Devlin and the Deep Blue Sea

by Merline Lovelace

  "Well...er..."

  Liz didn't want to take all the credit. Or blame, as the case may be.

  "This is my good luck piece," Alvarez said quietly. "A shark attacked me when I was swimming out beyond the arches. I had only a small knife, but I put out its eye. After much effort, I killed it and dragged it to shore. I was very young at that time and very strong."

  He wasn't exactly a ninety-pound weakling now. Liz kept the thought to herself.

  "Ever since, this tooth has been... How do you say? My talisman. The sign of my authority. My nephew stole it and used it without my knowledge. I would have strangled him for that with my own hands had Emilio Garcia not deprived me of the pleasure."

  She didn't doubt him for a minute.

  "Instead," he said with a thin smile, "I must take my vengeance on Emilio, who conspired with my nephew against me."

  "He's under police protection," Devlin bit out. "You won't get to him."

  "Do you think not?" Alvarez asked politely.

  Liz was trying to decide which one of them to put her money on when Donny decided to regain con­sciousness. Groaning, he struggled up on one elbow and put his other hand to his nose. When it con­nected, he winced and snorted a froth of blood into his palm. He stared at the gore for a few, disbeliev­ing moments before fury propelled him to his feet.

  "You sonuvabitch!" he snarled at Devlin, so beside himself with outrage he ignored the newcomer in their midst. "You broke my nose!"

  "You're lucky that's all I broke. Now shut up and get out of my face before I— Oh, well. Never mind."

  Donny sank like a stone again, this time from the swift chop Alvarez delivered to the back of his neck.

  "He is not wise, this one." Those flat black eyes lifted to Liz. "Do you wish me to dispose of him for you?"

  Liz entertained the notion for a second or two.

  With a nasty little pang of regret, she stifled the thought. This was Donny, the man she'd once loved. Or thought she had. The suddenness and intensity of her feelings for Devlin were making her wonder if she knew what love was.

  "I'll pass on that," she told Alvarez, "but thanks for the offer."

  "As you wish." Dismissing Donny with cool disdain, he changed topics. "Those who know me will tell you I pay my debts. As promised, I have wired an electronic transfer to your bank and paid your loan in full."

  "What!"

  "I also wired the manufacturer. Your helicopter will be delivered next week. A Sikorsky 450L, I believe it is."

  Liz got her breath back in a hot, fast rush. "I can't accept a payoff like that! Not from you!"

  "The helicopter will arrive next week. What you do with it is your decision."

  "I'll tell you what I'll do with it," she fired back. "I'll donate it to the antidrug task force operating in this region and suggest they fly close cover over a certain hacienda just south of there."

  A glint of something that looked suspiciously like laughter appeared in Alvarez's dark eyes. "Perhaps we should renegotiate our terms."

  Liz now knew how Alice must have felt after tumbling down the rabbit hole. Her ex-fiancée lay in a heap at her feet. The man who'd turned her life and notions of love upside down was nursing skinned knuckles and a 9 mm automatic. And a cold-blooded killer appeared to think she'd just delivered the joke of the century.

  Breathing fire, Liz set him straight. "I'm dead serious, Alvarez. If you don't rescind all these wires you sent, you'll have a brand-new 450L buzzing your compound twice a day and three times every night. I'll fly it myself if I have to."

  "Very well. I shall instruct the bank to cancel payment on the loan and cancel the delivery order."

  He fingered the symbol of his authority again, considering, weighing, deciding.

  "I am a man of honor, Ms. Moore. My own brand of honor, to be sure, but honor nevertheless. Perhaps you will accept this as reward for the return of my talisman."

  She eyed the crumpled envelope he drew out of his breast pocket with the same suspicion a plump, juicy hen might give a python. "What is it?"

  "Something my sister retrieved from a post office box her son had rented. She found the key to the box when she cleaned out Martin's apart­ment. I think you..." He included Devlin with a gracious nod. "Both of you will find the contents interesting."

  Liz took the envelope gingerly and turned it over. The first line of the address leaped up at her.

  "Look!" She waved the envelope two inches in front of Devlin's nose. "It's addressed to the company we were just talking about. Marine Supplies, Incorpo­rated."

