Flicking his cigarette butt over the rain washed balcony, he hurried back inside the luxurious bedroom that had earlier been turned into a disaster zone by Hurricane Micki. Instead of resentful anger, this time the chaos made him grin like a madman. She was alive!
With extreme clarity, Dirk realized what he needed to do to assure she stayed that way. The question was, did he have the guts to put his revenge plan into action? Was he man enough to risk his neck to save her, forfeit his future so she could have one without him? Self-sacrifice wasn't his style, but hell, wasn't that what real love was all about?
Micki may hate his guts for a lot of things, but damned if he didn't still love her.
The decision made, he crossed to the cherry armoire he had claimed as his own, punched a 4-digit pin into the combination lock pad, and flung open both doors. On the shelf beneath his tailored trousers and silk shirts was the soft-sided attaché case—one of the few personal belongings he'd brought from the Keys. It no longer held his laptop or detachable storage drive. His laptop was, unless one of the staff had rescued it before the storm, out by the pool, where he had been using it for entertainment while waiting for Micki to wake up. And since the data on the portable USB hard drive pertained solely to Van Allen's counterfeit business in the Florida Keys, it had been relinquished to his boss upon arrival in Bermuda and was now locked in a safe in the downstairs study.
That was unfortunate, because it would have been sublimely simple to turn the hard drive over to Micki so she could give it to the police. But there was another way to get the incriminating data, and that was to go straight to the source.
He took his attaché over to the bed and sat with a smug smile. He pulled Micki's laptop from the soft-sided case, identical to his but never used, and set it open on the mattress. The battery was completely flat, so he fished in his bag for the charger belonging to his own computer, then drummed impatient fingers on the wrist rest while it booted up.
The desktop image that greeted him gave him pause. He'd forgotten about that. It was a photo of him and Micki in happier times, taken on the beach at The Sandpiper's tiki bar by one of the Coast Guard flyboys she called friends. Micki had her arms around him, smiling. She looked incredibly happy; she looked like a woman in love. A pang of regret hit Dirk. The photo, carefully picked by him to be a constant reminder of what they'd once shared, was now just one more slap in the face.
Refocusing, Dirk got to work, his fingers nimbly tapping over the keys. It was with great satisfaction that he found Van Allen had been too preoccupied with the preceding night's events to have thought about revoking access privileges or changing the Wi-Fi password. Moments later, he was logged on to his boss's private network.
After that, it took very little time to find what he needed. Dirk had been in the room when Van Allen synced the data on the portable hard drive with his master files. Of course, all that sensitive data on the desktop computer was encrypted and password protected, but until last night, Dirk had been one of Van Allen's most valued and trusted employees. As such, access was just a few key clicks away.
It was all there; a couple of gigabytes of transaction history that translated into pages and pages of incriminating dates, times, inventory, buyers for and sellers of the entire spectrum of counterfeit goods smuggled through the Florida Keys over the past decade. It was more than enough evidence to put Van Allen, Reynolds, and a whole bunch of people away for a very long time.
Including himself. Yet somehow, looking at the desktop photo of him and Micki, prison life seemed a whole lot less intolerable than it had just hours ago. Not when it meant Micki went free. More importantly, not when it meant he could keep her alive.
Hitting the 'Enter' key initiated the download, and a box with a progress bar started its slow crawl from left to right.
Dirk hurried back to the armoire and peeled off his rain-damp shirt. Better to maintain the image of Van Allen's second-in-command than that of a bedraggled prisoner. Maybe he'd get lucky, like with his unrevoked network privileges. If news of his stripped rank wasn't yet common knowledge, then maybe he could simply bluff his way out of the compound... once he was free of the locked bedroom. No way was he going out the door—the guard in the hall definitely knew the score.
That left the window.
He dragged on a clean black shirt, fastening three buttons in the middle as he hurried back to the balcony. His gaze traveled inward from the orange hue of sunrise, to the speedboats still methodically trolling just offshore, to the high security wall that was patrolled day and night by an armed guard, to the courtyard with its half-built gazebo.
