by Linda Ladd
Novak kept thrusting the paddle into the water, gritting his teeth, putting his back into it, and increasing the distance between them and the pirate camp. He had sailed out alone to grieve for his sister-in-law and deal with the horror of losing his family, and had ended up in a life-and-death struggle with what appeared to be a homicidal maniac. He never should have gotten involved, never should have fished that damn kid out of the water, much less kept her aboard his boat. He should’ve dumped her in a hospital or taken her to an island police station as fast as he could get her there. Let the professionals take care of her. But he had not done that. If he was honest with himself, he probably wouldn’t have had the heart to leave her alone and helpless in a strange place anyway. Now he was just royally pissed off about her, about his boat sitting underwater, and the whole damn thing. The little psycho had scuttled the Sweet Sarah, Novak was sure of it. Taken his brand-new prized possession, a boat he’d named after his wife, and put her on the bottom of the inlet. Novak became angrier about that with every stroke of the paddle he put down.
Novak propelled the canoe onward, skimming the water and keeping about fifty yards out from the beach. His arms were rock-hard with the constant effort; his biceps burned like fire. He was in good shape, kept fit with his own daily workouts, but this was grueling beyond belief. His legs were cramped up under him in the narrow confines of the canoe. His thighs felt numb, but he had to keep going. He had to find a good place to put in and weather the storm. He could barely see the beachfront now that the rain was pelting them harder. No lights anywhere, not on shore and not out at sea. The strip of sand on his left was a mere pale glow now, with surf rushing in, appearing in uneven silver lines that eventually crested and crashed against the beach in the darkness.
Novak needed to find a river, any kind of stream or creek that would take him into the interior of what he now believed was Mexico. A lot of small freshwater creeks and at least one big river emptied out of the Yucatan Peninsula into the Caribbean Sea. He’d seen them on prior voyages. He’d even sailed up the big ones from time to time. He had to find one now, but he was closing in on exhaustion, physically and mentally spent, his body straining from the rigid balance he had to maintain to keep the narrow vessel from capsizing or being swamped by the big waves. They were fairly far out, and he started angling in, trying to avoid the riptides rushing back out to sea. That method worked pretty well, because the ocean was still relatively calm near shore. But a downpour was coming soon, and that would flip the canoe like a toy boat. He had to make landfall.
After what seemed like an eternity, Novak stopped paddling, sat up straight, and stretched his arms and back. Now the rain was beginning to come down hard. He had to find a place to beach. He wasn’t as worried about the assassin now. The storm was his immediate threat. The killer was stranded at the camp with all his bloody handiwork. He had sunk the vessels along the pier and thereby left himself without a ride home. But this guy, whoever the hell he was, seemed pretty damned resourceful. He’d have a backup plan for sure, just like Novak always had one. Maybe a partner was working with him, or possibly a team, allies he could summon to pick him up at the beach.
The more Novak thought about it, the more he considered that to be the likely scenario. The killer couldn’t have gone far in this canoe, not out into the open ocean by any stretch of the imagination. It was stealthy and quick and the perfect craft to glide into the beach at night undetected. If the guy was smart, he would’ve first anchored a nice big boat somewhere nearby and launched the canoe from there. And this guy was definitely smart. Maybe he’d anchored a boat within swimming distance of the camp. That’s what Novak would have done. Novak liked to work alone, too. No need to worry about other people’s mistakes.
Novak picked up the paddle again, trying not to think about the pain gripping his body. He was tired, had to get some rest soon. Isabella still lay silent and unmoving, oblivious to the rain pouring down on her. She had to get hold of her fear and show him some guts. Because she was going to die if she didn’t. She had been through a lot, granted, but she still was a pampered little princess out of her comfort zone. She said stupid things at the wrong times, like telling Li Liu they were lovers. He took into account her age and what she’d been through. Hell, the girl was damn lucky to be alive.
