by Valerie Parv
* * *
Garth didn't like her plan. If he was truly the heir to the throne, protecting him made sense but he didn't have to like it. Technically she was running this, and he'd been taught to respect the chain of command. Not always follow it, but respect it.
Still, the idea of her going in to get the Pascales while he created a diversion didn't appeal one bit. So he had edited the plan slightly without telling Serena. She was going to be mad as all get-out, but he'd worry about that later.
For now he dressed in silence, putting on Brett's fishing vest, with its tangle of gear, over the bottom half of a wet suit. A floppy hat concealed his features. Serena had changed into a sleek one-piece bathing suit that fitted her like a second skin. He watched her tuck her lovely hair under a swimming cap and felt his throat go dry. She had a shape like a professional swimmer, wide-shouldered and narrow-hipped with legs so long they seemed to go on forever. The navy suit skimmed the outlines of her breasts as if she was naked.
She looked up and caught him watching her. "Never seen a woman in a bathing suit before, Remy?"
"Not this woman."
His husky tone alerted her. "Don't get any ideas."
Too late. He quelled the desire running through him like a flood tide. After this was over—he quelled that thought, too. "I thought you were afraid of sharks."
She gave him a withering look. "You had to bring that up."
So she had thought about them but was determined to see this through, anyway. Who was it said courage was doing what you were afraid to do? She had it in spades. He picked up the fishing gear they'd agreed he would use as his cover. "I'm ready if you are."
"Ready." Her voice was rock steady.
Brett accompanied them down to his private jetty, showing Garth how to use the inboard motor on the old clinker-built lifeboat moored there. Serena eyed the boat dubiously, then Garth saw her run her hand over one of the rust patches staining the hull. Amazing how easily he could read her expression, he thought, watching her note the smoothness and lack of corrosion.
He waited for her to ask why a perfectly good boat was disguised as an ancient hulk, but she simply climbed in and settled low between the seats as they'd agreed, pulling a worn blanket over herself.
To an observer it would look as if Garth was a lone fisherman. When they neared the island, she would slip over the side and swim to shore, while Garth motored to within sight of the ranger's cabin before pretending to fish close to shore, hopefully diverting the attention of whoever was holding the Pascales inside.
* * *
Serena wished she felt as calm as her name suggested. Garth hadn't needed to mention the sharks. She already jerked every time the boat bumped against a wave, imagining a torpedo-shaped form passing under the thin aluminum skin, the dorsal fin sandpapering against the hull.
It had reassured her to note that the boat wasn't as rustic as it appeared. Nor did she fear that Brett was involved in anything illegal. Apart from Matt's clean background check, everything about Brett inspired her confidence. The boat was more likely to be a relic from his days as a navy DARE, or maybe he was still active in some way, in spite of his disability. He hadn't asked about her mission. The least she could do was return the favor.
After over an hour of bumping over waves that increased in size as the sun set, she heard Garth say quietly, "Black Cat Cay is in sight. I'm going to approach from the seaward side so you can slip into the water without being seen from the cabin. As we go over the reef it will get rough so hang on."
Rough was an understatement. The imaginary sharks she felt grazing the hull grew into whales. Nausea clogged her throat but she fought it. Now was no time to get sea sick. She slid a waterproof pack onto her back and braced herself to go over the side, knowing it would take every ounce of courage she possessed.
"There are no sharks. There are no sharks," she repeated to herself.
Garth slowed the motor. "Now."
She didn't give herself time for second thoughts. A quick glance oriented her to the direction of the island, then she slipped into the water.
He had taken her in as close as he dared, putting her over the gray beach rock that was neither purely mineral like granite, nor purely animal like coral. It was spiky and treacherously slippery, making her appreciate the rubber-soled shoes she'd donned with her suit. Being in only waist-deep water was also a bonus, and she wondered if he'd taken her fear of sharks into account, saving her the horror of being dropped into deeper water.
