The Untamed Hunter

by Lindsay McKenna

  He shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” Shep knew the FBI could locate them at all times. There was a device in the car that constantly transmitted their position to a satellite, and then to their mobile computer base. He knew there were four technicians in the white van, plus a driver and guard. It was, quite literally, headquarters for this operation. From the van, which he knew was probably ten miles behind them, any and all law enforcement could be called in to assist them at a moment’s notice. The thought was comforting.

  “I’m going to try and situate us at Skull Creek Marina, on the north side of the island. If things get dicey, we can always jump into a boat and escape. I don’t think Black Dawn will have a boat around here, do you?”

  “It’s a good idea, having a second type of transportation to rely on,” he agreed. He saw Maggie arch beneath his compliment. She was right: he really needed to bring her into the loop on this mission a lot more than he had. As usual, he was thinking that his partner didn’t know the area—but she did. Shep pointedly reminded himself to take advantage of her expertise.

  Maggie turned off onto Whooping Crane Way. The traffic was stop and go. She felt better with Shep taking her advice. Finally, after fifteen minutes, they reached the Skull Creek Marina. It was on a deep, quiet inlet guarded by several small islands. The marshy islands reminded Maggie of a series of stones set in a necklace. A much larger island beyond—Pickney Island Wildlife Refuge—afforded thousands of migrating birds a roost at different times of the year.

  Maggie saw the marina ahead. Everything from million-dollar yachts, to bass boats, and even a few aluminum fishing boats with outboard motors on back, made this harbor their home. With the threat of thunderstorms, the smooth, mirrorlike water looked like black marble.

  “There’s a nice time-share known as the Great Blue Heron Resort just down this street.”

  “Let’s try for it.”

  Pleased, Maggie made a right turn. “This particular time-share is right on the water, and the marina is steps away from it. I’m trying to strategically situate us so we have more escape options, if it comes to that.”

  “Good thinking,” he exclaimed. Why in hell didn’t he consult more with her? Maggie had her head on straight.

  He knew why. Sarah. The mistake he’d made with her. Rubbing his jaw in discomfort, Shep watched as the tightly packed houses, each worth millions, he was sure, opened up to a three-story, blue-gray building that had a sign with a great blue heron carved on it. Maggie turned in.

  “Nice looking.”

  “It is.” She pointed to the marina, which was truly within walking distance. “Hope it has a cancellation.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Shep said.

  “I think this is Maggie Harper luck,” Shep said as they drove back to the isolated time-share. They’d been fortunate; a family of six had canceled and a second-floor villa was open for the taking. Shep typed in their location on the laptop computer, gave their room number and sent off the e-mail message. The mobile HQ would pick it up. The FBI would then, within the next hour, establish a new perimeter of defense to wait and watch.

  Pleased, Maggie smiled as she parked the car in the garage below the villas. “It’s nice to be here. I like being near the ocean.” As she opened the door, the first carom of thunder rolled across the area. It sounded like someone was pounding a huge kettledrum above their heads. She and Shep quickly removed their luggage from the trunk and headed to the stairs at the side of the building. Palm trees, cypress, pecan and live oak surrounded the place. High hedges also promised privacy. Hurrying up the stairs, Maggie was relieved to get to their villa.

  Once inside unit 214, Maggie saw two bedrooms off to the left and one down at the end of a long hall on her right. The decor was cheery, the bamboo furniture covered with cushions in bright, tropical prints. The kitchen was painted a warm yellow, and there was a bar where people could eat, as well as a formal dining room that had a large bamboo-and-glass table.

  “Nice place,” she murmured, and started down the hall to the right.

  “Hold it,” Shep cautioned. He held up his hand, locked the door behind them. Motioning to the left, he said, “Let’s stay together. You take one of these two bedrooms. If something happens, we don’t want to be separated, okay?”

  Hesitating, Maggie stood in the living room, her luggage in hand. “Okay…” She turned and walked down the teak-floored hall which gleamed golden-brown beneath the lights. The bedrooms were for children, with two twin beds in each one. Maggie chose the dark green bedroom and wearily put her luggage on a bed. This room, too, had a tropical motif and thick, cushiony bamboo chairs.