Novak finally glimpsed a break in the beach, still some distance away, but it appeared to be the mouth of a stream, his route off the ocean and into the heart of what he hoped was the southern Yucatan Peninsula. That meant small towns and people and telephones and vehicles. It also meant nosy police and eyewitnesses. He headed straight for the freshwater gushing into the ocean. He was used to this kind of approach, often in the dead of night. But he’d had a crack Special Forces team supporting him at sea. He preferred to approach the enemy straight off the water, go in silent and quick and hard, hit whatever target was assigned, and then get the hell out without incident. Just like the killer who was now probably hot on his trail.
Closer in, the surf was deafening, crashing and smashing onto shore. The breakers in front of him were big and forceful. The wind blowing at his back gained him lots of speed, and he redoubled his efforts with the paddle, working hard against the current flooding out of the river delta. He finally brought the canoe in over the roiling waves, and the water grew calmer. The river remained about thirty yards across, and he guided the canoe inland and kept her close to the bank. He began to relax a bit as he skimmed over the rippling water. When they rounded a bend, the river narrowed some. Not exactly the Mississippi, but he could probably reach some kind of civilization eventually if he continued heading inland. He kept glancing back, not underestimating the killer, but he saw nothing coming after him, no spotlights searching the jungle hugging the banks. Nothing. Novak had to stop soon. He needed to rest, even for half an hour. Sleep a bit, if he could. Just enough to keep his mind functioning so he wouldn’t start making stupid mistakes. Now he felt a little better about things. If the girl didn’t panic and go nuts, they just might make it out of this mess alive.
When he finally located a good spot, he guided the boat in toward the bank. Isabella sat up and looked around. “Where are we going?”
Novak kept dipping the paddle. “Hell if I know. Keep your voice down. Sound travels over water.”
Isabella collapsed back down into the prow and didn’t move. Novak ignored her and breathed easier when the stream grew calm. The water was sluggish, moving downstream in slow swirling currents. He was headed toward civilization now, he knew that much. He hoped they’d hit a village, or better yet, a city with a road that led straight to a U.S. embassy and/or an international airport. Maybe that wasn’t going to happen, but a landline telephone would do the trick, if he could find one. Once he got out of the jungle and made sure the killer wasn’t tailing them, he knew what to do. He had contacts who could help him. Right now, he was just too damn exhausted to think straight.
The sandbar he’d chosen had loomed up in the dark off to the right. He hesitated, not wanting to stop yet, but knowing he had to. He placed the paddle across his lap and tried to relax his aching shoulders. “Okay, Isabella, listen up. We’ve got to stop a little while and let me get some rest. You need to stay calm and do what I tell you.”
She raised herself up, twisted around, and stared at him. He could barely see her in the gloom, but he knew her clothes were torn, the T-shirt she had on ripped and filthy. She looked dirty and wet and miserable and cold, and then the rain came down harder, in an absolute deluge, and beat the water around them into a maelstrom. Her hair straggled down over her face. Then she just groaned and slumped down again.
In time, Novak managed to beach the canoe and stepped out into the shallows. He pulled the canoe up farther onto the wet sand with the girl still inside, and then he walked around some, back and forth on the sand, trying to get some feeling back into his cramped legs. They felt numb. So did his arms. He loosened up some after a few minutes, and then he peered downriver but did not see a pu
rsuer. But he couldn’t see much else, either, not in the drenching downpour. He told Isabella to get out of the boat, and then he pulled it, empty, across the sand and into a lush growth of ferns and vines tangling the trees growing behind the sand. He motioned to her. She dragged herself over to him and stood watching as he brushed away the telltale groove, dug into the sand when he’d pulled the canoe in to cover, as well as their footprints. Another quick search of the river and then he’d had all he could take. He crawled under the protection of the thick bushes overhanging the bank, lay down behind the canoe with the rifle in his hand, and shut his eyes. A moment later, he felt the girl lie down and press herself up close against him. She was moaning.
He didn’t open his eyes. “Get some sleep, Isabella. We’re moving out again soon.”
