Running Blind

by Gwen Hernandez

  “I’m already on a fare, ma’am. If you need a ride I can call my service for you.”

  Caitlyn smiled and crouched down to eye level, shielding her eyes from the rain with her hand, wearing a sweet, helpless expression Kurt had never seen on her face. “We took a wrong turn and our rental car broke down. We’re due back at the port in an hour or the cruise ship will leave without us, but the rental car company can’t get anyone out here fast enough,” she said, her voice plaintive and distraught. She glanced at Kurt. “We can pay you cash.”

  Kurt nodded and hunched a little, trying to look as low-threat as possible while the man studied him in his side mirror.

  “I, uh, I am not supposed to…”

  “Please.” Caitlyn pushed wet hair out of her eyes. “We’re at the port in Ville-Nicolas, not the one in Sancoins. You might even get back before your clients realize you were gone.”

  The driver cast a worried look at the police barricade.

  “You know what? It’s okay. I’ll try the other guy.” She waved toward the limo in front of them.

  “Three hundred.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She managed not to look smug as she slid a stack of bills from her small purse. “How about two hundred now, two hundred when we get there?”

  The driver frowned and glanced at Kurt again, but unlocked the doors with a loud click. “Okay.” Maybe because they were coercing him, he didn’t offer the full white-glove treatment.

  Fine by Kurt. He opened the rear door and gestured for Caitlyn to slide in. Then, he joined her on the plush seats and shut out the driving rain. “Nice job,” he murmured in her ear.

  Caitlyn handed the money to the driver through the lowered privacy window.

  “Which cruise line?” the man asked, his brown eyes skeptical in the rearview mirror, even as he started the engine.

  “Caribbean Queen,” Caitlyn replied without hesitation.

  What would the driver do if there was no Caribbean Queen ship in the harbor?

  His expression softened a bit. He maneuvered onto the road and sped away from Lambert’s estate.

  “What’s up with all the police?” Caitlyn asked, looking over her shoulder as Kurt was, to ensure the cops didn’t react.

  The police officers watched, but must not have thought it odd that a hired driver might eventually leave, especially since he was outside the barricade.

  The driver shrugged. “There was a shooting at the party and they’re not letting anyone in or out.”

  She visibly shivered and Kurt scooted next to her, putting his arm around her shoulder.

  “Any chance we can get the heat on back here?” he asked.

  The driver fiddled with the knobs on the dash and the cool air blasting from the vents quickly turned hot.

  “I thought the island was pretty safe these days,” Caitlyn said with a frown. “No more rebels and a recovering economy.”

  “It is,” the driver said, bobbing his head. “Very safe. And especially in an area like this, violence is not usual.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, Kurt and Caitlyn dripping water onto the vinyl seats as the warm air tried in vain to dry them out.

  “Where are you coming from?” the man asked them.

  Caitlyn named a restaurant that must have been in the right general area to make sense. “The seafood was worth it,” she said with a satisfied smile.

  “I have never eaten there, but it is a popular place.”

  She sat back and interlaced her fingers with Kurt’s at her shoulder. He held tight, not caring if she was touching him for herself or for show.

  The tap of the rain overhead, the hum of the engine, the comfortable seats, and Caitlyn pressed to his side all conspired to make him drowsy as he came down from the rush of adrenaline. But they weren’t safe yet. He couldn’t let his guard down.

  “Thank you so much for doing this,” Caitlyn said. “We spent the whole day driving around the island, and it’s gorgeous, but I’d rather not get stuck here.”

  “Where are you from?” the man asked, his voice and posture relaxing as they drove through the dark.

  Caitlyn squeezed Kurt’s hand.

  “California,” he said.

  The driver glanced in the mirror again, his brown eyes lighting with interest. “Los Angeles?” he asked, his voice tinged with excitement. “I have always wanted to see Hollywood. And Venice Beach.”