  Poking her head out, she said, “I’m going to take a quiet, hot shower, Hunter. Don’t disturb me unless they come smashing through the front door, okay?”

  He ambled down the hall and stood just outside her door. Each room had its own private bathroom. Maggie looked drawn and tired. He could see slight shadows beneath her beautiful green-and-gold eyes. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll play watchdog. When you get done, it’s my turn.”

  Maggie entertained the thought of sharing a shower with Shep. It had been one of their favorite activities after making love. And many times it resulted in making love all over again beneath those wonderful streams of warm water. She saw a gleam in his eyes and sensed he was thinking the exact same thing. Heat rose in her neck and flowed into her face. Damn, she was blushing. Turning away, but not before she saw the corners of his mouth lift a little, she muttered. “Why don’t you call for pizza delivery or something? We had a late lunch, but there’s no food in this place. I don’t want to go to another restaurant. I’d just like to sit and rest.”

  Nodding, he said, “It’s a good idea. But let’s discuss it later?”

  The shower was her way of unwinding from her dangerous job at the OID.

  Maggie quickly rubbed a dark green cloth with some jasmine-scented soap. Outside she could hear thunder rumbling again and again. The stained-glass window above her, which depicted a great blue heron standing elegantly in a marsh, was splattered with rain pouring from the sky.

  Shep was sitting on the bamboo couch, several maps spread out on the glass table in front of him, when Maggie emerged. She had changed into a pair of comfortable jeans, dark brown loafers and a short-sleeved pink blouse with shell buttons and some lace around the Peter Pan collar. Running her fingers nervously through her damp hair, she absorbed the powerful intent in his eyes as he looked up. Maggie felt his desire for her. It was a wonderful discovery. She reveled in the sensation. Her body tightened and she ached once more to kiss him. The situation didn’t merit such a possibility. Right now, Maggie understood how volatile a game they were playing. Lightning flashed nearby and she watched the sky light up outside the double glass doors that led to a spacious screened-in porch.

  “Looks like we’re in for it,” she murmured, moving to the bar and sitting on one of the stools.

  In more ways than one, Shep thought. How provocative Maggie looked, her face flushed from the heat of her bath and her hair mussed from the humidity. Even without makeup, she looked incredibly beautiful. Maggie had a charisma that drew him powerfully to her. The soft, flexible way her lips moved entranced him. How desperately he wanted to taste the honey, the sweetness of her once more.

  “I’m going to go get that pizza you suggested,” he said. “I’ll fetch it now, while it’s still light. I don’t want anyone coming to the door, Maggie. Your idea about getting some food for later is good.” He jabbed a finger at the local map of the island. “I see there’s a pizza parlor at the marina. It’s close and handy. Now that you’re out of the shower, I’ll go pick one up.” He lifted his head. “You still like anchovies on your pizza?”

  She grinned. “Always. Half with anchovy, half with pepperoni, right?” Her eyes gleamed with laughter, with tenderness.

  It was like old times to Shep. He disliked anchovies. Maggie loved them with a passion. Their tastes were just like everything else in their relat
ionship—opposite. Rising, he shrugged on his sport coat to hide his weapon. “You don’t forget a thing,” he told her in amazement. Moving toward the door, he said, “I’ll knock three times and give you the code for the day. Then you let me in. Otherwise, don’t answer this door—or the phone—for any reason while I’m gone.” He drilled her with a dark look. The set of her lips told him she didn’t like being told what to do. “Please?”

  Softening a little, Maggie said, “Okay, I won’t answer the door.”

  “This should take about twenty or twenty-five minutes,” he said as he opened the door and checked the hallway.

  “You’re going to get rained on, Hunter.”

  He grinned slightly. “Yeah, well, just deserts for my bullheadedness, right?”

  Laughing, Maggie slid off the bar stool and sauntered to the foyer, where he stood with the door open. It was pouring outside. “We could be at the bed and breakfast in Savannah enjoying a nice, comfy evening, you know.”

  “This is a better way to go,” he assured her confidently. As he moved out into the hall, Shep decided not to tell Maggie that the FBI had been delayed by an accident on the highway leading into Hilton Head. He didn’t want her worried or upset that they were without protection right now. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Besides, as long as she followed orders and kept the door locked, she’d be fine for the twenty minutes he’d be gone. “I’ll see you in a little bit,” he promised, and left.

