Hot on the Hunt

by Melissa Cutler

  She released a hard peal of laughter. “You think Rory’s going to help you with that?”

  The chance was iffy at best, but he had to try. And how dare she look down that princess nose of hers at his plan. He flexed his pecs, then cracked his neck to the side and allowed his gaze to settle on her lips a fraction longer than would be polite. “Phoenix, you of all people should know that I can be very persuasive.”

  A flicker of awareness crossed her features before she put her game face back on. “ICE is looking for us, along with probably every other federal agency and branch of the military. I can hack into their systems and throw them off track. I can create a false digital trail for us, rearrange ferry and flight schedules, tap into local police radios—more than you can imagine.”

  Oh, he could imagine it, all right, because her claim was far from an empty brag. He’d seen firsthand just how mind-blowing her computer skills were. “If you’ve got it all figured out, then why do you want my help?”

  “Help is such an unpleasant word.” He was pleased she felt that way because he’d chosen the term on purpose. “I think we should work together on this hunt because you have one skill that I don’t.”

  “Only one?”

  She ignored the loaded remark. “You know these islands better than I do, and you know Rory better than anyone. If we work alone, we probably wouldn’t be able to outsmart the authorities and find Rory before he does any more damage.”

  John could. Piece of cake. Except he couldn’t get it out of his head that ICE or the military would catch up with Alicia again. And next time, he wouldn’t be there to back her up. It was a threat that would not only dog her while she tracked Rory, but for the rest of her life. She was now a marked woman, a dangerous criminal in the eyes of the law. The thought turned his stomach. “And after you kill him? What then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your life, Alicia. What are you going to do? You’re a criminal on the run now. What’s your plan?”

  “None of your concern.”

  She was right; what she did wasn’t his concern. Except that now, after that kiss and the accompanying rush of old feelings that came with breaking down her emotional door, and after ruminating on the potentially life-threatening consequences of the terrible situation she’d put herself in, he found that it very much was. Damn it all.

  Determination hardened her features. “You and I will work together to get Rory. And when we do, you take what you want from him, then get out of my way so I can kill him.”

  It struck him then how it would feel if Alicia witnessed Rory’s admittance of the lies he’d told about John’s guilt—what it would feel like to be exonerated in front of the person whose opinion had mattered most to John once upon a time. He couldn’t resist the fantasy that he might glimpse regret in her eyes, that she might want him again.

  No. Not that. He didn’t want her anymore. Or rather, he didn’t want to want her. He’d allow himself the rest of the dream, along with the peace of mind that came with being able to protect her again, if it came to it, but there was no such thing as forever between them. There was no we anymore.

  “All right. You’ve got yourself a deal.” He thrust out his hand for her to shake, feeling instantly ludicrous with the gesture. “We’ll be business associates,” he added with a sarcastic grimace.

  She gave a sharp nod. “Yes. Business associates.”

  When she shook his hand, he couldn’t help but feel that they’d both just jumped down a rabbit hole from which there was no return.

  * * *

  The kiss made her do it. Alicia had never claimed kissing as a defensive argument before, but there was no getting around it today.

  Sure, John had skills that she didn’t, skills that complemented her own. And true, they’d find Rory faster by working together, which was of the utmost importance because they’d released a volatile, violent criminal into the world—yes, they, because she would have killed Rory if John hadn’t interfered—and they had a duty to neutralize him before he caused any more harm. But though her guilt over the clinic nurse’s death would haunt her for the rest of her life, that hadn’t been the only reason she’d pushed for an alliance with John.

  It was that kiss.

  She hadn’t been kissed like that since the last time John kissed her.

  Okay, she hadn’t been kissed at all since the last time John kissed her, so maybe that had something to do with the toe-curling bliss of his lips working their magic on hers and his huge, solid body making her feel delicate and small and oh-so-desirable. But that didn’t change the fact that it had happened, and though she’d fought the feeling at first, deep down she’d wanted it to happen.

  No man got under her skin like John. None before him, and she knew for certain there’d be none after him that could melt her defenses so thoroughly and exquisitely. John had been right when he’d said that no other man made her feel like he did. That should have been one more reason to hate him, not invite him to be her business partner, but it was a little late now to figure that out.

  She was shaking his hand, still marveling at the weirdness of them being business associates and temporary partners, when boots thumped over the wooden front patio at a speed that told them someone was running their way.

  John tensed. He made to grab Alicia’s arm, but she was already ducking for cover behind the bar. He scrambled after her.

  “John, Alicia, where are you?” Eugene’s voice was breathless. “I have a lead for you on your criminal, but you don’t have any time to waste.”

  They emerged from behind the bar, holstering their guns.

  “You were only outside for a few minutes. What could’ve happened?” John asked.

  “My friend Harry was driving by, going way too fast. I flagged him down to see what was wrong, and he said someone called him because they saw one of his floatplanes take off. Someone stole it. So I thought, could it be this criminal John is looking for? Can this Rory man fly a plane?”

  Alicia wasn’t sure if this was good news or bad news because it meant that Rory had slipped off the island for points unknown.

