Carly was determined to recover some measure of control, and she hoped a little distance would help. Clutching the walkie-talkie against her chest, she shrugged. “Go talk to Duncan while I shower. I'll meet you at the main house in an hour.”
“I'm not sure I can wait an hour.” His eyes were very dark.
“On the other hand, delay makes the final event more… potent.”
McKay kissed her cheek. “If my event becomes any more potent,” he said, “I won't be able to walk.”
“Are you expecting visitors?” Standing near the front windows of the main house, McKay watched a truck lumber up the gravel drive. “Someone in a big gray delivery van, for example.”
Frowning, the Scotsman moved to the doorway. “No one scheduled. I'll see who it is.”
McKay fingered a switch on his walkie-talkie. “Carly, are you there?”
“I'm here,” she answered. “Is something wrong?”
There was a sudden edge of fear in her voice, but McKay knew fear could be good if it kept a person from being reckless. “There's a delivery truck outside on the drive. Can you see it?”
He heard the faint rustle of fabric. “I do now. The shower was running and I didn't hear him drive up.”
“No problem. Just stay out of sight until he leaves.”
He heard her swallow. “Of course. But… will you keep the line open until then?”
Just in case. The phrase drifted unsaid.
“Will do. And don't worry, I'm right over at the main house.”
Duncan returned a few minutes later, pocketing his cell phone. “He's gone. It was a clay delivery for my wife's pottery company. I checked with the store in town, and they confirmed the driver was theirs. He's gone now.” Outside they heard the distant backfire of a truck.
“Coast is clear, Carly. I'll come get you.”
“Not yet. I need to primp a little. I want to surprise you. Daphne loaned me some clothes.”
McKay had a sudden image of Carly in a skintight miniskirt. “White leather, by any chance?”
“You're getting warm, McKay.”
“You have no idea how warm.”
“Give me twenty minutes.”
He was still staring down the hill when he broke the connection. “One more down.”
Duncan looked up from the kettle he was filling with water. “Anything you can talk about?”
“Afraid not.”
“I expected that was the case. You're welcome to stay as long as you like, since my wife and daughters are away. For their safety, I couldn't have gotten involved otherwise.”
“Neither Izzy nor I would have expected it. He remembered that your wife buys supplies off island this time of year.”
“Luckily, what she doesn't know won't hurt her.” Duncan grinned conspiratorially. “Meanwhile, it's invigorating to have a hand in again.”
McKay studied his host, who was wearing a white
shirt and crisp khaki trousers today. “You were SAS, weren't you?”
Duncan reached for two cups, nodding. “Professional to the core. I never planned to leave, believe me. In fact, I broke off with Risa after several months, certain a relationship couldn't survive when I was constantly out of the country on one mission or another. Risa accepted that. She never wanted to make me choose between her and the job, and she didn't believe me when I told her I'd left the service. It took the deed to this property to convince her I was serious.”
“You never looked back?”
“Not often.” Duncan poured two cups of tea, a wry smile on his face. “I have no question I made the right choice, if that's what you're asking. What about you? Thinking of retiring?”
“A month ago I'd have laughed at the idea.”
“And now?”
McKay glanced down toward the guest cottage. “Right now all I can think about is keeping her safe.”
“What about when the job is over?”
“Then there'll be another one somewhere else. I don't deal in long-term commitments. They don't fit with my line of work.”
“Priorities change.” Duncan found his pipe and filled it thoughtfully. “Maybe you should consider that.”
“Carly's not the sort to settle down. I gather her mother set some sort of pattern about that.”
Smoke drifted from Campbell's pipe. “I've seen her mother's work. Pure magic, it was. Children caught dancing in a summer rain, and a white horse racing along a field of wildflowers at sunset. The images took your breath away.” He drew gently on his pipe. “That kind of skill is a rare thing.”
“Carly says she never stayed. She was too busy chasing down the perfect composition and camera angle.”
The Scotsman watched smoke twist up in lazy spirals. “A difficult thing, one our society doesn't look kindly on, especially when children are involved. So what are you two going to do next?”
McKay rubbed his neck. “Enjoy the time we have together.”
The Scotsman pursed his lips. “And when that time is over?”
“We'll go our separate ways. We both know the rules.”
“Ah, rules. Not breaking them usually turns out to be the hard part, especially where the heart is involved.”
Wraiths of smoke trailed up in the sunlight while wind chimes echoed on the porch.
“Hell.” McKay jammed his hands into his pockets. “Who am I kidding? I'm halfway gone already. When she looks at me and that slow smile starts growing in her eyes…” He shook his head. “I shouldn't have let this happen. I'm supposed to be the experienced one.”
“A man can't always be perfect.”
“But he'd damned well better try,” McKay said grimly. “In my line of work, not trying will get you killed.”
“Unpleasant, but true.” Duncan stared out the window. “Any way I can help?”
“You can stop painting such a picture of marital bliss.”
His host chuckled. “Afraid I can't help you. I love Risa more today than when I met her. A man can ask for nothing more.”
