by Jenna Ryan
Surprise and no small amount of admiration brought a smile to McCabe’s lips. “And you brought him down with a bullet?”
“Two bullets.” She twirled a finger over there. “One’s in his left shoulder, the other’s in his right bicep. His rifle’s over by the rail.” She stood, looked down. “I couldn’t bring myself to kill him. He used to be a champion surfer.”
“Now he’s a wounded blowfish.” Curling his fingers around her nape, McCabe eased her head back and made a quick inspection of her face. “Are you all right? I only heard the two shots.”
“I’m fine,” she confirmed. “If I’m supposed to be upset, I must have a heart of stone, because I’m not.”
“You don’t, and you shouldn’t be.” Seeing no blood anywhere except on her hands, he said simply, “Duct tape. Can you find some?”
“There’s a utility closet around the corner. Uh…” Bending quickly, she set a bloody palm over the injured man’s mouth. “I think he’s going to try and call for help.”
McCabe solved the problem by giving Carson a backhanded blow to the jaw.
Rowena drew her hand back. “That works. Where’s Dancer?”
“Right here.” Dancer tossed McCabe a roll of silver tape. “Heard you saying.” Going to his haunches he chuckled. “Bastard’s bleeding like a stuck pig.”
“Noticed.” McCabe solved the problem by duct taping the entry wounds. Then he bound Carson’s wrists, feet, and mouth. “Throw him in the utility closet and give me your canisters. I want to get this done fast.”
“I coulda been shooting up in an alley somewhere.” Grunting, Dancer hooked his hands under Carson’s arms. “But no, I had to let you talk me into being a do-gooder. Redemption.” He snorted. “It ain’t what it’s cracked up to be, let me tell you. And in the end, I won’t even get the girl.”
“You wouldn’t want me, Dancer,” Rowena said. “Too much baggage.” She took the canisters McCabe thrust into her hands. “I’m all bloody.”
“So am I. We’ll clean up later. Ready?”
“No, but let’s go.”
They crept forward once again but had to freeze when a door opened and a man emerged from below. Smoke wafted out with him, along with a blast of Metallica.
“Figures.” Disgust filled Rowena’s whispered voice as he walked to the side and unzipped. “Why is it that men always feel the need to pee on or over something instead of using a toilet?”
McCabe’s lips twitched. “It’s a Tarzan thing.”
“Oh, for God’s…” She broke off when the man, having tucked and zipped, went swiftly to his haunches and spun to the right.
“Who’s there?”
Someone had made a sound behind them.
“Oh, it’s you.” Relaxing, the man squinted past the shadow where McCabe and Rowena were concealed. “What’re you doing up here?”
The woman who answered sounded much like her sister in Las Vegas. “The boy’s asleep. I want to use the spa tub, but I can’t find Carson to relieve me.”
“Try the weight room,” the man said dryly. “Carson’s smart enough not to be losing his shirt with the rest of us. Damn Cookey’s on a streak.”
The Chambers woman—what was her name? Cammie? Carla?—stopped right beside them. McCabe pushed Rowena into the wall. Then he swore as the nanny stepped on his foot and stumbled.
“I— Oh!”
“Got her,” Rowena said, catching hold of the woman’s arm and twisting it up behind her back.
With no time to take aim, McCabe could only use the butt of his rifle on the man in front of them.
“What the fuck…!” was all the man got out before his head snapped sideways, his eyes rolled upward and he hit the deck.
Spinning back, McCabe saw that Rowena had dispatched whatever her name was, likely in a similar way.
“I had to hit her.” She sighed. “I hate doing that. The Spock pinch would be such a handy thing to know.”
“Mastering the Force wouldn’t hurt, either, but since both sci-fi fixes are beyond us, we’re down to gas. Twist and pull the pin on top of the canisters when I tell you to. We’ll toss them down the stairs, catch everyone below off guard. How many points of egress from the lounge?”
“Two, but the table, if they’re around it, is a fair distance from the second one. It’s a door to a hallway that leads to other areas of the ship.”
“Good. Ready?”
