Hot on the Hunt

by Melissa Cutler

  There was that we again.

  “We aren’t going to do anything.” He pushed the back door of the bar open, but turned in the doorway to level a hard gaze at her. “I’m going to check in with Eugene and you’re getting back in that car and leaving.”

  “You’re going to leave without me?” It wasn’t said with panic or fear, but something else he had trouble putting his finger on. Incredulity, perhaps. As though he’d be an idiot for striking out without her.

  “You’re a big girl. You can take care of yourself.” God, he hoped he was right. He’d hate himself if she got taken into custody all over again. He released the door to swing closed behind him and followed the sound of ragtime jazz toward the main room of the bar, but over the music he heard the smack of Alicia’s hand moving to hold the door open.

  “Wherever you’re going to look for Rory, I’m coming with you.”

  Halfway down the hall lined with closed doors labeled as restrooms, the kitchen and supply closets, he stopped short. What game was she playing now? “No, you’re not. I think you’d better go back to concentrating on keeping yourself safe because the next time Logan and his crew catch up with you, they’ll be better prepared and I won’t be there to save you.”

  She’d probably rather throw herself off a cliff than take his advice or be reminded that he’d saved her hide, but he had to try to help her see the dire situation she’d created for herself. “When Logan’s crew catches you, you’ll go to prison for a long, long time, if they don’t shoot you outright. Disappear until everything blows over. I’ll handle Rory.”

  She took a stilted step toward him, then stopped, her fists tight. “How dare you tell me what to do?” Her nostrils flared, probably with the effort it took for her not to slap him.

  The jazz in the main room clicked off abruptly. Sporting a toothy grin, Eugene appeared at the entrance to the hall. “Hey, it’s John the Glove. That’s the best surprise I’ve had all day. Why are you lurking in my hallway? Where you been hiding?”

  After his world fell apart, John had thrown himself exactly one pity party. It just so happened to have been at the very establishment in which he now stood and had involved a stunning number of rum bottles, a mess of locals and live-aboard boaters and Eugene’s massive collection of Michael Jackson albums, which happened to have been John’s favorite musical artist in his previous life as a somebody.

  John didn’t remember much about that night, but the story he’d heard was that sometime around one in the morning, John had dressed up in the coconut bikini top worn by the giant wooden parrot on the patio, a pirate hat and a black glove someone had rustled up, then executed a passable rendition of Michael Jackson’s “Bad” routine. That sounded exactly like something John would’ve done in his heyday, back before music and dancing lost their appeal.

  “I’ve been making the rounds to the islands, killing time.”

  “You still rockin’?”

  “Not so much anymore.”

  Eugene waved them into the main room of the bar, then poured rum into three lowball glasses. “Man, that’s too bad. You ought to come back here sometime and entertain my customers. You were on fire that night.”

  “So they tell me.”

  He held out two of the glasses to John and Alicia. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  “No. She was just leaving.”

  Alcohol was another of life’s pleasures that had lost appeal for John, but part of cultivating an informant relationship with bartenders meant drinking, and overpaying for their liquor. He fished a hundred-dollar bill from his bag and set it on the counter. “I hope this is the good stuff.”

  “For you, always. You tell me when you’re ready to borrow Cheeky’s ensemble again.” He nodded toward the wooden parrot.

  John thought about waiting for Alicia to leave before questioning Eugene, but he had a feeling she wasn’t budging. “I need some information.”

  What made Eugene such an ideal friend and informant was the enormous number of family members he had throughout St. Croix and the other Virgin Islands. John had only made use of Eugene’s connections once, when he’d heard a rumor that an ICE bigwig had arrived on St. Croix—it turned out he’d been there on vacation, not looking for John, as he’d feared.

  “I already figured that because you’re back to looking like your soldier self. Did you finally decide to rejoin the living?”

  He almost said no, but that wasn’t true. He’d made the subconscious decision to rejoin the living the moment he’d decided to pursue Rory so he could clear his name. Funny how life could change at the drop of a hat like that. He sipped the rum and was surprised anew by the rush of enjoyment it brought him. He’d thought his ability for pleasure had been dimmed beyond repair. “I did. And now I’m looking for a man. An escaped convict.”

  Eugene offered him a smile of dismay. “You and every U.S. authority in the Caribbean.”

  John glanced at Alicia. She cradled the glass of rum in both hands but had made no move to drink it, riveted as she seemed to be by their conversation. “True, but how many of them have come to talk to you?”

  That insight earned him a laugh as Eugene poured himself a shot of less expensive rum. “Not one of them thought to see what some old bar owner knew until you showed up.”

  “Then they’re all idiots.”

  Eugene held his glass up. “I’ll drink to that.”

  John took another sip of rum. Dang, that was good stuff. What else had he convinced himself he’d lost his taste for? He lifted the rum to his lips again, but realized as he tipped his head back that he was already starting to feel its effects and set it back on the counter without taking a drink. It was one thing to reacquaint himself with the glories of rum and another to get tipsy in the middle of a manhunt. He’d done that on a mission once, in Egypt. Not pretty.

