She emptied her bladder, then unlaced her boots and took them off. She took off her socks next and wrung them out as best as she could, then quickly followed with her pants and her T-shirt, draining them all into the shower stall. She did the same with her panties and sports bra. Then she toweled herself off, including her hair, and luxuriated in the feeling of—finally—being dry again.
She turned on the propane space heater and used the self-contained striker to light the flame. Then she hung her clothes on the towel bar above it and hoped they’d dry a little more. Maybe they were only going back outside in the rain, but Woodrow had rain ponchos in the house that would help keep them all dry. Deke was the only one who could wear Woodrow’s clothes. Shane and Jolly were stuck with the orange jumpsuits for a while longer.
Looking at herself in the mirror, Kate found she had a multitude of bruises and scrapes, most of them she couldn’t even remember acquiring. Thinking about the propane space heater made her realize the water heater was powered by propane as well and might even be on. Checking the hot water, she discovered it was warm.
She found a fresh bar of soap and stepped into the shower. Maybe it was foolish to shower with the convicts just outside the door and down the hall, but she knew she wouldn’t take any time at all and her clothes were going to take even longer to dry.
Not only that, but a plan on how to further split Jolly and Shane started to form in her mind. The fewer people she had watching her, the better her chances were of escaping and getting back home.
She stood under the weak stream of warm water and lathered up, developing what she had in mind, knowing it was risky on several fronts.
None of the men truly seemed to trust each other. She’d seen hunting parties deal with the same kind of competitive jealousies.
She knew she could use that against them.
Shane stood outside the bathroom door with his can of peaches and continued eating. Unfortunately, remembering the way Kate Garrett, Wilderness Guide, had looked down her pretty little nose at him while he was trying to fill his hollow stomach, the flavor seemed somehow off.
He grew more irritated at her as he thought about her. She should have left when I gave her the chance, he thought. Putting the fork back in the peach can, half the contents untouched, he stared out the window of the back door.
Genevieve continued to dump rain over the Everglades. Buckets and buckets of it poured on to the new oceanfront property the storm surge had temporarily created.
And you really expect to find Desiree Martini’s body out there in all that? Shane growled in disgust. The plan he’d made had been simple. Okay, maybe a little complicated by the whole make-friends-with-Raymond-Jolly aspect—especially since the guy turned out to be more of a cold-blooded killer than Shane had thought. But it should have worked.
If it hadn’t been for the damned storm. By the time the Bureau knew Hurricane Genevieve was coming, everything had been put into play. Raymond Jolly’s trust hadn’t exactly been unwavering, but delaying the “escape” might have ended the possibility of getting the woman’s body back altogether. After seven months, there was no telling how much of it was left out there to find.
And, on top of the damned storm and managing Raymond Jolly’s “escape,” Shane was now struggling to juggle Kate Garrett into the volatile mix. Not only that, the miniature communications device “guaranteed” to connect him with the rest of the FBI team wasn’t working. His communications were infrequent, interrupted, and not totally accurate on the Global Positioning Satellite systems.
For just a moment, Shane closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it felt like to be rested. And warm. He briefly considered telling Kate Garrett the truth, that he was an undercover FBI agent on special assignment. Only how the hell was he supposed to do that now? He hadn’t made a terribly great impression on her so far. The comparing scars shtick that had worked for Mel Gibson hadn’t driven her crazy.
Not only that, Shane didn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut, to know when to speak and when to shut up, or to see that her interests dovetailed his. The true problem was he didn’t trust anybody outside his own skin. Judging from the tight-lipped way she acted around him, maybe they both shared that trait.
Hell, even Jolly played things close to the vest. Maybe all of them had been betrayed somewhere along the line.
Shane sighed, tired and cold from the long swim in the invasive ocean waters. He thought about Kate Garrett. Who hurt you? he wondered, because he was certain someone must have. Whoever it was had done a good job of it too. They hadn’t broken her, though. She was too confident in her own abilities for that to be true. She was hanging on to whatever safe ground she’d found.
He thought about her again, the way she had taken out a steroid monster like Monte Carter with the baton—and been prepared to do it again in the water when she’d taken Carter’s knife, and the way she’d taken the kid off the ’gator hook and sewn his stomach up.
She’d even saved the young man out of the back of the truck before Shane could get free and get back there. He’d followed behind her, astonished at how she was able to get her charge to the surface and throw the life vest on him.
All in all, she was damned amazing.
He frowned, listening to the water inside the bathroom. It didn’t take much to imagine her naked under the shower. Maybe she wasn’t beautiful by Hollywood standards, but she was a striking woman. Shane liked the way she looked and the way she moved.
He even liked the way she sat quietly paying attention to everything going on around her. That could be dangerous, though, he admitted. If she had the chance to think too much, she could probably stir up all kinds of trouble.
Shane wiped a hand over his chin and felt the beard stubble there. The last time he’d shaved had been at 3:00 a.m. that morning, before the bus had taken the prisoners to East Naples.
The cover story had been that one of the “fish”—new arrivals—in the cell block had carried in some kind of variant of the Asian bird flu. Several of the prisoners, supposedly a cross-section of the general population, had been bussed out to different clinics. They’d had to arrive there before the physicians’ normal business hours, then get in and get out.
