The Devil's Work

by Linda Ladd

  Novak was unarmed, which was unusual for him, but he’d jogged the beach every night since he’d arrived with no problems. It was a tame tourist area and not known for serious criminal activity. That was about to change, but Novak could mess it up with the best of them, and he could disarm these two kids any day of the week. His military training often came in handy. So he stood and waited for them to get close enough to put down.

  They had the smarts to pull up a couple of yards away and point their Ruger semiautomatics at his bare chest. In the condo’s lights, Novak ascertained that one man looked to be Hispanic, but the other one was definitely Caucasian. Both had heavy beards and long ponytails tied at the nape and more tats on their bare arms than a Folsom Prison lifer. To Novak, they looked more like frat boys at a Hells Angels party. They didn’t threaten him verbally, which surprised Novak, judging from his past encounters with similar types who liked to scream out profane threats and cocky bravado.

  “You got a problem?” he asked them, already on the balls of his feet and ready to move, only waiting for one of them to step in closer. These sorts always came closer so they could attempt to intimidate him. These two didn’t. Instead, the short Hispanic man said, “Shut up and start walking. Down that way.” He motioned toward the nature preserve with his gun.

  “How about telling me why I should do that?”

  The speaker wore a gang-inspired black-and-yellow bandanna tied across his forehead. He had lots of badges on his vest, mainly skulls and crossbones in various configurations to match the big one on his back. The name Mario was embroidered across the front. The other guy’s said Larry. That wasn’t smart at all. If they were going out to perpetrate crimes like drowning women and children, they shouldn’t wear their names on their clothes. These guys were stupid, all right, but definitely members of a gang. Novak needed to know which gang it was; he’d found out the hard way that these sorts of clubs posed different threat levels.

  Mario said, “Just start walking, unless you want us to end you right here.”

  “Maybe you should tell me where we’re going?”

  “You just asking for a beatdown, aren’t you, dude?” That was the white guy, getting in on the fake bluster.

  Novak hated it when somebody called him dude; it was just a little quirk he had. Unless it was Lori Garner, who loved to spill out all kinds of social media crap and abbreviations he’d never heard of, but he liked her and she was good looking, so she got away with it. These two didn’t appeal to him. “I’m not going anywhere with you, so get the hell out of my face before I take that gun and shove it up your ass.”

  What that got him was Mario’s gun barrel jammed up under his chin. A mistake, that was. Novak moved so fast that the younger guy was caught flat-footed. Ducking to his left, he snatched the gun out of the man’s hands before he could even move, then slammed it hard against his cheekbone. He shoved him to the ground and beaded the Ruger on the other guy’s face. This one was not so circumspect and pulled his trigger in panic. Novak felt the burn of the bullet on his left biceps. It barely tagged his arm, so he ignored that and disarmed the second guy and then knocked him unconscious with a hard uppercut with the Ruger. Unfortunately, the condo lights went out about the time two more gangbangers showed up out of the dark and grabbed Novak from behind. He managed to throw one off but was now outnumbered by three. So he gave it up, stood still, and put his hands up as a gun barrel was thrust hard into his kidneys.

  Lucky for him, they didn’t shoot him right then and there. That was a mistake on their part. It probably meant they weren’t used to murdering people in cold blood, or maybe they didn’t want to do it in front of a four-building condo complex. Maybe they thought drowning was less noticeable. They started prodding him down the beach with four weapons pointed at him, front, back, and either side, boxing him in as tightly as Secret Service agents guarding a president. They stopped next to the first guy Novak had put down, who was still wallowing and moaning in the shallows.

