Automatically she scanned the water as she thought about what to do next. If he had left, had already gotten out onto the open ocean and up to cruising speed, she had no hope of catching up with him. The Amalie was one of the newest yachts on the market, with an engine to match her sleek lines.
Just as she was about to turn and walk back home again, a movement on the water caught her eye. It looked like a yacht. It looked like Reese’s! She nearly cried out with happiness until she realized that what she was seeing was the stern as the boat headed away from the marina.
Then another light winked on, some distance beyond the Amalie. The boat appeared to be all black, barely visible against the dark sea.
And she knew, with a sickening certainty that she didn’t even question, that on that boat were the people responsible for her family’s deaths.
“Reese!” She screamed it even though he couldn’t hear her as she ran for the shack and grabbed the keys to the nearest launch.
As she raced out the pier, a man loomed beside her, heavy footsteps pounding. “Celia,” he said. “Where are you going?”
It was Ernesto Tiello, and she was briefly amazed that a man of his bulk and seeming sloth could run at all. “Reese is out there,” she tossed over her shoulder, “and there’s another boat that I’m certain are the drug runners everyone’s been talking about are in.”
They had reached the launch. “Wait,” said Tiello. “I’ve already called for law enforcement.”
“You saw them, too?”
He nodded. “We should stay here and let them handle it.”
“And take a chance on those murderers getting away?” She shook her head. “No.”
His face darkened. “Then take me with you.”
“No,” she said again as her fingers worked at the lines. “It could be dangerous.”
But he was already leaping aboard the aft deck, and when he held out his palm, she saw a badge in it. “FBI,” he said. “I’ve been after these guys since before they killed your husband and your little boy.” He paused. “Claudette Mason was an agent.”
Astonished, she gaped at him for a moment, then rallied, knowing there was no time to lose. “Come on. I don’t want them to hurt Reese.”
Tiello pulled a heavy black handgun from the back of his waistband. “Let’s go.”
She ran below for her binoculars, then returned to the deck and put them to her eyes and focused.
The black boat was turning and she saw a man briefly illuminated in the light that had just snapped on. He had his arms up to his shoulders—and with a shocking sense of horror and futility she knew what it was he held although she’d never seen one before in her life.
She was looking at a rocket launcher. And it was being aimed straight at Reese’s boat.
Reese was madder than he’d been in years. Madder, even, than he’d been at himself thirty minutes before when he’d handled things so badly that Celia had run from the boat.
He’d pulled anchor and headed southeast away from Harwichport and the wreck he’d made of his chance for a future with her. But he’d hardly cleared the marina pier before he noticed a barely visible silhouette against the night sea just ahead of him. No running lights. He narrowed his eyes, realizing that whatever was out there was a decent-size yacht. His pulse kicked up a notch as he realized he might have inadvertently stumbled onto Claudette Mason’s killers and he made an instant decision.
A moment later he had the Coast Guard emergency response on the line. If he was mistaken, the worst that could happen was that he embarrassed himself and had to apologize to some innocent person. If he wasn’t, it was just possible that the men Celia had been hunting so diligently were less than a mile away from him.
Celia. God, it hurt even to think her name. He shook himself, refusing to allow himself to linger on the ugly scene they’d just played out.
He got out his binoculars while he talked to the dispatcher, but there was little to be seen even with the strong magnification. The boat was dark in color all over and if there was anyone about, he couldn’t see them.
Then, as nicely as if he’d asked, a light came on. Three people, clearly visible with the binoculars, stood on deck. One was a large man whom he’d never seen before. The other two… His stomach flipped over and shock rushed through him, making his scalp tingle. There was a man as well as a woman standing on deck with the large man. The second man was trim and small and neat. Neil Brevery. One of the people to whom Celia rented a slip.
Claudette had worked for Brevery; how coincidental was that? His suspicions grew as he continued to survey the boat. And then he trained his binoculars on Brevery’s companion and the breath went out of his lungs.
Rage kindled and began to build. The third person on the deck of the other boat was Celia’s assistant, Angie. God, had she been working with a killer?
Grimly he went below and unlocked the rifle he kept in a safe place in his stateroom. The Coast Guard had said they had gotten one call and were on their way, but he was taking no chances. The other boat wasn’t going anywhere.
Moving back on deck, he gunned his engine and pushed the yacht up to speed, heading directly for the other yacht, the rifle under his arm, barrel down. He grabbed the binoculars again for a closer view.
Brevery and Angie looked as if they were arguing. They both were at the rail, peering in his direction as the boat steadily turned around.
Could it be true? Could that harmless-looking young woman be responsible for Claudette’s murder? For the deaths of Celia’s family?
It was hard to fathom. Maybe he’d leaped way off base in search of an answer, but he’d rather be wrong than let them get away.
Swinging the binoculars to starboard, he focused on the third man. The guy was large, unfamiliar, but the thing he lifted to his shoulder, which looked like a length of plumbing pipe from this distance, raised the hair on the back of Reese’s neck.
As the man aimed the weapon—and he knew that was exactly what it was—straight at the Amalie, survival instincts took over and Reese dove over the rail as far as he could from the boat.
