by Jayne Castle
“Gwen? What’s this all about?” Springer started to appeal to her, but realizing Zac already had the car in gear and was forcing his way out of the line, he changed his mind.
Horns sounded behind the Mercedes as Zac made it plain he wanted room. Irate drivers grudgingly tried to back up or pull aside. Guinevere trotted over to the side of the road, ignoring several upraised middle fingers. Zac ignored them too. Within a minute he had the Mercedes out of the herd waiting to board the ferry.
“Let’s go, Gwen!” He halted the car momentarily and she scrambled into the back seat. Then he headed toward the marina parking lot.
“Jesus, are you two crazy?” Springer stared from one to the other. “I’ve about had it with crazy people.”
“Dealing with a lot of them lately?” Guinevere asked, leaning over the back of the front seat.
“It seems like it. Come on, Gwen, what’s going on here? Who does Justis think he is? Is he dangerous?”
“No,” Guinevere assured him, seeing the genuine anxiety on Toby’s face. “He’s just a big teddy bear. Don’t worry about him, Toby. We only want to ask a few questions. We’re very concerned about—”
She got no further. The big teddy bear had parked the car in the shadow of the rest rooms and was already out the door. By the time Toby Springer realized Zac was coming around to his side of the car it was too late. Zac yanked open the Mercedes door, reached inside, and ripped Springer out of the front seat.
“Zac!” Guinevere reacted with horror as Toby Springer found himself slammed against the wall of the building. “What are you doing? Don’t hurt him!” She scrambled out of the car.
But Zac wasn’t paying any attention to her. With one hand on the other man’s throat Zac held Springer pinned to the wall. He leaned close. “Where is Vandyke?”
Springer shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean—”
“You’ve got his car.”
“Yes, but that’s because Washburn ordered me to drive it back to the mainland. I’m supposed to meet him in Seattle.” Springer swallowed and made a visible effort to get control of himself. “Look, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but unless you’ve got a good explanation for all this, I’m going to call the cops. You can’t just jerk people around like this. I was only following my boss’s orders!”
“I’m here on business, too, as it happens. Just like you.” Zac’s hand tightened slightly on his victim’s throat. “Vandyke is my client. I want to know what you’ve done to him.”
“I haven’t done anything to him. For Pete’s sake, I’m trying to do him a favor by taking the Mercedes back to Seattle. Washburn said Cassidy was going to fly Vandyke back to the mainland because he didn’t want to waste time on the ferry.”
“Did you see Vandyke leave with Cassidy?”
“No. But that was the plan, and the Cessna’s gone, so I assume—”
“What about Washburn? Where is he?”
“Washburn took an earlier ferry. He left me behind to cover the hotel tab and take care of Vandyke’s car.”
“So how did Vandyke get to Cassidy’s plane? Did you drive him to the marina?” Zac asked.
Toby shook his head. “No. I guess Cassidy came and picked him up. I haven’t seen Vandyke all morning.” Springer cast another appealing glance at Guinevere. “Can’t you call this guy off? I don’t know what the hell’s happening. I swear it. I’m just doing what I’m told by my boss. Jesus, try to do a guy a favor so he can fly back to the mainland and save some time and what do you get? Another crazy man.”
Guinevere frowned and stepped forward, putting her hand on Zac’s arm. “Let him go, Zac. You’re hurting him.”
Zac raised his eyes in silent supplication, but his hand dropped from Springer’s throat. “What do you mean, another crazy man?” he asked as Springer warily straightened and tried to smooth his Pierre Cardin sports jacket. It was Guinevere who answered.
“Are you talking about Cassidy?” she asked with sudden insight as she turned to face Springer. “I almost had the feeling Mrs. Vandyke was on the verge of calling him crazy. She referred to him as a little wild. Bigger than life, perhaps dangerous.”
“He’s a two-bit pilot who thinks he’s auditioning for Hollywood.” Springer sounded thoroughly disgusted. “I don’t know why Washburn was always so—” He broke off, glaring at Zac.