  Fingering the flesh wound on his arm, Novak decided it was nothing to worry about. He glanced at the condo complex, hoping for signs of concerned residents dialing 911, but no such luck. It was pretty much dark. Surf was too loud and the beach was too dark. Maybe he’d get lucky and some Good Samaritan hiding behind closed curtains had already summoned the cops. He listened for the shriek of sirens, but no luck there, either. He was on his own with a gang of incompetent but heavily armed little bullies. Not such good odds. Still, they had picked the wrong victim this time. He would wait until he got the chance and then take them down as best he could. He could take one of their guns easily enough, no problem. That would even things up considerably, so he said nothing and did what he was told.

  This whole altercation was all about the woman and boy, no doubt about it. Both had disappeared into the darkness and hopefully headed somewhere safe. These guys were not well-trained military personnel by any stretch of the imagination, but they weren’t Eagle Scouts, either. They weren’t as tough as they liked to think, but they knew how to pull a trigger, had already done so, and that made them dangerous and unpredictable. He would make his move at the right time and find out how tough they really were. Fortunately, they made no move to tie him up, thinking it was over and he was afraid of them.

  One particularly annoying guy kept jabbing Novak in the back with his gun barrel. They were taking him into that nature preserve, which would be a damn good place to kill him and leave his corpse to rot hidden under thick tropical undergrowth. There were plenty of beach houses and hotels all over Sanibel Island, but most places were hidden from the main roads by these kind of natural thickets, which meant lots of places to murder at will and in private. Still, once out on the street, a gang of men marching a guy at gunpoint ought to draw someone’s attention sooner or later, unless they were planning a quick bullet in the head once they got him off the beach.

  Instead of murdering him when they should have, they walked him over the bridge and down a dark path into the preserve. Nobody said a word as the sound of the ocean subsided, muffled by thick vegetation and palms and palmettos. The night was impenetrable black, but they herded him along and seemed to know where they were going. He wondered what they were waiting for and why they hadn’t brought flashlights. Nobody would ever accuse them of being geniuses. Novak strained his eyes but couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. All he had to do was take one down, get his gun, and they’d all be dead in minutes. They were pathetic, really. He walked along inside their ranks and tried to remember how the path meandered from the times he’d been in there before. Once he had his bearings, he took a deep breath, poised to make his move.

  High-powered beams suddenly flashed on all around them, blinding Novak and his captors. Dark figures burst out from behind the lights. Shocked, Novak didn’t have time to duck down, but it didn’t matter because the assault was not about him. Whoever these guys were, they were quick and efficient and knew exactly what they were doing. Within minutes, his not-so-tough captors were on the ground, bloodied up and unresponsive. Novak was the last man standing. Then he heard a woman whispering. He started to turn toward her, but something slammed hard into the back of his skull. He went down on his hands and knees and wobbled there, trying to right the tilting ground as the flashlight beams swung about and further disoriented him. He couldn’t quite get his mind to work before the second blow hit him in the same place. After that, he was out for the count, unconscious well before his face hit the ground.

  Chapter 2

  Novak came awake slowly with a hazy awareness that he was neck deep in trouble. He didn’t open his eyes, couldn’t seem to make his eyelids work. His mind was full of fuzz and noise and wavering in and out of focus. He wasn’t able to command his muscles yet. His thoughts kept jumping around, fleeting and illogical. When he tried to move, it felt like a balloon quickly inflated inside his skull. He felt nauseous and sick. Sharp pangs stabbed him in the back of his head,
but he could hear the voices. They were soft and far away. It sounded as if he were underwater. He could feel heat, close to him, and he could hear crackling noises. That had to be fire, he thought, confused, and then became vaguely alarmed.

  Fear forced Novak’s eyes open. He was lying on his stomach; his right cheek was pressed flat against the floor. He was outside, in some kind of open structure built a few feet off the ground. There were no walls, and he could see the bonfire. It blazed up like a Viking funeral pyre, shooting up orange and yellow flames, not ten yards away from him. The fire was showering sparks that separated in the heat currents and flitted around like fireflies. He stared at it dully. He had to think straight, because something terrible was going to happen now.