The ranger's cabin was on the sheltered side of the cay. She had landed on the windy south side, where the trees were stunted and distorted into fantastic shapes by the prevailing winds. Her heart jerked as a diamond-shaped ray lifted from the rocky bottom, its long tail grazing her leg.
She made an effort to steady her breathing. Garth was doing his part, taking the boat around the island to where a rickety jetty jutted into the sea, making his lone-fisherman act look good. Soon she could see him only in silhouette against the blood orange of the setting sun as he let the boat drift close to the jetty. Anyone watching was bound to get antsy about seeing him there, but that was the idea.
She slogged through the water feeling the level reef rocks gradually give way to sloping sandy beach. Sea cucumbers lay like thick, dark sausages on the bottom. She dodged them and tried not to twist an ankle in the craters in the sand among the dugong grass that provided homes for the crabs that were just starting their nocturnal activities.
More worrying were the stone fish camouflaging themselves by lying completely flat on the sand or in the rubble on the reef flat. There was no way to beware of them, and their poisonous spines could spear through shoes. They did not use their spines to attack, but waited to snap up small fish as they swam past the deceptive "stone." Antivenom was available on the mainland but the painful effects of an encounter were well enough known to make her wary.
She released a breath as she emerged onto dry land, having avoided the ocean's numerous traps. How could Garth take such risks and call it fun? She glanced to where she could see his silhouette as he cast his line close to shore. He would keep up his act until she'd had time to get the Pascales out of the cabin and down to the rendezvous point, she knew.
She saw him reel in a soggy mass of seaweed. As he untangled it, the variety and ingenuity of his curses carrying on the still air made her smile. He was navy all right.
By the time she reached the white sand—not ground-up rock as on the mainland, but composed of minute morsels of pulverized coral, she knew by now—the sun had almost completely set, leaving an orange glow as if a bushfire burned just beyond the horizon.
Her pack contained a waterproof torch, but the glow and her night vision enabled her to pick her way through the casuarina forest fringing the beach. Compared with the sheltered northern side, there was little undergrowth to impede her progress. She soon reached the clearing where the ranger's hut was located.
Male voices and bobbing torches around the front near the jetty suggested their ruse was working. Two guards, if such they were, were discussing what to do about the fisherman who had drifted so close to the island. Was it better to get rid of him, or lie low and hope he left by himself. "If he's stupid enough to land, we can deal with him then," one of them said, freezing Serena's blood. She had a fair idea what they meant by getting rid of him. Their plan hadn't included him setting foot on Black Cat Cay, so she could only hope he stuck to it.
She stole closer to the cabin and peered through the single window. A sack had been draped across the glass but the occupants had evidently pushed it aside to look out, leaving her a clear view inside. There were two rooms linked by an open door. She was looking into the inner room. Through the open door, the light of an oil lamp showed her a table with hands of cards lying facedown on it, and two wooden chairs pushed back.
The inner room was lit only by a sliver of light from the lamp in the other room, revealing two single beds pushed up against the wall at right angles to one
another. On one, a woman lay fully clothed with an arm thrown across her eyes. On the other, a man sat with his back against the wall and his arms resting on his knees.
When she tapped on the glass, the man's head came up, and she recognized Dr. Alain Pascale. He came to the window. Through sign language she gestured for him to cover the glass fully with the sacking and stand to one side. As if he did this sort of thing all the time, he complied instantly.
She delved into her pack and retrieved a length of plastic kitchen wrap. She pressed it against the glass and tapped firmly with a rock. The glass, already cracked with age, broke into lethal shards. Most of them came away when she removed the wrap, leaving only a few shards to be picked out and tossed aside until the opening was big enough for the captives to crawl through.
Dr. Pascale had remained silent during the process and, without prompting, tore the sacking loose and draped it over the hole as protection against any remaining slivers. Serena nodded approval and gestured toward the sleeping woman.
