by Jean Thomas
Lifting himself over its edge with all the stealth of a ranger prepared to sneak up on the enemy, he got to his feet. An open door faced him, looking straight through the interior to an opposite door wide open to the front deck. Not good. If Innes happened to swing around, he couldn’t fail to see him.
Taking care this didn’t happen, Mark padded cautiously into the houseboat. Something swelled inside him at the sight of Clare lying in a lower bunk, relief that she was still alive mingled with an emotion he wasn’t ready to call anything but tenderness.
Anger was in there, too, at finding her wrists and ankles bound with duct tape, although he should have expected this. She seemed unharmed otherwise.
His sudden appearance in the cabin, streaming with water like some strange sea god risen from the depths, had her staring at him with wide, startled eyes. At least she had the presence not to call out, which she could have done because her mouth hadn’t been taped. Probably because Innes had felt it unnecessary out here where she couldn’t be heard.
Understanding Mark’s silent signal, Clare turned on her side to give him access to her wrists with the folding knife he extracted from the pocket. As quickly and quietly as possible, he sawed through the tape with the sharp blade, pausing to check on Innes before he attacked the tape around her ankles.
Innes hadn’t stirred, hadn’t bothered to so much as look around. Why should he when he had no reason to assume she was anything but helpless?
Once she was freed, and the knife restored to the pocket, Mark helped her to rise from the bunk and through the back door on legs that were unsteady after her long confinement.
Drawing her around the corner where they were no longer in view of the open doorway at the other end of the cabin, he put his mouth to her ear and whispered a rapid “You know how to swim?”
“Like a fish,” she mouthed back.
He was grateful for that, but the sight of her sundress with its full skirt could be a problem in the water. Understanding the meaning of his gaze directed at the skirt, she held up one finger, then surprised him by detaching the skirt from the top and stepping out of it. Underneath was a pair of shorts whose green pattern matched the rest of the three-piece outfit.
Sonofagun.
Tossing the skirt to the floor of the deck and kicking off her sandals, Clare preceded him to the rail, slid beneath it and lowered herself into the water below.
Mark followed her immediately. There was no need for the snorkel this time, not as long as they kept the back of the houseboat between them and its front deck. Nor were the sounds of their strokes through the water a problem when the country music continued to wail as they put distance between them and the boat.
Not until they were out of sight around the curve of the island did they wade ashore. It might have been safe for them to talk here, but both of them realized the wisdom of saving their wind.
Retracing his route, Mark led the way along the beach, across the first channel, through the tangled growth of the second island to the other channel and on to the last island. The houseboat was well behind them now and the outboard just ahead when he felt the untimely vibration of his cell phone.
Damn, he’d hoped for them to be in the clear when this happened. Clare had halted with him and was gazing at him now in puzzlement.
“My cell is buzzing. Innes’s girlfriend is calling me with those instructions.”
“Ava,” she said. “Her name is Ava. Are you going to answer her?”
“No,” he decided. “Listening to her could waste too many minutes. And we need those minutes to get out of here before we’re caught. What kind of craft did Innes use to take you out to the islands?”
“An inboard cruiser.”
That could be bad if it was powerful enough, Mark thought. It must have been tied off on the other side of the houseboat, because he hadn’t seen it.
He hurried them through the rest of the vegetation, gaining the beach where he’d left the outboard. Another problem faced them here. The air was no longer still. A wind had sprung up off the Gulf, kicking up the waters.
Clare helped him to shove the little boat down the sandy incline. When it was afloat, and they were both aboard, she settled in the bow and Mark at the tiller. One pull of the cord, and he had the gasoline engine throbbing.
They headed toward the coast through a choppy sea. Had the dock been this far away? The distance between the harbor and the islands seemed to have increased noticeably, maybe because he was having difficulty keeping them on course. The little boat was bouncing erratically in the swells.
Nor did Mark like the sound of the engine struggling to keep them moving. An outboard like this was meant to operate in smooth waters, not rough seas. There was no question of that when, sputtering and coughing, the engine stalled.
His repeated tugs on the starting cord were useless. The engine was gone.
* * *
Clare, facing Mark from her seat in the bow, was the first to be aware of their pursuer. Her heart dropped at the sight of the cruiser sweeping around the back of the islands. Innes, at the wheel, must have either been alerted by Ava or had checked and found her gone from the houseboat.
Clare shouted a warning to Mark, who twisted around in his seat. They watched together, helpless, as the cruiser roared straight toward them. Unlike their own boat, the inboard had no trouble plowing through the waves, effortlessly slapping aside a path with its pointed bow.
Within seconds, the cruiser, speed reduced to an idle, coasted alongside them, bumping into their craft. Innes cut the engine and got to his feet, a pleased grin on his bony face, a pistol in his hand.
“You know what I want, soldier boy. Hand it over, and maybe I’ll let you live.”
Clare watched Mark get to his feet, his legs braced apart to steady himself in the rocking boat. She didn’t like the rigid line of his jaw. It was clear evidence of his barely restrained anger.
“I don’t have the pendant with me.”
