn’t as crazy as her father. After all, here she was, in way over her head, and all because she was trying to save her father from his own madness. What was she doing here, with someone who seemed perfectly at home playing spy games in the wilds of a lawless little island?

  When they had gone about a quarter of a mile, Will stopped abruptly, shoved her behind him and listened intently. Voices! But she couldn’t understand the conversation, was unable to distinguish what language the men were speaking.

  Following Will’s lead, she crept alongside a chainlink fence that separated the wooded area they’d just come through from what appeared to be a small marina. In the distance she could see four docked boats. As they made their way closer, she caught a glimpse of two burly men deep in conversation.

  Will turned to her, put his finger to his lips warning her to be silent, then reached inside his jacket and drew a gun from the back waistband of his jeans. Gwen gasped. He glared at her.

  “Hold up there,” a deep, threatening voice called to them.

  Will whipped around, one hand holding his weapon, the other nudging her behind him, and faced the two approaching strangers. Gwen thought her heart would beat right out of her chest. Cold sweat popped out on her face and moistened her hands.

  “What do you want?” one of the men asked.

  “I’m looking for a fellow named McGuire,” Will said.

  “What do you want with him?”

  “Personal business,” Will said.

  “This is a private marina,” the taller of the two dark-haired, bronze-skinned men told him in English with no accent. “How did you get here? Who brought you?” Both men eyed the gun in Will’s hand.

  “I don’t want any trouble. If McGuire’s here, I want to talk to him. That’s all.”

  “You going to shoot one of us?” the shorter man asked. “Bad idea. You shoot one of us, the other will kill you and take your woman.”

  Both men came toward them. Gwen clung to Will’s arm, shivering, trying to think what she could do to help get them out of this situation. But before she had a glimmer of an idea, all hell broke loose. Will shot one man in the head. He dropped instantly. Gwen’s mouth flew open, but she stopped herself just short of screaming. The other man lunged forward, barreling into Will. The two struggled, rolling around on the ground, fighting for the weapon.

  While Gwen stood by, feeling helpless, not knowing what to do to help Will, the gun positioned between the two fighters went off.

  Oh, God. Will. Will!

  Chapter 7

  Gwen held her breath for a split second, then rushed forward to where Will lay beneath the burly guard. She needed to find something to use to knock this guy in the head. If he’d shot Will—

  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 m
en.”

  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.