  Eugene downed his rum in one swallow, then set the empty glass on the counter. “I may not know much about who you were before you came here or what your job was, because even when you were drunk you didn’t say nothin’ about nothin’, but my gut’s telling me that you stand a better chance than the police of getting this man before he hurts someone or messes up my island. What do you want to know?”

  “This man, Rory, he was my sniper partner until he screwed me and a bunch of people over. He arrived via speedboat on St. Croix a couple hours ago. I need to know if he’s still here and how he might get off the island undetected.”

  Eugene rubbed his chin. “I think I know who to call about this, but it’s going to cost you.” A smile broke out on his face.

  John knew from the spark in Eugene’s eyes what was coming next, but he was grateful enough for the information to wait for the punch line. Standing next to him, Alicia pinched her brows in confusion.

  “You owe me a Michael Jackson encore.”

  Yup. “Couldn’t I just buy a bottle of that rum?”

  “Naw, man, you can’t bribe me. I’ve got standards.”

  “Michael Jackson standards?”

  “You owe me one.”

  Busting out with a song and dance number in front of Alicia might make John feel as if he were dying, but technically it wouldn’t kill him. “Fine. It’s a deal—but this time I’m not wearing the bird’s bikini.”

  Eugene’s rumbling laugh cut short at the sight of a car pulling up out front.

  John drew his gun. Alicia did the same. Without a word, they exchanged a look with Eugene, who was already sliding their glasses of rum out of view into a sink full of dishwater, then sprinted back through the hall. These might be bar customers, but then again, they might be U.S. authorities, and John and Alicia were in no position to take chances. Going back out through the alley door they entered from wasn’t an option because any law enforcement agency worth their salt would station an officer out back when conducting a
search to prevent the quarry from ducking out the rear exit.

  Instead, John put his hand on the first doorknob he came to, the women’s restroom, as the sound of multiple male voices grew louder.

  “Welcome to The Salty Parrot,” Eugene said in a booming voice. “How about some rum on this fine afternoon?”

  “No rum today, thanks,” one of the men said. “We’re searching for two men and a woman. Americans. Armed and extremely dangerous.”

  With a quick prayer that the hinges didn’t squeak, John yanked the door open, took Alicia by the arm and pulled her into the darkness.

  Chapter 7

  In the women’s restroom, John held the door ajar so he and Alicia, huddled near the opening, could listen in on Eugene’s conversation with the officers.

  “What did these Americans do to bring you all the way out to St. Croix?” Eugene said.

  “One of them is an escaped convict and the other two are his accomplices.”

  The man’s accent sounded American, as well. Definitely not Logan, but it could have been a member of his crew or someone from any one of the other U.S. agencies or branches of the military gunning for Alicia, John and Rory. Whoever they were, they had an oddly warped version of reality. Alicia and John as Rory’s accomplices? Okay...

  “As you can see, they’re not here,” Eugene said, cool as a cucumber.

  “Sir, there are three armed and dangerous criminals loose on this island. They destroyed the rum distillery in Frederiksted and one of them shot and killed a health clinic nurse in Christiansted. We think one of them must be injured because many of the clinic’s first-aid supplies were raided.”

  John heard Alicia’s breath catch and knew she hated that the man she’d set free had committed murder of a civilian within hours of his escape. John hated it, too. If he’d taken the kill shot on St. Thomas or on the boat when he’d had the chance instead of trying to keep Rory alive so he could interrogate him, then that nurse would be alive still. Rory was a desperate man and was clearly willing to take desperate measures, including murder, to ensure his freedom. Just like that, finding Rory took on a whole new level of urgency.

  “Witnesses have reported to the local police that they saw the suspects’ silver, two-door car circling Teague Bay. We’re running a thorough check of the entire area. Any information you can share with us will help us get these three off the streets before they kill again,” the officer added.

  “I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary, but if I do, I’ll call the police right away.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation. If you don’t mind, we’ll take a peek out back.”

  Footsteps sounded in approach.

  John eased the door closed. He didn’t release the breath he’d been holding until he’d locked it. He sensed Alicia next to him, flattening herself against the wall near the door’s hinges.

  Smart plan. If the unexpected visitors got curious about the locked door and convinced Eugene to unlock it, their best position would be behind the door as it opened. He took position next to her and withdrew his gun, accidentally brushing her shoulder with his arm before she shifted away from the touch.

  The only light came from the sliver of space beneath the door. John looked past Alicia’s legs and outstretched gun, his eyes on the light as shadows cut through it with the rhythm of feet walking. The door was heavy, the walls thick. Eugene and the men weren’t talking, so the only sound John could hear besides the beat of his pulse was Alicia’s shallow, steady breathing.

  There was no time to contemplate how surreal the moment was, being alone with Alicia in the dark, them working as a team. Like old times. He cut off the thought. Forcing himself not to catch her scent on the air or think any more about the heat and tension rolling off her body, he returned his full focus to the door.

  The shadows passed again on the other side of the door. Still, he and Alicia waited. It felt as if they stood there in the dark forever, breathing, not touching, their fingers near the triggers of their guns.