“No? I think you do. I think you wouldn’t have left it behind. You would have wanted it handy in case you had to do some bargaining.”
“I don’t bargain with murdering lunatics, Innes.”
“Mark,” she pleaded, “don’t challenge him. He won’t hesitate to shoot you.”
“That’s right, soldier boy. I won’t hesitate to shoot you. Or better still—” the pistol swung slowly in Clare’s direction “—maybe it would be more effective if I were to shoot your little sweetheart here.”
The threat was all Mark needed. With a howl of rage, he hurled himself with all the force of a missile over the sides of both boats. The impact of his body slamming into Innes’s was so powerful it sent the gun flying and both men over the far side of the cruiser and into the water.
Clare came to her feet with a cry. Her wild movement almost pitched her into the sea herself. Kneeling on the bottom of the boat, she gripped the gunwale to keep herself in place. Without anything to hold them together, the cruiser and the outboard had separated.
The cruiser had drifted off, exposing the area where the two men had disappeared. The area which she frantically searched. There was no sign of them.
They were down there beneath the rolling surface locked in some terrible struggle. And if Mark lost the battle—
Dear God, he could die. Don’t let him die. He can’t die.
How long could they stay under without air? This was too long. Much too long. It seemed more than just seconds. It seemed minutes before her silent plea was answered. A head finally rose to the surface, breaking water.
Mark or Innes? She couldn’t tell. Not until he twisted around, gulping air and searching for one of the boats was she able to identify him. It was Mark. Thank God, it was Mark.
She watched him as he paddled toward the outboard, fighting the turbulent waters as he strove to
reach her extended hand. Only when his fingers finally made contact with hers did she ask him, “Innes?”
He shook his head, managing to gasp, “Lost him somewhere down there.”
And then his strength gave out. He was barely able to cling to the side of the boat with his other hand, but unable to lift himself aboard. It was Clare who somehow found the strength, aided by whatever little energy Mark had left, to haul him into the boat.
Her treatment was anything but gentle. She feared she had hurt him, maybe seriously, when his leg—it would be the wounded one—connected so hard with the gunwale he sucked in a mouthful of air. That evidence of pain was the last sound he made before collapsing on the floor of the boat and passing out.
There was still no sign of Innes. Had he drowned? He must have drowned. But Innes didn’t matter. Only her concern for Mark mattered. He could be more than just unconscious. He could be injured, in need of medical treatment.
The outboard was without power, the trolling motor useless in waters like these while the empty cruiser was far out of reach now, headed seaward.
You’re not helpless. You can’t permit yourself to be helpless. Think.
Mark’s cell phone. She could see the outline of it in the pocket of his wet suit. Had it remained dry? Would it still work?
Leaning over him, she unzipped the waterproof pocket, closed her hand over the phone inside, drew it out and examined it for both power and a signal. Yes! She had both.
Within seconds, she was reporting their plight to the emergency service on shore. “I need help. I’m out here between the harbor and the islands in a small boat with a failed engine. I have an unconscious man who could need treatment.”
The Coast Guard was on its way. Clare ended the call with a relieved sigh. Now all she had to do was wait.
But that wasn’t all. The wind had strengthened in force, and the waves with it. They weren’t just being tossed about. They had been turned sideways and were wallowing in the troughs between the swells. In this position the small boat was in danger of capsizing.
Clare knew just enough about such a situation to realize that she had to swing the outboard around so that its prow was headed into the oncoming rollers, and to keep it that way.
There was an emergency paddle in the bottom of the boat. Seizing it, she got to work, dipping and stroking until she’d managed to move the bow into the wind. They were riding the whitecaps now. But in order to maintain that attitude, it was necessary for her to move with the paddle from one side of the boat to the other, correcting the direction whenever they started to turn again.
Back and forth she went, the boat bouncing over the crests, hair whipping in her face. Her arms grew tired with the repeated effort.
Don’t give up. You can’t give up.
She didn’t, and was rewarded for her endurance a few minutes later by the appearance of the Coast Guard rescue vessel slashing through the waves, sending up spray as it charged toward them.
Clare had never seen a more beautiful sight.
Chapter 20
Mark was awake and complaining when they were delivered to the dock where an ambulance was waiting.
“No hospital,” he grumbled. “I’m not going to any hospital. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
He did agree, however, to having the two medics standing by check him over. They pronounced him fit, although he did admit the leg that had been wounded in Afghanistan was aching a bit. But that wasn’t unusual, considering what stress it had been subjected to out there in the Gulf. All he would accept, and got, were a couple of aspirin and a bottle of water.
Once released, he and Clare made their way to the SUV, selected dry clothing from their luggage and changed in a pair of public restrooms. They drove afterward to the police station, which had been told by the Coast Guard to expect them.
Clare soon learned that, though the Conch Beach police force was not a large one, it was an efficient one. They were assigned to the same officer who was handling the Hank Kolchek case. Sergeant Will O’Hara was built more like a Miami Dolphins linebacker than a good-natured cop.
The sergeant listened patiently to the story she and Mark alternately related, taking down the pertinent details of all that had happened beginning in New Orleans and ending here.
