The AK-47 spat half a dozen harmless rounds into the azure blue water, although not without causing several of his subordinates to duck for cover.
"What the—?" The fat little man tried to shrug her away.
Determinedly, Micki held on. "Don't hurt him! He's a quarter of your size, you lousy coward!"
Other hands were grabbing at her now. The boat swayed and pitched under the violent movements but she refused to let go. Finally, someone behind pulled her free and, cursing, she turned to take them on as well.
It was Luke. "Easy, Micki."
"Let me go!" Angrily, she twisted free of his hands and spun to go back to her desperate attack.
But Captain Crude had regained his footing and was ready for her, meeting her onslaught with a harsh backhand across her face. "Stay down, bitch, or I'll pitch you in too!"
The force of the blow sent Micki slamming against Luke and made the world spin sickly about her. Nearly as furious at him as she was at the man who had hit her, she fought the darkness at the edge of her vision that threatened unconsciousness. Dimly, through the haze of pain and shock, she saw Captain Crude pivot in the direction of Fizz's barking. As he raised his gun and took aim, a protest came from the larger boat.
"Hey, come on, Reynolds, let the mutt go. It's not gonna do anything but drown, and if you cut loose with that thing again you're gonna hit one of us for sure."
Unwillingly, Captain Crude—now identified as Reynolds—lowered the weapon and turned back to Micki. He reached out to grasp the front of her stolen gray jogging suit and viciously jerked her to him. "You've caused me enough grief already, lady. So sit down and shut up, or I'll shoot you regardless of orders. You got that?"
"Bastard," Micki spat back.
Ignoring her, Reynolds glared at one of the other armed men who stood silently astern. "For God's sake, get a hold of Hardigan. He's standing there way too quiet."
Hardigan. Micki's gaze went to Luke as her captor shoved her into one of the rear chairs. They knew who he was. So did they know what he was, too?
Luke's eyes flicked over her coldly, unemotionally, as if her discomfort mattered nothing to him. The truth of it hit her like a blow to the chest. It was all an act to camouflage his true feelings. He didn't want these goons to know he cared for her because he didn't want them hurting her in an effort to get information from him.
Cared for her?
The black man with the ponytail relieved Luke of his Beretta then handcuffed his hands behind his back. That done, he shoved him into the seat next to Micki. Reynolds, who was now standing at the helm of their speedboat, put the gun back down on the passenger seat and cradled his injured arm. Fizz had ripped a nice gash. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to use as a bandage, Reynolds nodded brusquely toward Micki.
"Cuff her too, and don't feel you have to be gentle about it." His pale blue eyes smoldered with resentment. "Bulldog can't complain about a few bruises here and there. We're bringing her home, after all."
"Who do you think you are?" Micki shouted as the pony-tailed thug jerked her to her feet. As he spun her around to slap the cold steel around her wrists, she caught a glimpse of Fizz, scrabbling at the boat's slick sides to find a way in. "Get my dog in here, you pig, or I'll—"
Her threat was cut off abruptly, as Ponytail turned her about and slammed her back into the chair with a force that drove the air from her lungs.
Laughing, Reynolds finished tying his makeshift bandage and caught up his gun again. "I don't think so, honey. Not today."
With a quick jerk of his head, he ordered Ponytail to take the helm. As the other pirates dispersed back to their vessels, leaving only Reynolds and Ponytail to deal with their bound captives, Reynolds sat in the passenger chair and rested the muzzle of his weapon on the back of the cream vinyl seat, pointing it directly at Luke. Shoving his hand, palm up, at Ponytail rewarded him with Luke's Navy issue Beretta.
As Ponytail started the boat, and Reynolds examined the handgun, panic of another sort leaped to Micki's throat. They were leaving! But Fizz was still in the water!
"Get my dog," Micki demanded. Then she begged. "Please!"
"So, Hardigan," Reynolds said, ignoring her, "we heard you were looking for us. Now that you've found us, don't you have anything to say?"
Luke's stony gaze was focused straight ahead, as if oblivious to both Captain Crude's amusement and Fizz's frantic, terrified yelping coming from between the two boats.
