Lethal Affair

by Jean Thomas

  The approaching sedan flashed by the taxi. What Casey could see was pretty much a blur. All he could make out were two men in the front seat. As for the car itself...that required a quick second look through the rear window of the taxi.

  His gaze this time zeroed in on the dent in the trunk lid of the rapidly receding sedan. That deep dent was known to him. He remembered observing it the morning when the dark green vehicle had parked across the road from the general store. There was no mistaking the identity of the sedan.

  “You can come up now,” Casey murmured.

  Brenna pulled herself back into a normal position on the seat. “Just why were we playing hide-and-seek? Our driver must think we lost our minds.”

  “We were taking cover from the car that passed us going the other way.”

  “Why?”

  “It happened to be the green demon. You remember the green demon, don’t you, Rembrandt?”

  “All too well. So it was headed toward the airport. Can that mean what I think it means?”

  “That it was on its way to try to intercept us. I’d guess that’s a fair assumption.”

  “So we’re already being hunted. It seems like you were wrong, Casey. That Marcus is in a hurry to have us caught.”

  “He wants that water sample.”

  “I’m supposing,” Brenna said, “that whoever is in the car didn’t spot you, or they would have turned around and chased our taxi. How about you? Did you get any look at them?”

  “Only a quick glimpse, just enough to know there were two men in the front seat and that the driver was blond.”

  “The driver of the demon that morning on our way to the falls was blond. A mean-looking one,” she added unhappily. “I hope you have that backup plan all ready to go when we get to Georgetown.”

  * * *

  Their cab driver put them down at the mouth of Crooked Lane. This was as far as he was able to go. Crooked Lane was not only crooked, it was also extremely narrow, not wide enough to accommodate anything on wheels larger than bicycles, motor scooters and one of the occasional motorcycles that were rare on St. Sebastian. Most of the traffic was on foot.

  The first thing Casey did when they were alone was to try to ease Brenna’s concern. “It’s not likely those two goons will be able to track us here.”

  “But if they should?”

  “This is what we’ll be doing. After we cover the first block, we’re going to separate.”

  Her face wore an immediate expression of alarm. “You’re going to leave me on my own?”

  “I don’t like it either, but it’s the safest plan. They’ll assume rightly that I’m the one who’s got the water sample, and they’ll both come after me.”

  “And if they don’t? If one of them comes after me?”

  “I’ve got that figured, too. After I leave you, you’ll walk another block on just as quickly as you can. When you come to the corner, there’ll be a little restaurant called Tonya’s. Go into the place. Don’t pause in the dining room. Head straight through the swing door at the back into the kitchen.”

  “What if I’m stopped in the dining room by one of the waitstaff?”

  “No one will challenge you.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “I just do. Now listen, will you? We don’t have time to waste. You’ll find Tonya in the kitchen. She’s always there seated at this big table working on the next meal. She’ll help you.”

  Casey realized Brenna was deeply confused by now and was longing for an explanation, but they needed to be underway. She had the weight of her two totes balanced in either hand. He bore his single, zippered athletic bag in his left hand, leaving his right hand free to cup her elbow protectively as he guided her up the sidewalk.

  Crooked Lane was crowded with pedestrians, all of them black. White faces were rare in this neighborhood, which explained the curious glances from passersby. Casey could see those glances worried Brenna.

  “What are you doing?” he asked her. “Remembering what our cab driver said after I gave him the address?”

  “I thought he might be implying this area wouldn’t be safe for us.”

  “Naw,” he scoffed, “he was just surprised, is all. Brenna, I don’t know about other islands in the Caribbean, but places like this in Georgetown aren’t like the ghettos in our big cities. You’re welcome here, as long as you’re not any member of Marcus Bradley’s crowd. Then you’re the enemy and not a friend. And believe me, they know the difference.”

  Brenna cast a sidelong look at him. “How did you learn all this?”

  “What did you think I was doing all that time you were busy elsewhere? Loafing on the beach?”

  “No, I can’t picture you ever doing that. So you occupied yourself exploring neighborhoods like this one. And apparently making friends. Like the mysterious Tonya.”

  He grinned at her. “Well, I had to eat somewhere. If you remember, I was never a cook. One of the maids where I was staying recommended Tonya’s. Told me the place wasn’t much, but the food was the best on the island. She was right. I asked to compliment Tonya, and they sent me into the kitchen. She doesn’t often leave the kitchen. You’ll see why when you meet her.”

  “But how is this woman going to know to help me?”

  “I described your red hair. She was eager to see it. Okay, maybe I did suggest it was possible, although improbable, a time would come when one or both of us would need a helping hand.”

  Brenna halted, this time turning to look him full in the face. “You anticipated all this?”

  “I had to cover the bases if we didn’t get out by air. We’re here.” They had arrived at the cross street that marked the end of the first block. “All right, you go on. Stay vigilant. If you are followed, no way is one of Marcus’s thugs going to try to accost you out here on the open street. The local men would be all over him.”

  The expression on her face plainly said she didn’t want to leave him.

  “Brenna, this is just a precaution, that’s all it is.”