Nine
“Noooooo!”
Celia screamed as she saw a flash and watched a trail of fire fly straight at Reese’s boat. A second later she took a deep gasp of relief as the rocket sailed over the boat and splashed harmlessly into the sea.
But then, as her uncomprehending gaze swung back to the dark boat, a second shot flared. It hung in the air, speeding straight for Reese’s yacht, and she screamed again, helplessly, as the Amalie blew apart in a roiling cloud of smoke and flame.
Ernesto Tiello cursed vividly, standing beside her at the wheel. Then he pointed at the sky. “Look,” he shouted.
A helicopter had appeared, winging low over the water, and from the same direction Celia could see the powerful searchlights of three launches speeding toward the black boat, which was attempting to turn and put on speed. Her heart was a leaden weight in her chest and she registered the drama distantly, but her attention was fixed on the dusky blotch of smoke that still marked the site of the explosion. She kept a steady course for the spot where Reese’s boat had gone down, although the chase was moving off in another direction.
Please, please, please. Please let him be there.
As they approached, bits of debris began to appear, shattered lengths of timber, rags, buckets and empty life preservers, a deck chair half-submerged. Despair swamped her.
Dear Lord, please. Not again.
But hope waned as they circled the area. There was no sign of a body. No sizable pieces of debris bigger than a four-foot length of wood. The second assault must have been a direct hit, she realized, sinking the yacht within moments. By the time the worst of the obscuring smoke had cleared, the Amalie was no more.
Panic fluttered behind her breastbone and she beat it back fiercely as she continued to scan the water. Reese was still alive. He had to be. He had to be.
A boat approached, a white Coast Guard launch, and sh
e listened with half an ear as Ernesto talked with them. The other boat had been apprehended, the three people aboard taken into custody. She turned briefly when she heard that Mr. Brevery was the brains of the business, and that Angie Dunstan had been his eyes and ears locally.
She was stunned. “Angie…?” and the two men nodded.
Blindly she turned back around to the sea. Angie. Celia still thought of her as a girl even though she knew Angie was twenty-two now. Milo had hired the young woman fresh out of high school. She’d been pleasant, efficient—and probably responsible for his death, Celia realized suddenly.
Then a movement on the water caught her eye.
Hope surged.
“Reese!” It was a hoarse scream and both Tiello and the men aboard the Coast Guard cutter whipped around to stare at her. She barely noticed, already gunning the engine as she marked the feeble lift of a hand in the far-off swells.
“Hang on, Reese,” she called again and again as they neared him. Ernesto had climbed over the ladder and lowered his bulky body into the sea; she maneuvered the launch as close as she dared, while Tiello dragged Reese aboard the boat.
He had a deep gash across his forehead and one arm hung at an odd angle as they lay him down and covered him with blankets. Tiello got on the radio, requesting air transport to a medical facility, while Celia took the thermal blankets the Coast Guard had tossed aboard and tenderly tucked them around Reese. Hypothermia was a real danger in the cold autumn waters of the North Atlantic and the relief she’d felt dissipated quickly as she took in the pallor of his face and his blue lips.
“Shh,” she said when he moved restlessly. “Don’t try to talk. We’re going to get you to a hospital.”
He lifted his good hand and indicated the sea, and she realized he wanted to know what had happened. “They sank your boat,” she began, but he shook his head.
“I know,” he said. “Wh-wh…where…?”
“They’re in custody.” She smiled down at him. “Coming after you was their downfall. It gave the Coast Guard and the FBI time to get to them.”
“An-An-An—”
She nodded, her smile fading. “Angie. I know.” She shook her head, wondering at the amorality that had allowed the young woman to work side by side with the widow and mother of the innocent people she’d had a hand in killing.
Reese’s hand lifted, stroked down her cheekbone, and she focused on him again. “You’re freezing. We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”
“T-talk.” It was a demand, and she smiled, letting the love she felt for him shine in her eyes as she dropped her head and brushed a kiss over his chilly lips.
“We’ll talk later. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Everything’s going to be fine.
He clung to the words, and to the memory of her kiss, while he was airlifted to the nearest hospital and his injuries were treated.
His left arm was fractured, he needed stitches to close gashes on his forehead and his back, and he felt bruised all over, as if he’d been beaten with a giant pipe over every inch of his body. They told him he had a concussion, which might explain the fuzzy vision and the way his mind kept losing track of what he’d been thinking about.
Everything’s going to be fine.
What had she meant? Had it simply been reassurance for an injured man? Surely she wouldn’t have kissed him if that were the case. And what had she been doing out on the water anyway?
“Mr. Barone?” The emergency room doctor came in. “I’d like to admit you overnight for observation. Given your—”
“No,” said Reese.
“Yes.” The voice was feminine, familiar, and his heart began to beat faster. When he turned his head to look, Celia stood in the doorway. Actually, to his concussed eyes, there appeared to be two of her standing there. “He’ll stay,” she told the doctor.
“Only if you stay with me,” he told her.
She smiled and he felt something tight and fearful inside his chest ease for the first time since she’d rushed off his boat. “You’ve got a deal,” she said.