"No problem," his tormentor said easily. He cocked the Beretta, loading a fresh round into the chamber, and leveled it at Luke. "Bulldog has a way of loosening tongues."
Ponytail nudged the prop into gear and the boat inched forward in the circle.
"PLEASE!" Micki shouted in desperation, hearing Fizz whine and scratch one last time against the red hull as it moved away.
Reynolds' gaze shifted her way and eyed her with lewd interest. "If there's one thing I like more than tying up a beautiful woman, it's listening to her beg. If it doesn't work out with the boss, honey, you and me can always have a go." He leaned on the seat back, closer. "Would you like that, Micki? I bet you're a real wild one."
Micki wasn't even listening to his vile taunts. "Please, get my dog. He'll drown. Please."
Laughing, Reynolds nodded at his companion, who leaned on the throttle now that they were clear of the other boats. "Nah, I bet he can doggie paddle for another ten minutes. Maybe fifteen." He shot a glance at the man at the wheel. "Whadda ya think, Carl? How long do you think he'll last?"
Ponytail shrugged with a slow smile, casting a look over the side of the boat. "Five minutes, tops. Then—" He made an obscene sucking noise with his lips.
"No!" Frantic now, Micki struggled to sit forward. "You can't leave him! You can't!"
Reynolds' smile was pure evil. "But I already have."
Giving a strangled cry of protest, Micki fought to reach him, even with her hands encased in steel cuffs behind her back. The sharp, eloquent gesture of the Beretta stopped her cold. Twisting around in her seat at the stern, the only thing Micki could do was look back through the wake for a glimpse of the dog she had raised from a pup. For a heart-stopping moment, she didn't see Fizz. Then, in a heart-breaking one, she did. Tiny in the massive waves stirred up by the powerful boats, with his head and back just cresting the water, he swam with all his might.
Tears threatened, but Micki fought to deny them substance.
Oh, Fizz...
The dog was not striving to reach the relative safety of one of the distant islands; he was instead swimming determinedly after the boats as they headed toward a stretch of empty sea.
Loyal to the end, Fizz was swimming after Micki.
***
The nightmare would not end. It just gripped her tighter, with claws of steel wrapped around her wrists and a spot of ice in her gut that was untouched by the hot Florida sun. Not long after she lost sight of Fizz in the waves, Luke pressed his knee against hers in a silent and unnoticed gesture of sympathy. Grieving, Micki pulled away, doing her best to wipe any trace of tears from her cheeks with her shoulder. She wouldn't give these hoodlums the satisfaction of knowing how much they had hurt her.
Time passed slowly in a world ruled only by the thrum of boat motors and the heat of the sun. Pretty soon her arms, confined in one position behind her back, began to feel like lead and she ignored the need to stretch them. Eventually, as they approached Vaca Key and Micki was able to get her bearings, it became clear that Reynolds and Ponytail meant to land at a deserted dock that jutted out into the calm Gulf waters beside an equally deserted concrete boat ramp.
She recognized this place, chiefly by the green shaded light pole at the end of the jetty and the Underwater Cable warning sign to the right of the ramp. It was 62nd Street Gulf, just a few miles from Marathon Airport, and a spot from where Dirk often launched his ski boat.
Cutting the engine, Ponytail crested in on their wake and moved to grab the wooden dock as they floated alongside. On the other
side of the wharf, the two other red-hulled speedboats also docked. Despite the immediate activity three boat crews caused, despite it being Saturday morning and just a few miles outside of town, there wasn't another living soul to be seen.
Ponytail moved to the dock to secure a line to the bow cleat. Reynolds stood behind the Beretta he had claimed as his own and gestured his prisoners to their feet. Determined to be difficult, Micki stayed put and glanced at Luke to see if he would do the same. He did.
Stepping closer, Reynolds thrust the barrel of the gun into Luke's ribs, hard enough to draw a grunt. "Look, we can do this one of two ways, Hardigan. Either you do as you're told and get out of the boat, or else I'll just have to report that you put up a fight and I had to shoot you. Which is it?"