That had provided Shane the opportunity to spring Jolly and his crew. He’d deliberately chosen the Tamiami Highway, knowing they were only a few miles from where the FBI team had run them to ground seven months ago. If things hadn’t gotten so crazy, Jolly would have already led the way to Desiree Martini’s mortal remains.
Now Shane just hoped that her body wasn’t buried out there under all that water. Maybe that was what was had Raymond Jolly so lethargic about making a move.
Then there was the mystery of how Phil Lewis had gotten himself dead. Shane still wasn’t clear on that. Lewis had ended up with a bullet through his head. No one claimed to have been around him, but Jolly had been the first man to arrive. By then Lewis was way past talking.
Unless the FBI gets a direct line to Mistress Cleo or one of those other 1–800 psychics. The mystery actually wasn’t that deep. Jolly and Ernie had been the only two armed with firepower, which had been taken from the prison guards, and Ernie was carrying a shotgun.
Phil Lewis hadn’t been shot with a shotgun.
No one contested Jolly’s innocence, though.
But why kill Lewis? Shane’s only answer was that maybe even ten million dollars didn’t look like all that much after seven months in lock-up.
Shane yawned, a real jaw-creaker. And his imagination returned to Kate Garrett naked under the shower. He tried to shake it off, aware of the physical response his imagination was triggering in him.
Standing under the water, Kate knew she wasn’t going to have a better chance to set her plan into motion. She glanced longingly at her clothes. Or at least the towel. It had been years since a man had seen her nude.
Get over it, she told herself. This is what it’s going to take.
She steeled herself, pushing aside all th
oughts of what Shane might think. It was what the others thought that mattered.
Taking a breath, she tried to speak. Couldn’t. Her throat was too tight. She took another couple of breaths, then tried again. “Shane.”
No answer.
Kate tried again, speaking louder. “Shane.”
“Yeah?”
“I need some help. Can you come in here?” She stared at the door, waiting, knowing she was only going to have this one chance. But all she had to do was drive a wedge among the men. That might give her just enough room to escape.
Can I go in there? Shane’s imagination went into overdrive. He started to ask her if she was decent, then he pushed that out of his mind, telling himself not to be stupid. Surely she was dressed. Otherwise she wouldn’t call for him.
He opened the door and went inside.
And found Kate Garrett in the shower, holding her hair up with both hands.
Shane froze, hypnotized by the full-bodied curves naked before him. She had great shoulders, slightly freckled, full breasts that held their shape and poise, a taut waist that led down to generous hips. A woman’s figure, not some waif’s, not one of those women Shane figured would break at the slightest touch. Her legs were firm, muscular, her calves sculpted from working out or maybe just hard work in her chosen field.
The sight of her au natural made Shane’s breath catch in his throat. The baggy, wet jumpsuit suddenly felt too tight.
If she was modest, she didn’t act it. Instead, she came across as a woman comfortable with her body. There was no screaming, no frantic covering up, no quick grab for a towel.
She looked at him frankly, her dark-green eyes challenging. Her striking features remained composed. If she was scared or surprised or pissed, she didn’t show that either.
Without a word, she turned off the water and reached for one of the towels sitting in a built-in cabinet. Without hurrying, she wrapped the towel around her torso, hiding her body only a little, because the thin towel somehow emphasized her figure. Memory filled in everything he couldn’t see.
Somewhere in there, Shane’s heart kick-started in his chest again. He suddenly felt dumb and awkward. He hadn’t often felt that way.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, and started to back out of the room. “Guess you weren’t ready.”
She surprised him totally by reaching for him, dropping a hand on his shoulder and moving toward him. He stood as though paralyzed, totally mesmerized by her beauty and the unmistakable eroticism of the moment.
“Wait,” she said. “I need you to look at something for me.”
“Sure,” he said, but he really didn’t know what the hell to expect.
Then she leaned in close, turned her face up to his, and pressed her mouth to his lips that she had bruised during their fight out in the swamp.
The kiss was hot and electric. Before he knew he was going to do it, Shane had his arms around her, holding her close. He felt the strength of her, the coiled muscle that lay just beneath the soft-as-velvet skin. She smelled clean, a mixture of rainwater and soap, and a hint of primitive feminine mystique that woke the sleeping savage inside his mind and drove him crazy.
He kissed her back, locking his left hand behind her head, cupping the base of her skull as he felt the length of her body pressed into him. He tightened the arm he had around her waist, pulling her even closer, molding her body with his own.
Desire swept over him with a ferocity he’d never before experienced, like it had been smoldering since they’d fought and she’d pinned him to the ground with her body, straddling him with her hips in a manner way too suggestive and pleasant.
Then she broke the lip lock and looked up at him with those dark-green eyes. Her voice was hoarse and low when she spoke.
“Tell me again about the ten million dollars in ransom money,” she said.
When he heard the triple click of Raymond Jolly’s .357 Magnum behind him, knew that the man had heard what she’d said, Shane knew how treacherous Kate Garrett had been in setting him up.
Damn.
Chapter 9
“What the hell is going on?” Jolly demanded.