“So what?” Guinevere went forward to gently help straighten Springer’s tie. Her concern seemed to have a soothing effect.
“I don’t know,” Springer muttered. “It was like Washburn took orders from Cassidy, instead of vice versa. It was Cassidy who told Washburn when to go look at the island, for example. It was as if Washburn was supposed to make his schedule bend to fit Cassidy’s or something.”
“That island you said Washburn was interested in buying.” Guinevere glanced at Zac, who said nothing. His eyes were intent on Springer’s face.
“Yeah. I heard him say it was the same size as some place called Raton.”
“Raton?” Guinevere gave the word the Spanish pronunciation. “The same size as Raton Island?”
“I guess. Damned if I know. Cassidy wasn’t what you’d call real communicative with me. He always treated me like I was Washburn’s secretary, not his personal assistant. Like I was shit. I argued with him about his attitude yesterday. I was sick of it.”
She smiled wryly. “What else made you think Cassidy was crazy?”
“I don’t know. You met him. It was like he wasn’t quite real or something.” He paused and then added bitterly, “Maybe women like that sort of thing.”
“Only in movies,” she assured him, thinking of Catherine Vandyke’s instinctive preference for the quieter man she had married. “Women tend to find men like Cassidy . . .” She hunted for the right word. “Incomplete. Empty in some way.” She was aware of Zac’s glance of surprise, but she ignored it. “Did he ever tell you anything else about this island?”
Springer shook his head. “No, but I heard Washburn complain once about Cassidy being hung up on the subject. Said he was obsessed with it. Kept talking about how easily a man would die on an island here in winter. Look, are you two finished? I’ve got a ferry to catch.”
“No you don’t.” Zac said, glancing at his watch. As if to confirm his words the whistle sounded as the ferry began moving slowly away from the dock. “You’re stuck here for another hour or so.”
“So are we,” Guinevere pointed out worriedly.
“Not quite. We’ve got transportation.”
“Are we going to charter a plane?”
“Not to go to that island Washburn was interested in buying. For that we’ll use the boat Cassidy left behind. Come on, Springer, we’re going to find some charts, and you’re going to show me exactly where that island is.”
Springer started to protest but changed his mind. He fell into step beside Zac, apparently surrendering to the inevitable. Guinevere hastened to follow.
Twenty minutes later Guinevere stood in the boathouse watching Zac. He was doing something intricate to the cruiser’s ignition system. Springer was drinking coffee next door in the small café and muttering to himself about the heretofore unknown aspects of big business. Guinevere wondered if he’d go to the police as soon as he saw Zac start the boat. Zac didn’t seem to care.
“I didn’t know you could hot-wire a boat,” Guinevere observed.
“An ignition system is an ignition system.” The words were muffled as Zac continued to concentrate on his task.
“Is there no end to your talents?”
“This kind of talent isn’t exactly the sort I was hoping to practice when I established Free Enterprise Security.”
“I know. You wanted class, polish, sophistication. You wanted to be a consultant.”
Whatever Zac said in response was lost i
n the cough of the engine as it sprang to life. He ducked out from the cabin and stepped onto the dock. She watched as he slid open the metal door that opened onto the water. The sky was still overcast but the rain hadn’t started.
“I hope this isn’t going to be a waste of time,” Guinevere muttered as she got aboard the cruiser.
“We haven’t got anyplace else to start looking. If the island proves a dead end we’ll call in the cops. The hard part is going to be convincing them that Cassidy really has kidnapped Vandyke. We’re not even a hundred percent positive ourselves.” Zac took the wheel of the small cruiser and eased the boat out of its water-based garage. No one on shore paid any attention as he swung the bow around and headed away from the marina.
“What I don’t understand is why Cassidy came back to terrorize his ex-partner after all this time,” Guinevere said, pitching her voice above the roar of the engine as Zac opened the throttle.