Putting both hands on the marble balustrade, Dirk looked down. It was a less-than-fifteen-feet drop to the courtyard below. No problem, except for the encumbering laptop. Even though it was a slim ultra-light model, it would still be a pain in the butt to explain should anyone stop him, or protect from gunfire, if things deteriorated to that. Unless...
Back inside, the download progress bar on the laptop screen was nearing fifty percent. Anxiously aware he could have company of the armed and dangerous sort any minute, Dirk dropped to his knees beside the bed. He didn't actually need to take the laptop, he just needed to take the files he was downloading to it. He pawed around inside his attaché case in search of a writeable disc, or a forgotten thumb drive, or anything he could transfer the incriminating data onto for easier transport, but found only a spare USB cable and a pocket mouse.
C'mon, Jurgensen, think!
Even compressed, the file would be too big to send via email or upload to cloud storage—not that Micki had an email address or even knew what cloud storage was—and not that Dirk was willing to risk either of their lives on it being flagged and held by an internal server, or lost in cyberspace forever. No, the stolen data was going to have to be physically taken out of the compound and off the island.
Maybe he could take the hard drive out of the laptop? Simple, if he had a screwdriver to undo the drive compartment, which he didn't. Unless...
He threw a questioning frown at the open door on his right. Unless there was a nail file in the bathroom...
Encouraged, he moved quickly through the strewn clothing on the floor toward the en suite. A nail file might just work if—
Something crunched loudly underfoot. A glass-sounding something.
Dirk stopped. Looking down, he lifted his right loafer, slow understanding forming at what he found under it. Picking up the hot-pink cover by the corner dislodged more shards from the shattered touch screen. The tablet PC was broken beyond repair, but to Dirk, it was an incredibly fortunate find. Quickly, he freed the broken tablet from its garish cover. Mindful of the glass splinters that continued to slither free, he slipped his fingernail under the indentation in a side slot and pried off the tiny cover with a flick.
He pulled the flash card out of the expansion slot and examined it with a critical eye. Despite the tablet's recent rough handling, first by Micki then by Van Allen, the storage card looked undamaged. Barely the size of a postage stamp, that tiny square of plastic-covered circuit board would ultimately determine whether he and Micki lived, or died.
***
Morning seemed to come in the blink of an eye. One moment Micki was drifting off to sleep in Luke's warm embrace, the next she was jarred awake by him shouting that he'd found something. She jerked to full consciousness, squinting when shafts of brilliant sunlight stung her retinas.
"Come look at this, Micki. I think I've found our way out of here!"
Shading her eyes against the sun flooding in from their natural skylight, Micki could just make him out. He was a shadow waving at her from the edge of the circular cavern, the same spot from where she had watched him last night. When his words at last penetrated her sleep-fogged brain, she pushed herself up from their bed of loose sand with a groan of protesting muscles.
Mindful of the toe-stubbing rubble on the floor, Micki made her way over to him. "What did you find?"
"Light!" Luke said, r
eaching out to pull her into his arms. After a quick hug, he stepped away and indicated the cave wall above them. "There, you see it?"
He was right. The lightning strike had obliterated the tree's root system, and now there were tiny splinters of sunlight flecking the remaining soil and rock. Stepping forward for a closer examination, Micki looked up and squinted at the small cracks where the earth had shifted about the roots. It wasn't exactly an easy exit, but it was more than they'd had last night. If they worked together, then they may be able to tear down some of the debris, at least enough to allow more rock and soil to fall or be pulled free.
Hope, sudden and exuberant, filled her. Freedom didn't seem as unattainable as it had last night. Even without tools or climbing gear, the light-flecked area high on the cave wall would not be as hard to reach as the overhead skylight in the roof.
Micki swung to face Luke. "How'd you find this?"
He looked at her. Not 'in her direction,' but 'at her.' "At first I thought it was just those damned spots I've been seeing, but these didn't go away. Things are still a little blurry but..."