“Yes. I’ll go left because… Shit! McCabe!”
Metallica would have muffled her cry to anyone below, but McCabe booted the door closed anyway before he whipped around.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath.
He lowered his gun to the deck. Still holding the shoulder strap with his left, he raised his right hand and faced the sneering ape he’d clocked a moment ago. The guy was obviously tougher than he looked. He had Rowena in a chokehold and a large gun pointed at her head.
“Ain’t life just full of nasty surprises? I come up for a breath of fresh air, get whacked, come to, and lookie what I find. A pair of pirates creeping around topside.” His lips peeled back over uneven teeth. “Looks like the gators’ll be eating well tonight.”
Giving his arm a jerk, he yanked Rowena toward the rail.
Chapter Five
Rowena’s fingers dug in as the arm snaked tight around her throat.
The man gave his arm a jerk. “Stop scratching me. I’m not here to…” His snarl ended on a grunt as McCabe rammed his rifle into the man’s belly then knocked the gun away from Rowena’s head in what appeared to her to be a single motion.
The man released her by shoving her forward so hard she’d have hit one of the outer walls if McCabe hadn’t snagged her around the waist.
“You good?” he asked.
“Just make sure he’s out this time.” She heard a thunk followed by McCabe’s grim, “He’s out. Do you know where there’s some rope?”
Rubbing her throat, Rowena located a small hatch and pulled out a long extension cord. “This should hold him.”
McCabe secured the man’s hands and feet, gagged him, then turned his attention back to the door he’d kicked shut. When McCabe opened the door, Rowena risked a look around his arm and saw one of the men pick a cell phone up off the table. He made a sharp motion to quiet the music and answered with a brisk, “Sir?”
“Mockerie,” McCabe said softly. “Time to put on the masks we brought… Okay, pull and toss, now.”
Rowena didn’t hesitate. Two of the canisters landed at the feet of the man on the phone. He kicked one of them forward when he turned, then he rolled his eyes and dropped.
“Holy crap,” Rowena whispered under her mask. “That stuff’s potent. What is it?”
McCabe shouldered her back out, slammed and locked the door. “Strong shit. We need to make sure no one escapes through the second door. Which way?”
She had to think. It had been some time since she’d been aboard the Irish Lady. “Through here,” she said. “There’s an emergency hatch with ladder stairs on the other side of the viewing deck. They continue down to the engine room, but we can exit at any level.”
McCabe went first, shoved the slightly warped hatch door open, and ducked out into the corridor. She heard a thump, saw a body fall, and watched the door slam shut.
“Keep your mask on,” McCabe called up to her.
Hopping out, Rowena caught hold of his shirt and tugged him with her toward the bedrooms. They pulled off their masks.
“How many made it out?” she asked, peering around a corner just in case.
“Two. One passed out on his own. The other needed help. Mockerie will have back up close by, probably on the water. We need to find Parker and get out fast.”
Adjoining rooms, she thought, that’s where he’d be, very likely asleep. She opened the appropriate door with caution, again, just in case. The room lay in darkness, except for one small nightlight shaped like a teddy bear.
Spotting the small bed, she ran to it. It felt forever since
she’d held her son. And there he was. Her baby. Sound asleep, sucking his thumb and looking like the angel he was. Because no way James could have perverted him yet.
“Wake him up, Ro.”
Hands first, she thought, and rinsed them in the Jack and Jill bathroom. She let the tears rise, but she didn’t allow them to slow her down as she leaned into the crib.
“Parker, honey. It’s Mommy. You need to wake up. We’re going on an adventure.”
Blinking sleepily, Parker half opened his eyes. “Mommy?” His voice was thick and slurred. “Mommy…” His eyes closed, but he reached for her even so.
“He’s totally limp.” Rowena picked him up, checked his breathing. Deep and even. His head landed on her shoulder. His silky dark hair tickled her neck. “Parker, can you wake up, baby?”
He nestled against her more deeply, wrapping his tiny fists around her T-shirt. “They’ve given him something to keep him quiet.”