  She didn’t look any more convinced of that than his other reassurances that had preceded this one. But she offered no verbal misgivings. Her only question was, “You’ll meet me at Tonya’s, won’t you?”

  “Before you know it. Go.”

  Casey waited to see her turn and walk up the sidewalk. She would be all right, he told himself. She was a strong, capable woman. And it wasn’t as if she were on her own. Tonya wasn’t far, and she would look out for her.

  Brenna had to be all right. He’d never forgive himself otherwise.

  He watched her until she was out of sight around one of Crooked Lane’s sudden, sharp bends. Then, reminding himself he was the one now completely on his own, Casey left Crooked Lane to travel several blocks along the cross street.

  He had absolutely no destination in mind. His only objective was to lead any potential danger away from the vicinity of Brenna. So far, however, he’d perceived no one in pursuit.

  That changed when he turned on another street that paralleled Crooked Lane and the three streets between. It would have been a mistake at any time for him to check over his shoulder. He wanted any enemy to think he was unconcerned.

  Nor did he need to look behind him. If you were an FBI special agent, with enough assignments under your belt, you developed a sense of someone on your tail. And even with all these other people out here, Casey did sense he was being followed. The question was: By how many? One man or both of them?

  There was a trick for finding out without giving himself away, and he used it.

  Midway along the block, when the street was busy with motor traffic, he stopped at the curb with the intention of crossing to the other side. He kept leaning out and looking in both directions, waiting for the traffic to clear.

  It was on one of these phony checks that Casey spotted him out of the corner of his eye. Although he permitted himself only the briefest of glances, there was no mistaking his tail several yards behind him. Other than himself
, he was the only white guy in sight.

  Damn. Only one man, and Casey had been hoping for both of them. That meant the blond was probably shadowing Brenna. He had to get to her, but first he had to deal with the goon behind him.

  The traffic had momentarily cleared. Casey dashed across the street. There was an alley just ahead of him. He moved into it with a deliberateness that said this had been his destination all along.

  After the blinding brilliance of the sunshine out on the street, the shadows in here were deep and dark. All to his advantage. Casey flattened himself against the blank brick wall, his body taut, his grip on the handle of the stout athletic bag tightening.

  He didn’t have long to wait. Probably fearing he would lose his objective if he hesitated, the goon came barreling into the alley with no reason to suspect he’d been made. And paid the penalty. The instant he appeared, Casey swung the bag hard into his stomach. The guy doubled over with pain, clutching his gut. Before he could recover, Casey dropped his bag to employ the tactics he’d been taught at Quantico.

  With the edge of his right hand, using it like a blade, he chopped the side of his adversary’s neck in one of its most vulnerable spots. Following that action almost instantly, he repeated it on the other side with his left hand slicing down with an equally effective result. Casey’s target collapsed sideways with a groan on the brick pavement and was still.

  Unconscious? To make certain of that, Casey nudged him with his toe. He didn’t stir. Now that Casey had a better look at him, he realized there was something familiar about the guy.

  Burly, a long ponytail and tattoos covering his arms. Where had he seen him? Right. That afternoon at the harbor front where he had paused to watch this same man direct the unloading of steel drums from a freighter.

  It had been shortly after that, and a little farther along the waterfront, that he’d had a gun shoved into his back and a growled warning in an Eastern European accent to stay away from Brenna. Were the two men somehow connected?

  He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t even have time to frisk that lump of flesh at his feet for a weapon.

  Brenna! It was imperative he reach Brenna before Blondie could put his hands on her! He had promised her she would be all right.

  Scooping up his athletic bag, Casey charged out of the alley and, legs pumping like pistons, headed for Tonya’s.

  * * *

  Stay vigilant.

  That was what Casey had told her to do before they’d parted. But how could she be vigilant without checking behind her every few minutes, an action sure to be a giveaway to her tail that she was worried she was being followed?

  Anyway, she wasn’t really worried about herself. Nervous maybe, but not worried. That Brenna reserved for Casey. He’d provided assistance for her only a short distance off, but none for himself.

  Except this block to Tonya’s seemed much farther than a short distance away. She was so anxious to reach it she paid no attention to the heat of the advancing morning, the mingled noises on the crowded street, the spicy odors of cooking drifting from the open windows and doorways of the tenement buildings.

  There it was on the corner! Just as Casey had described it! Tonya’s!

  Brenna resisted a last urge to glance behind her just once before she ducked into the restaurant. What she did do instead was send a silent, fervent message: Casey, wherever you are at this minute, stay safe.

  There were two serving girls in the drab, faded dining room, setting tables for the coming midday meal. They ignored her as, obeying Casey’s instruction, she headed straight for the swing door at the back. As expected, it opened directly into the kitchen.

  A long, low table boasted a position of prominence in the center of the room. The black woman seated behind it was dicing tomatoes.

  The owner of the restaurant, Brenna presumed. She could understand now what Casey meant when he’d said Tonya seldom left her work station. With her enormous girth, it must present a challenge for her to get around.

  The smile that Tonya flashed Brenna across the table when she looked up to find her there could have competed with her body in width. Did Tonya always immediately welcome strangers like this who walked into her kitchen uninvited?