Impulsively, she threw her arms around him. It seemed such a natural response now, to touch him, be this close, which was a complete turnaround to the smart-mouthed remarks and the fist fights that he had provoked earlier. "You were right, Luke. Your eyes are going to be okay, and we're going to get out of here."
He grinned in response, that same cocky grin that had first attracted her attention at The Sandpiper, and raised a gentle hand to cup her makeup-smudged cheek. "Yes, we are. Micki, you should know that I—"
"Boost me up," she ordered, moving around him to the wall.
She wasn't stupid; she had more than a good idea of what Luke was repeatedly trying to confess to her. She just wasn't sure she wanted to hear it. Not now. Not yet. Not when an inner voice kept reminding her that she'd fallen for Dirk in as little time as it had taken for her to fall for Luke. True, there was a weird fuzzy feeling in the center of her chest, but she wasn't yet ready to label it 'love.' Attraction, sure. Dependence, sure. But in their present situation, how could she be sure that wasn't all it was?
Micki pretended to study the wall, noting Luke in her peripheral vision. He was studying her, trying to work her out. Five minutes ago she'd been asleep in his arms. She tried hard to look as if she'd already forgotten that.
Reaching up, she grabbed a dangling root that had been splintered into matchwood by last night's lightning bolt. "Give me a leg up and I'll try to dig us out." At his hesitation, she turned a scowl on him, which was more in keeping with her reputation as well as an easy way out of a conversation he seemed determined to pursue. "What? We're wasting time."
"Do you always wake up giving orders?"
"Always. Now come on, let me get on your shoulders so I can reach."
Luke hesitated, eyeing her figure. "Um..."
"What? You want to get on my shoulders?"
"No, I was just wondering how you're going to accomplish that in... that."
She followed his gaze down to her tight, black, figure-hugging dress, and then glanced back at him. He was trying, and failing, to keep his amusement from surfacing.
Micki lifted her chin in Jacinto defiance. "Just watch me." Unabashedly, she hiked the hem of her dress up around her hips; something she would never have done just a few short days ago.
"Just don't break a nail, okay?" Luke grumbled, dropping to a knee. "I don't want to get hit with a manicure bill on top of everything else."
"Get me out of here in time for breakfast," she returned lightly, climbing onto his shoulders, "and I might even give you a discount on your final total."
"Very gracious of you."
"I thought so." She gave him a teasing nudge with her heel as she settled sitting on his shoulders.
Luke fought a groan as he pushed to his feet.
"You okay?" she asked, guiltily remembering his injuries.
"Yeah." Holding onto her legs, he brought her within reach of the tempting specks of daylight. "How's that?"
"Good." Micki grabbed a protruding root with both hands and pulled, showering herself and Luke with loose dirt and gravel. "Er, sorry about that."
They worked in silence for a moment before Luke spoke again. "Promise me something?"
"What?" Micki asked, grimacing as she tried to twist the stubborn root free.
"That when we're finally out of here and back home, you'll let me add taking you to dinner to my bill."
The mention of food made her empty stomach growl. Micki's mouth began to water. "Somewhere that's 'all you can eat,' okay? I'm starving."
"Deal... if you wear this dress."
Micki laughed, still struggling to free the length of root from the rock and soil. "Don't push your luck, mate. First chance I get, I'm taking it off and burning it."
"Even better," he said solicitously. "Tell you what. You come to my apartment in DC and I'll cook for you."
"Hmmm..."
"'Hmmm' that I live in Washington, that I invited you to dinner at my place, or that you never thought a guy like me could actually cook?"
A two foot strip of the splintered root came free in her hands, sending another dirt shower Luke's way. "Hmmm, I bet you say that to all the girls." Gripping the root in both hands, she used one end as a tool to gouge away at the more firmly packed dirt layer.
"Wait 'til you see what I do for dessert."
"I bet you say that, too."