Kate slid away from Shane, breaking out of the embrace like she was scared or embarrassed. Truthfully, she was both.
Shane seemed at a loss for words as he stared down the length of Jolly’s pistol. Jolly glared at her as well.
Working quickly, Kate kept the towel around her and pulled on her panties—dry, thank God—then stepped into the still-damp jeans without endangering her modesty. Both men stood silent and still while they watched her, their argument temporarily on hold. What was it about a woman getting dressed—or undressed, for that matter—that locked a man up like a deer in headlights? She shoved her head through her T-shirt and pulled it down over her breasts before dropping the towel to the floor. She was all too aware that the shirt’s wetness didn’t completely disguise the chill she’d gotten.
But it isn’t just the chill, is it, Kate? she chided herself. She’d gotten more into the kissing than she’d intended. There was something about Shane that awakened a hunger in her that she’d tried to keep buried these last few years. When dealing with her ex-husband, desire equaled vulnerability. He found out what she wanted just so he could take it away from her.
She turned her thoughts from those old losses to the new battle she had on her hands. With her semi-seduction of Shane, she’d exposed a few weaknesses in the players she was surrounded by. She also felt the hard length of the straight razor in her pocket that she’d swiped from Shane while she’d had his mind on other things. With any kind of luck, Shane would have to work so hard on his own survival that he wouldn’t remember the straight razor.
“I said,” Jolly repeated, “what the hell is going on here?”
“Take it easy, Raymond,” Shane said calmly.
Jolly pointed the .357 Magnum at the center of Shane’s face.
Sour sickness twisted inside Kate’s stomach and she thought she was going to throw up again. She choked back the response. Any weakness on her part was going to devalue the wedge she was trying to drive between the two men.
“What were the two of you talking about?” Jolly demanded.
“Nothing,” Shane responded. “We weren’t talking about anything.” He held his hands up, but Kate could tell by the way he shifted his body that he was thinking about making a try for the pistol all the same.
Another quiver of fear trembled through Kate as she realized that if Shane did try to take the gun away, she was going to be directly in the line of fire. Great plan, she told herself.
“What are you doing in here?” Jolly asked.
Slowly, Shane shook his head. “It was a trick. She asked me to come in.”
“I saw you kissing her. You were talking about the ransom money.”
“She kissed me,” Shane protested. “I didn’t kiss her.”
Liar! Kate thought. She hadn’t been the only one who’d gotten caught up in the moment. His excitement had manifested itself hard enough and big enough that she hadn’t been able to miss it. Or maybe it hadn’t been able to miss her.
“That’s not how it looked to me,” Jolly said.
Shane cursed and shook his head. He took a step forward, daring Jolly to act. “Then shoot me, Raymond! Do it!” He tapped his own forehead. “Right here!”
For a moment, Kate thought Jolly was actually going to do it. She knew the big man thought about it. She’d seen that in his face and in those hard predator’s eyes. With everything she’d done, she might as well have put the pistol against Shane’s head and pulled the trigger herself.
“Hey,” Ernie said out in the hallway behind Jolly. “Hold up there a second, boss.”
“Stay out of this,” Jolly snarled.
“Can’t,” Ernie said. “Got an interest in how this turns out myself. Shane says he can get us out of the country. Down to the Grand Caymans. That’s something we can’t do, an’ we can’t just stay around here after we get that ransom mone
y.”
“We can hire a boat.” Jolly didn’t waver.
“Can you, Raymond?” Shane pressed. “Can you really? Do you know who to hire?” He snorted derisively. “You can’t just go around asking anybody that has a boat to take you to the Grand Caymans. Hell, half the people you ask are going to be undercover agents for the DEA or Coast Guard. You’ll get nailed before you ever make it out of Miami.”
“Shut up!” Jolly ordered.
“No,” Shane said. “To hell with that. You come over here, see me with that woman, and you jump to the first conclusion she wants you to.”
Jolly looked at Kate. She returned his gaze full measure.
“Think!” Shane tapped his head. “Think, Raymond! You outsmarted the cops and the FBI when you took that heiress and slipped off with that ransom money. Don’t make a dumb mistake now.”
“Don’t call me dumb,” Jolly warned.
Shane pointed at Kate. “Do you think I’m really going to blow sweet nothings in this woman’s ear? Take a chance on screwing up getting my percentage from you?”
“Maybe you’re thinking about taking it all,” Jolly suggested. “You and your partner.”
“My partner?” Shane laughed derisively. “When the hell did she get to be my partner?”
“She was there,” Jolly reminded. “When the bus blew up. Kind of suspicious now that I think about it.”
“Maybe,” Shane said. “But how could we have planned that? The explosive device detonated early.”
Jolly stared at Shane. “Could be it didn’t,” Jolly said. “Could be you arranged that.”
“So we could steal her Jeep?” Shane shook his head. “Then why didn’t she go with us?”
“I don’t know,” Jolly replied. “But she’s here now.”
“Son of a bitch, Raymond!” Shane exploded. “You were the one telling me where to go. How could I tell her how to find us?”
“He’s right about that,” Ernie commented.
Storm Force Page 12
