by Anita Meyer
They listened for a moment. Nothing greeted them but the sound of the birds and their own heavy breathing. Jeff shook his head. “They might be too far away to hear.”
Mac jammed two fingers in his mouth and let loose with a roof-rattling whistle. Still nothing. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go over the other possibilities.”
Jeff nodded.
“What if the shooter was a decoy to get her alone so someone else could grab her?”
“Doesn’t work,” Jeff said. “The sniper couldn’t possibly have known we would leave her. Besides, if he had an accomplice, he wouldn’t have stuck around long enough to get himself killed. As soon as he saw us come after him, he would have taken off.”
Jeff raked an angry hand through his hair, remembering what she had said.
“There are no seconds, McKensie. No second chances. If anything goes wrong, I’m out of here.”
“She split,” Jeff said. “She’s running.” He thought for a moment, trying to put himself in her shoes. “The first thing she’d do is get off the island.”
“And there are only two ways to do that,” Mac added. “The airport and the ships at Frederiksted.”
Both men took off. “I’ll take the airport,” Jeff shouted. “You get to the docks and call Arthur.”
One way or another they would find her—of that much Jeff was sure. And once they did, he swore he would never let her out of his sight again.
At this hour and dressed as she was, Caroline looked just like any of the other joggers out for a little morning exercise in the public park in Christiansted.
Only they weren’t running for their lives.
She stopped at a water fountain and washed the blood off her hand. Then, choosing a bench away from the beaten path, she sat down and took several long, cleansing breaths. By now Jeff and Mac had either caught or killed the sniper. Guilt nipped at her conscience. She knew Jeff would be angry and worried sick at her disappearance. But better for him to be a little worried, than a lot dead. She had to get off the island before he found her.
Quickly she removed one of her earrings and used the wire to remove the screws in the Walkman. The back slid off easily and she exhaled a sigh of relief when she spotted Grover Cleveland’s dour face. Two faces actually. Two neatly folded one-thousand-dollar bills. She removed one of them and reassembled the radio. Then she tightened the screws, replaced her earring, and hung the radio back on her belt loop.
The next stop would be the airport or the cruise ships at Frederiksted. But they were both too far away and too obvious.
With the puppy on her heels, Caroline jogged to the Christiansted pier. She’d find a way off this island, even if she had to buy a boat and start rowing.
A small sign at one end of the harbor caught her eye. Caroline smiled. Maybe she wouldn’t have to row after all.
Chapter 14
Caroline looked out the window at the waves slapping against the pontoons. The little plane skimmed the water, scooting out of the Christiansted harbor. Within minutes they were airborne, and she blessed the Puerto Rican company that had decided to revitalize the seaplane service. They couldn’t take her to the mainland, but she would get as far as Charlotte Amalie on St. Thomas. From there, it was a straight shot to Miami, Atlanta, or anywhere else she wanted to go.
Sticking her fingers through the screen of the pet carrier, she comforted the frightened puppy. “Don’t worry, fella. It’ll all be over soon.”
After landing in the harbor, Caroline took a taxi inland to the airport and hurried to the airline counter “One one-way nonstop ticket to Atlanta, please.”
The attendant punched the keys on his computer terminal. “I can get you on a flight departing at 2:05 this afternoon.”
That was about four hours longer than she wanted to wait, but at this point, her options were limited. “Fine,” Caroline said. She placed the pet carrier on the baggage rack. “And I’d like to bring my puppy.”
The attendant nodded. “No problem. That will be an additional fifty dollars, and I’ll need to see his papers.”
“Papers?”
“Veterinary certificate. There’s no quarantine from theVirgin Islands to the mainland, but you must have a document signed by your vet to prove vaccination for rabies, distemper and so on.”
Caroline offered him her most woeful sigh. “Oh, no, I forgot it.”
“I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t let him on the plane.” The attendant eyed her curiously. “Do you still want the ticket?”
“Yes, please.” Tucking the ticket into her pocket, she picked up the carrier and headed for a bank of telephones. “I’m sorry about this, fella, but I don’t have a choice.” She dropped into the seat, and opened the phone book. Animal Brokers…Animal Health Products…Animal Rescue…
“Here it is,” she announced. “Animal Shelters.”
Caroline looked down into a pair of soulful brown eyes. “I ought to have my head examined,” she muttered. But she flipped to the back of the directory, to the section labeled “V.”
Less than an hour later, she stood in the waiting room of one of the local vets. It would be a while before the vet could squeeze them in, so the receptionist had offered to take her phone number and call as soon as the puppy was ready to leave.
Caroline chewed on the end of the pen, debating what to do. The only solution was to leave Jeff’s name and the number of the hotel. He’d certainly pick up the puppy—he couldn’t abandon him any more than she could. And he’d also know she was safely off St. Croix. He wouldn’t be happy, but maybe he’d realize she could take care of herself.
And by that time, she’d be long gone.
For the umpteenth time, Jeff checked the overhead monitor, studying flight numbers that were already burned into his brain. He had been at the St. Croix airport, waiting, watching, praying since early morning. The terminal was small. He had contacted every airline, every attendant, every custodian he could find. But no one had seen her. Mac was doing the same thing at the docks. They touched base every hour on the hour, but it was as though she had simply disappeared.