The doctor padded to the bed and pressed his hand across his wife's mouth as he shook her awake. She struggled for only a second before realizing they were being rescued. She sat up and seeing Serena framed in the window, gave her a tired smile. Helen Pascale was an Australian nurse who'd met and married Alain when they'd worked at the same hospital forty years before, Serena recalled from their file. A resilient pair, she decided.
"Serena Cordeaux, R.P.D.," she whispered as soon as the doctor and his wife stood beside her outside the cabin.
The doctor gave her a look of recognition. "Thought I'd seen you around the palace. About time you got here."
She ignored the taunt. In royal circles Dr. Pascale was well-known for his sharp tongue. Even the monarch was not immune. "Come with me, we're getting you out of here," she said.
Needing no further urging, the doctor took his wife's hand and plunged into the forest after Serena. The scents of beach hibiscus and wild ginger rose to meet them. It was darker now but their night vision had adjusted, so Serena again decided against using the torch. She was anxious to get her charges to the rendezvous point before their captives missed them.
They had reached the outcropping of rock that supposedly represented the black cat's front paw, when all hell broke loose at the cabin. Shouts of rage told Serena there was no longer any need for stealth.
"Are there only the two guards?" she asked the doctor.
"Yes. Only one is armed. From the look of them they're barely out of their teens. They think this is all a big joke."
"Some joke," she muttered. "Are you both all right?"
"Helen's a little weak from rejecting their atrocious food, but I'm fine," he growled.
"Weak?" the older woman objected. "Who tried to clobber one of them with a chair leg?"
Serena restrained a smile. "Sounds as if you didn't really need me."
"We needed a gun and a boat," Pascale said. "Tell me you brought both."
"Boat yes, and a knife in case things get awkward." It had been up to her to ensure they didn't.
Pascale didn't look impressed. "It'll have to do."
As if on cue, the black shape of a boat loomed closer, and she discerned the outline of a man on board. Garth. Heart pumping, she led the older couple across the sand and onto the beach rock. Water lapped at their feet.
"There they are!" a voice shouted.
The cries and running steps told her they'd been located. She gave Pascale and his wife a shove toward the boat. "Get in. I'll lead them away."
Before anyone could argue she zig-zagged across the beach, ducking low as sand sputtered around her feet from shots fired out of the trees. Semiautomatic, she concluded from the rapid fire. Too late now to wish she had brought a gun, after all.
As she crashed into the forest, bark splintered off a casuarina close to her head. The captors were following, although she wasn't sure anymore if that was good or bad. Right now her main concern was to let the Pascales get safely away, if possible while keeping herself alive into the bargain.
She had reached the hut when a plan formed in her mind. Dashing through the open front door, she grabbed the oil lamp and threw it as hard as she could into the other room, aiming for one of the beds. It shattered against the bedstead and almost instantly, flames licked at the bedding. The room was ablaze in minutes.
She was outside again when she heard a scream of rage. "Bloody hell, our money's in there."
Oblivious to the warning cries from his companion, one of the guards rushed into the burning hut. For a moment she thought he was going to succeed in retrieving their ill-gotten gains, then an almighty crash heralded the hut's inward collapse. The searing heat told her no rescue was possible. She took no pleasure whatever in knowing that she had one less pursuer to worry about.
Enraged by the loss of his companion, the remaining guard charged at her through the forest. She barely had time to register that Garth had brought the boat around to the leeward side, as far out of range as he could, and was calling to her to swim out, when she saw the remaining guard taking aim.
She had no time to think. She took a running dive off the jetty into the water as bullets rained around her, puffing up jets of spray close enough to spatter her face. With terrible timing, the moon had silvered the water, making her an easy target. A chill swept through her. She wasn't going to make it out to the boat.
A fresh fusillade of shots peppered the water around her, and she braced to feel a bullet tearing through her, when suddenly something grabbed her ankle and she was jerked completely under.
Shark.