  “Not sure if he’s ever flown a floatplane, but yes. He has his pilot’s license,” John said. “Thanks for this tip. I think you’re right about Rory stealing your friend Harry’s plane. The question is, did any of the law enforcement officials on the island notice?”

  “I don’t know about that. Harry said his wife’s on him about calling the police, but he said he’s going to go after the plane himself.”

  Alicia leaned in and set a hand on Eugene’s arm as an idea occurred to her. “You said one of his seaplanes. He has more than one?”

  “He owns an aerial tour company. He has three planes. Two now, I guess.”

  John rubbed his palms together. He must be considering the same idea Alicia was. Showtime. She hadn’t been aware that Rory had his pilot’s license, but he and Diego hadn’t been the only two members of their crew with that skill. Alicia held that honor, too.

  She didn’t fly all that often anymore, but she’d piloted a floatplane and was willing to take the chance of tracking Rory in the air. What other option did she have?

  “Where are we going to find your friend Harry?” she asked. “And how much do you think it’d cost to rent one of his other planes for the rest of the week?”

  “Harry’s business is called Flights of Fancy. It’s across the bay, about a mile or so east. I told Harry that wherever he follows that stolen plane, he’s going to be there a while because the weather’s turning. Hannah’s on her way.”

  “That’s right. Hurricane Hannah,” John said. Hands on hips, he cursed under his breath and walked to the window. “With all that’s happened, I forgot about that.”

  Alicia hadn’t, though she never expected to still be in the islands when it hit. She’d chose
n today to break Rory out of prison specifically because of the hurricane’s imminent arrival. Her idea had been for the hurricane to wash away her trail, help conceal the location of Rory’s body and delay the military and Feds’ search for him.

  Her initial assessment had been correct, for all the good it was going to do her—Hurricane Hannah would definitely delay the search for Rory.

  “I told Harry it’s too risky to go flying into a storm to follow an armed and dangerous criminal, but he is determined to do this. Maybe you can convince him to let you two track the plane instead.”

  “We’ll give it our best shot,” Alicia said. Hope bloomed inside her. If they could convince Harry not to alert the police, and if they could convince him to rent them a plane, she might just have a chance at getting the vengeance she needed to close the book on the most painful chapter of her life.

  John dropped his bag on one of the small, round tables dotting the room. He rummaged around, moving aside a gun or two, and withdrew a stack of cash. Hundred-dollar bills by the looks of it. He held it out to Eugene. “For not giving us up to those Feds and for the rum. And because good bartenders are hard to come by.”

  Eugene pocketed the cash without glancing directly at it. “Thanks for that. Stay safe, John the Glove. Watch out for the weather—and don’t forget you still owe me that moonwalk. The money doesn’t get you out of that obligation.”

  The men exchanged side hugs and back slaps. “You know I’m good for it.”

  Alicia offered Eugene a smile. “Sorry I kept you on the business end of my Glock for so long.”

  He waved off the apology and offered his hand to shake. “Not the first time. Probably won’t be the last.”

  She took his hand, then leaned close and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for the lead.”

  John was already in front of the bar, scoping out the bay. Alicia adjusted her computer bag and followed, her mind reviewing the procedure to get a floatplane into the air.

  “Hey.” It was Eugene again. She turned just inside the threshold of the patio. “You take care of him.”

  It was an odd thing to say. Of course she was going to take care of Rory. That’s what all this was about. Failure was not an option. “We’ll take care of him as fast as we can. Hopefully before he does any more damage.”

  “Not Rory. John. He’s a good man and I don’t want to see him get hurt again. It wasn’t pretty last time.”

  In the months after John had reached out to her, she often wondered, on nights she couldn’t sleep, where he’d gone and what he was doing. If he was as tormented by the past as she was or if he’d moved on, carelessly, callously. No one told her and she was too stubborn to ask or research him online. Knowing now that he’d suffered didn’t bring her nearly the comfort she’d once imagined it would.

  “I’m not playing him. And, despite how he introduced me, I didn’t break his heart.” He broke mine. “I guess he never mentioned that he tried to kill me.”

  The words rang hollow. When had her conviction about his guilt wavered? She still believed it, didn’t she? Did you ever really? a little voice inside her asked.

  Eugene didn’t flinch at the incendiary declaration. He folded his hands across his chest and leaned back against the bar. “John said a lot of things about you the first time he was in this bar. Not one of them led me to believe he had designs on killing you.”

  What did he say? She was too proud to ask, not that she had the time to stand around gabbing. John was probably already halfway around the bay. “I’ve got to go. Thank you for everything.”

  Without waiting to find out if Eugene had some final retort or piece of advice, she jogged down the front stairs and onto the single-lane road that ran along the bay.

  The air crackled with volatility, like an electric charge was swirling all around her. Ever darkening clouds rolled nearer to the island, pushed along by the wind that had kicked up in the span of time since they’d been in The Salty Parrot. Alicia hadn’t had the pleasure of living through a hurricane, but to her untrained eye, it didn’t look two days away, as the original forecast had predicted. The first chance they got, they needed to find a weather update.

  John was several blocks ahead of her, not running, per se, but not exactly waiting for her, either. In a way, she appreciated the space to catch her breath, replay her conversation with Eugene and look her fill at John.