"I'll make you a deal," Luke said in calm defiance. He glared at the smaller man. "Let Micki go and I'll cooperate."
Moving over to her in a harsh step, Reynolds took her arm and hauled her to her feet. Grabbing her braid and pulling her head back, he jammed the handgun up under her chin, an action which tore a desperate whimper from her. "How about this? You cooperate, and I won't put a bullet in her pretty little head."
The gun metal bit into her throat, making it hard to swallow. For a moment there was a standoff, making Micki wonder if this was also part of Luke's act. Holding her breath, she watched the anxious ripple of tiny muscles in his jaw that was so in contrast to the mutinous look on his face. Luke knew, as she did, that even though Reynolds had orders to bring them in alive, he was just unbalanced enough not to let that little detail get in his way.
"All right," Luke finally said in defeat. He glanced at Micki, then down at the deck. "All right."
"Wise choice. Now on your feet."
Luke obeyed, and Micki took a long faltering breath as Reynolds pulled the Beretta out of her throat. He released her braid, and then used the same hand to stroke it as he glanced at his men disembarking from the other boats. Several of them headed to where four vehicles were nestled from sight by a line of tall trees. There were three trucks with trailers and another nondescript brown Chevy van that lacked side windows.
"You know, I can be a nice guy, Micki," Reynolds whispered in her ear. "Real nice. Once you get to know me."
Repulsed by the innuendo, she turned her head in disgust.
Grinning at Ponytail, Reynolds pushed Micki away and said, "Get the van, Carl."
"Right." The black man moved off the dock and into the activity of the other men preparing to haul the speedboats onto the trailers.
Micki watched a young guy take her camel-colored backpack from another boat. Slinging one strap over his shoulder, he approached. She wasn't sure of his intentions until Reynolds hoisted Luke's camera bag dockside and handed it off. Without a word, the young guy turned and obediently took both bags up to the brown van.
Reynolds drew Micki's attention again, gesturing toward the dock with a flick of his Beretta. "Ladies first."
Getting out of the boat without the use of her arms would have been just as difficult even if she had been totally cooperative. As it was, Micki only managed it because there were two men waiting on the dock to bodily haul her up.
"Where are you taking us?" she asked as Luke joined her.
"To see Bulldog," Luke supplied levelly.
"And who's that?" Micki asked with a sneer. "His mother? Now I get why he's such a son of a bitch."
"Bulldog was right about you, honey," Reynolds said almost conversationally as he climbed out of the boat. "You've got spunk. Bet you've brought a lot of men to their knees in your time."
"My advice to you, mate, is to remember that when you finally take these bloody handcuffs off me."
Reynolds seemed amused by her veiled threat, but had no retort as another man came down the dock toward them. This guy carried two coats and when close enough, tossed one of them to his boss. Shaking out the black leather jacket, Reynolds draped it across Micki's shoulders with exaggerated care. The other man did the same with the coat he had brought for Luke.
It was her jacket, she realized; he must have found it in the swamp. Its purpose was not congenial but rather to conceal that she and Luke were being held against their will, should anyone happen by that very public place.
Taking hold of her arm and sticking the Beretta in the small of her back, Reynolds gestured Luke and his guard ahead of them with a nod. "Move."
Ponytail had left the engine idling and was waiting by the back doors of the brown panel van. He opened them as Micki and Luke approached, reached in for something, and then tossed the item to the man at Luke's side. It turned out to be a wide roll of sticky silver duct tape, and the guy wasted no time peeling a length, tearing it with his teeth, and plastering it across Luke's mouth as a crude gag.
"A word of advice," Reynolds told Luke as he was pushed backwards into the van. As Luke regained his balance, sitting on the tailgate, the guard knelt to secure his ankles with several rounds of the heavy tape. "Don't try anything stupid."
Luke could only glare in mute silence, as his bound feet were hoisted up and thrust into the van after him. It was at that moment when fate intervened.
"Excuse me?"
Reynolds stepped out from behind the van's back door in alarm, and since he was still holding Micki's arm, his movement took her with him. A red Toyota Prius driven by an elderly couple was creeping toward the front of the van. The old man, leaning out the driver's window of a car that sported an out-of-state license tag, was clearly a retired vacationer.