No answer. She was trembling all over, both from fear and from the frigid rain pouring down on them, no doubt. The storm was loud and punishing, the rain clattering on the leaves and drumming atop the water. Lightning flashed now and then.
“I’m gonna get you out of here, kid. Right now, you gotta be quiet and let me get some rest.”
She didn’t answer, but she snagged her fingers in his shirt and didn’t let go. That was the last thing Novak remembered, until he heard something that brought him back awake—something he knew didn’t fit with their circumstances. Sounded like a little silvery chime of bells, soft but insistent. He sat up quickly and then pushed himself up to standing. Dawn was trying to infiltrate the dark clouds, but the rain had stopped completely. Isabella jumped up too, alarmed, and hung onto his arm.
“I hear a phone ringing,” she said. “Inside that knapsack.”
That brought Novak’s sense of danger rocketing up big-time. He grabbed the knapsack and jerked open the top. He had been so eager to get the hell away from the killer that he hadn’t thought to search the bag. It was an amateurish mistake that might get him killed. As it turned out, the knapsack held a treasure trove of goodies: energy bars, bottles of water, waterproof maps of Mexico and Central America, waterproof matches, and lots of magazines full of Parabellums to go with the sweet little Glock 17 held in a black nylon holster with a gun belt wrapped around it. Right now, Novak was more interested in the sat phone. He picked it up, wary as hell, and pretty damn sure who was calling. Novak considered his options, but not for long, and then he checked the phone, found it unlocked, and punched on. He didn’t say anything.
“Hello, Mr. Novak.” Soft voice, speaking in Spanish. A man. The killer. It had to be.
Novak said nothing.
“You should not have taken my canoe. Maybe you’ll lose your hair because of that mistake.”
“Maybe you don’t have so long to live anymore, you murdering bastard. Maybe I’m gonna get you first.”
The killer was silent and then he said, “I doubt that. Listen carefully. That girl with you? She is not who you think she is. Turn her over to me and you can go on your way, free and clear, with no more trouble. I have no need to harm you. I only want her.”
“Okay, your turn to listen. I’m going to take you out. You’ll never know I’m there until the knife slides in.”
Silence, and then an audible sigh. “You would be stupid to trust her. You will end up dead. You have no idea who you’re up against.”
“Ditto.”
“I’m right behind you. Coming hard and fast. You have nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. You should’ve destroyed that phone in your hand. That was a stupid mistake. Maybe you’re an amateur, after all.”
Novak jerked the battery out of the phone and smashed it under his heel. Then he destroyed the phone and hurled all the pieces as far out into the river as he could throw them. The killer had been tracking them with the phone’s GPS. They had to get out of there.
“Let’s go, Isabella! He’s been tracking us with that phone.”
“Was that him? The one who killed those men and did that to their heads? What did he say?”
Novak grabbed the knapsack and stared down at her. “He told me not to trust you. That you were not who you seemed to be. Got any idea why he’d say something like that?”
Isabella shook her head and appeared terrified. “I think he’s the man who knocked me in the water. He came out here to kill me, didn’t he? I don’t know why he’d tell you that about me! I haven’t done anything. He killed Diego and then he tried to kill me. I didn’t do anything to him.”
Novak watched her face. If deceit was there, he couldn’t see it. All he could see was the fear. It looked real. “You sure he’s the one who attacked you that night?”
“No, I don’t know for sure. I haven’t seen him up close this time, but I saw his face on the boat when he beat me. He’s not going to stop until he gets me! I don’t know who he is, Mr. Novak. Or what he wants, but he’s lying about me. He just wants you to turn me over to him. I swear, I swear! I haven’t done anything. They had me tied up! You saw my bruises. You saw what they did to me.”
Isabella was verging on hysteria and it was coming off legitimate. She was so scared she could barely get out the words. Something was going on, something she and the killer knew about but Novak didn’t. This bastard wanted her, probably because she was an eyewitness to Diego’s murder and could identify him. Novak was the only thing stopping him. Now he was getting close, and they better move out fast and keep going.