Jeff recounted again the reasons he had to be thankful. Caroline was smart, she had incredible survival skills, and she’d do anything to avenge her brothers’ deaths. Any of those should have been enough to give him some comfort.
Should have… two words that paved the way to hell.
His heart contracted in his chest. Maybe he’d been wrong to trust his instincts, his belief that Caroline was on the run. Maybe she really was abducted or hurt. Maybe it was time to call in the authorities.
One more long shot before he notified the police. He dialed the hotel front desk. “This is Mr. McKensie, Oceanfront No. 8. Do I have any messages?”
“Only one, sir. Your vet called. He said your puppy is ready.”
“My what?”
The receptionist repeated the message.
Jeff shook his head. It didn’t make sense, but now wasn’t the time to figure it out. “Did you get a number?” He scribbled it down, fished out another coin, and dropped it into the phone.
“Island Animal Care.”
“This is Jefferson McKensie. Do you have my dog?”
“Yes, sir,” the woman said. “Dr. Rogoff gave him a full exam and all his shots. I’ve also prepared the veterinary certificate so you and your wife can take him back to the mainland.”
“My wife?” His heart did a slow roll in his chest.
“Yes, sir.”
“Pretty woman, about five foot seven, dark hair, brown eyes?”
“That’s right,” the receptionist said slowly.
Jeff fought back an overwhelming urge to kiss the phone. “Give me your address and I’ll be right there.”
The woman dutifully gave him a street name and number.
“Is that in Christiansted or Frederiksted?”
The woman laughed. “Neither one. It’s a few blocks from Market Square in Charlotte Amalie.”
“Charlotte Amalie?”
“No, I’m just confused. I thought she was taking him to a vet on St. Croix. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
Less than an hour later he and Mac were in the air.
“Now what?” Mac asked.
Jeff pulled Caroline’s picture from his wallet—the same picture he’d been carrying around since the day Arthur threw it on his desk. Who would have guessed he would be needing it for this?
“You go into Charlotte Amalie and get the dog. I’ll flash Caroline’s picture around the airport.” He turned and watched as the plane descended into the mountains of St. Thomas—half the size of St. Croix and twice the population. How Caroline got here was a mystery. But she was down there right now—in the airport, on the docks, roaming the city. Finding her was another long shot. But luck had brought them this far; he had to believe it would hold out alittle longer.
Caroline closed her eyes as the plane crossed the ocean heading for Atlanta.
You’re doing great, Princess.
Yeah, sure, Brian. I left a trail a blind man could follow.
It’s okay, came Alden’s reassurance. You’re almost home.
Home? Caroline shook her head. That word meant something once. When she was in Europe, home was the States. When she was running across the country, home was on the East Coast. When she lived in New York, home was an apartment in Brooklyn Heights. And now? After six weeks with Jeff, home was one bedroom/one bath in a Caribbean resort hotel.
But not anymore.
The years alone had left her with an aching emptiness that nothing seemed to fill. After a while she accepted it as normal. Now she knew it was anything but. It took being in Jeff’s arms to feel whole. To feel loved.
But it wasn’t real. Reality was being shot at and watching Jeeps go up in smoke. Reality was that her brothers were dead. Reality was that Augie Davis wanted her dead, too.
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine where Jeff was right now. She could see him so clearly. His cheek roughened with a day’s growth of beard. His face etched with worry. Her heart went out to him and she wished she could call him. Hear his voice once more. Talk with him and tell him she was fine. That she would be fine, as long as he was safe.
“I don’t suppose she gave the vet her itinerary,” Jeff said when he and Mac hooked up again at the St. Thomas airport.
“’Fraid not,” Mac answered. He shifted the carrier from one hand to the other. “So, where do we go from here?”
“The question is, where did she go?” Jeff dropped into a chair and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “She can’t go international,” he said, more to himself than his brother. “She doesn’t have a passport. So that leaves the U.S. or Puerto Rico. And a pretty American who speaks fluent boarding-school French would stick out like a sore thumb in Puerto Rico. She’d go where she could blend in.”
“That narrows it down to three nonstop flights,” said Mac. “Miami, Atlanta and Newark.”
“Scratch Newark. It’s too close to home. I don’t think she’d spend the next three weeks sitting in Davis’s backyard.”
Mac surged to his feet. “That leaves Miami and Atlanta. You take one, I’ll take the other.”
They hurried to the airline counter, making plans as they waited in line.
“One one-way ticket to Atlanta on your next available flight,” Jeff said, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. “Call Arthur when you get to Miami,” Jeff said to Mac. “Let him know we’re back in the States.”
“You got it,” Mac answered.
“There’s a flight leaving in forty minutes,” the attendant said. “But we may have trouble getting your luggage on.”
“That’s mine,” Mac said, picking up the pet carrier from the luggage rack. “I brought him this far, I may as well take him the rest of the way.”
“Well, hi, fella,” the attendant said, sticking his fingers through the wire-mesh door. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”
“Again?” Jeff and Mac spoke in unison, turning to stare at the young man.
