Dan Kane stepped forward.
“Unfortunately, Doctor, I can’t allow that. Even if you are no more than who you claim to be, my son’s foolishness has exposed us both to retribution from my superiors. They will not take kindly to reports that Robert’s misguided actions have brought possible government agents into our midst. I’m not happy that you were able to trace my son from Miami to Bogota to this area. Until now I had managed to keep Robert’s involvement in our family business fairly quiet.”
Poor Robert sank lower in his chair.
“It’s now up to me to correct his mistakes. If your devotion to Dr. Grant is genuine, Dr. Merrill, it’s admirable. As a man who sets great store by the loyalty of those around me, I can appreciate the apparent loyalty you’ve demonstrated.”
Kane sighed. “However, I’m afraid that you and Commander Reid know too much, have seen too much. And long experience leads me to believe that despite your protests, you probably are undercover DEA. Believe me, dear lady, it pains me to have to do this, but surely you can understand a father’s duty to protect his son from the consequences of his indiscretions.”
He nodded toward the nearest gunman. “Take them outside and get rid of them.”
Chapter 14
His hands fisted into tight knobs, David watched Tommy leap from his chair.
“Oh, Mr. Kane, no. Please.”
“You ... you can’t just go around murdering American citizens,” Cara said. “You won’t get away with it. Our government will track you down. You mentioned retribution from your drug trafficking colleagues. You ought to be more worried about retribution from American authorities.”
Damn, he was proud of her, David thought. She certainly didn’t wilt under pressure. Only afterward. Her hand sought his. Her fingers were as cold as ice and he could feel the brittle tightness in her body. But she’d spoken up firmly. She held her chin tilted upward and she didn’t tremble. Much.
“The American government may track me down, Doctor?” Kane’s thin smile was not designed to reassure anyone. “Colombia has no extradition treaty with the U.S. Only one of the benefits of living here. Let me tell you what the reaction of the U.S. government will likely amount to. There’ll be questions asked at the embassy in Bogota, of course. They will trace your movements to Cartagena, where you simply disappeared. You must take my word for it that there will be no record at the resort that you were ever there. After many months of investigations a strongly worded letter of the ‘We will not tolerate...’ variety will go out to the Colombian government.”
Kane took a long, slow drag on his cigar. “No, Doctor. Retribution from the American government is not something that greatly concerns me.”
The slime was probably right, David conceded. US. authorities had been trying to get their hands on him for years. One way or another Kane always managed to elude any reckoning.
Eventually Elliott’s special contacts might be able to provide some information about their disappearance. By then, of course, he and Cara would be long past caring.
“But, Mr. Kane,” Grant continued, “now that Cara and her companion understand that I’m not interested in going back, they’ll leave Colombia. Won’t you, Cara?”
“Of course. Believe me, Mr. Kane. We want to leave here as much as you want us to. I have no more interest in Dr. Grant. Take us back to the mainland and Commander Reid and I will leave the country immediately. I give you my word on that.”
The drug lieutenant’s cruel face registered not a flicker of softness. David hadn’t expected it to. Kane couldn’t afford mercy. He lived under the same harsh rules with which he controlled others.
The gunman followed his orders and marched forward to stand behind the sofa. David felt the cold, hard stab of the weapon at his neck.
“Talk to your father, Robert,” Tommy pleaded. “I’ve known Cara for years. We were engaged, for God’s sake. How can I stay here if she’s ... if anything happens to her here? If she’s harmed, I’ll have to leave. I will leave, Robert. I couldn’t possibly stay.”
The spineless little jerk had finally summoned up some backbone, David observed. Not that it would do Cara any good whatever. He understood people like Dan Kane. Their own comfortable survival came before any other consideration.
And if he were in Grant’s shoes, he’d be more than a little concerned about his own safety. Evidently it hadn’t yet occurred to Tommy that his presence here was the underlying cause of the events that provoked Dan Kane’s displeasure. He’d be willing to bet that sometime soon Grant would meet with an unfortunate accident that Robert couldn’t possibly blame on his father.
Robert finally found his voice. “Dad, please.”
He stood up to face his father. The younger Kane was the taller and heavier of the two, but that gave him no edge in this confrontation. His shoulders slumped. His hands were clasped tightly in front of him.
“Please, don’t do this. Tommy will leave me. I have no other real friends. You know that. I don’t want to lose this one. Please, Dad. Let me have this. They’ll go away. After all, what can they do to you? What can anyone do to you?” Kane gave no sign that he’d heard the bitterness in his son’s voice. “Let them go. Please, Dad,” Robert begged on the verge of tears.
His entreaty brought forth only silence.
The guard behind David prodded him to his feet. Cara rose with him. He staggered a little and steadied himself on her arm.
A thin stream of smoke snaked from Kane’s lips as he studied his son. Kane held his arm out to the side and flicked the ash off his cigar, confident that the gold ashtray would be in its proper place beneath his hand.
“All right, Robert. For your sake, I’ll do as you ask. Take them back to the resort,” he told the gunman.
Robert’s double take at his father made it obvious that he hadn’t really expected his request to be granted. He ventured a hesitant smile. “Thanks, Dad.”