Novak got a good grip on the canoe and pushed it back into the water. He ordered the girl back into the prow and told her to stay down, and then he shoved off and maneuvered them to midstream. Then he worked the paddle like hell, pretty sure the guy wasn’t kidding. He was not far behind them. Novak’s gut told him that, and he always followed his instincts. There had to be a village or town along this river somewhere. Novak had to find it, and quick.
Chapter Eight
Wisps of mist, the color and texture of gray gauze, clung to the surface of the river. The sun was having trouble defeating the gloom of the jungle terrain, as if they were deep inside the Amazon rainforest. The river was running quiet. Novak’s canoe cut through the swirling moisture and sent curls of fog trailing behind them. He estimated another hour or so and maybe they’d see the sun. He wasn’t in a hurry now because of the fog cover. Once the sun lit up the river, Novak would be a sitting duck for anybody with a rifle. Novak paused long enough to grab an energy bar and drink a bottle of water. He tried the cell phones he’d taken from the guards, but none of them could pick up signals. Their batteries were almost dead anyway, damn it. He broke them up and tossed them into the river, not at all sure somebody else wasn’t tracing their GPS location with those phones. Who? He didn’t have a clue, but everything else that had happened was pretty damn bizarre and unlikely, so he wouldn’t be surprised by that, either. After that, he returned to the steady, relentless, workaday paddling. He wanted to put miles behind him, far from the sandbar, far from the sea, and far from the psychopathic killer stalking them.
Novak’s plan was to ditch the canoe soon and continue on foot. The narrow craft could carry a small and compact figure like the killer. It was lightweight, designed for speed and stealth, not for long distances or a man who stood six feet six inches. The killer had a second boat, Novak was certain of that now. Logic told him it was probably a big, powerful oceangoing vessel that was now speeding up the river behind them. It would be fast and sleek. It would catch the canoe if Novak didn’t get off the water and onto land soon.
Novak had been thinking about the killer. He struck Novak as a solitary operator, a lone wolf who enjoyed killing, enjoyed the slashing and mutilating and bloodletting. Now that Novak had gotten some sleep, he felt revived enough to think things through more logically. His gut told him the girl was the key, of course. The killer admitted it in so many words. He had been aboard the Orion’s’s Trident that night and he had tried to murder Isabella. No doubt he had reasons for hunting her down, and he sure as hell was going to a lot of trouble to get her at the moment. He just hadn’t expected her to hook up with somebody strong
enough to protect her. She was in serious peril now. This guy was not going to stop until she was dead.
Novak had suspected from the get-go that there was more to innocent-looking little Isabella Martinez than she was telling him. Her tale of abduction and imprisonment at sea had been a little bit on the sketchy side from the start, and with enough inconsistencies to give Novak pause. She was not what she appeared to be, that was for damn certain. As soon as he found a safe haven, he intended to force the truth out of her.
At the moment, his best bet was to find a village or a good-sized town where they could disappear long enough for Novak to call in some help. He knew he was somewhere along the coast, traveling upriver into the Yucatan jungle. They had no supplies to speak of, just what he’d found in the knapsack. Once they reached civilization, the Mexican police would get wind of a gringo traveling with an innocent young girl who looked scared to death. Novak was a big guy, a stranger, who looked tough and like he just might turn out to be trouble. He would be noticed, all right, and he would be reported to the authorities, especially if the massacre at Li Liu’s camp was discovered anytime soon. The cops would suspect him of the murders, too, if he was picked up wandering around in close proximity to the crime scene without his passport or visa. If the killer coming after them was as smart as Novak believed, he might even contact the Federales himself and accuse Novak of kidnapping the girl. Some officers just might be corrupt enough to be paid off. Novak could not go to them or trust in them. Contacting any Mexican or local authorities was out of the question. He had to get out of this thing on his own. And he could, if he just had a little bit of luck.