  “We’re from San Diego. It’s about two hours south, depending on traffic. Close to Mexico.”

  They made small talk with the man, and reached the port in about twenty minutes.

  Miraculously, the tower of a Caribbean Queen cruise ship rose above the harbor buildings, a brightly lit beacon among the smokestacks.

  Caitlyn paid the driver the rest of the money and they watched him drive away before positioning themselves in a semi-private spot next to the tourist marketplace. The shops had stayed open late to take advantage of the rush of cruisers heading back to their ships for a late departure.

  Removing a burner phone from her purse, she called Shaylee about the boat that was supposed to be waiting to take them and their nonexistent group to St. Lucia.

  “Engine trouble,” she said, zipping the burner phone into her purse. “Shit.”

  His thought exactly. Soon every police officer on the island—and probably most of Lambert’s private security team as well—would be on the hunt. And, eventually, the limo driver would realize what he’d done.

  But Kurt wasn’t without resources of his own. “I have an idea.”

  CHAPTER 8

  DESPITE ITS BEING almost ten p.m., the souvenir shops near the harbor were still open to accommodate last-minute shoppers who were returning from their adventures on the island. Kurt and Caitlyn quickly procured a change of clothes and left their sodden outfits in a trash bin outside the marketplace.

  The rain had finally let up and it was great to be dry again. Caitlyn wore an oversized “St. Isidore ‘Iz’ de ting” T-shirt and flowered board shorts with beaded flip-flops. She topped her outfit with a large rain hat to help disguise her hair, a heavy braid that dripped water down the back of her neck.

  To avoid attracting attention to his prosthetics, Kurt had opted for long pants. The drawstring jammers bore colorful stripes that clashed with his surf shop T-shirt. He’d borrowed a shoehorn from one of the vendors and managed to replace his dress shoes with a pair of running shoes. Topped off with a ball cap advertising the Windward Islands cricket team, he perfectly fit the part of tacky tourist.

  Transformation complete, they picked up additional clothing and sunglasses, while Kurt awaited a callback from Jason Chin, one of the guys on his team with whom Caitlyn had worked briefly three years ago. The former model might be their ticket to lying low on the island until they could figure out their next step.

  They ate snow cones at a snack stand as the crowds around them hurried toward their various ships’ berths.

  “How did you know which cruise ships would be here?” Kurt asked, eating a scoop of the sweet ice from his cup.

  “Mostly, it was an educated guess. I try to be aware of what’s going on in the places I operate. It’s just good business to know when the tourists are likely to be around. Now that hurricane season is almost over, visits are picking up all over the islands while the rates are still low. And St. Isidore has become increasingly popular since the new terminal opened last year.”

  “You spend a lot of time on St. Isidore?”

  “Not really, but I’ve been over here several times looking for Rose. I tried all the major tourist spots and hotels. I guess now I know why I never found her.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kurt said, laying his hand out palm up.

  She curled her fingers around his, if for no other reason than to play a happy couple on holiday so they wouldn’t stand out. She couldn’t let herself get used to how much comfort she gained from his touch. Nor could she let herself think about how explosive their kisses had been. What should have been for sho
w had turned into something much more serious in the space of a breath.

  Just thinking about it made her hot.

  Kurt’s burner phone chimed, a welcome distraction. Maybe they’d get some good news.

  “Hey, man. What’s the word?” Kurt glanced at her with a frown. “Are you sure he won’t mind? I don’t want to intrude.” He listened for another minute. “Okay, thank you. I appreciate your help, Jason. Will do.”

  “So?” she asked.

  “I have the codes for the door and the alarm. He’ll give his housekeeping and maintenance staff the week off.”

  “Wow, generous.”

  They had decided that if they could make it work, staying on the island made more sense. Not only was it probably safer—and unexpected—but it would give them a chance to regroup and find a way to look for Rose and some of the other people Lambert held against their will.