“I’m going to phone the New Orleans and St. Boniface departments,” O’Hara told them, “and if everything checks out both there and with the Kolchek situation, I see no reason why your sister shouldn’t be released in the near future. Meanwhile, Ms. Fuller, I’m going to have you look at some mug shots. If this woman called Ava has a record, I want to know what it is.”
Moments later, Clare found herself seated in front of a computer scanning photos of women who had served time. She was growing weary of the search, thinking it was hopeless, when she finally spotted the brunette.
Her full name was Ava Santana, and she had a history of extortion. It was all the Conch Beach police needed to issue an APB and an order for her to be picked up.
Sergeant O’Hara had good news for Clare when he finished making his calls. New Orleans had informed him they’d located the security tape time stamped with Terry’s visit to Malcolm Boerner’s shop on the afternoon of her husband’s murder. The tape was in Boerner’s safety deposit box.
“Your sister’s release is just a formality now. As for the rest, I’m going to ask you and the lieutenant here to come back tomorrow. I should have further results for you by then.”
Mark had remained at Clare’s side throughout the proceedings. He stayed close when they came away from the police station, ate an early dinner at the harbor front and registered for the night in another motel. Physically, that is. Emotionally, now that everything was ending, she felt a widening gulf between them.
Once settled in the motel, and with her cell phone still in Ava Santana’s possession, Clare asked to borrow Mark’s cell. He obliged and proposed taking a walk while she made her call. His leg was no longer aching but needed exercising.
A genuine motive, she wondered, or an excuse to get away from her? Terry was ecstatic when she managed to get her on the phone. Clare wanted to be more excited for her sister. But sadness, bordering on despair, pervaded her both then and throughout the evening. Were she and Mark nothing now but polite strangers?
* * *
They saw Sergeant O’Hara again late the following morning. He had a good deal to tell them about the developments since yesterday.
Roy Innes’s drowned body had washed ashore a half mile down the coast. Both boats had been recovered and returned to the owners who had rented them, while the houseboat had motored back to the canal from which it had originated where the police had visited it. The two officers found Clare’s purse and discarded skirt, which were turned over to her.
They had also discovered the four pendants Innes had hidden in the houseboat. Mark gave the sergeant his own pendant, asking that when the police were finished with the collection that it be given to Hank Kolchek, who intended to use it to restore the treasures to Afghanistan’s National Museum.
“And this I’ve been saving for last,” O’Hara said. “Ava Santana was apprehended last night at the Miami-Dade Airport where she was waiting to board a plane to Texas, which was apparently where she and Innes first met and hooked up. She’s here now in a holding cell.”
He went on to tell them Ava cooperated for the promise of a reduced sentence. Innes had left her behind in New Orleans to keep track of Clare and Mark while he went after Hank Kolchek in Florida. Because they had been watching for a man at the wheel of a blue sedan, they’d had no reason to be suspicious of a woman in a green van.
Ava had followed them to Florida and afterward to the Conch Beach hospital. She’d been looking for a chance to rob Mark of his pendant while Innes waited outside in his car.
It was Ava, seeing Clar
e enter the restroom, who’d devised the plan to take Clare hostage and hold her in exchange for the pendant. She’d called Innes in his car, asking him to lure Mark away from his post, which enabled her to snatch Clare.
“I think that about covers it,” Sergeant O’Hara said. “It won’t be necessary for you to appear as witnesses. The statements you made and signed yesterday are all we need. Before you leave, though you might like to know Hank Kolchek is off the critical list and has been moved out of the ICU into a recovery room.”
“He able to have visitors?” Mark asked.
The sergeant thought he could, since one of their officers had been permitted to take a statement from him earlier.
“Let’s go see Kolchek,” Mark proposed when he and Clare came away from the police station. “I’d like him to know the five pendants will be turned over to him.”
Clare agreed.
* * *
“Well, it’s finished,” Mark said, satisfied by their visit and Hank’s gratitude when they left the hospital a half hour later. “We can go home now.”
Clare knew it wasn’t finished, that what remained to be resolved could either be a beginning or an ending. And that dealing with it could break her heart. But delaying it, whatever the outcome, was something she couldn’t bear.
It was why, as they started for the parking lot, she urged, “Look, there’s a bench there in the shade of those palms. Let’s sit for a little. There’s something we need to settle.”
She saw at once her suggestion made him uneasy. Not a good sign.
“Can’t it wait until we’re on the road?”
“No, Mark,” she insisted, “I want it settled now.”
He was more than uneasy now, he was unwilling. But she left him no choice. He followed her to the bench, where they seated themselves side by side.
“Okay, what is it?” he asked, turning to her.
He knows what it is, she thought. He just hates having to face it. Well, so did she.
Fortifying herself with a deep breath, she said as evenly as possible, “I think you know I’m in love with you, Mark. And if you imagine that was easy for me to say, it wasn’t.” He opened his mouth to react to that, but she held up her hand to let him know she wasn’t finished. “What’s more, I think—and this isn’t easy for me, either—that, much as you resisted it, you couldn’t help falling in love with me. Or am I wrong about that?”