by Linda Ladd
Once the fire caught, Black fed driftwood to it and got it up to blazing. She and Rico both moved closer to the fire and tried to warm up. The little cave was cold at night, and their clothes were still wet, but Black and Rico had taken off their shirts and pants and laid them out in the sun to dry. She did, too, but she still had on her damp and sandy sports bra, but it made her uncomfortable to remove it with little Rico around. On the other hand, it covered more than her bikini would have, so she guessed it was all right. Rico didn’t seem to notice. As it grew darker outside, however, Rico curled up in exhaustion and fell asleep right next to the fire. That’s when Claire took off her damp sweatpants and spread them out near the flames to dry. She pulled off the damp bra and shook the sand out of it.
“Quit trying to turn me on,” Black murmured softly, watching her, but he was smiling. No doubt glad to be alive, just like she was.
“Give me your big warm shirt then,” suggested Claire.
Black pulled it off and handed it over, but he was looking her up and down pretty good and with a very familiar glint in his eye.
“Quit trying to turn me on,” said Claire.
“At least we’re still able to joke around,” said Black.
“Who’s joking?” said Claire.
Black shook his head. “I have to say that I’m damn glad you showed up to save my skin. I wouldn’t be joking around, otherwise. I’d just be dead by now. Or addicted to heroin and meth. That’s what was coming next.”
That tidbit cut through Claire’s light mood, but quick.
“Are you all right, Black? Really? You were pretty out of it, and not that long ago.”
He didn’t say anything. Claire could hear the crashing of waves below them on the beach and the low crackle of the fire. “I know I was. I remember some of it, but everything was so distorted, like I was in a bizarre dream. I remember not believing you were there. I kept thinking that Booker wouldn’t let you come. That I was seeing things. That there was no way you could be there.”
“Booker didn’t stand a chance against me at that point. Now? I just wanna go home and lock the door and stay there and never step foot outside again.”
Black joined her by the fire and put his arm around her. He felt good, the warmth of the fire felt good, too, but that was all that felt good in this nightmare they were trapped in. He said, “We’ll get back home. You did the hard part. Now it’s my turn to come through for you. I got this.”
“Right. Who did you call back there before the phone went dead? 911? Ghostbusters?”
“I wish. I called Book. Happy to say they’re on their way on a boat they hired in Marsala. They went to Marseilles first. Marcel had this all planned out and to the letter. He must’ve been working on it for months, years, maybe. Then I called my brother. Told him we were in trouble in Sicily, and if he could send help, do it, and do it fast. So no worries, we got a two-pronged rescue coming in to get us.”
“Wish that phone still worked so they could float up in that boat and pick us up from the beach.”
“They’ll get here. They fell for Soquet’s plot, just like we did. He’s a clever man, and he never gives up.”
Black sounded very certain about their imminent rescue. Claire didn’t feel certain at all.
“I don’t know about you, Black, but I’m starving.”
“I could probably catch us a fish with my bare hands in the dark, given four or five hours or so.”
Claire laughed softly. “Where is room service when you really need it? Hey, is seaweed edible?”
“Yeah, but it tastes like crap.”
“Okay, I’ll wait for the wedding cake.”
“Why don’t you tell me about the wedding? Get our minds off all this. How’d your house look?”
Claire thought about their doomed wedding day that seemed five hundred million years ago and when she was sitting in her bedroom in her giant silk wedding gown waiting for Black to show up. “Actually, I don’t have a house anymore. Soquet blew it up.”
Beside her, Black stiffened. “So that was real? They showed me a video of the explosion and told me you were inside. That the whole wedding party was dead.”
“They do have psychological torture down to an art, don’t they?”
“We’re gonna make it back, Claire.”
Black sat up, leaned over, and put some driftwood on the fire, and then he lay down and pulled her up close against him. “Okay, let’s just go to sleep and try to get some rest and some of our strength back. Tomorrow’s not gonna be much fun, either.”
Claire nodded and then she closed some very tired and bloodshot eyes. At least she was with Black now. He was safe and sound and rational at the moment and holding her close inside his arms. Maybe it was the last time ever. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it didn’t matter because it was out of their hands, anyway. She lay there with her cheek against Black’s bare chest and finally, finally slept, because she had never been so drained in her entire, livelong life.
When she opened her eyes again, Black and Rico were both gone. But the fire was still blazing and sending its warmth out into the small grotto. She scrambled up, shed Black’s shirt and pulled on her own nearly dry clothes, and walked outside, holding Black’s shirt in one hand. They were both down below her on the beach picking up driftwood. Black glanced up and saw at her and smiled and waved. Happy, happy. Not. Because the extremely worried expression behind his smile said otherwise. They came back up and joined her in the tiny cave, where Black built the fire up again with the driftwood and dried seaweed that they’d gathered.
“I heard a firefight going on up at the fortress. I think Book and the guys have arrived and stormed the place. Looks like we just might make it out of this mess after all.”
“You sure it wasn’t just Jaxy firing down the beach at you and Rico?”