  It didn’t hurt that they were already on Brandon Marlowe’s side of the island and that his estate wasn’t far from Lambert’s plantation.

  “Now, we just need to get there,” Kurt said. “Preferably without anyone knowing where we’ve gone.” A taxi might be convenient, but it would leave a witness to their whereabouts.

  Caitlyn had been watching a young man loading boxes into a van in the alley between marketplace buildings. “If you don’t mind handing over your money, I have an idea.”

  Kurt’s forehead wrinkled but he slid his wallet across the table.

  “Watch my back?” she asked, removing the bills discreetly.

  His gaze flicked down her body, a look of admiration gleaming in his eyes. “Always.”

  Shaking her head, she slipped the wad of money into a straw tote bag she’d purchased to hold all of their new supplies and strolled into the narrow alley. Earlier, she’d noticed the kid sitting on a scooter smoking a cigarette.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  The boy turned from loading boxes. “Yeah?” He gave her a wary smile.

  She smiled back. “Our rental car broke down and the office is closed for the night. I know this is a weird request, but would you be willing to sell us your scooter and helmet?”

  His smile dropped and his eyes widened as he glanced around as if to see if he was being punked. “You want my scooter?” His dark brows lowered in confusion as he gestured to the bright blue vehicle gleaming under the overhead lights.

  “Yes.” She lowered her voice. “I have cash. U.S.”

  His expression changed to one of guarded interest. “How much?” He eyed her bag and she tightened her grip.

  “How much do you want?”

  He bit his lower lip and called to his boss, waving the older man over. They exchanged words in the local creole, which had more of a French influence than Bajan, so she only understood a few words.

  The kid turned back to Caitlyn. “One thousand.”

  Jesus. Kurt had come prepared, but she didn’t know if she should use up the majority of his cash on this. Then again, without inconspicuous transportation, they had nothing.

  “I can give you eight hundred,” she said.

  The boy looked at the shiny bike for a minute. “Okay.”

  Thank God. Hopefully the scooter ran as well as it looked.

  He unlocked the seat and lifted it to reveal a storage space with an additional helmet. He removed a couple of personal items, stuffing them into the pockets of his cargo shorts, and then handed her the keys.

  The older man, his curly dark hair infused with gray, watched carefully as she withdrew money from her bag shielding it from view of any onlookers.

  She counted out the money and discreetly handed it over. “You’ve cleaned us out,” she said. These guys seemed nice and honest, but there was no need to advertise that she still had hundreds of dollars left. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

  “Bring it back when you’re done, maybe I’ll buy it back from you for a discount.” He grinned.

  She chuckled. “I’ll think about it.”

  She waved at Kurt, and he joined her as the men went back to loading the van with trinkets and souvenirs from their stall.

  “Nicely done,” Kurt said. “Let’s hope this thing runs.”

  “And has gas,” she said, stuffing her bag into the storage space under the padded seat. “Nothing’s open right now.”

  Since she had a better idea where they were going, and was used to driving on the left, Caitlyn took the front and Kurt settled behind her, one muscled arm looped around her waist. Despite his loose hold, the contact made it hard to breathe.

  Within minutes they were speeding—well, not exactly speeding, since the little bike couldn’t top fifty-five kilometers per hour—away from the port toward Brandon Marlowe’s oceanfront home.

  As the crow flies, he only lived about three miles from Lambert, and it was unnerving to head back toward that evil man’s home. But if they did find a way to raid his place, being so close would give them an advantage.

  Plus, she doubted Lambert or the local law enforcement would expect her and Kurt to stick around the island, let alone be within a five-mile radius of the scene of the crime.

  Her mind faltered at the memory of Glenn lying on the floor, his blood draining from his body and splattered across her green dress. The rain had washed her and her clothes clean, but she could almost feel the blood on her skin, as if it would permanently stain. Was it because she had known him personally? No matter how much she had disliked him, and no matter how despicable he was, she couldn’t seem to get over the fact that she was responsible for that kind of damage.

