Life in the Dead Lane (Secret Seal Isle Mysteries Book 2)

by Lucy Quinn

  It didn’t take long for Hayley’s demand to receive a response. “Really?” The perp called back. “That’s how you want to play it? To question my manhood? Very well.” A dark figure detached itself from the shadows on the side nearest the black boat and began moving slowly across the center. Toward Hayley. “You wish to meet me, and you shall,” he announced, his voice taking on a sinister tone. “I’ll gladly show you exactly what I am when you give me my money.”

  Dammit. Hayley was playing a game she couldn’t possibly win.

  Hunter waved a hand down low to get Cookie’s attention. Once she glanced over at him he gestured for her to go right, then indicated that he would go left. She nodded. It was a classic pincer move—they’d come at the Latin blackmailer from both sides at once and trap him between them, leaving him nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. And as long as they waited until after the exchange had taken place, Hayley should be safely behind them, out of harm’s way. Assuming the jackass didn’t assault her. But they’d be there if he did.

  Cookie did her best to keep an eye on Hayley as she circled around—and on the man approaching her. He was decent height, she noted, and reasonably well built, too—not on par with Hunter or Dylan, but solid enough. She couldn’t really see his face from this distance, not clearly, but enough to guess that she’d been right on the mark as far as his ethnicity. He was wearing black pants of some sort and a black sweater or sweatshirt, his thick hair as dark as the fabric. His hands were empty, which was definitely a good sign. The last thing they needed was for him to be armed. He wasn’t bothering to be quiet, but even so, his footsteps were barely ringing out.

  But there was something else… he was humming, Cookie realized—a show tune, and one of several that had been plaguing her the last few days.

  She almost gasped out loud as the pieces came together. He’d been the one humming and singing all over the island, and in Hancock as well. That same noise that had been driving her nuts.

  Except something was nagging at the back of her mind. Something about the singing. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but her instincts were telling her that something wasn’t quite right here, that they’d misjudged something.

  “Happy now?” Mr. Macho asked, his words carrying easily to where Cookie was still moving slowly but steadily around to the side. “Now you see me, eh?”

  “Yes, I see you,” Hayley replied with barely any quaver to her voice. “And I remember you, too. You were with the backup singers for, like a day. Then they got rid of you.” Cookie heard a sharp tone in the singer’s voice, one she usually reserved for speaking about her exes. “I think it was because you couldn’t actually sing worth a damn,” Hayley continued, looking down her nose at the man.

  “What?” Clearly the accusation enraged him. “That’s a load of bull. I was better than anyone in your little backup group. You couldn’t handle it. That’s why I was let go.” He reached for the bag. “But now I’ll get what’s owed me.”

  “Whatever.” Hayley released the backpack, making her blackmailer stumble back a few paces as the backpack landed at his feet. “There, you’ve got your blood money,” she told him, waving a hand as if it could magically make him and this whole situation vanish. “Now leave me alone. I never want to hear from you again.”

  The Latin crook laughed, that same laugh from before. “Is that how you think this works, princess?” he asked. “You get to toss me your loose change and I go away for good? Nuh-uh. This is about to become a regular thing, see? You’re going to bring me an amount like that every month. If you value your privacy, that is. I’ll text you the time and location for the next one.”

  He was grinning like he’d just won the lottery. Hayley, on the other hand, was staring at him in horror.

  “Every month?” she finally managed to gasp. “You’re crazy! I’m not paying you this much every month just to keep what you’ve got from the public.” She raised her chin again, the very picture of terrified but determined resilience. “This was a one-time deal, and now it’s done. You’ve got your money. Just go away, please. For good.”

  Cookie had taken advantage of the conversation to ease around further. She’d had to move in a little from the island’s edge, but she was still far enough away that the blackmailer, even if he spotted her, wouldn’t be able to run anywhere without her seeing him. Or potentially shooting him—not that she wanted to shoot anyone. But if he thought she might, it could keep him frozen long enough for her or Hunter to get close enough to incapacitate him.