  Novak moved his arms and found his wrists were bound in front of him. So were his ankles. Okay, he was in serious trouble, all right. Whoever had him was not going to be buddy-buddy. He shut his eyes, took some deep breaths, and then looked around with more clarity. There were men sitting around the fire. They were indistinct, as if he peered at them through a fog bank inside his head. Now he remembered those thugs taking him into the dark preserve. Then he remembered the lights flashing on and getting hit. He tried to remember more. The low voices were coming from the men at the fire. When he sensed movement behind him, he instinctively rolled away from it and over onto his side. He tried to sit up but stopped on one elbow when he saw a woman. He was pretty sure she was the one who had been attacked on the beach. She held gauze and a brown bottle in her hands.

  “We aren’t going to hurt you. We saved you from those Skulls,” she told him, backing away a little. She looked frightened.

  Novak found his voice. “Yeah, well, somebody hurt me. Clubbed me in the head, and it wasn’t the Skulls.”

  Somehow he pushed up to sitting and faced her. Now that he could see her better, he figured she had to be Alcina Castillo. She had huge, expressive brown eyes, the luminous kind that reflected light. Right now, they mirrored the fire. She was beautiful, extraordinarily so. Her skin was soft and smooth, and her long dark hair was plaited into two braids that hung over her breasts and reached her waist. She looked really young, and she wore a man’s blue dress shirt that swallowed her slim figure. Her jeans were cut off at knee length, and she wore plain white Keds. She sat completely still and watched him.

  “I take it that you’re Alcina Castillo.”

  She nodded. “And you are Will Novak.”

  Her English was surprisingly good, with no detectible Guatemalan accent. She looked like a full-blooded Maya with high cheekbones and brown skin. “I’m Novak. I’ve been looking for you for a week. Guess you found me first.”

  “If you had not seen us tonight, he would have drowned me.” She paused there and caught his eyes with her extraordinary long-lashed ones. “If you will let me, I will tend to that cut on your head. It’s deep, and you have lost much blood.” She held up the medicine in her hands. “This is only antibiotic lotion and a bandage.”

  When he nodded, she moved around behind him and sat on her heels. He turned slightly to watch her, hoping this wasn’t when she was going to slit his throat. “What did you hit me with?”

  “I did not hit you. Jake hit you with a bat. He is sorry.”

  Novak scoffed. “Yeah? Well, he’s not as sorry as I am. I think he gave me a concussion.”

  “Then you must stay here until you feel better.”

  Then he spotted the boy. He was sitting on the edge of the raised floor with his legs dangling off the side. He looked like a smaller male version of Alcina. He met Novak’s gaze without blinking and said nothing.

  The fact that neither were offering to cut him loose did not escape Novak’s attention. That could not be a good sign for the future of his health. The kid continued to stare at him, showing zero emotion. His blank expression made an erased chalkboard look animated. His dark eyes also glowed in the firelight. His hair was braided too but wasn’t as long as Alcina’s. He was definitely Maya. He had on a man’s white T-shirt that was also too big, rolled-up jeans, and white Nike tennis shoes.

  Sweat was dripping off Novak’s brow and burning when it ran into his eyes. Gnats and mosquitoes were buzzing around his ears and the bleeding head wound. He swatted at them with bound hands. The two Maya watched him, but made no move to untie him. Alcina started dabbing the back of his head with something that stung like fire. He didn’t think they meant him further harm. He wasn’t as sure about all those guys sitting around that campfire. Large timbers had been propped up tepee-style, and the fire had roared high and was snapping and popping. Huge moths fluttered around the light, fighting the sparks. Now that his vision had cleared, he could see about twenty men. Most of them wore black T-shirts, black pants, and black combat boots. They talked together in small groups, but no one looked in his direction.

  Novak winced every time the woman touched his head. He could feel dried blood, and it was making the skin on the back of his neck tighten up. He still wore the gym shorts and Nikes he’d run in. He could feel Alcina’s soft breaths fanning his hair. She touched the deep cut again, and the thudding headache spiked to screaming levels. He edged away so she’d stop touching it.