She couldn't scream without filling her aching lungs with water. Nor could she make out more than a sinister black shape beneath her in the churning maelstrom. She kicked savagely but couldn't shake off the monster holding her under. Terror swept through her, then anger. At least if she'd been shot in the line of duty, she would have died a hero instead of finishing up ingloriously as shark bait.
Crazily, it also came to her that she would never have the chance to find out what Garth would be like as a lover.
Chapter 9
It took Serena a moment to realize that the monster holding her under had an all-too-human shape. Then it released her and kicked upward until they were face-to-face. Through the glass of a mask she recognized Garth's grinning features. He removed his breathing regulator and held it out to her. Thinking of all the painful things she would do to him later, she took the regulator and breathed slowly and steadily, recalling the scuba diving classes she'd forced herself to take.
When her lungs stopped feeling as if they were bursting, she passed the regulator back to him. Taking turns breathing from it, he hooked an arm around her waist, swimming underwater with her until the shape of the boat loomed above them.
He signaled for her to surface on the seaward side, out of sight of the island. The Pascales were huddled together on a bench near the stern, and Brett was steering with the tiller under one arm. "How did you get here?" she sputtered as he hauled her onboard with the other.
"Later. We need to get out of here," he said. As soon as Garth piled in on top of her, Brett gunned the motor and aimed the boat back in the direction of Perla.
"Won't the gunman follow us?" she asked when she had her breath back. Although she was mad enough to do him serious injury, finding Garth on top of her wasn't entirely unpleasant, she discovered.
"Not after Garth disabled their only boat," Brett assured her.
She aimed a scathing look at both men. "Seems like Garth's been a busy boy."
"You're welcome," he said mildly.
"Okay, you saved my life. But did you have to scare me half to death in the process?"
He shrugged out of his scuba tank then helped her to sit up, keeping an arm around her shoulders. Reaction was fast setting in, and she needed the body heat, she told herself. She could hurt him later. "And as for your friend here…"
Brett gestured to a tarpaulin covering what she'd assumed was fishing equipmen
t. Instead it had concealed the scuba gear and presumably Brett himself. He must have placed the diving gear aboard when he was supposedly checking out the boat earlier, then climbed aboard as soon as she pulled the blanket over herself. Not bad for a man with a disability, she thought. He saw her working it out. "Clever, don't you think?" he asked.
She refused to agree. "You could have gotten yourself killed."
Garth looked unrepentant. "We saved your life instead."
"If you two have finished with the mutual admiration society, maybe somebody can explain what the devil is going on," Dr. Pascale asked, annoyed.
Helen Pascale patted her husband's hand. "It's all right, dear, they're young and in love."
"None of the above," Serena insisted. "It's a long story, but believe me, it has nothing whatever to do with love."
Helen looked unconvinced. "I guess this isn't the time to go into it. I feel rather drained myself."
For a woman Serena knew to be in her sixties, it was the understatement of the year. "You're certainly entitled. Do you have any idea who your two captors were?"
"One called the other Henri, and the other immediately told him to shut up," Helen explained.
"We never learned the second man's name," Dr. Pascale added. "They knew who I was, and made sure we knew they were mixed up with Carramer First, although I have no idea what that group of republican hotheads has to do with us. I only work at the palace."
"I think I can explain as soon as we all get back to Perla and dry off." She glanced at Brett. "Can we impose on your hospitality a little longer?"
"My place is yours," he said with a crooked smile. "I'll even throw in a pot of hot coffee."
"Make mine a decent scotch, preferably a double," the doctor growled. He jerked a thumb at Garth. "While you're at it, you might explain why Sir Galahad here could double for Prince Lorne. For a minute I thought the monarch himself had come to rescue us."
She had wondered how the doctor would react when he recovered enough to note the resemblance. He knew Prince Lorne better than anyone else in the kingdom. At the same time she felt a stab of disappointment. It seemed Pascale wasn't going to provide them with the easy answers she'd unconsciously hoped for.