Micki's heart beat faster. The thug under Reynolds' command hadn't yet gagged her with tape, and the idea of calling to this man and his wife for assistance was a tempting proposition.
"Don't," her captor whispered in her ear, as if having read her thoughts. He reminded her of the consequences of disobeying with a little pressure of the Beretta against her back. "You don't want to be responsible for the deaths of Ma and Pa here."
Gritting her teeth, Micki kept silent. She had no doubt that Reynolds would shoot the old couple in cold blood—a man who would kill a dog in such a fashion was capable of anything.
Reynolds' restraining hand moved from her arm, slipping around her waist to find a resting place on her hip. To the advancing retirees, it appeared that Micki and the man whom she vowed to castrate if she ever got her hands free were sharing an intimate cuddle.
Reynolds smiled a friendly greeting. "Good morning."
"Good morning." The Toyota stopped level with the Chevy van's front bumper, the wary driver making no attempt to exit the vehicle amidst so many rough-looking characters. Instead, as the first boat was winched onto a trailer, he continued to converse out his side window, unaware that the still-concealed Ponytail and Tape Man were poised to pounce. "You folks look like locals, wonder if you could help me and the missus?"
"Sure thing, you lost?"
"We were trying to find the country club."
"You took a wrong turn," Micki spoke up suddenly, her hands clenching into fists and straining against the steel cuffs hidden by her leather jacket.
For their own sake, she wanted to get this innocent old couple back on their way before they spotted anything amiss and paid for their curiosity with their lives. The gun barrel was pressed more firmly into the small of her back as a warning to watch what she said.
"Go back out to the highway," she said, forcing a smile. "Turn right down US-1 for a couple of blocks, and then make a left when you come to Sombrero Beach Road."
"Left on Sombrero Beach Road, you say?"
"Yes, you can't miss it. I—" Reynolds nudged her with the gun. Micki only had to look slightly aside to see Luke, cuffed and gagged on the floor of the van and watching her in anxious silence. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I live out that way."
The elderly man said something incomprehensible to his wife before speaking to her and Reynolds again. "Thank you."
"No problem," Reynolds returned, still smiling.
Then it happened; a moment of hesit
ation on the driver's part. Perhaps it was the number of men in the area, poised as if they were waiting for something to happen, or Micki's forced friendliness, or the tense trickle of sweat that had started to run down her cheek. Whatever it was, it made the old man look directly at her and ask slowly, "Is everything okay, Miss?"
The soft, meaningful click of the gun at Micki's back scared the hell out of her. "Oh yes!" Despite her repulsion to the act, she put her head down on Reynolds' shoulder and nuzzled him affectionately. "Everything's just fine."
The driver looked relieved and embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply... we just... thank you for the directions." With that, he put the car into reverse and backed up the way he had come.
Micki didn't breathe again until the red Toyota had disappeared amongst the trees lining the road back up to the highway. Lifting her head, she glanced at Luke, who looked equally relieved that nothing grievous had just happened.
Reynolds still had his paws on her, and as she tried to pull away he snugged her hip back against his own. "How'd you know where we are?"
"Give me a little credit, huh? I live here. I know my way around Marathon, for Pete's sake."
"You handled that very well," he taunted. "Remind me to reward you later."
"Go to hell, you filth. You make me want to throw up."
Reynolds blew her a kiss. "Such a dirty mouth."
A curt nod to the man with the roll of duct tape brought a sticky gag to her mouth and silenced her caustic reply. Then she was roughly pushed back into the van with Luke, and the doors were slammed on the outside world.
***
The van had no side windows. As it sped down US-1, Micki had no clue where it was headed. Likewise, the two windows in the back doors had been painted over to prevent anyone seeing in—or out. Forced into silence, eye contact was all that Micki had to share with the similarly-trussed man who accompanied her on the journey. Despite this meager form of support, she held onto it for all it was worth, because if she didn't, if she let her concentration slip for even a moment, then all she remembered was poor Fizz struggling against an ocean that by now would have most certainly defeated him.
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