Rowena tried again, fighting a tremor of panic in her stomach. They wouldn’t dare hurt him. They’d just wanted to keep him asleep.
Swinging around, she faced McCabe. “I can’t leave him with Dancer until I’m sure he’s all right.”
“Mommy,” Parker said again. He yawned and snuggled closer. A giggle escaped.
McCabe cupped the child’s tiny head. “He’s fine, probably having a dream about a forest full of teddy bears or some kind of treasure at the top of a beanstalk.”
“Booty,” she said and kissed Parker’s cheek, his shoulder. “He likes pirates.”
“There you go. We need to leave.”
Rowena tightened her grip and her resolve, quelling the fear inside. Inhaling the scent of her baby one last time, she preceded McCabe into the corridor.
“Sssst. Sssst.” A bony hand beckoned to them around a corner. Dancer’s head appeared and he beckoned again. “All’s quiet. I’ve got the intercept set up. Johnny’s meeting me at Key Sombra. He’s bringing a second pilot. We’ll split up and go in opposite directions.”
Rowena tightened her grip on Parker. “Who’s Johnny?”
“Friend and colleague.” McCabe nudged her forward with a hand in the small of her back. “Clock’s ticking, Ro. If you want Parker safe, we have to move.” It wasn’t a request.
Shoring up her defenses, Rowena jogged to the stairs. Parker grabbed hold of her hair and made a soft contented sound.
At least that was good. Even in sleep he knew who she was. But of course, he would. Although she’d been tempted to leave him on his own in the monastery, she’d wound up staying there herself for close to six months.
Accessing the launch safely meant she had to relinquish her hold on Parker. McCabe regarded her for a long moment, then carefully removed the boy from her arms and carried him down the ladder.
Once on the deck, she took Parker back, buried her face briefly in his hair, kissed him, and whispered, “I’ll be back for you, honey. I promise. This won’t go on much longer.” Her eyes were wet when she looked back at McCabe. “Are you absolutely sure Johnny’s trustworthy?”
“Absolutely.” He gave Parker’s hair a small tug. “His wife, Melia, will be with him. She’s a doctor, an extremely talented one. Parker couldn’t be in better hands.”
When she hesitated, he took her by the shoulders. “We need to get Mockerie, Ro. We can’t keep Parker with us. You know how dangerous what we’re doing will be. I don’t want your son in the direct line of fire, and I know for a fact you don’t want that, either. Johnny and Mel will take care of him. You have to believe that. Believe me.”
When she continued to hesitate, he softened his tone. “You can go with him if you want to. I can come up with another way to catch him.”
“No.” Hugging Parker tightly one last time, Rowena made her decision. “I have to see this through. I need to know that my son is safe. Totally safe.” She speared McCabe with her gaze. “And he had better be safe.”
“He will be.”
The hands that reached for her son had been cleaned up some. Rowena appreciated that, as well as the wink Dancer sent her. “Had a kid of my own some years back. Works in Hollywood these days. Does music for game shows.”
Rowena smiled. “In other words, he survived having you for a father.”
“Pretty much.”
One more kiss and she handed Parker over.
“There’s the dock.” McCabe grabbed their packs. “Take Parker below before you go,” he told Dancer. “Johnny and Mel will have supplies for a child, Ro.”
Before she could reply, he had her by the hand and was pulling her toward the rail. “We’re not tying up. I’ll jump first and catch you.”
The launch grazed the dock. McCabe landed easily and reached up to her. When she turned for one last look at her son, both he and Dancer were gone.
“Right.” Sighing, she waited for the next bump and hopped onto the dock. McCabe was still steadying her as the launch reversed and eased off into the night.
“Dawn’s coming.” McCabe picked up the packs he’d tossed down and handed one to her. We need to get to Amanda’s place.”
Walking backward, Rowena stared at the spot where the launch had vanished from sight. He’d be safe, she assured herself, with a doctor and McCabe’s trusted friend. All she had to do was stay alive so she could join him.
She blinked when a distant light suddenly penetrated the mist rising from the water. “Uh…” She pointed.
“See it.” McCabe grabbed her hand. “This way.”