  But just as she was getting into what she considered the perfect position to intercept the Latin singer on his way back to his boat, two things happened:

  First, on the far side of the island, Hunter’s foot slipped, his fancy Italian leather just not able to grip the loose rock well enough. It wasn’t a loud noise, but in the silence of the night it rang out like a gunshot, making everyone turn toward where he was positioned clearly outlined in the moonlight, crouched but ready to move.

  Second, something—or someone—detached itself from the shadows near Cookie and, before she could process what she saw, a pile-driver type blow that would have done a runaway locomotive justice laid into her. She stumbled and almost went flying, catching herself but only barely. Her gun, however, did soar through the air, knocked loose from her hand by the force of the hit. It fell a few feet away, but there was no chance of her going after it, not right now. She was still trying to catch her breath after having the wind knocked out of her. Damn, whoever that was packed one hell of a punch. She shook her head, trying to clear the ringing in her ears, which was when the final puzzle piece fell into place.

  Mr. Macho had been checking up on Hayley all over town. Cookie had most likely passed him any number of times—and hadn’t realized it. But she had definitely heard the songs he liked to sing under his breath. She’d even found herself humming some of them here and there.

  But, she realized now, some of those songs didn’t work for her. And probably hadn’t worked for the blackmailer either. Because they were entirely the wrong register for someone with his deep, smooth voice.

  Which meant there were two of them. And it had obviously been blackmailer number two who had just tried to lay her out with a single punch—and had very nearly succeeded. Which meant this had just gone from two-on-one with the element of surprise to two-against-two, and they knew exactly where both Hunter and Cookie were.

  Damn.

  22

  “What the hell is going on here?” Mr. Macho demanded. Cookie had recovered enough to be able to see him standing at the island’s center, staring first at her, then at Hunter, then at Hayley, then all around like more of them might show at any second.

  Cookie wished his suspicions were right. They could really use a half dozen more agents right about now.

  “You called the cops, princess?” he said, nearly spitting the accusation at Hayley, who stood frozen only a few feet away from him. “What’d I tell you would happen if you did that?”

  But Hayley wasn’t listening. She had been looking around herself. “Cookie?” she asked. “Hunter? What are you doing here?”

  Cookie shook her head, still too dazed and too winded to answer properly. Hunter didn’t have any such problems.

  “This is Special Agent Hunter O’Neal, with the FBI,” he declared in loud, ringing tones, tossing aside stealth in favor of bold authority. “Put your hands up! You are under arrest for extortion.” Now that he didn’t have to worry about trying to hide he straightened and began making his way more quickly toward the singer and her blackmailer.

  The same blackmailer who suddenly produced a knife in one hand—and lunged with the other, grabbing a fistful of Hayley’s famous hair and yanking her back so that he could then wrap his arm around her throat.

  “Back off!” he shouted toward Hunter. “Back off or I’ll cut her throat!”

  The panicked desperation in his voice—and the way the blade shook against Hayley’s taut throat—made Cookie think he
might actually do it.

  She tried to tell Hunter to back off, but was still having trouble forming words. And then a tall, dark figure cut between her and her ex-partner, blocking him from view.

  “And who are you, exactly?” a surprisingly high, thin voice inquired. Cookie tilted her head back, fighting down a wave of nausea as she struggled not to topple over, or to hurl, as she squinted up at her own personal assailant. At first she couldn’t tell if she was looking at a man or a woman, but then her eyesight adjusted and she saw that the features were definitely masculine, aided by a wispy blonde beard and mustache. And now she could tell that the darkness was merely shadow, not skin tone, because the man before her was actually quite pale.

  A tall, thin, pale blond with a high voice and a solid Latino with a rich, smooth voice. Interesting pair, she thought. But there was no time for contemplation. The second blackmailer had asked her a question.

  She gulped a little more air, worked her jaw, and replied, “Cookie. I’m Cookie. I run the Inn Hayley’s staying at.” She didn’t think he’d seen the gun. If he had, he certainly hadn’t reacted to it, nor did he seem concerned about it now, even though it was only a few feet away. She forced herself not to look at it, instead holding out both hands so he could see she was unarmed.