“It’s the time factor that makes me think this isn’t going to be a simple kidnap-for-ransom deal. I have a hunch Cassidy isn’t motivated by money, although I guess it’s a possibility.”
“Revenge? Because of Catherine?”
“Maybe. I have a feeling there’s more to it than that, though.”
“That’s because you’re a man. You don’t want to admit a woman could drive a man to spend more than a decade plotting revenge,” Guinevere declared with conviction. She held her wildly whipping hair out of her face.
Zac glanced at her, his eyes unreadable. “The idea is a little bizarre, but not totally inconceivable.”
“What?” She frowned up at him, trying to understand his meaning.
“Forget it. In one way you’re right. I’m inclined to believe there’s more than a woman involved. Mostly because I don’t see Cassidy ever letting a woman—any woman—get under his skin to that extent.”
Guinevere’s eyes widened in reluctant appreciation of his insight. “I think you’re right. He’s not the type to get that involved with any one woman. He hasn’t got it in him to be faithful, let alone fall in love. That’s what I meant when I told Springer that men like Cassidy seem somehow incomplete. It’s as if something important got left out when they were put together.”
She was silent for a moment, the thought striking her that she was finding herself increasingly attracted to Zac precisely because he was complete. He was solid in some indefinable way, as if there were a deep, substantial core in him. He was centered in a way Cassidy never would be. She knew it with a sure feminine instinct that she didn’t bother to analyze.
“Zac?”
“Yeah?” He was watching the horizon, searching for the island.
She took a deep breath. “What do you think we’ll find on that island? Vandyke’s body?”
“I hope not. Dead men don’t pay off their expensive consultants.”
“Zac, please.”
Zac shrugged, his mouth twisting wryly. “I don’t know what we’ll find. One thing’s for sure, though. If that Cessna is anchored offshore, you’re not going ashore with me.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Indignantly she glared at him. “Sit in the boat and wait?”
“You should have brought along some knitting.”
“Oh yeah? And what about you?”
“I should have brought along a gun,” Zac said unhappily.
In the end they didn’t have to worry about what each had not thought to bring. Zac circled the tiny islet that appeared on the chart as the dot Toby Springer had marked. There was no sign of a Cessna. There was no sign of anything or anyone, in fact. Guinevere glanced around worriedly as Zac eased the small cruiser into a tiny cove and as close to shore as possible. He shut down the engine.
“Do you think this is the right place?”
“It’s as good a possibility as we’ve got. Does it look like the chunk of rock Springer pointed out to you during the tour you took?” Zac was wrestling with the postage-stamp-size inflatable raft he had found in the back of the cruiser.
“Sort of.” Guinevere tried to recall the details of the small island that had been pointed out to her. “I think I remember this little cove. Other than that, it’s hard to say.” The islet was shrouded in a dense growth of windswept fir. It was impossible to see more than a few feet beyond the rocky shoreline.
“This cove is about the only place anyone could come ashore.” Zac tossed the raft over the side. “Actually, we’re close enough to wade onto the beach, but the water is so damn cold.”
“I’d rather ride,” Guinevere declared vehemently as she scrambled carefully into the raft. The new Nikes she was wearing would be soaked if she’d tried to wade ashore.
“Hold still.”
“I’m trying!” She braced her palms against the sides of the small landing craft. “You’re too heavy for this thing, that’s the problem.”
“All I ever get are complaints,” Zac muttered, cautiously getting into the boat and picking up the paddle.
Guinevere shut up, instantly assailed by guilt. She didn’t say another word as Zac paddled them to shore. She felt even more guilty when he jumped out to pull the raft all the way up out of the water so she wouldn’t have to get her feet wet. His own sturdy wing tips got splashed.
“It’s cold,” she whispered, folding her arms across her chest, and immediately wished she’d kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want Zac to think she was complaining again. But he didn’t seem to have heard her. He was systematically walking the tree-lined beach. When he paused to study some object near a boulder she hurried forward.