They took him to a private room on an upper floor. Celia walked beside the gurney on which he lay and held his hand, and he allowed himself the smallest glimmer of hope.
“I called Nick.”
“Why?” He was a little startled. It never would have occurred to him to contact his brother.
“It’s going to make the papers, Reese,” she said patiently. “You wouldn’t want your family to find out from a newspaper article that you were almost killed.”
He was silent for a minute. “You’re right. Thank you.” Then a thought struck him. “If I give you the number, would you…would you call down to Florida for me?”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded noncommittal, and renewed fear dampened his budding hope.
Once he was settled and all the hospital personnel had come and gone, there was silence in the small room. Celia sat in a reclining chair beside the bed. She’d pulled it around so she could face him, and her hand was clasped in his atop the sheet.
“Reese,” she said.
“Hmm?” His head hurt. Everything hurt. Even his eyes hurt when he moved them to look at her. And he was afraid, frankly. Afraid to talk, in case he was wrong and she didn’t still—
“I love you.”
Suddenly the aches and pains of a moment before seemed far less debilitating. “I love you, too. Wanna come up here and show me?”
She laughed. “Not a chance, buddy.”
There was another silence and he was sorry he’d been flippant. This was too important for stupid jokes. He couldn’t stand it. “Celia—”
“Shh. We’ll talk later.” She lifted his hand and brushed a kiss across the knuckles, then looked him dead in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere ever again.”
He’d slept at last, waking only when the nurses checked his pupils periodically, and coming to when the breakfast tray arrived in the morning.
Celia had stayed through the night, leaving only to run to her home and bring him a set of clean clothes. It was a good thing he’d left a few at her house, she thought, remembering his beautiful boat sadly. Then she shook herself. The boat could be replaced. Reese couldn’t, and she was so very thankful he was safe.
When she returned, he’d already eaten and bathed and was scanning the morning paper, awkwardly turning the outsize pages with his good hand. The other was in a temporary cast, which would be replaced when the swelling subsided, and he wore it in a sling across his chest.
“Hi,” he said softly as she entered the room.
“Hi.” She knew it was ridiculous to be nervous, but she had to stop herself from twisting her fingers together.
“Come sit down.” Reese patted the edge of the bed.
Carefully she went to him and seated herself at his side. “How do you feel this morning?”
He smiled. “Like one of those cartoon animals that gets mashed flat by a boulder or a truck.”
She had to laugh, but the memory of the Amalie disintegrating into a shocking ball of flame superceded the amusement, and, to her dismay, she suddenly found herself fighting tears.
“Hey.” Reese put his arm around her and gently pulled her against his shoulder, stroking her back. “It’s okay.”
“I thought you were dead.” She kept her face pressed into his neck and curled against his side, careful not to jostle the damaged arm between them.
“Shh.” She felt him kiss her temple. “I thought I was dead, too, when I saw that rocket launcher aimed my way. It seemed to take forever before the thing actually blew up my boat.”
“He fired two,” she recalled. “The first one missed.”
“That explains it. I dove over the side and swam away from the boat as fast as I could. The missed shot probably saved my life.” He shook his head slightly. “Even so, the blast rolled me through the water like a damned doll. I don’t remember what happened after that.”
“You must have been hit by debris. You’ve got a
couple of nasty cuts in addition to that arm.”
“I know.” She felt him smile and his voice was rueful. “I remembered when I started moving around this morning. Man, did they ever sting.” He pulled her slightly away from him and looked down into her eyes. “Can we talk now?”
She nodded. “I’m sorry, Reese. I’ve spent the past couple of years trying to protect myself from getting hurt ever again. After I left last night, I realized that life makes no guarantees. I’d already let you back into my heart, and if anything happens to you—” Her voice wavered.
“Celia—”
She held up her hand. “Let me get this out.” She took a deep breath. “I would be honored to marry you and be a mother to Amalie. If you still want me,” she added in a small voice.
“If I still want you?” His voice was hushed. “Woman, I’ve wanted you forever. I love you, Celia.” He touched his lips to hers. “I was wrong not to tell you I had a kid right up front. But I knew how much it would hurt you, and I—I was afraid. Afraid you might not give me a second chance if you knew I came with a sidekick.”
She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. “Your instincts probably were right. I might not have.”
Reese turned his head and sought her lips again, capturing her in a sweet, hot exchange that left her breathless. “As soon as that doctor checks me over, I’m getting out of here and we’re going to get married.”
She smiled. “I don’t think we can just go get married today.”
“We can if we fly to Vegas.” His voice sounded utterly serious, and her heart turned over.
“You’ve got me there. But—” She shook her head. “I’m not letting you go anywhere until the doctor gives you the go-ahead.”
He had already opened his mouth to respond when the door swished open. “All right, Doc,” he said. “It’s about time…” His voice trailed away.
Celia had turned and tried to put some space between them, but Reese held her in place as an older man and woman walked into the room. She was afraid to hurt him by pushing against his chest, so she let him keep her there at his side.
Born to be Wild Page 14