  “Right,” Blondie said, stroking those wisps as if that would somehow make him look more masculine. Cookie would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so tense. “I saw you there one time. And having lunch with her at that dockside bar another time. But what’re you doing out here at this hour? And especially with the likes of him?” He jerked his head back past her, and she didn’t need to turn around to know he was gesturing toward Hunter.

  “He said Miss Holloway was in trouble,” Cookie rasped, doing her best Rain impression—flighty but concerned, with a side of gossip. “And he needed someone to show him the Lookout.” She shrugged. “So here I am.” She bit back her revulsion and made a show of eyeing Blondie slowly, letting a smile touch her lips. “And surrounded by good-looking men.”

  The ego was usually a soft spot for men, she’d noticed, and this blond blackmailer was no exception. “Lucky me, then, for being the closest,” he replied with what he no doubt thought was a winning smile as he sidled a few feet closer. “Tell you what, let me and my partner finish our business here and then maybe you and I can go someplace and celebrate.”

  “Ooh, I’d like that,” Cookie replied, batting her eyelashes and simpering up at him. To her own ear she sounded totally ridiculous but he apparently bought it, because he got a huge grin on his face.

  This would have been the perfect time for her to take him down in any of the dozen or so ways that presented themselves, Cookie knew. But his partner had Hayley by the throat, and was too far away for either her or Hunter to reach before he hurt her, so she held back. They couldn’t risk setting off the knife-wielder. She kept a smile on her face but her mind was racing just as fast as her heart was jackhammering. They had to get Hayley away from him somehow.

  Naturally, Hunter was thinking exactly the same thing. Problem was, he didn’t have any feminine wiles to use on these guys, so he fell back on bravado instead. “You don’t want to do this,” he told the first blackmailer, his voice calm and cool as he approached, hands rock steady on his gun aimed at the other man’s head. “You need to let her go. Now. Otherwise there’s no way this ends well for you.”

  “It’ll end a lot worse for her if you don’t stop right there,” the blackmailer warned with a snarl. Hunter froze mid-step. “We’re leaving, and she’s coming with us,” the blackmailer continued. “Pick up the backpack, sweetheart,” he ordered Hayley.

  She reached down carefully, her hand flailing about for a moment before she grabbed on and clutched the bag to her chest.

  “That’s good,” he said into her ear. Then he glared at me. “You’re staying right there until we’re long gone. Once we get somewhere safe, we’ll drop her off. But if I think for even a second that you’re following us…” He put a miniscule amount of pressure on the knife, and Cookie watched as a thin dark line appeared on Hayley’s neck, blood welling up at several spots. The message couldn’t get much clearer than that.

  “Hey,” she called out, trying to maintain the persona of a flighty but well-meaning woman a little alarmed by the events unfolding around her. “You don’t want to add kidnapping to your list of crimes do you? There’s no need for that! Don’t hurt her, okay?”

  That earned her Mr. Macho’s attention, but fortunately he didn’t seem to consider her any more of a threat than his partner did, if the lazy smile he tossed her way was any indication. “Don’t you worry none,” he replied easily. “If Mr. Agent Man behaves, nobody has to get hurt at all, and Ms. Holloway can go right back to singing up a storm once we’re gone.”

  He laughed at that, as did his partner, but at least Cookie had distracted him enough that he didn’t seem as anxious as before. She just hoped Hunter could keep his cool and not rile the man back up again.

  Fortunately, Hunter was no fool, and he’d calmed down enough to see that he’d been exacerbating the situation rather than defusing it. Which was why, although he kept his gun trained on the man, her ex-partner didn’t take another step toward him. Instead he watched, nearly vibrating with rage, as the blackmailer began to retreat step by step, dragging Hayley with him. She was forced to back up to keep from being choked by his arm or cut by his knife, her eyes wide with fear, her hand still clutching the backpack.