  "Do you know this business?" Alvarez asked. "I do not. Perhaps because it doesn't exist. Or didn't, until my nephew established it via a post office box. I will leave the envelope with you. We shall consider my debt paid, yes?"

  If he hadn't been a drug runner and a killer, Liz might have kissed him.

  "Paid in full," she assured him.

  "Bueno. I shall leave you, then." He stepped over Donny again, sparing him only a passing glance. "Are you sure you don't wish me to rid you of this one?"

  "I'm sure."

  Since Liz's fingerprints and DNA were already all over the envelope, Devlin gave her the honor of opening it. She extracted a bank deposit slip and a handwritten note with instructions for the amount to be deposited.

  "Devlin!" Her voice shrill with excitement, Liz waved the note under his nose. "I recognize this scrawl!"

  She should. She'd seen it only a week or so ago on a voucher authorizing a five-hundred-dollar ad­vance on her pay.

  "It's Wallace's. Conrad Wallace."

  "You sure?"

  "I'm sure. Wallace is your man," she said with dawning dismay and disgust. "The one providing the targets for Martin."

  "That's what it's looking like to me, too."

  Devlin's face could have been carved from granite, and his eyes were as cold as death. Liz wouldn't want to be in Wallace's shoes when the two met up again—which could be real soon. Consumed by a fierce, unrelenting urge to wrap her hands around the AmMex rep's neck, Liz posed a question filled with silky menace.

  "What do you say we make a midnight run out to AM-237?"

  "Sounds good to me. After I make a couple quick calls, we'll get rid of Carter here and head for the airport."

  The mention of his name seemed to pull Donny from his second comatose state of the night. He gave a strangled moan and struggled up on one elbow, his expression a study in painful confusion.

  “Lizabeth?"

  Shaking his head to clear it, he started to push to his feet. He was halfway up when Devlin moved into his field of vision. His eyes widening in alarm, Donny sank back to the floor.

  "Smart move," Devlin said with savage approval. "You'd only end up there again, anyway."

  "Who are you? What the hell's going on here?"

  "All you need to know is that you're out of the picture, pal. Permanently."

  Donny bobbled his head in Liz's direction. Gather­ing his courage, he curled his lip and sneered up at her.

  "So much for all those e-mails about how you'd wait for me as long as it took."

  "Funny thing about that. I did wait. I was under the mistaken impression that I loved you." Her gaze lifted to the man standing a few feet away. "Then I met a certain roustabout on a deserted beach. He's given me a whole different perspective on love."

  Devlin banked his impatience and fury at Wallace long enough to deliver a swift, hard kiss.

  "Hold that thought, darlin'. We'll pick up the dis­cussion right here when we get back from AM-237."

  Eleven

  Less than two hours later Liz radioed the rig lit up like a Christmas tree in the distance.

  "AM-237, this is Aero Baja 214. I'm five miles out and have your lights in view. Request you activate the helideck landing system."

  "Roger, 214," the on-duty radio operator responded. "We'll turn on the welcome sign and send up the landing officer and tie-down crew. The duty officer wants to know what's up? Why this late night visit?"


  "Tell the DO I'll advise him and the chief engineer when I land."

  "Roger that."

  Liz switched off the mike, gripped by the rage that had accompanied her across forty miles of black ocean.

  "I still can't believe that bastard Wallace. The man acted as if every cent of the payroll came out of his own pocket and complained about any extra expense for the rig. The whole time he was feeding off the blood of his coworkers like a friggin' vampire."

  "I can't believe we didn't find the account he'd set up in the Grand Caymans," Devlin returned.

  He kept his eyes on the lights in the distance and tried to suppress the fury that strained against its chains. He could understand the miss. He didn't like it, but he could understand it. Even after he'd fed Riever the account number on the deposit slip, it had taken OMEGA's supercomputers three runs to trace the convoluted routing back to a U.S. bank account. The name on the account was fictitious, but the hand­writing on checks written against that account matched that on the instructions in the envelope. It also matched the signature on a slew of digitized doc­uments Riever had pulled from AmMex computers.

