by Jayne Castle
“DEA?” Vandyke made an obvious effort to concentrate. “Oh, yes. Drug Enforcement Administration. What a joke. I can see where that would appeal to his sense of humor.”
Guinevere was about to ask him what he meant when a faint sound in the distance caught her ear. Even before she could properly identify it, her instinct warned her it was the drone of an aircraft engine. Frantically she looked past Vandyke and met Zac’s eyes.
“Damn.” Zac started to ease Vandyke back down to the ground.
“What?” Vandyke lifted his head with great effort, his gaze bleary as he tried to focus on his rescuers. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a plane coming,” Guinevere explained softly, her eyes on Zac as they settled Vandyke in a sitting position against the trunk of a scraggly fir.
Vandyke understood at once. “Gannon?”
“I don’t know yet. Until we can be sure we’ll stay here in the cover of the trees. Christ, Gwen. Did you have to wear that red trench coat? You’ll stand out like a sore thumb.”
“Sorry I’m not appropriately dressed. The invitation didn’t say black tie.”
“Take it off until that plane’s gone.”
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, your professional manner lacks finesse.” She unbuttoned the coat and scrunched it into a tight ball, which she then pushed behind the reclining Vandyke. Instantly she became even more aware of the chill air.
“It’s Gannon,” Vandyke whispered, closing his eyes wearily as he leaned back against the tree. “He must have found out you were looking for me.”
“Springer?” Guinevere looked at Zac questioningly as she, too, huddled back under the branches of the tree.
“Possibly, but I doubt it. I think Springer was just a pawn. More likely Washburn. He might have been left behind to keep an eye on things. We assumed he’d gone back to the mainland but we didn’t have time to make certain. He could have been watching Springer, or watching the boathouse.”
The plane came into view, its floats clearly visible as the craft banked to circle the island.
“He’ll see the boat.” Guinevere thought of the little cruiser anchored just offshore. “Maybe he’ll assume the game is over and decide to get out of here.”
Vandyke moved his head in a weary negative. “The guy’s wild. Over the edge. He wants his revenge and he’s not likely to let it slip through his fingers now that he’s this close.”
“I think Vandyke’s right. Cassidy’s not going to give up now. The only question is whether he’ll land and come ashore like a one-man assault team or go back for reinforcements.”
“Reinforcements?” Guinevere asked, startled.
“Washburn.” Zac glanced at Vandyke. “Was Washburn with him when Cassidy brought you here?”
“No. Haven’t seen Washburn since this morning.”
The plane made a low pass over the center of the tiny island, so low that Guinevere could see the figures in the cockpit. “Well, he’s with him now,” she whispered as she stared after the craft.
“Thank God for these trees. He doesn’t dare get too low.” Zac paused as the plane made another sweep around the island. “By now he’s seen the cruiser and he knows you’re not in that clearing,” he said calmly to Vandyke. “My guess is he’ll come ashore, but you know him better than I do. What do you think?”
“I think you’re right. He knows I’m out of commission and he probably knows Miss Jones is the only person you brought with you. As far as Gannon is concerned she doesn’t count. He’ll only be dealing with one real opponent. No offense, Miss Jones, but I don’t think he’s likely to take you too seriously.”
“No one takes secretaries seriously. One of these days the business world is going to regret it.”
“Plot the revolution later, Gwen. We’ve got to make some plans.”
“Such as?”
“You and I are going back to that cove. It’s the only place Cassidy can land and come ashore.” Even as Zac spoke the drone of the engine overhead altered purposefully. Zac looked up, but the plane was out of sight beyond the trees. “He’s going to bring the Cessna down now. Let’s go.”
Hastily Guinevere made certain Zac’s coat was secure around Vandyke, who appeared to be about to drift back into unconsciousness. Then she rose to follow Zac back through the trees. In the distance she could hear the last roar of the aircraft engine.
“What’s he doing?”
“Taking the risk of beaching it.”
“Beaching it?”
“Running the plane as close to shore as possible,” Zac explained absently as he made his way through the trees. “It’s a risk because that beach is rocky and he could puncture the floats. But I imagine Cassidy is in something of a risk-taking mood right now. I guess I should start calling him Gannon.” He halted abruptly.
“Now what?” Guinevere kept her voice low. She was beginning to feel the chill through her wool sweater, and she knew Zac must be feeling it too.
“Over there behind that outcropping.” Zac took her arm and pushed her in the direction he’d indicated.
Guinevere found herself amid a jumble of boulders that looked as if they had been tossed aside by a giant hand sometime when the little islet was being formed. Scraggly bushes clung to the rocks, defying the elements. The trees grew right up to the edge of the pile.
“Stay down,” Zac whispered as he urged her into the protection of the rocks.
“What are you going to do?”
“Have a look.” He released her and cautiously made his way up the broken jagged heap.
Guinevere watched, hardly breathing, as Zac climbed. He moved with a coordinated strength that seemed somehow out of place with his button-down collar and wing tip shoes. He didn’t look very much like a sober IRS-fearing businessman right now.