  Brenna started to introduce herself. “I’m Casey McBride’s friend, Bren—”

  She got lopped off there with a sharp, “Hey, gal, you tink I don’t know who I’m talkin’ to? No female on dis island got hair dat color. Yeah, I know who you—”

  It was Tonya’s turn to be cut off in midsentence, this time with the shrill ring of a bell.

  “Up front tellin’ us we got us a situation out there,” she wheezed.

  Brenna wouldn’t have thought that a woman so heavy could move so fast. But with a shove of her feet beneath her wheeled chair, Tonya scooted clear across the room in a single flight, ending up in front of a thick door with a small, fogged window in the top.

  “What you just standin’ der for, gal?” Depressing a stout latch, she pulled the door back. “Git yourself in here!”

  Ten seconds later, a startled Brenna found herself on the other side of the door, which had been snugly closed behind her.

  There was no light in here, except for what managed to find its way through the fogged pane. And the little window was fogged, because it was cold in here. The kind of cold that had you hugging yourself.

  She had been shut inside either a cooler or a walk-in freezer. Brenna couldn’t decide which, but if given a choice, she’d opt for the cooler. If it was a freezer, Chicago-bred or not, she was afraid she wouldn’t last long.

  That bell must have been the dining room’s warning to Tonya that someone, whose looks they maybe didn’t like, had stormed into the restaurant, possibly looked around for a moment and then headed for the swing door. Which explained why Brenna had been hidden in the cooler.

  This was as good a time as any to rid herself of her purse and two totes. Once she lowered them to the floor, her arms were free to wrap tightly around herself. Did it help? Not much. She was shivering now and fighting the temptation to dance vigorously in place.

  There was the chance that any thumping on the floor could be heard, or even felt, in the kitchen, although the walls had to be thick enough to deaden the sound of voices. She could hear no conversation on the other side.

  Nor did she dare to peer through the glass into the kitchen, and risk the satisfied-with-himself face of a pursuer staring back at her in triumph. She remained in the shadows in a corner, trying not to mind the icy currents drifting around her legs.

  Who was out there? The blond? She hoped not. She carried the memory of a particularly mean-looking face from that morning when they had sighted him outside the general store. It could be his partner instead. It was silly, of course, to prefer one over the other. They were both the enemy.

  On the other hand, it could be someone else entirely.

  All Brenna knew for certain was she was cold, and growing colder by the second. If she had to remain in here much longer—

  The swoosh of the cooler door being yanked open had her issuing a startled gasp.

  “Brenna.”

  It was a familiar baritone voice carrying all the warmth she needed. Casey! Casey was here! She would be all right now.

  She would have sworn her legs were so numb by now they wouldn’t carry her. She managed just fine to rush forward, burst out of the cooler into a light that seemed blinding after the dimness she left and straight into his waiting arms.

  And, oh, the blessed heat of those arms folding her tightly against his solid body. She felt his strong hands stroking her back, one of them lifting just long enough to tuck her head under his chin before it resumed its slow caresses.

  Now, with her nose pressed against the exposed skin in the open top of his shirt, she could detect the slightly musky male scent of him mingled with a clean soap smell. Could feel his mouth brushing against her ear as he crooned huskily, “Casey has got you, baby. I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. But I
did come as fast as I could, sweetheart, so you’re safe now.”

  Baby? Sweetheart? They had been endearments he had freely used when they were engaged, familiar to her then on a daily basis, and she had relished them. But he shouldn’t be using them now. She should object.

  Except...well, they signified the security both physical and verbal he was providing in this moment. And she hated to surrender that.

  Maybe, though, Casey himself realized it was time to bring an end to the intimacy. He released her, permitting her to remove herself from his embrace.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yes. Sorry to be so delicate. I guess it was the cold. You know how I always hated the cold.”

  Tonya spoke up from her chair at the table, where she had been watching them. “Sorry I put you on ice, gal, but I had to store you somewhere quick.”

  “It’s all right, Tonya. You did what you had to, and I’m nothing but grateful for that. Anyway, I’m all thawed out now, and he’s—” She broke off, gazing wildly around the kitchen, as if the threat that had come so near might still be here. “He is gone, isn’t he?”

  Tonya jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of what apparently was the restaurant’s rear door. “Out to de alley wid de rest of de garbage.”

  “Tonya told him you ran in here and out the back without stopping,” Casey explained. “By now, if luck is still with us, he should be halfway to the other side of Georgetown.”

  “It was Blondie, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it was Blondie.”

  “I knew it. I could feel him out here. And the other one? He came after you, didn’t he, Casey?”

  “Afraid so. I hoped to lead both of them far away and lose them, but—” He shook his head. “Instead, I ended up getting delayed in getting back to you having to deal with my own thug.”

  “What I can’t understand,” Brenna said, “is how they were able to locate us so fast.”

  “I got an answer for dat. My people down here, dey don’t trust folks dey don’t like de looks of. And what dey don’t trust, dey don’t talk to.” A sadness crept into her voice. “But der’s some of my people so poor dey don’t have money to eat. Sometimes, if dey hungry enough, dey take de money and talk.”