  Come morning Riev would request videotapes from the bank, hoping for a shot of Wallace either making or withdrawing funds from the bogus account. A visual would provide another nail in the murdering bastard's coffin.

  He'd need a coffin, Devlin thought savagely, ripped apart by memories of his last visit with Harry Johnson's fiancée. Eve and her young son had been so sure big, buff Harry would fill the hole in their lives...and so devastated by his unexplained disap­pearance.

  Devlin clenched his fist, pulling at the skin of his bruised knuckles. He didn't notice the pain. Didn't focus on anything but the lights of the platform dead ahead. Wallace would be lucky if he made it off the patch without a toy bear stuffed down his throat.

  "How are you going to handle him?" Liz asked, as if sensing his vicious thoughts.

  "I'm hoping to God he puts up a fight," was all Devlin would say.

  They lapsed into another silence for the last portion of the flight. Landings were trickier at night, but Liz had made enough of them to put her bird into a hover directly above the pad. Floods bathed the helideck in white light.

  Clearly visible in his yellow vest, the landing officer waved her down foot by careful foot while the red-vested tie-down crew huddled behind the protec­tive barriers at the far side of the pad to avoid the rotor blast.

  The sea was calm tonight, and the deck appeared stable. Still, Liz had to ride the air currents and touch down just right to catch the deck at the peak of its gentle roll. Devlin had his harness unbuckled almost before the skids touched. Liz didn't want to miss any of the action, but she couldn't just jump out.

  "Give me ten minutes," she told him. "I'll power down and secure the aircraft while you brief the duty officer and senior engineer."

  "Good enough. I'll meet you on the bridge."

  Devlin yanked off his headset and shoved open the cockpit door. Ducking under the whirling rotors, he headed for the stairs.

  Liz turned on the overhead lights and flipped to the power-down checklist on her kneeboard. She was reaching for the first bank of switches when one of the red vests sprang up from his crouch. Bent low to avoid the still rotating blades, he wrenched the pas­senger door open.

  "Hey!" Liz yelled. "Wait until I—"

  "Take her back up!"

  Her stomach dropped all the way to the drill deck when she saw that it wasn't a tie-down crew man who scrambled into the passenger seat. It was Conrad Wallace, white-faced with desperation.

  "Take her back up, Liz."

  "The hell I will!"

  Thrusting a hand inside the vest he must have lifted from the helipad crew locker, he whipped out a snub-nosed .38 and shouted over the whap of the blades.

  "I know what happened this afternoon! On the Santa Guadalupe. It came over the marine police radio."

  The hand gripping the .38 shook so badly Liz sucked in a razor-edged breath.

  "Then I heard you were making an unsched­uled run. A night run. Coming to get me. Take her back up, Liz."

  She shot a glance out the windshield. Devlin had disappeared down the ladder. He was probably halfway to the elevators. The landing officer and rest of the tie-down crew were standing by, obviously confused. They couldn't see the revolver Wallace kept low in his lap.

  "I'll shoot you! I mean it. I don't have anything to lose."

  If she took him up, Liz figured he'd shoot her anyway once they touched down on shore. But there was a lot of ocean between the patch and dry land.

  With every emergency maneuver and crazy acro­batic stunt she'd ever performed zinging through her mind, she gave the landing officer a thumbs-up to signal that she was lifting off again and dropped her hand to the throttle. The slowly dying engine revved back up to full power.

  The change in pitch hit Devlin just as he was about to step into the elevator that would whisk him down to the crew deck. Head cocked, he listened as the engine's whine gathered sound and fury.

  "What the hell...?"

  The rumble grew to a full-throated roar. Devlin had logged hundreds of hours in choppers, flying out and back from rigs all around the world. He recognized the thunder of a liftoff when he heard it. Cursing, he spun around and sprinted for the ladder.

  His head topped the edge of the pad just as the skids left the deck. He spotted Liz in the cockpit. Saw Wallace beside her in the passenger seat. Spitting out another venomous curse, he shot up the last few stairs.

  The chopper's nose pitched down. It surged forward, gathering speed. His heart in his throat, Devlin exploded across the pad.