Once before, at the culmination of the StarrTech case, she had seen Zac metamorphose from a conventional, deliberate, practical businessman into a hunter, and it had left her feeling as if she really didn’t know him as well as she sometimes thought she did. That hint of something she couldn’t comprehend was another of the elements that had kept her vaguely wary of the growing attraction between them. Perhaps it was impossible for a woman to ever completely know a man, she thought as she watched Zac disappear around a craggy chunk of rock.
Guinevere sat huddling, arms wrapped around herself, and waited for Zac to return. There was no sound in the distance. She shivered, wondering what Cassidy was doing—no, what Gannon was doing. When Zac eventually slipped back down the wall of rock she started violently. She hadn’t even heard him. Her wide eyes flew to his.
Zac hunkered down beside her, his expression hard and infinitely remote. That sense of something unknowable in him was stronger than ever, Guinevere realized bleakly. Yet it was that very quality that might save her life today. She didn’t have any illusions about what Gannon might be capable of doing. The man was not just slightly alien, he was crazy.
“He’s ashore,” Zac murmured bluntly.
Guinevere tensed. “Where?”
“He’s circling around on the far side.” Zac nodded in the direction behind her. “Probably going to work his way back to the clearing where he left Vandyke.”
“Washburn?”
“Still in the plane. My guess is he doesn’t like this any better than the rest of us. Probably starting to realize he’s let Gannon push him into a somewhat awkward situation. I think he’ll stay where he is and let Hopalong get the glory. Hell, Gannon prefers a one-man show.”
Guinevere bit her lip. “Cassidy—I mean, Gannon’s armed?”
Zac shrugged one shoulder. “You ever see a cowboy in the movies who wasn’t?”
“Zac, what are we going to do? This is a small island. Sooner or later he’ll find Vandyke, and then us.”
“What about you?” But she already knew the answer to that. Zac was going after Gannon. Guinevere put an urgent hand on his shoulder. “Be careful, Zac. Please. I . . .” She broke off, trying for a fleeting smile. “Remember the image.”
He surprised her with a quick, wholly unexpected grin. “I’ll try not to get it any more tarnished than it already is. Stay put, honey.”
Zac slipped away from the jumble of boulders, praying they would protect Guinevere. He felt decidedly naked without any sort of weapon. But damn it, he was supposed to be a real businessman these days. He was supposed to spend his time worrying about deductions, contracts, the prime rate—and how to talk Guinevere Jones into bed. He wanted to spend his time that way. He just knew he was cut out for it. He was a natural-born independent businessman.
When he’d started Free Enterprise Security he’d had no intention of taking jobs that wound up like this. He’d planned to be an expensive consultant, for crying out loud. A respectable, highly paid, report-writing consultant. How in hell did he come to find himself trapped on a postage-stamp-size island with a crazy man who shot people in the leg and left them to die of exposure? The next time Guinevere tried to throw a little business his way he would throw it right back at her.
Of course then he’d have to figure out a way of keeping Gwen from letting her overly empathic nature get her into trouble all by herself. All things considered, Zac decided, he’d rather be here than sitting at home in Seattle wondering what Gwen was doing. Hell of a choice.
He eased into place behind Cassidy-Gannon, who was prowling through the trees with an expert’s skill. The problem in dealing with Gannon was, part of him—the dangerous part—was real, not some phony actor’s pose. And Zac sensed his quarry wouldn’t hesitate to use the revolver he held in his hand.
There was no way to rush him, not yet. Zac could keep him in sight easily enough, but he didn’t see any possibility of moving in on Gannon. The man was too alert and too dangerous.
The breeze off the water was starting to pick up now, turning into a storm-bearing wind. The rain would follow soon. The sound was welcome cover for Zac’s movements, but he began to worry in earnest about the effects of the cold on his client and on Guinevere. Vandyke was already sliding into shock, and without her coat Guinevere was going to be very chilled very soon. For now the adrenaline roaring through his own veins seemed to mask the direct effects of the cold, but Zac realized that was only a temporary effect. Only Gannon looked reasonably comfortable. The dashingly distressed leather flight jacket was no doubt good insulation.
Gannon was working his way around the island in a slow circle. Zac followed warily, wondering how long it would be before his quarry cut inland. The chief goal of this whole exercise as far as Gannon was concerned was to kill Vandyke. Sooner or later Gannon was going to want to know what had happened to his victim. If he was crazy enough, he might risk heading for the clearing before he’d taken care of any possible opposition. And if Gannon was convinced that Zac probably wasn’t armed, he was likely to make his move fairly soon.
Zac waited with the patience that came naturally to him at times like this. He had that much on his side, he realized. He had hunted this kind of game before.
A few minutes later Gannon abruptly turned and started inland. There was a glint of blue steel from the heavy revolver in his hand as he headed through the trees. Apparently he had decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He was going to find Vandyke and force the enemy’s hand.
Zac froze into complete immobility until Gannon was far enough ahead again to make pursuit safe. Then he moved after the other man. There was no telling what Gannon would do when he reached the clearing and discovered that Vandyke was no longer there. The wildness in him made him more than a little unpredictable in some ways—in others it made him entirely predictable, however. Gannon would kill, Zac knew, without a second’s hesitation.
“Damn you, Vandyke!”