“He was here this morning,” the attendant replied. “Either that or it was his twin.”
“Did a woman bring him?” Jeff asked. He dug Caroline’s photo out of his pocket. “This woman?”
The man studied the picture. “Yeah, I think it was her.”
It was all Jeff could do to keep from vaulting the counter and pulling the information out of the man’s throat. “Where’d she go?”
“There’s only one place on the mainland we go to from here,” the man answered. “Atlanta.”
The heat and humidity hit Jeff in the face as he left the air-conditioned airport in Atlanta and headed for the rental car, reminding him once again that balmy tropical breezes were a thing of the past.
As if he could forget.
Was it only twenty-four hours since he had taken her to dinner…taken her into his arms…taken her into his bed? Sometimes the past seemed irretrievably far away. What he wouldn’t give to turn back the clock just one day.
Oh, he had no second thoughts about loving her. Her desire and passion matched his own. In that way, and in a dozen others, they were made for each other. But he should have waited—waited until the job was over, until he was off company time, until he knew she was safe. Because if he had waited, they sure as hell wouldn’t be in this mess right now.
Jefferson McKensie, master planner, had a plan for every escape. He had a plane plan, a boat plan, a car plan, he even had a plan that involved escaping on horseback. But in every one of his plans, he and Caroline were together. Even if something had happened to him, he knew Mac would be there to step in and carry out the plans. Not in his wildest dreams had he considered the possibility of her getting away, of them being separated.
And that was exactly what had happened.
He pulled up to the passenger pickup and Mac tossed the empty dog carrier into the back seat, then climbed into the front, scooting the wriggling puppy out of his way. The dog promptly climbed into his lap and pressed its nose against the window.
“Did you call Arthur and have him check the bus terminal?” Jeff asked.
Mac nodded. “But what makes you so sure she hopped a bus? Maybe she took another plane.”
Weaving in and out of the airport traffic, Jeff headed for the interstate. “She can’t have much money, and she wouldn’t waste it on airfare. Rental cars are too easy to trace, and she could get trapped on a train. That leaves bus, thumb, or grand theft auto.” Jeff threw his brother a tightlipped smile. “I’m banking on the bus.”
“Well, Arthur pulled a list of all the tickets paid for with cash at the Atlanta bus station during the last four hours. But believe me, there are a boatload.”
“I’m betting she went north,” Jeff said. “She’ll blend in better than she would in the South, and it’ll be easier to get to New York for the trial.”
Mac pulled a notepad from his pocket and flipped through it. “If you’re right, that really narrows it down. Because everything going north stops at Chattanooga.”
Jeff stepped on the accelerator…and prayed. He’d been closing the gap all day. And now she was less than two hours ahead of him. Less than two lousy hours.
But two hours could be the same as two days if he made the wrong decision.
He knew there was a chance he was chasing the wrong person. A chance that Caroline was still in Atlanta, or flown to Timbuktu, or that she had defied all his expectations and gone due south.
But he didn’t think so. It didn’t feel right, A harsh laugh stuck in his throat. That was rich. The last of the see ‘em to believe ‘em was flying on raw instinct.
But then, he’d resort to a crystal ball and a Ouija board if it meant getting Caroline back alive.
Caroline shuffled into the truck-stop diner outside of Chattanooga and clim
bed onto a stool at the counter. “Coffee,” she said to the waitress. “And, uh, how about a bowl of chili?”
“Comin’ right up,” the woman said.
Caroline watched as she ladled the chili into a bowl. The waitress was small, about fifty-five, with haunted gray eyes, and a name tag that read “Maxine.” Caroline turned and checked out the rest of the patrons. At a quarter of ten, the place was pretty much deserted. Just three truckers laughing at a corner table.
“Here you go, honey,” the waitress said. “You eat that up. You could use a little meat on your bones.”
Caroline smiled her thanks and crumbled a cracker into the chili. It was good. Good and hot. Just what she needed to keep her going for the next few hours.
The little bell over the door jangled twice. She glanced up as a man slid onto a stool at the far end of the counter. He ordered a plate of chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy, then pulled out a newspaper and began reading.
Caroline tried to focus on her chili. She looked up, surprised to find the waitress studying her. She met the woman’s cool, assessing eyes, then quickly looked back down again.
“This is good,” Caroline said, lifting another spoonful.
“Thanks,” Maxine replied. She wiped the counter, moving the stained cotton cloth slowly back and forth over the Formica. Finally, she leaned across the counter until her face was inches from Caroline’s. “So,” she said, her voice husky and low. “You’re runnin’.”
A knot of fear twisted in Caroline’s stomach. She gripped the mug of coffee to keep her hands from shaking. “Wh-what?” she stuttered.
“Honey, I can spot a runner a mile away.”
That knot of fear uncoiled and re-formed around her heart. Even her best lie wouldn’t cut it here. “A runner?”
The rag never stopped moving. “Some are runnin’ to. Some are runnin’ from. Which are you?”
Caroline crumbled another cracker into the bowl and stirred it around with her spoon. She weighed her options again, not at all reassured by her choices. This woman wasn’t going to buy anything but the truth. “A little of both,” she answered.