“Pretty sure. It sounded like a full-bore attack. I hope to hell it was. But we can’t stay here. We’ve got to find a way up this cliff. We need drinking water, and food, and weapons, and there isn’t any of that down here. I already looked.”
Claire couldn’t disagree with that. Her mouth was so dry now that she could barely swallow. “Okay, let’s just go. No need sitting around here waiting for them to come find us.”
So Black kicked sand up over the fire and they headed off down the beach away from the fortress. It was early morning and gulls were screaming their raucous calls and waves were crashing into rocks; it was already hot, the blazing Mediterranean sun rising high in the sky and burning down on them. Claire tried to forget how thirsty she was. Black and Rico had to be, too, but neither of them was complaining. She thought of all the bottled water they’d had to leave back in the cave. What she wouldn’t give for just one tiny sip of it. But Rico wasn’t saying a word. He was turning out to be an absolutely amazing kid. She could barely believe he’d survived all that he’d been through. Black ought to make him a member in good standing of his little covert commando team. The kid certainly had enough guts. And it appeared they needed more troops. Booker and Holliday had taken their good sweet time showing up. If they had shown up. She hoped Novak was with them. He didn’t seem the type to take prisoners. And she was beginning to like that about him.
They skirted the edge of the sea for what seemed like forty days and forty nights but probably was just a matter of hours. But the farther away they got from Jaxy and her henchmen, the better Claire felt. At least Marcel and Max were now out of the picture. At least, she hoped Marcel was gone. She knew Max was. They kept their footprints inside the foaming ripples sliding up onto the beach where they would be quickly erased. Claire felt better when they rounded a rocky outcropping that jutted out and hid them from the fortress and lethal searchers with high-power binoculars. They walked on and on, but finally, at long last, Black espied a twisting sandy path that led up to the top of the cliff. But what if Jaxy and her men were already up there? Waiting up top with their weapons drawn and sap in hand?
Apparently, Black was enjoying similar
paranoid worries. “We’ve got to scale it, Claire. We don’t have a choice. We’re sitting ducks down here. Up there we can find a place to hide. And water. And maybe somebody who’ll help us. Booker’s coming. We just have to hold out until he gets here.”
“Okay, but be ready with that rifle.”
“Oh, I’m ready all right. I would just love to shoot down that crazy girl.”
He meant every word of that, of course. But he’d have to fight Claire for that pleasure. She planned to get the girl first, with her Glock, right between the eyes would be nice. She would be happy with that.
So up they trudged and climbed and slid backward on the loose sand and gravel, Black in front again, Rico between them, not complaining because he was a little angel sent down to them from heaven above to save them from themselves. Claire brought up the rear, tired, but feeling more rested than she had in a good long time. Black had torn a sleeve off his shirt and bandaged her palm and that felt a little better now. But it still hurt like the devil. But she did feel better than she had since she’d gotten that first phone call and saw Black being abused by an insane girl. Now she needed to regain some stamina, stiffen her spine, so to speak. She kept telling herself that if Black could go through all the terrible things he had and still do this, then so could she. But it was getting harder to keep going, and the sun was getting hotter on her head and burning the skin on her cheeks and chin, and she felt sick from want of food and water and the constant agony throbbing in her right hand. But they had to keep going. So they did.
Chapter Twenty-three
When they reached the windswept top of the unbelievably high cliff and looked out over the island, there wasn’t much to see. Pretty much just deserted scrubland with a large hulking volcanic mountain rising up against the cloudless blue sky. Claire sank down on the ground to rest, but she kept looking back toward the fortress to see if anybody was coming. She did not want to be taken by surprise. She did not want to be taken, period. She saw no one, but the trail skirting the edge of the sheer precipice wasn’t exactly a safe traveling track, either.
Black was still up on his feet and looking around, apparently trying to gauge the best direction to go. He finally elected to head inland. “We’ll rest a few more minutes here and then start out toward those low foothills. Surely we’ll find something there. Somebody friendly. Or at the least, a stream or a pool of rainwater, maybe. Hopefully, we’ll run across a village or a fishing port along here somewhere. Most of these islands are inhabited mostly by fishermen.”
“So you’ve been here?”
“I’ve been to Marsala and some other places in Sicily.”
Black didn’t elaborate further, and Claire didn’t ask. If he knew what to do and where to go, all power to him. After a short rest spent watching the fortress and the cliff trail, they pulled themselves up again and trudged on. Up so high, the sea breeze was stiff against their faces but cooling, too, which was a good thing. The sun was very hot on their bare heads. Claire was sunburned already, and her hand ached so badly that she couldn’t quite ignore the pain, anymore. She wanted to fall down and cry and moan and wallow in the dirt and yell about how much it hurt, but she didn’t. It wasn’t bleeding much, though. It had been washed clean by the salt water, but that had also made it burn like fire. Or maybe hell. Maybe even worse than hell.
They continued on, across uneven acres upon acres filled with dusty brush and bushes and rocks, but finally ended up at a tree line where they could walk in the shade of some pathetic-looking, sea-wind-bent scrawny trees. But it seemed like hours before they came to a little creek running with fresh, clean water. All three of them just waded in to their knees and then collapsed in the cool, delicious water, submerging their hot, tired bodies, and drinking their fill from cupped hands. In Claire’s case, one cupped hand. After that, Claire began to feel a lot better. Hydration was good. Not that she really felt good about anything going on, but better, maybe.