McKay fought back images of a lifetime spent with Carly in a noisy house full of intrepid children. Irritated at his daydreaming, he pulled the secure cell phone from his pocket.
“You're calling Izzy, I presume.”
“Someone else.”
“But you will call Izzy. When you do, give him my regards and tell him I haven't forgotten a long-ago night in a crowded alley in Bangkok. While you make your calls, I'll take a walk and make certain we haven't received any more unexpected guests.”
St. John, it's McKay. I want an update.”
“McKay?” A chair creaked sharply. “Where in the hell are you?”
“No need for you to know that.”
“Governor Brandon will need your location in case—”
“The governor-general doesn't need to know either,” McKay snapped. “Whoever locked Carly in the freezer had to have contacts inside your organization. No one else had access to the house.”
“Are you accusing me of trying to kill Carly?”
“I'm simply stating what we both know is true. Someone got past all our security. I'm not risking Carly's life on another leak.”
St. John sighed. “How is she?”
“Holding up.”
“I'm glad to hear it. A hell of a thing, being locked in a damned freezer. If not for that cell phone …” St. John cleared his throat. “As of now I've assigned every available man and woman to this case. Meanwhile, the driver of that food van didn't arrive at his next call, and we've tracked him to St. Thomas.”
“I want facts, not an itinerary, St. John. He almost killed Carly.”
“You'll get your facts just as soon as I have them. You were right, by the way. One of my men is dead. They shoved him inside a bag and saw to it he was frozen
solid.” The officer's words snapped out in a hard staccato. “He had two bullets in the head.”
“He knew something,” McKay said flatly. “Find out exactly who he was working with, and maybe you'll find ou
t what he knew.”
“I'm questioning each of my officers personally, but it's going to take a while.”
Silence.
“I'm glad you got her out in time.”
“If she hadn't found that cell phone, I might not have.”
St. John's chair creaked again. “You should call Governor Brandon. He's very worried.”
“Tell him to concentrate on doing what he has to do. I'll do the same.”
“You'll be reboarding the ship together, I take it. I'll escort you to the dock and see you safely on board.”
McKay watched bright wings flash over a wall of hollyhocks. “I'd rather you didn't. The less attention paid us, the better.”
“So you don't trust me either.”
“Right now I don't trust anyone but myself.”
Papers rustled. “Maybe that's best. If I were you I'd be skeptical too. Bon voyage, McKay. Don't let her out of your sight.”
Forty-eight hours later he still hadn't let her out of his sight.
She was the picture of contentment lounging in a chaise, idly twirling a hibiscus blossom. It had been a whole day since she'd asked for her sketch pad or camera.
And only three hours since they had raced across the bed desperate to tear off each other's clothes.
Unfortunately, their peace was at an end. Mel had finally called with the news that Carly was reinstated and the project was back on line. In two hours they would board the cruise ship for its homeward jaunt to Miami.
McKay had anticipated the security concerns and
discussed them with Izzy. Both knew that protection would be easier on the ship, especially since the man Carly had recognized from Izzy's fax, an Austrian national with an arrest record that crisscrossed four continents, was now being detained for questioning in Barbados.
Another one down, McKay thought grimly.
Carly glanced up and studied his face. “Problems?”
“A few thousand. Nothing important, though.”
She twirled her hibiscus wistfully. “I wish we could stay. I'm not sure I want to be civilized again. I like walking barefoot and being clothing optional.”
“It had to happen sooner or later. Besides, you've got a shoot to finish. Griffin Kelly bit the dust even sooner than I expected.”
“He's a weasel.” She lifted a fallen red petal. “Do you think he was involved?”
That possibility was currently being considered, McKay knew, though he wasn't at liberty to tell her that. “It seems unlikely. He's malicious, but I doubt he'd try murder to boost his career.”
Her eyes met his. “Will the ship be any safer?”
“I guarantee it, because you won't be out of my sight.”
“Not ever?”
“We can negotiate terms.”
Her lips curved. “What if I want to go shopping?”
“Fine by me, as long as you make a stop for lingerie. Of course, you'll have to model it for me.”
Her eyes were thoughtful as she slipped her hand into his. “What are we waiting for?”
They were watched as they turned onto the main road heading south. They were watched as they wove along the small coves bordering the sea. At the edge of Bridgetown, a man at a roadside fruit stall noted their progress and radioed ahead.
By then, four men were already waiting at the dock.
Mayhem ruled at the dock.
Laughter and complaints mingled with the sound of the ship's powerful engines, the raucous call of sea birds, and shoving tourists eager to make their way aboard.
McKay circled slowly, and by the time he had parked and helped Carly out of the car, the last passengers were boarding the launch for the ship.
He moved in front of her as she started for the line of embarkation. “Not that way. We're taking the crew boat.”
“For security, I take it, not simple convenience?”
“Both.” He guided her to the end of the dock, where another launch was waiting, full of crew members with assorted booty from their shore excursions. McKay spoke with a uniformed security guard, showed his and Carly's passports, then led her aboard.