  And suddenly Cookie was zeroing in on that ratty old pack. That was it. The one thing that could pull Mr. Macho away from Hayley.

  Cookie jerked her head up, the sudden movement catching Hunter’s eye. Then she glanced at the backpack. Then again. When Hunter raised an eyebrow she knew he remembered the bag and exactly what was in it.

  Cookie shifted and cleared her throat. As she’d hoped, that got the kidnappers to glance at her. But it also drew Hayley’s attention. The singer stared at her with big eyes that widened even more when Cookie glared at the backpack, then up at Hayley as she wrinkled her nose like she’d smelled something unpleasant.

  After a second, Hayley’s face cleared. She nodded.

  The singer had gotten the message. Excellent.

  They would just have to time everything perfectly. Because if they screwed this up, somebody might wind up getting hurt. Or worse. And the last thing they needed right now was to give Dickie some fresh company.

  Cookie turned her attention back toward Blondie, who luckily seemed to have missed the whole nonverbal exchange that had just taken place. “So,” she said, dragging the word out and batting her eyelashes at him. “I think maybe you’ve got the right idea, handsome.” She bit her lower lip and pushed out her chest, drawing his eye immediately. “Maybe we should do some celebrating, you and me.”

  “Yeah?” If his eyes had been lasers she’d be topless right now, the way he was staring at her boobs. That was fine, though—it kept his attention right where she wanted it. For now. “Sweet. We’re gonna paint this town red, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, you betcha,” she said.

  The first blackmailer, Mr. Macho, was still backing up. He was almost level with them now, all of his attention on Hunter and the gun in his hand.

  “I know a place we can go back over on the island,” Cookie continued. “Decent drinks, decent price, and plenty of quiet little spots where we can get some privacy. If you know what I mean.” The very thought of him putting his pale, clammy hands all over her, nuzzling at her with that billy-goat beard of his, made her shiver, and she did her best to hide the reaction. She was going to need one hell of a long, hot shower after all of this was over.

  Blondie nodded eagerly. He barely even noticed that his partner was now even with him, and Hayley was roughly on par with Cookie, only a few feet away.

  Cookie met the singer’s frightened gaze, nodded once, and lunged forward. “Now!” she shouted, grabbing at the backpack just as Hayley let it go. Cookie w
as able to snag it by one of its shoulder straps. Then she spun, using the bag’s own momentum to start the swing, and hurled the heavy backpack as far as she could—back the way she and Hunter had come, right over Hunter’s head, in the direction where they’d left Dylan’s boat.

  Which was exactly opposite of the way Mr. Macho had been going.

  “No!” he screamed when he saw the bag with all that money—his money—go flying away from him toward both the rocks ringing the central field and the ocean itself.

  His hands dropped away from Hayley, who flung her arms around Cookie and held on tight as the blackmailer raced past her, desperate to retrieve his money.

  “It’s fine now,” Cookie assured the distraught singer, patting her on the back quickly before disengaging to help Hunter. “It’s all okay. It’s going to be okay.”

  “Hey, that’s our money!” Blondie shouted in a state of confusion, looking past Cookie to where Mr. Macho was scrambling after the bag. It was clear that Blondie was torn. Should he follow his partner and go after the cash? Or stay here with the hottie who’d been coming on to him—and the singer they were blackmailing in the first place?

  Cookie decided to make the decision easy for him.

  “Oh, let him worry about that, sugar,” she purred as best she could, stepping right up to Blondie to press the palm of her hand flat against his chest. “What do you say we start our celebrating a little early, hm?”

  He leered down at her, all other thoughts washed away as sheer lust took over. “Oh, hell yes!” He laughed, a much higher, thinner sound than his partner’s but just as deranged. “Why don’t you show me what you got, girl?”

  “You want to see what I’ve got?” Cookie asked. She dropped the act with a small sigh of relief as she took a solid step back, planting her foot firmly on the rocky ground. “I’ve got—this!”

  Then she spun around, pivoting on that back foot, using all her weight and momentum to deliver a perfect sidekick to the middle of Blondie’s chest.