Cara let out a sigh of relief—a relief David didn’t share.
“But remember, Dr. Merrill, Commander Reid, should you decide to inform on us, no city in the United States lies beyond the reach of my Colombian colleagues.”
“Thanks, Mr. Kane.” Looking pale, Tommy slumped down in his chair.
The bastard had caused Cara a lot of grief. If the guards hadn’t been around, he’d have punched out Grant’s lights for accusing her of being the cause of his addiction. The man had to be granted a grudging bit of respect, though, for finding the nerve to speak up for her when it counted.
“Goodbye, hon.” Apparently Grant didn’t have the strength left to rise. A good thing. If he’d had to watch that jerk kiss Cara goodbye, he probably would have puked. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore. If anyone back home asks, tell them I’m doing great.”
“I really hope that’s true, Tommy.”
Kane waved dismissively. “Very well, José. Take them back now.”
Even if Cara had noticed the sharp look Kane sent his man as the guard walked them from the room, David doubted she understood the meaning of it.
He did.
As he’d suspected, they’d received no reprieve at all. Kane had simply taken steps to quiet his son’s fears, and Grant’s. The guard didn’t carry that Uzi as a fashion accessory. Kane’s original order to kill them was to be carried out at sea and their bodies dumped into the water to disappear.
Still, the first scrap of hope he’d been able to work up since Kane’s men invaded the villa surfaced in him. He was going to be put into a boat again. On the island, surrounded by armed mercenaries, he didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of saving Cara or himself. In a boat with this single guard the odds would be a little better. He might find some frighteningly slim opening for action. Their first trip had presented him with no opportunity to act. Not with that second weapon constantly pointed at Cara.
As they were escorted along the pier he looked back for a moment to fix the whole scene in his mind: The yacht being loaded, the warehouse filled with drug
s and weapons, the position of the house and what he judged to be the bedroom wing. Six men inside, another four out here. Maybe more out of sight. Only the supervisor of the workmen carried a weapon.
His prayers were answered. The same unarmed man waited in the boat for his passengers. As they were ordered in, David put his arm around Cara as if to comfort her and pressed his cheek to hers. “It’ll be okay,” he said loudly. “We’re on our way home.”
He dropped his voice to a hurried whisper. “Watch me. Jump when I move.”
She was smart enough not to show any reaction, ask any questions.
He boarded the boat carefully this time. No point in leaving himself open to further injury. As it was, he’d need every ounce of strength, every bit of training—plus a whole lot of luck—to handle a situation Cara’s presence made the most dangerous he’d ever faced.
They were allowed to sit together on one side bench. Their guard took a seat opposite them. Fortunately the man wasn’t the machete-wielding attacker, who’d learned better than to let his eyes wander from the male prisoner. Machete was a lot smarter now than he’d been at the village. At that time he probably hadn’t expected what seemed to be an ordinary American couple to put up any resistance whatever. Very likely he’d been following orders from Robert not to let any of his father’s mercenaries in on his plan, and had hired two stupid punks on the spot for the bungled attack.
David smiled grimly to himself. Right now that son of a bitch very likely was undergoing a painful reminder of exactly who he was working for. And that wasn’t Robert.
David permitted himself no more than a moment’s satisfaction that so far his dramatics had paid off. Ever since the men had broken into their villa and disarmed him, he’d been emphasizing his weakness, making a great show of his inability to walk properly. Not entirely an act. It wasn’t hard to cry out in pain and develop a heavy-duty limp when a kick and a fall sent spasms of agony shooting through him.
His plan was painfully simple and extremely hazardous. Without it he and Cara would be dead within the hour. And it depended entirely on her ability to act quickly when the time came.
The guard settled back on the seat, his legs thrust out in front of him. The boat wasn’t speeding, as it had been on the way to the island. Anyone would think them a group of friends out for a pleasant morning excursion on the water.
The guard stretched an arm lazily along the top of the bench. His weapon rested loosely in his lap.
Good, David thought. He wanted this man to assume he must be in complete control of the situation. What well-armed man would feel that a cripple and a supposedly helpless woman posed any real threat?
He’d never been so glad in his life for the SEAL training that let him feel as much at home in water as on land. Maybe more so. He didn’t fear the ocean as much as he feared that Uzi, especially with Cara sitting right beside him. He’d sell his soul for a knife, though, let alone his usual combat equipment.
He couldn’t make his move until they were far enough away not to be spotted from the island. Unfortunately that made for one hell of a swim back to the mainland if anything went wrong with his planned maneuver.
The island melted into the crystal blue of the Caribbean.
He smiled at Cara and hoped his hasty warning had been enough to allow her to read the mental message in his eyes to get ready to jump overboard the second he lunged for the weapon. A woman in such good physical shape had to be a swimmer. He’d pick her up after he’d dealt with the guard and the helmsman. It was important to get her out of the way while he did that. If either of the two got their hands on her to use as a shield, commandeering the Uzi wouldn’t do him much good.
His jaw hardened. He simply refused to consider the possibility of failure. The consequences to Cara would be too horrendous.