  Maggie made sure the door was locked in his absence. Turning around, she decided to watch television. At least she could catch the national news. Sitting down after adjusting the television, she sighed and pushed off her shoes. Wriggling her toes in the thin, white cotton socks, she stretched out on the couch. Closing her eyes, she promised herself she wouldn’t fall asleep. But she did within moments. The stress and danger of the day had taken its toll.

  The banging at the front door jerked Maggie upright. The pounding was fierce. Outside, the thunderstorm still rumbled. Flashes of lightning danced nearby. Instantly, Maggie was on her feet. Disoriented from the druglike sleep she’d fallen into, she glanced at her watch. It was fifteen minutes since Shep had left.

  “Open up!” a deep voice called. “FBI! Dr. Harper! Open up! This is the FBI!”

  Hesitating, Maggie ran to the door. Should she open it? Where was Shep? He was late. Oh, Lord, why had she fallen asleep?

  “Dr. Harper? Open up! This is the FBI. We’ve got a situation. You’re in danger! Open the door now!”

  Her heartbeat tripled in time. Dry mouthed, Maggie started for the bedroom, where her pistol lay, but looked out the peephole of the door as she passed. She saw a man dressed in dark blue clothes, a baseball cap that had FBI printed in yellow across the front. He was older, around forty-five, his dark brown eyes narrowed with tension. Should she open the door? Shep had told her emphatically not to.

  “What situation?” Maggie yelled through the door.

  “Ma’am! Your partner, Shepherd Hunter, is down! The terrorists got him. Open up! You’re in danger! We have to protect you!”

  Shep! With a moan, Maggie grabbed for the brass doorknob. Wait! Was she crazy? She wasn’t following procedure! Jerking her fingers, she shouted, “What’s the security code?” The FBI had a code set up if something went awry and they needed to talk to one another. Anyone could claim he was an FBI agent and Maggie wouldn’t know the difference. Knowing the code ensured that the players were actually who they said they were. Breathing hard, she waited, her hands pressed against her breast.

  “Alpha bravo whiskey!” the man shouted. “Now come on! We’ve got a man down. We need you now, Dr. Harper!”

  The code was correct. Shakily, Maggie jerked back the dead bolt. Next came the chain. She twisted the knob. Before she could open it, the door was smashed inward by the weight of a man’s body. With a cry. Maggie was thrown to the foyer floor, her breath knocked out of her. Stunned, she saw two men leap into the villa. One was dressed in a dark blue FBI uniform from the waist up. The other man was in civilian attire. Panicked, Maggie tried to scramble to her knees to avoid his outstretched hand snaking toward her.

  “No you don’t, Dr. Harper.” The man had a British accent, she noted numbly as he drew a gun and pointed it in her face. “Now be a good girl and get up. Now!”

  The other man ripped off the baseball cap, shrugged out of the dark blue shirt and turned to them. Beneath the uniform he was wearing a short-sleeved, crimson shirt. His hair was black, with gray at the temples, his eyes dark green. He looked familiar, Maggie thought, as he smiled savagely in her direction. “How trusting you are, Dr. Harper.” His accent was thick now and sounded Russian.

  Confused and scared, Maggie watched as the one with the Russian accent hurried to her bedroom, where the aluminum attaché case sat in plain view upon the bed. “What? Who are you? You’re not the FBI! How did you know the code?” And then, suddenly, Maggie recognized the man standing tensely at her side. He was a scientist she knew from conferences she’d attended for the OID. She’d heard him speak on anthrax epidemics a number of times. “Wait…you’re Dr. Bruce Tennyson. From Britain. I—don’t understand. What are you doing here?”

  Chuckling, the man drew out a pair of handcuffs and pulled Maggie’s hands behind her. “No, Doctor, we aren’t the FBI and yes, I’m Bruce Tennyson. At your service.”

  “Shep?” Maggie asked, her voice cracking. “How bad is he wounded?”

  “That was a lie, too, Doctor. Come on! You’re going with us.” He jerked a look over his shoulder at his friend. “Romanov?”