“What is it?” she asked, watching him bend down to retrieve the small item. “Oh my God, it’s a Vandyke Development Company pen.” Her eyes flew to Zac’s. “Vandyke must have dropped it.”
“No wonder. Someone was really using some muscle to drag him through that underbrush.” Zac nodded toward a scraggly jumble of shrubs.
Guinevere froze. “He was being dragged?”
“That’s what it looks like. You stay here. I’m going to have a look.” Without waiting to see if she intended to follow orders, Zac started into the trees.
Guinevere counted to five and then went after him. Her progress wasn’t exactly silent and he must have known she was behind him, but Zac chose to say nothing. He seemed completely intent on following the signs on the ground.
Ten minutes later he emerged into a small clearing somewhere near the center of the island, and Guinevere nearly plowed into him before she saw what had brought him to such an abrupt halt. Edward Vandyke lay in a huddled heap on the ground. He seemed to be unconscious. Blood seeped through the makeshift bandage he had apparently tried to wrap around his left knee.
Chapter Nine
Vandyke opened pain-glazed eyes as Guinevere and Zac knelt beside him. His face was drawn, the grim brackets around his mouth nearly white as he held onto consciousness. Guinevere saw the wariness in him as well as the confusion. Gently she touched his shoulder.
“It’s all right, Mr. Vandyke. We’ve got a boat. We’ll have you back to civilization in no time.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Zac shrug out of his black wool jacket.
“Help me get this around him. It looks like he took fairly good care of the leg before he passed out. The main thing we’ve got to worry about is exposure. It’s so damn cold.” Zac eased an arm under the wounded man’s shoulders, lifting him so that Guinevere could tug the wool jacket into place.
Vandyke groaned but struggled to help them. “How did you know . . . ?” His voice was weak, his words a little slurred.
“We didn’t.” Zac was succinct, his attention on Vandyke’s wounded knee. “Just followed some hunches. Uncooperative clients sometimes wind up in this sort of situation.”
“Zac! For heaven’s sake, this is no time to lecture him.” Guinevere shot Zac a furious rebuking glance, which he
totally ignored. He was adjusting the makeshift bandage. It seemed to have been fashioned out of a handkerchief and the hem of Vandyke’s white button-down shirt.
“He’s right.” Vandyke inhaled sharply as Zac did something to the wounded knee. “Should have explained.”
“You can do the explaining later.” Zac stood up. “Right now the main priority is to get you to a hospital. How long have you been lying here?”
“I don’t know. Seems like forever. What time is it?”
“Nearly two o’clock.”
“It was sometime around ten when he forced me to board the plane. He was waiting for me when I came out of the hotel. By the time I saw him it was too late—he had a gun in my ribs.” Vandyke winced as Zac started to lift him to his feet. “Shit, that hurts.”
“I’m not surprised.” Zac braced him. “I assume there was something symbolic about the left knee?”
Guinevere moved forward to support Vandyke on the other side. She felt the trembling in Vandyke’s arm and her concern increased. He was shivering from what was probably a combination of shock, pain, and cold. Not a good combination.
“Cassidy’s left knee is bad too,” she said, remembering the limp. She realized what Zac was implying. “Is that why he shot you there?”
Vandyke groaned, his head sagging weakly. “Said he wanted me to see how it was. Wanted everything to be just the way it had been for him. The bastard. I think he’s crazy. Certifiably.”
“That’s what your wife thinks too,” Guinevere said calmly as she and Zac maneuvered Vandyke toward the trees.
Mention of his wife brought Vandyke’s head up for a moment. “Catherine? You talked to Catherine?”
“This morning. She called the hotel while Zac and I were standing around the lobby trying to put it all together. She helped us confirm that Cassidy was Gannon. We thought for a while it might be Washburn. Cassidy��or Gannon, or whatever his name is—is carrying DEA identification, by the way.”