It was Luke's turn to chuckle; a warm, gentle sound that made Micki smile. They shared several moments of companionable silence as she continued to excavate the dirt and chunks of embedded rock, urged on by the tiny chips of sunlight that looked like specks of gold and were just as desirable.
After nearly a quarter hour of digging, her efforts yielded a bonanza. Sandy dirt and rock cascaded about them in a dark waterfall, letting in a flood of golden light. Micki impulsively grasped the edge of the newly formed exit tunnel and shoveled handfuls of debris past her body. When it was wide enough, she pulled herself up into it, toward the light and the promise of freedom. Using her elbows, she shimmied forward until her bare feet found support on Luke's shoulders.
"Careful," he called, his palms warm against her legs as he supported her. He spat grit from his mouth and said, "If there's loose sand up top, it might not be stable."
Blowing the raining dirt from her eyes, Micki struggled to get a better look at their situation. The 'tunnel' she had made to the surface was a gentle, traversable incline. It was only a couple of feet in length but, as Luke said, it looked extremely unstable. The thing could collapse at any time, bringing down God-only-knew how many tons of earth and rock onto the unfortunate soul caught in there.
But the chance to escape their prison was just too tempting.
"I think I can get through," she reported.
Before Luke could answer, she was pulling herself up into the precarious cavity. In her eagerness, she grazed her back against the sharp edge of a protruding rock and grunted in pain. More loose debris showered her, matting her hair, stinging her eyes, and clogging her lungs. Coughing, just inches from freedom now, Micki ignored the discomfort and reached up to push her fingers through the scraggly vegetation netted across the top of the tunnel. Grabbing a clump of it, she heaved herself forward while Luke pushed up on the soles of her feet.
"Micki, I think it's going to give!" Luke yelled as another waterfall of debris cascaded into the cave around him.
"No!" she protested, feeling his hesitation about whether to keep hoisting or drag her back down to the darkness again. "I can make it!"
Her handhold of vegetation was firmly rooted, and there was no way in the universe Micki was relinquishing it. She coughed again and closed her eyes, struggling to breathe and straining to reach the sunlight before the hole devoured her.
Suddenly, she was heaving herself onto the slope of a sand dune that ran steeply down to the sea. For the next few moments, Micki lay there coughing until she could find the streng
th to rise to her knees.
Using her scratched, stinging hands to shield her eyes from the brightness of the morning, she looked about. She was just a few hundred yards from the beach, and the long, straw-like vegetation she had used to pull herself free looked a lot like the Sea Oats in Florida. A few yards up the slope, just prior to where the dune gave way to exposed rock, was a smoldering black stump that bore less resemblance to a tree than it did to a charred skeleton.
Most important of all, it looked as if she was alone, in a completely deserted part of Dominic Van Allen's island estate. Escaping it for the mainland was, of course, the next major hurdle, but first things first.
"Micki? You okay?"
Even as he urgently called her name, Micki was flopping onto her stomach and peering back into the hole. Through the dark tunnel and the protruding rocks that looked uncannily like shark's teeth, she was just barely able to see Luke peering back up at her.
Without hesitation, she reached her arm and shoulder down toward him. "Give me your hand."
Luke tried, straining to reach her. The distance that separated them was no more than a measly couple of feet, but it might well have been a couple of hundred miles. He tried jumping, their fingertips brushing tantalizingly a few times, but the gap between them was just too great.
He gave up first. "It's no good, I can't reach you."
"See if you can make something to stand on. Gather some rocks into a pile or something."
"No, there's no time. Reynolds and company might still be searching for us." He frowned. "Where are you, anyway?"
"On a beach. It's totally deserted, I don't think—"
"You've got to get under cover. If they are still searching for us, then being in the open makes you a target for a passing speedboat."
"No way. I'm not going anywhere without you."
"Sweetheart, you're my only chance. I'm counting on you to get off this island and bring back help."
"But, Luke—"
"Listen, even if I did manage to grab your hand, both of us know you're not strong enough to haul me out."
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