  “Got it!” Alex Romanov called triumphantly from the bedroom. “Everything’s here. The vial is here.”

  “Are you sure?” Tennyson snapped tensely as he pushed Maggie toward the door, his pistol jammed between her shoulder blades.

  “Absolutely!” Romanov ran out to where they stood, grinning from ear to ear. “We got it!”

  “Don’t gloat yet, old chap,” Tennyson said as he thrust Maggie ahead of him. “We’ve got to get out of here first. Let’s go, Dr. Harper!”

  Maggie jerked a look over her shoulder. The door of the villa was standing wide open. Shep! Oh, Lord, she’d done what he had said not to do! She’d opened the door! Now she was kidnapped. But how had they known the code? She’d never have opened that door if they hadn’t given her the correct password. The pain arcing between her shoulder blades was intense as Tennyson jabbed her again, forcing her at a trot down the deserted hall toward the front of the building.

  Romanov chuckled as he jogged beside her. “This is too sweet! We get the vial and the doctor. The FBI are going to be angry, eh, my friend?”

  Tennyson grinned tightly as he jerked open the door that led outside to the stairs and the underground garage. “More than a little, Dr. Romanov. More than a little. Did you leave our calling card?”

  “Of course,” the Russian replied, hurrying down the stairs. Wind and rain whipped around them, the water making spots upon the crimson shirt he wore. “They’ll know Black Dawn got to the anthrax and Dr. Harper,” he gloated. “That other agent is going to be angry and in a lot of trouble. He left her wide open for the plucking….”

  Six

  Maggie sat shivering in the rear seat of the white van. The material of her blouse clung to her chilled flesh. She had gotten soaked in the downpour as they made a dash for the van, a vehicle, she noted, that looked exactly like that housing the FBI mobile headquarters. Her head spun with a hundred questions and no answers. She had to think!

  She tried to steady her breathing. The driver and passenger side windows were tinted, making it impossible for those who passed by to see inside. Fear zigzagged through her as she studied the man who had joined them. Small and lean, he looked to be of South American descent. Something about his demeanor told Maggie he was a killer, not a doctor like she knew both Tennyson and Romanov to be. She still couldn’t believe that Tennyson, who five years ago had been considered a leading expert on anthrax epidemics, w
as now stealing what he thought was DNA-altered anthrax for a far more deadly purpose.

  Shaken, Maggie tried to see out the windows. The thunderstorm was gathering in fury, the rain sleeting almost horizontally, so she would see almost nothing. They passed the marina at a crawl, probably so they wouldn’t garner attention. Where was Shep? Why had he been delayed? Her mind spun drunkenly and she glanced to her left, where the South American sat dressed in military fatigues, a pistol at his side. His feral-looking black eyes regarded her as if he were a hooded snake and she the prey, she noted, a shiver of terror running down Maggie’s spine.

  “Can’t you at least uncuff me now? I’m losing circulation in my hands and arms,” she pleaded to Tennyson, who sat ahead of her in the passenger seat. Romanov was driving, all his attention on the wet, flooded surface of the road as they headed toward the main route off Hilton Head Island.

  Tennyson turned his head. “Juan, take the cuffs off Dr. Harper and put them back on when she’s got her hands in front of her.”

  Maggie gulped as the man unwound like a lethally coiled snake. She leaned forward and turned her back toward him so he could reach the cuffs more easily.

  “Señorita, do not think this is an invitation to try and leave,” he warned her in a smooth tone.

  Trying not to jerk away from his rough, hurtful hands as he unlocked the cuffs, Maggie groaned, then slowly eased her arms forward. As soon as she slumped wearily back in the seat, Juan loomed over her grasping her wrists to cuff them once more. When he had finished, he sat back down and smiled at her.

  “You are a pleasant surprise, señorita. Dr. Tennyson did not think we could capture you alive. But here you are.”

  Trying to think coherently, Maggie watched as the van turned onto the main route off the island. The thunderstorm was abating, the rain reducing in fury. Ahead, she could see the arc of the bridge to the mainland. Shep would come back to an empty villa. He wouldn’t have a clue as to what had happened. Swallowing hard, she rasped, “Bruce, how did you get the FBI code?”