  The Ranger cleared the deck. A yawning gap of black appeared between it and the pad. Black night. Black water twelve stories below.

  Lunging, Devlin sailed through what seemed like a football field of empty space. One hand met only air. The other slapped metal.

  Inside the cockpit, Liz felt the Ranger buck like a bee-stung mustang. The center of gravity shifted. The nose tilted. Forty-four feet of rotor blades tipped sideways and sliced dangerously close to the side of the rig. With a high-pitched scream, Wallace splayed out both hands to keep from being flung out of his seat.

  That's what the bastard got for not strapping himself in, Liz thought viciously as she fought to keep her aircraft from going into the drink.

  "Don't do it!" the AmMex rep shrieked, strug­gling to aim the gun in her direction without losing his precarious hold. "Don't take us down! I'll kill you! I swear I'll kill you!"

  "I'm not taking us down."

  She couldn't. Not yet. If the aircraft gyrated out of control... If she crashed into one of the flanges...

  With nightmare visions of the Ranger exploding and the entire rig going up in a massive fireball erupting inside her head, she worked the pedals and collective. By the time she'd zoomed out over open water, she had a good idea what caused the drag on her right skid.

  It was Devlin. It had to be Devlin. No one else would be insane enough to make that kind of leap.

  Wallace reached the same conclusion a few seconds later. Twisting in his seat, he put a shoulder to the cockpit door and wedged it open a few inches.

  Wind poured into the cabin and upped Liz's pucker factor yet another notch. Fighting the violent shear, she kept one eye on the altimeter and the other on Wallace. Then he shouldered the door open another few inches and stuck the revolver into the void.

  "No! For God's sake, Wallace! Don't!"

  Ignoring her frantic shout, he fired. Once. Twice.

  "You'll hit the fuel tank, you moron!"

  She'd hoped—prayed—that would scare him enough to pop back inside the cockpit. Either he didn't hear her over the scream of the wind or his des­peration had made him crazy. It didn't matter. Liz wasn't about to let him take another potshot at Devlin.

  The bastard had wedged the door open. Big mis­take. Huge. Gripping the controls, Liz risked taking her foot off the right pedal long
enough to swing it over the center lever.

  "This flight is—"

  Her boot connected with Wallace's back. "—terminated!"

  She put everything she had into the shove. The AmMex rep slammed against the door, springing it wide open with his weight, and pitched out.

  Most people wouldn't survive falling out of a heli­copter and smashing into the sea. Fortunately—or un­fortunately—for him, Wallace constituted a minority.

  Liz and Devlin were waiting when the rig's search-and-rescue crew hauled him back aboard. He stumbled onto the deck with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, battered and bruised. The sight of Liz and Devlin started him babbling hys­terically.

  "I didn't know the real reason Martin Alvarez wanted names and photos of crew members rotating off the rigs! I swear, I thought he was just putting the touch on them."

  "Yeah, sure."

  Devlin wasn't the only one who refused to buy his line. The duty officer, the senior engineer, the search-and-rescue coordinator and a half-dozen roughnecks and roustabouts had all gathered on deck. Word of the AmMex rep's attempt to hijack the Ranger had flooded the patch like an uncapped gusher. Rumor had flamed into fury once the crew learned why.

  Wallace knew he'd be lucky to make it off AM-237 in one piece. Panting, wild-eyed, dripping seawater from his nose, he threw a frightened look around the circle of hostile rig workers.

  "Those men had just been paid! A whole month's salary. I thought— I was sure Alvarez just wanted to sell them drugs or...or fix them up with whores."

  "You lying toad."

  That came from the big, beefy Irishman Liz had ferried out to the patch with Devlin. His fists were bunched so tight the knuckles showed white as he shoved his way forward. Jaw locked, he turned to the engineer, who exercised overall responsibility for the rig.

  "I'm thinking, sir, that you and Ms. Moore here should go below. Devlin, too,seeing as he's a police officer or something of the sort. The boys and I will be bringing Mr. Wallace along shortly."

  The engineer looked to Devlin. His answer was to grip Liz's elbow and steer her toward the elevators. After a brief hesitation, the duty officer stalked across the deck and joined them.