The beam swung back and forth, between the Irish Lady and Laurel Key.
“Stay low,” McCabe ordered. “We need to make those trees.”
“I thought this was the Neutral Zone.”
“They won’t dock or set foot on the key.” He shoved her ahead of him. “Doesn’t mean they won’t shoot from their boat if they spot us.”
The air around her felt damp and heavy. It was like running through a swamp. Rowena swore her lungs were full of water. She stumbled but didn’t fall. Until McCabe tackled her into a tangle of weeds, brush, and vines.
She hit the ground with an oomph of surprise and several dozen thorns poking into her legs and arms. A second later a barrage of bullets showered the entire area.
“I take it they spotted us,” she said into a pile of damp leaves.
“I’d say. We’ll have to crawl until we reach the trees.”
“It would be prickle bushes,” she muttered, though not with enough bite to sound as if she was complaining. Alive and scratched was better than dead any day. And they’d rescued Parker. She hoped.
Halting sharply, she regarded McCabe. “You don’t think those guys out there intercepted Dancer, do you?”
“No.”
“How do you…?”
“Because Dancer would have signaled me. We arranged it beforehand. The guy’s slippery as hell, Ro. It’s one of the reasons he’s lived as long as he has.”
“I hope he has some really good tricks up his ratty sleeve.”
“More than you can imagine.” Mild humor tinged McCabe’s reply. “Now keep crawling. We’re almost there.”
Less than five minutes and several rounds of flying bullets later, they were in the trees and sheltered enough that McCabe went from his hands and knees to a crouch.
“We should be good now.”
“Depends on your definition.” Teeth gritted, Rowena twisted around to sit. “It’ll take me weeks to pluck out all the thorns I picked up during that fun escape. Please tell me Amanda’s place is close by.”
“Half a mile through the trees. It faces the south beach.”
“I don’t suppose there’s a path leading to that beach.”
He grinned. “Too exposed.” He brushed loose dirt and twigs from the legs of her jeans. “This was never going to be easy. Don’t go soft on me now, sweetheart.”
When he reached up to capture her chin, she stopped him with a hand on his wrist and a steely glint in her eyes.
“I never thought it was. But un
like you, McCabe, I don’t have ice water flowing through my veins. I just found and lost my son in the space of twenty minutes. It’s like having your heart, one that’s been stuttering for months, jump-started then suddenly ripped out of your chest.”
“Which is exactly what Mockerie will do,” McCabe said softly, “if he ever catches you.”
…
Amanda’s island home rose with tropical grandeur on the edge of a palm tree forest. Patios flanked it on both sides, complete with firepits and a wisteria-covered gazebo. The double door entrance to the house itself wouldn’t be locked whether Daisy was on island or off. Still, McCabe sincerely hoped she was here.
The first pink and gold rays of dawn lit the eastern sky as he and Rowena mounted the side stairs to the verandah. He didn’t see any boats or, more importantly, hear water slapping any large hulls. No bullets flew, and his instincts, finely honed after so many years in the business of meting out dark justice, weren’t zinging as they tended to do when danger was imminent.
Even so, he reflected, it wouldn’t hurt for them to get inside ASAP.
A single silvery light burned in the entryway. It illuminated marble floors and spiral stairways. There were elaborate floral arrangements, large china statues, and portraits of who the hell knew. Possibly Amanda’s ancestors or maybe relatives of the people who’d built the place a hundred plus years ago.
“It looks magnificent.” Rowena turned a full, mesmerized circle. The huge indoor terrarium reminded her of something from back in the nineteen-fifties, when the world had been black and white and life had seemed much simpler.
“No cell phones or computers,” McCabe remarked. “No smart cars or flat-screen TVs. No diet soft drinks.”
“They’re bad for you anyway. And I think they did have a drink called Tab. No children’s car seats to speak of, though. And seat belts were questionable.”
“There were also black lists and FBI witch hunts.” Lowering his pack, he motioned at a set of three broad stairs. “Movie room’s this way. Amanda sleeps in there sometimes.”
“Watching old movies?”