  He afforded her a brief sidelong glance, then kept going. His long legs strode with purpose and his eyes scanned his surroundings. Muscles and bones, mind and limbs and torso, his whole body, all worked in total harmony—like a highly evolved predator, which he most certainly was. Twice now, she’d witnessed him in action today. Both times, he’d taken her breath away in awe of his technique and power. She’d always thought him an exceptional soldier, but now his skills were extraordinary. It was as though he’d done nothing but train for this mission for the past year and a half.

  Maybe he had. Maybe there was more to his motive than she’d considered. Point of argument: he’d found her and Rory on St. Thomas almost instantly. How had he known?

  Her steps faltered. Okay, yeah, that was a huge question that somehow hadn’t occurred to her before. But now that she had the time to chew it over, how had he found her so fast on St. Thomas?

  She quickened her step but realized almost immediately that given his fast pace, she wasn’t going to catch up with him unless she ran. So she did, bridging the distance between them just as an old plastic sign reading Flights of Fancy came into view up ahead.

  “Hey,” she called.

  He looked her way, his expression one of uncompromising focus. “There are still two planes in the water, which means Harry hasn’t left to chase after Rory yet. I don’t see any police cruisers out front of his shop, either. We might have a legitimate shot at this.”

  “How did you find me so fast on St. Thomas?”

  He blinked, processing. His steps slowed. “What?”

  “This morning on St. Thomas. How did you get there so fast? How did you know where I was? Because now that I’m thinking about it, it can’t be a coincidence.”

  “We don’t have time for this.” His stride lengthened again.

  He was right, but a familiar and unwanted vulnerability had crept into her consciousness, and she couldn’t see taking one more step on their quest without pulverizing it and recapturing her sense of control. After the shock that Logan’s team had been tracking her every move, she had to know what John’s angle was. “I say we do.”

  He let out a hard chuckle. “We already shook on this partnership. Isn’t it a little late to be second-guessing my motives?”

  “I’m clear about your motives. It’s your methods I’m questioning.”

  John scowled but was prevented from answering by the sound of a door banging open.

  A short, thick man with a bushy orange-and-gray beard stepped down the front steps of Flights of Fancy. He carried a double-barreled shotgun, the kind best used for hunting birds and small game, and wore an absolutely livid expression on his face as he strode toward the dock where two floatplanes were moored.

  John sprang into motion. “Harry? I’m a friend of Eugene’s. I think he mentioned me to you. Can we have a word?”

  The request was met with a grunt as Harry unlocked the metal gate barring access to the dock. When the lock clicked, he opened it with his shoulder, sending a withering look to John. “You tell Eugene to mind his own business. He can’t stop me from going after my own property.”

  John reached into his pocket and withdrew his HK45, pointing it at the ground, his finger nowhere near the trigger. The gun got Harry’s attention fast.

  “He told us someone stole your plane,” John said. “He sent us over here because we can help you get it back. My name’s John and this is Alicia.”

  Harry’s attention shifted t
o Alicia, so she followed John’s lead and withdrew her own gun in a show of affinity. “You want the plane. We want the man piloting it.” She caressed the side of the Glock and offered Harry a confident smile. “I’d say we’re a match made in heaven.”

  He squared up to them at the top of the ramp leading down to the dock. “You have thirty seconds.”

  John swung his bag forward and rummaged inside. “Good enough. The fugitive who stole your plane is armed and dangerous. You shouldn’t go after him alone. My colleague and I are trained in combat to handle men like him. We can help you get your plane back, and if that’s not enough incentive...” He pulled out another stack of cash, making Alicia wonder anew exactly how much money he was carrying around. “Maybe this will make it worth your time.”

  He held the stack out to Harry, who shifted his rifle to his left hand and wrapped his fingers around the money.

  “I didn’t know U.S. soldiers carried around cash bribes.” He didn’t sound suspicious, more like impressed.

  John smiled his old smile, the happy-go-lucky one he used to wear when he listened to music or told a good story about his days in the army. The one that showcased his straight white teeth and masculine chin. The one that took Alicia’s breath away. “We’re not your average U.S. soldiers.”

  Speaking of twisting the truth... At least Harry seemed to be considering their offer now, if the way he was lovingly running his thumb over the edges of the crisp one-hundred-dollar bills in his hand was any indication.

  “Have you called the police yet?” Alicia asked.

  Harry tsked. “By the time the police get their act in gear, my plane could be halfway to South America. And if, miracles of miracles, the police did recover it and claim it as evidence, I might never see it again. No, thank you.”

  “How are you planning to track the plane?”

  “Your thirty seconds are up. It’s time to fly.” He turned and plodded down the ramp with wide, swift steps. Alicia and John exchanged a look, then followed. Harry glanced at them over his shoulder. “This isn’t my first stolen plane. There are a lot of punks who think it’d be fun to go for a joyride. Most of them have no idea how dangerous landing a seaplane is. The last one, I had to fish it out of a reef off Buck Island. After that, I fitted all my planes with GPS locators and added a video camera to my dock.” He gestured to a wooden birdhouse sitting on the shingled roof of his business office.