The wind was high as they cruised out toward the liner. Once on board McKay guided her toward a set of elevators at the far end of the corridor. “How can you remember the ship's layout so well?” Carly asked.
“I studied a diagram.” The elevator chimed and McKay pulled her inside, glanced at the buttons, and selected one. “It's a little walk to our quarters. We need to go up three decks, then jog to port.” He guided her off the elevator, then set off briskly.
Carly watched him as they climbed a spiral staircase
and passed a string quartet playing Vivaldi. “Not studied, memorized.”
McKay shrugged. “Call it a hobby. Come on, I'll buy you a drink before we go to our cabins.”
Carly had more questions to ask, but she found herself in a quiet corner with a perfectly salted margarita, and as she listened to a strolling mariachi band she let her questions drift.
She raised her glass. “Here's to adventure.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
She took another sip of her margarita. “We have four days left until we dock in Miami and I intend to enjoy them.” She stared at him over the salted rim of her glass. “Care to join me?”
“The offer is irresistible.”
“Good. First things first. I need to unpack. Then you promised to take me shopping.”
“Did I really say that?”
“Good try, big guy, but a deal is a deal.”
He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just ignore me if I whimper now and then.”
“Real men don't whimper.”
“They do if they have to take a woman shopping for shoes.”
“Shoes? You jest. That's only the start.”
“Maybe I can convince you to pick up a few frivolous, overpriced undergarments while you're at it. I'll have to see everything up close, of course, so I can advise you.”
“I might be persuaded.” Listening to the music, Carly watched the ocean shimmer beyond the lounge windows.
Magic, she thought. There was a rich, expectant mood to the day that left her smiling. For once in her life, she was going to live in that magical flow and stop questioning all the details.
As they stood to leave, McKay took her arm and she saw two women follow him speculatively with their eyes. It didn't take much imagination to guess they were wondering about him—and hating her for being with him.
Four days. Her questions could wait that long, until they docked in Miami.
She was startled when they turned down an unfamiliar corridor. “Why here?”
“Your luggage has been moved to the suite adjoining mine. There's a connecting door between us for convenience.” His voice fell. “I can't take care of you with a deck separating us.”
Not for convenience, but safety. Because she was still a target.
Carly toyed with her watch uneasily, then nodded.
“Stand to my left, away from the door,” McKay said softly.
The corridor was silent as he slid a card into the door, then swung inside and scanned the interior. With a start, Carly realized he had drawn his gun, which was now pointed at a man sitting inside the suite.
The room steward she realized. But there was no fear or wariness in his expression. He smiled faintly, as if amused by the whole scene.
Releasing his breath, McKay holstered his gun beneath his jacket, then pulled her inside and shut the door. “Glad to see you, Izzy.”
“Same goes.”
Carly studied the big man in the crisp white jacket. “You're partners, aren't you?”
The steward sauntered closer, hand extended.
McKay found a quarter from his pocket and slapped it into his hand. “Yeah, we're partners. And if he doesn't stop asking for tips, I'm going to deck him.”
With a snort, the steward pocketed the coin, gave Carly a wink, and left, his broad shoulders nearly filling
the doorway.
McKay said nothing as he checked the bathroom, the closet, and finally the veranda.
“I'm sure your friend has already done that,” Carly said. “He doesn't look like the type to miss much.”
“I prefer to do my own checking. Call it habit.”
“Are you going to tell me who you really work for?”
He opened the connecting door and stepped inside her cabin, subjecting it to the same silent scrutiny. Carly followed, certain he was stalling to avoid her question. “Well?”
He caught her by the elbows before she plowed into him, pulling her into his arms. “Who I work for isn't important.”
“It is to me,” she said stubbornly.
He angled her head for a long, openmouthed kiss that left her pulse zinging. “Adjoining cabins is definitely the right idea.”
Carly ignored his innuendo. “I need to check in with my crew, then call Mel in New York.”
“Fine. Just keep the chain on. Don't open your door for anyone but me or Izzy.”
“How will I know it's you?”
He whistled the theme from Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
“You're kidding. A secret whistle? Gee, do I get a secret decoder ring, too?”
McKay didn't hide his smile. “Simple is usually better. When you're ready to leave, call me on the phone in your suite.” His smile faded. “Remember, don't unchain the door for anyone else.”
Carly realized he was deadly serious.
It took two hours to check in with Mel, then track down all her crew. Hank was back from New York, sporting new camera equipment. While she checked out his high-tech camera, they ran through half a dozen ideas for the next set of shots.
It seemed that her career was back on course, despite Griffin Kelly's malicious ploy, and Hank assured her there would be no more sniping from New York. All she had to do now was deliver fantastic footage in record time.
A knock brought her to the door. “Name, rank, and serial number,” she whispered. Satisfied by the distinctive five-note whistle, she pulled back the chain and swung open the door.
McKay studied her face. “You look tired, Sullivan.”
“Busy morning. Everything's set for tomorrow. We begin shooting at seven.”
Going Overboard Page 20