David’s smile didn’t do anything to calm the roiling questions in Cara’s mind, but she managed to curve up her own lips in return.
What the heck did he mean, jump when he moved? Evidently he intended to take some kind of action. But why did they have to act at all? They were on their way back to the resort, weren’t they? She clung to Kane’s last order mainly because she so much wanted to believe it. There was that damnable weapon lying in the guard’s lap, of course. But maybe a mercenary like that automatically carried a gun with him everywhere.
How was she to act? What was she to do? She wished she had some clue as to what David expected of her. Knowing him, he’d tackle the armed guard. That left the guy driving the boat for her to take care of. She gave the man a quick assessment. He was no taller than she, and from the thinness of his arms probably was no fitness buff. But still ...
If only she had David’s cane. The boat offered nothing in the way of a weapon. There was a life ring fitted against the stern, but there wouldn’t be time to free that and hit the helmsman with it. Besides, she doubted if a round, bouncy ring would put much of a dent in the guy’s head.
He was standing at the wheel, looking out over the windshield and hemmed in somewhat by the seat behind him. That might give her some advantage for a few seconds.
David gave a low groan and shifted his position. The slight movement garnered the guard’s quick attention. For a moment, the Colombian watched David rubbing his thigh, then went back to his idle scan of the ocean ahead.
The gunman never noticed, as she did, that David had braced himself firmly on his good leg.
Oh, Lord. She wished he’d given her a little more time to figure out an effective course of action.
Not the briefest instant elapsed between the flick of his eyes toward her and his leap toward the guard.
Instinct took over. She hurled herself toward her target, barely aware that she’d planted a foot on the bench and vaulted over the boatman’s chair. She hit him squarely between the shoulders with her locked arms. The force of her blow doubled him over the low windshield.
Without a guiding hand at the wheel the boat lurched to the right and slowed. She caught a quick glimpse of David plummeting over the side with the guard as the Uzi arced through the air above them.
She could spare David no more attention. She was too busy focusing all her energies on the single goal of dumping her man off the boat, so she could take control of it. She clamped her arms around his legs and heaved with all her strength, trying to roll him over the windshield and onto the bow.
Her action worked too well. Before she could grab the wheel and throw it into another sharp turn to pitch him off the boat, he scrambled to his knees and turned to deal with her. He grabbed her under the arms and yanked. Instead of pulling back, she threw herself forward to use his own momentum against him.
The metal edge of the windshield scraped across her chest as her thrust and his pull hauled her across it. She found herself lying on top of him on the slightly curved deck of the bow.
He swung at her. She couldn’t do anything but take his punch in her ribs. Gasping for breath she rolled off and kicked at him furiously.
The boat tilted. He slid toward the prow. The line coiled above it had come loose during their struggle. The steersman grabbed for the rope whipping out across the deck. He missed and tumbled over the prow.
She heard a sickening thud, but she had no time to worry about what had happened to Kane’s skipper. The commotion on the vessel had set it rocking and the deck was slipping out from under her, too. She flailed desperately for the line strung out across the bow.
And grabbed a handful of nothing.
She tumbled backward into the ocean. Water filled her nose and mouth and closed over her head. She felt herself plunging downward and fought the fear threatening to engulf her.
Stay calm, she told herself. You’re a good swimmer. You’re not going to drown.
She kicked off her heavy, waterlogged sneakers and struggled toward the surface. She came up coughing and sputtering. Sucking in mouthfuls of delicious air, she tried to spot anything at all other than endless ocean.
She saw the stern of t
he empty boat heading off into the distance. No sign of anyone else in the water around her. No sign of David.
Cold terror speared through her. She countered with the thought that a swimmer as strong as he couldn’t possibly drown in only a few minutes.
But if the guard had the chance to use that weapon...
She couldn’t remember hearing gunfire or shouts. The whole incident had unfolded in eerie silence. She dived back beneath the waves to look for David.
In a cloud of whirling bubbles a fair distance away, she could barely make out the two submerged dark shapes locked in silent, slow-motion combat. She could recognize David only by the blue of his shirt. The guard wore white.
Neither held the gun. With bare hands they struggled with each other. She couldn’t tell which man was winning the life-or-death battle. She swam underwater toward the pair to give David what help she could.
One of the men began to drift downward, his arms and legs spread out uselessly in the water.
Utter panic seized her. Oh, God. Was it David? She couldn’t see clearly. Her head was ringing. Her lungs were screaming their need for air. Survival instinct forced her to the surface.
She gulped in air, preparing to jackknife down again. A head broke through the waves too far away for her to identify. The survivor, whoever he was, began to swim toward her.
David. It wasn’t so much his face that she recognized, as the strong, even motion of his arms. She went so limp with relief that she slid underwater.
Within seconds she was being dragged upward.
“Are you all right?” David shouted as she bobbed to the surface.
He was constantly asking that stupid question, she grumbled to herself as she coughed out what felt like half the Caribbean.
“No, I’m not all right,” she gasped. “I’m stuck without a life vest—in the middle of the... the damn ocean. There’s not a rescue ship in sight—and there could be sharks zooming in on us right this very minute. Neither one of us is all right, you turkey.”
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