  “Okay, that’s enough. That’s hurting more than helping.”

  She stopped and stared at him. She couldn’t be very old, early twenties at the most. Her beauty was unusual but undeniable. Firelight danced across her face and carved hollows under her high cheekbones. Her lips were full, but there was a black bruise already darkening her left cheek where she’d been struck. She retained eye contact with Novak without blinking or speaking. After a long contemplation of his face, her mouth curved with a tentative smile. Despite the frenzied fight Novak had seen her put up in the surf, she seemed fragile and in need of protection. Some women used that kind of vulnerable look to get what they wanted. Novak had better remember that, because he already felt like he should protect her.

  “How about cutting me loose?”

  Neither of them moved to accommodate his request.

  “Jake is sorry,” she said again. “He thought you were one of them.”

  “So you said. But I’m not, so cut me loose.”

  “You are not one of them?”

  “Hell no. Look, untie me. Right now.”

  “You’re not a prisoner.”

  “Sure, I get that. So why do I feel like I am?”

  Alcina reached out and tugged a brown leather backpack over to her, dug around inside, and pulled out a bottle of Excedrin. She uncapped it and shook out two tablets. Novak felt better because he could use a painkiller at the moment. Then she reached inside again and pulled out an eight-inch dagger. She pulled it out of a black leather sheath. It looked razor sharp, the polished blade glinting. She smiled at his expression. “I’m not going to stab you. I’m going to cut you free, so don’t move. I am not used to handling knives.”

  “Got it.”

  “Jake tied you up because he thought you’d be angry and try to hurt us when you woke up. He said that you would be confused about what happened.” Alcina was getting all smiley and friendly now as she crawled forward and quickly and expertly slit the cords on his wrists with one sharp jerk. Okay, it looked to Novak like she knew how to use a knife well enough. She handed him the blade and let him cut his ankles free. Then she backed away from him in a hurry, just in case he decided to stab her, he assumed. Novak stretched his aching muscles and rolled his cramped neck from side to side. He felt his head wound, but that intensified the thudding behind his eyes. He watched the men around the fire for a moment. They were there for a reason, and he wanted to know why. He wanted to know a lot of things, and nobody was telling him squat.

  When Alcina handed him a bottle of water and the pills, he tossed them down and drained half the bottle. He was still thirsty and finished it off. He didn’t know where he was or why, but he wanted to know, just in case things went bad, which us
ually happened when he woke trussed up like a pig.

  Some basic instinct told Novak that this tiny woman wasn’t the sweet little madonna that she appeared to be. His wariness wasn’t really justified, judging from her fight with that bully. She had been tough but she had also been desperate. According to Claire, she was their new client, whether he liked the idea or not.

  “Please allow me to bandage your head so the bleeding will stop,” she said. Something was very off about this young woman. She seemed way too calm for what had happened to her earlier that night. He nodded, and she crawled close again and pressed folded gauze against his split scalp and then wound more around his forehead.

  “Okay, Alcina, I’ll bite. Where am I? Why am I here, and what do you want?”

  Novak wondered if she’d tell him the truth. It didn’t matter; he had no idea what the truth was. While he waited for her to answer, he examined the platform on which they sat. If he remembered correctly, he was sitting atop a chickee, which was the palmetto-roofed structure historically built by the Seminole tribe. That’s when some of the scattered pieces bumping around inside his mind started clicking together, and he began to line up what had happened. The men at the fire had to be Seminoles. They were the tribe who had settled southern Florida, and he knew they had reservations down around the Everglades. He had visited one a decade or so ago while on leave in Miami. He’d been impressed by them. They were a handsome people and courteous to their visitors and eager to present their history in an accurate way. He startled when some animal screamed somewhere out in the dark outside the fire. Whatever it was, it was dead now. That’s when he figured out where he was.