  After several long minutes, John allowed himself to tilt his face toward Alicia and breathe in. She didn’t smell like anything except the battle they’d both waged that day—dirt, sweat and gunpowder residue. The scent unsettled him and made him aware of a painful kind of emptiness in his heart. Loneliness. It was the only way he could describe the sensation.

  The two of them had been in all kinds of combat and training situations together in which they’d both emerged smelling of gunpowder, dirt and adrenaline. If anything, the scent made Alicia more beautiful. It spoke of strength and grit, of a woman who didn’t hold back from being powerful or getting dirty. It was perfect for Alicia because in everything she did, she went all in, every time.

  He inhaled again, this time willing the hurt to wash through him rather than sink in him like a heavy stone. At least he didn’t feel numb anymore, as he had in Frederiksted a year ago. Even loneliness and hurt was better than that.

  After a couple minutes of silence, one set of shadows stopped in front of the restroom. The doorknob rattled as though being unlocked. John and Alicia both raised their guns, ready to strike.

  The door opened a foot or so, then the light flipped on. Moving in synchronization, John and Alicia stepped out from the wall and adjusted their aim to the head coming into view.

  As soon as John registered it was Eugene, he lowered his weapon. Alicia didn’t.

  Eugene startled at the sight of their guns. “Relax, relax. They’re gone.”

  Alicia wasn’t buying it. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

  Eugene grinned at John. The opening notes of Michael Jackson’s “Bad” drifted through the air. “John the Glove, I think it’s time you introduced me to this lovely, yet lethal woman you’ve brought to my establishment. And then, you dance. I’m ready to see your moonwalk.”

  Alicia’s gun lowered and her expression lightened as she studied Eugene. “But Michael Jackson doesn’t do the moonwalk in his ‘Bad’ routine.”

  As always, John was impressed by Alicia’s knowledge of random factoids and statistics. She’d been a kick-ass partner in Trivial Pursuit.

  “I used to add it in. Crowd-pleaser.” He shifted his attention to the hall. “But I don’t dance anymore.”

  He felt vulnerable having said that, letting her in on how fundamentally he’d allowed her and ICE’s accusations to change him. Squeezing past Eugene, he walked into the main part of the bar, giving himself space to think, away from Alicia’s scent and warmth and skin.

  Eugene followed, looking concerned. Behind him walked Alicia.

  Eugene eyed her, considering. “I take it you’re another ghost from John’s past?”

  “More like a business associate,” Alicia said.

  John failed to suppress a snort of surprise. Eugene’s brows flickered, letting it be known that he saw the lie for what it was, too. “On with the introductions, then. Alicia, this is my friend Eugene. Eugene, meet the woman who ripped my heart out and crushed it beneath her stiletto boot.”

  She dropped the hand she’d extended in greeting to Eugene and glared at John. “That’s how you’re introducing me?”

  “Just calling it like it is.”

  Eugene’s broad smile showed off his straight, white teeth. “She’s the reason you came to the islands that first time.”

  “More or less.”

  She raised a brow and leveled a searing glare at John, impertinence painted on her beautiful face. “That’s one hell of a story you’re telling yourself, because that’s not what happened.”

  John couldn’t think of a single thing to say that didn’t rehash the same argument they’d had in the alley out back. He walked to the front of the bar and scanned the bay and parking lot for any sign of the law enforcement officers.

  “Well, heartbreaker, it’s ni
ce to meet you. Are you hunting that criminal, too?”

  “My name’s Alicia. And yes, John and I are going to hunt him together.”

  So they were back to that, were they? “Eugene, give us a minute, would you?”

  Eugene nodded toward the front door. “I could use a smoke, anyway.”

  As soon as Eugene disappeared around the corner on the front patio, Alicia angled her body into John’s line of sight. “I meant what I said before. I’m coming with you.”

  “And I meant what I said. There’s no way that’s going to happen, so feel free to stop begging.”

  Predictably, her lips flattened into a straight line at the word begging. She might know all of his buttons to push, but he knew hers, too, and it was high time he put her on the defensive for a change. He made to turn his back on her, but she grabbed his sleeve.

  “You’re not thinking about this right,” she said. “We stand a better chance of hunting Rory down together than we do apart.”

  He bristled. So that was her angle. Alicia might be one of the most tech-savvy operatives in the world, but John had a few tricks up his sleeve, too, the most critical being that he knew these islands like they were his motherland—every cove and quirk, local customs and criminal elements. He had no doubt he’d find Rory first, because street smarts went a whole lot further in the islands than technological know-how—and apparently Alicia realized that, too.

  “You want to use me to get to Rory so you can guarantee a kill shot.”

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation. “But you’d be using me, too. Like how we used each other for—”

  It was absolute B.S. that she was going there again. “You say stress relief one more time and I’m out of here. There’s nothing sayin’ I have to stand here and listen to your lies.”

  She bit her lower lip. “Rory deserves to die for what he did to me. And what he did to that nurse,” she added quietly.

  “I know. I get it. You deserve revenge and he deserves to die. He absolutely does, after what he did to you. But you two aren’t the only ones who deserve something. I deserve a chance to clear my name.”