  Yes, he’d lunged at her with a knife. Every cop, and anyone who’d studied hand-to-hand combat, knew a knife could be just as deadly as a handgun, maybe more so. Rationally, she knew she had done what she had to do, but it was little comfort.

  How did men like Scott Kramer—one of Steele’s snipers—look through the scope of his rifle, stare his target right in the face, and press the trigger? Then again, how did any of these guys kill when necessary?

  She wasn’t innocent. She knew that. And yet, still, she was struck with the difference between shooting at a nameless, faceless attacker, and the up-close and personal fight with Glenn. It should matter to her just as much that she may have taken lives from afar, but as much she didn’t want it to, being face-to-face made a difference.

  With a sigh, she jettisoned her unproductive thoughts. She’d made a wrong turn and hit a dead end, and she couldn’t use their phones for GPS. Before getting on the scooter, they’d both tossed their phones to avoid tracking and surveillance. Once they’d used the burners to call known associates—Kurt to secure Brandon’s house for their use and provide Tara with an update, and Caitlyn to give Shaylee the bad news about Rose and ask her neighbor, Jade, to take care of Rockley—the devices had become a liability.

  So, now she had to wing it.

  Having landed on Marlowe’s runway in the past helped with the general location, but she didn’t know the exact turn-by-turn directions on the ground.

  Backtracking, she made a few more wrong turns before finally pulling into the driveway on the north side of the actor’s house. His home sat at the end of a quiet street, less than a hundred yards from the beach.

  Waves made shushing sounds against the shore, and bugs and frogs croaked into the night. The two-story home was modest by Hollywood standards, but fairly large for St. Isidore, probably about three thousand square feet on two levels. The exterior was lit like the Lincoln Memorial, showing off its white stucco walls and dark green shutters, all the windows lined up in a classic colonial style.

  It was quite different from Lambert’s villa with its wide porches, Corinthian columns, and archways. Then again, how much space did one man really need? Probably, Marlowe had been more drawn in by the location and surrounding lands that gave him privacy than by the house itself.

  She looked around, but didn’t see any paparazzi lurking in the bushes.

  “All the stories I’ve heard about th
is place,” Kurt said, “I finally get to see for myself.”

  She parked on the outer edge of the driveway close to the house, removed her tote bag and stowed their helmets, and pushed the scooter under an overhanging palm to conceal it somewhat until they could get into the garage. “You get to enter the lair of Aible Ranctos himself,” she said in a mock awe-tinged voice.

  “Are you a big fan?” Kurt asked, his expression giving away nothing.

  Three years ago, she hadn’t even heard of Brandon Marlowe. After he helped out Steele, she’d decided to change that. “I liked the whole Sinzian Empire series, but the books were better.” The Sinzian Empire movies were the hottest thing since Star Wars or Lord of the Rings, and the epic’s primary actors had become instant superstars, growing up over the twelve-year span during which the films were released.

  Marlowe, who played Aible Ranctos, was a fan favorite for his good looks and athletic physique, but he somehow managed to stay off the tabloid’s front pages. Maybe because the series’ two other stars had gone a little wild and now attracted most of the media attention.

  Kurt turned for the door, his gaze scanning the dark street. “I haven’t read the books, but I liked the movies,” he said grudgingly.

  She stifled a smile and followed him up the sidewalk, her neck tingling. Despite the private location, anyone could be lurking in the bushes, watching as she stood fully exposed under the porch light in front of the carved wooden double door as Kurt punched in the code.

  The lock opened with a mechanical whir and they were in.

  After scoping out the house for threats and egress options, and stowing their purchases upstairs, Kurt sat next to Caitlyn on a stool at the breakfast bar in Brandon Marlowe’s kitchen, sipping water from a glass. His legs were grateful for the break after the evening’s exertions. “This is kind of surreal.”