Rico was beginning to lag now, struggling to keep going on his little legs, until Black finally swung him up and carried him on his back, but he still kept the rifle gripped in his right hand and ready to fire. Claire followed them, her gun in her hand, too, thinking Black looked big and sexy and tough in a bearded, scruffy, Me Tarzan–You Jane sorta way, and then was rather amazed but glad that she could even think about something like that under such horrendous circumstances. She checked her own weapon again, made sure it was still in good working order. She knew they were in a brief respite of sorts, but she also knew that couldn’t last much longer. They were being pursued by vicious, murdering criminals, and they better not forget it.
The island appeared to be deserted of any and all human habitation, except for the killers and their own private killing fortress and lots of wild goats and wild horses that they espied from afar. Black had turned now and was heading in what he judged to be southeast, because he said it would probably be the closest point to mainland Sicily and most likely where they would find some kind of civilization, if there was any civilization. As it turned out, a couple of hours later, he was right on with his analysis.
Once they reached the gradual rise of the high rock mountain that appeared to run down the center of the island, they began to get a few glimpses of possible human existence. There were small empty pens along a beaten path, probably meant for goats, the gates hanging open. They also happened upon trash here and there, tossed along the narrow trail, but no people, no sign of life, not yet. By late afternoon, they caught sight of what looked like a deserted hut with a lean-to shed at one side. Black told them to stay out of sight and wait while he checked it out. They both sat down, very willing not to take another step for a while.
Nothing proved to be inside the hut, however, but it was shelter from the sun and from beaded-in gun sights, so they moved inside and collapsed on the hard dirt floor. Not long, though, because not much time passed before they heard people approaching, masculine voices floating in the quiet air. Black jumped up and stood where he could watch out the window, his rifle focused squarely on the turn in the path, his eye already on the scope. Claire took the other window and positioned her gun similarly. She waited for Jaxy to round that curve and flounce into sight with her bloody pink sap, wanting to be the one who shot her first. But it wasn’t Jaxy who showed up. It was Will Novak, and he was running fast with Booker and Holliday right behind him.
“That’s Will!” Claire cried.
Black was already outside, striding up the trail to meet his friends. They all looked even more relieved than Claire felt. Booker clasped Black’s hand. Claire ran up to Novak and hugged him as tight as she could, as if she’d never let him go, and truly was never so glad to see a partner in her entire life.
Novak hugged her close and shook his head. “You get in more trouble than anybody I’ve ever known in my entire life. I’m gonna start callin’ you Job.”
“I’m glad to see you, too.”
At that, Novak gave her one of his rare but coveted smiles.
“Goddamn, I’m glad to see you guys,” Black was saying to Booker. “Did you get them? I heard the gunfire.”
“We got everybody inside the fortress, just stormed it and took them out. But there weren’t that many there. Where’s the rest of them?”
Black frowned. “They’re probably out here looking for us.”
Claire interrupted. “Did you get a girl with red hair?”
“No. Jaxy wasn’t in there. Neither was Max or Marcel. We looked for you first, and interrogated one of their men before he died, and he told us that she was out here hunting you down. Wanted you dead before she left the island and went to her dad. Apparently, Marcel took off on his jet not long after his son got killed. Had a heart attack or something. Took the plane and left Jaxy here to clean things up. The guy said Jaxy wouldn’t go, anyway. She’s totally obsessed with putting you two down. They’re coming back for her as soon as she gets the job done.”
“Max is dead so you don’t have to worry about him,�
�� Claire told them but didn’t elaborate. She was not pleased to hear that Marcel Soquet was alive and could come after Black again. But Jaxy was on their trail right now. She was the immediate danger. Claire looked around, anxious again. Jaxy was not to be underestimated, despite their friends and the new firepower.
“How did you find us?” That was Black, but he looked as relieved as Claire felt.
“We saw you from the top of the fortress, walking inland. We were afraid you’d run into that crazy woman somewhere down this way so we got out here as quickly as we could.”
“Well, thank God for that. Did you see any sign of her from up there?”
“No, but they’re probably somewhere pretty close. I do know that they’re heavily armed.”
“We’ve gotta get off this island. You’ve got a boat, right?”
“Rented one in Marsala. It’s not too far, hidden in a cove down the coast a bit. We need to get there in a hurry.”
“Yeah, we need to go now,” Black said.
Booker stared at Black a moment, hesitated. “You sure you’re okay, Nick? You don’t look so good.”
“Good enough. So are Claire and the kid. Let’s just get the hell outta here. So where’s that boat?”
“It’ll probably take us about an hour to walk back to that cove, maybe less, if we cut straight across to the sea.”
“Okay, let’s just go. I want off this goddamn island.”
“Hey, you got anything to eat?” Claire asked Novak. “They didn’t exactly feed us gourmet meals. Or any meals, to be exact.”