Gannon’s roar of rage as he reached the clearing startled Zac. He hadn’t expected the man to lose control so quickly. Cautiously he moved closer. He could see him now, standing at the edge of the clearing, feet spread wide, dark hair whipped by the chill wind. The collar of the flight jacket was standing high around Gannon’s neck. He swung around, crouching, gun steady in his hand, and for an instant Zac thought he’d been seen. Then Gannon continued to move in a circle, crouching low.
“You think you can hide, you bastard? Think that soft executive type you brought along as an assistant is going to help you? No way. I’m going to kill him, Vandyke. But I’m not going to kill you. You get to die the way you thought I’d die. I’m not gonna let you off easy.”
Gannon moved around the perimeter of the clearing, peering into the trees. Zac stayed very still. He was on his stomach now, concealed by a clump of blackberry bushes. He could catch glimpses of movement from Gannon and tracked him until the other man was on the far side of the clearing. If Gannon went back into the trees in that direction he would probably stumble across Vandyke.
Gannon was confident and crazy. That volatile combination of factors was the only edge he’d get, Zac told himself. He inched forward, circling the blackberry bushes. His hand closed over a small rock.
“Give it up, Justis. You’ve got the girl with you. I’ll let her go if you come on out. Hell, I might even let you go. Who knows? All I want is Vandyke dead. Come on, Justis. Take a chance. Make me an offer. I know you’re not armed. Guys like you don’t carry guns, do you? You’re businessmen. Executives. Soft. Just like Vandyke. Bunch of wimps who don’t know how to take care of themselves. You’re easy meat for a man like me, Justis. Your only chance is to come on out and see if you can’t make a bargain.”
Zac waited until Gannon was a little closer. His fingers tightened around the rock. He was only going to get one chance.
“Hey, Vandyke, you awake? You listening to this? Or are you already dead? You’ve gotten soft, Vandyke. You’re fat and soft now. I’ll bet Cathy looks at you in bed and wonders what the hell she married you for. I’ll bet she thinks about me when you try to get it up. You ever tell her why I didn’t come back from that last run, Vandyke? You ever tell her the truth? How you set me up?”
Zac gathered himself. Gannon was only a few yards away and he was watching the trees in the opposite direction from where Zac lay on his stomach. It was now or never. Zac came to his feet in a quick smooth movement that flowed naturally into the throw, putting all his weight behind launching the rock at Gannon’s back.
In the last split second some instinct must have warned the other man. He whirled, gun raised.
The rock caught Gannon solidly on the shoulder, and he stumbled backward, losing his balance on his weak left leg. There was a roar as the revolver in his hand was fired by his reflexive tug on the trigger. The bullet went wild.
Zac was out of the trees and on the other man before Gannon had a chance to recover his balance. With a quick chopping motion he brought the side of his hand down on Gannon’s forearm. The gun fell to the ground. The momentum of Zac’s rush carried both men down beside the weapon.
Guinevere’s head came up with a jerk as she heard the muffled report of the revolver. For an instant she was paralyzed with terror. In her mind’s eye she could already see Zac lying on the cold ground, bleeding to death. Awkwardly she struggled to her feet, her legs cramped and chilled.
A noise from the beach behind her brought her back to her senses. Washburn had apparently been startled by the shot too. Hastily she crouched down again, trying to see the cove through the clutter of rocks.
What she saw was the flash of movemen
t as Washburn hurried along the plane’s floats and jumped ashore. She held her breath as, not more than ten feet away, he dashed past her and into the trees. There was an expression of grim fear on his face. He seemed to be heading toward the clearing from which the sound of the shot had come. And he was waving a gun wildly in his right hand. Guinevere was certain that if Washburn had known how to fly the Cessna he would have had it in the air by now. As it was, he was virtually forced to go to Gannon’s rescue. Gannon was his only sure means of getting off the island.
Even if Zac had escaped that first shot, Guinevere realized in horror, he wouldn’t have much of a chance against a second armed man. Frantically she scrambled out from the clutter of boulders. The only instinct driving her now was the knowledge that she had to do something, anything.
She was almost in the trees when she remembered Catherine Vandyke’s comment about Gannon carrying a backup gun hidden under the pilot’s seat.
Was it the weapon he had taken ashore? Or was the gun under the seat considered a spare, something for an emergency? If the gun existed, she must get it. It was the only edge she would have. Guinevere swung around and dashed down the short pebbled beach. Her feet got wet as she scrambled onto one of the floats. Balancing precariously, Guinevere reached for the cabin door on the pilot’s side and yanked it open. The interior of the plane felt a few degrees warmer than the outside air. Guinevere inhaled deeply. She shoved her hand under the seat and fished wildly. Her groping fingers touched a worn leather holster. She closed her eyes in fleeting relief, and pulled it out to find it held a vicious-looking snub-nosed revolver. The metal felt cold in her hand and she was surprised at the weight of the thing.
Clutching it fiercely, Guinevere maneuvered quickly back along the float and leapt for shore, groaning as another lapping wave caught her foot. She started running for the trees. Her feet squished softly in the Nikes but the shoes themselves didn’t make much noise on the rough terrain.