Lethal Affair

by Jean Thomas

  He broke off there, sucking in air, tensing in an effort to hold back. But both of them were so consumed with passion by then they were unable to stop the tide that engulfed them.

  Brenna was the first to shatter in another blinding orgasm that tore his name from her lips. Casey almost immediately followed with his own release, accompanied by an unidentifiable sound rumbling from his chest, rising through his throat and emerging as a long, deep shout of victory.

  Afterwards, he slowly sank down onto her in exhausted satisfaction. They stayed that way, holding each other, their bodies slick with the heat they had generated.

  It finally occurred to him that his body was too heavy for her. “I’m crushing you,” he said.

  Before she could tell him she liked his weight and wanted him to stay where he was, he’d already levered himself off of her. It was all right, though. Rolling both of them onto their sides, he spooned himself against her, his arms going around her in a protective embrace.

  They stayed snuggled that way, and eventually Brenna could hear from the sound of his breathing that he had dozed off.

  She, herself, didn’t sleep. She lay there, listening to the noise of the whirring fan above them and thinking about the sex they had shared. She had enjoyed it certainly, found it special even, but it had been nothing beyond the physical.

  There had been no emotion really. Their feelings hadn’t been involved. No mention of commitment beyond the present, as if they had wordlessly agreed not to mention the future.

  Because there could not be another future for them. Casey was still attached to the FBI, still ready to go out on any risky mission that might be assigned to him. And she was still unable to bear the dangers of that.

  So nothing had changed. And wasn’t that a good thing really? And as long as they didn’t talk about any of it, she could deny to herself that she might, just might be falling in love with him all over again.

  Keep the emotions at a distance, she reminded herself.

  Right. It was better that way. Better, but at the same time somehow terribly sad.

  Chapter 12

  Casey’s nap, cuddled against Brenna, had been a brief but enormously pleasant one. After sleeping most of the day earlier, he shouldn’t have needed a nap at all. But, hell, she had worn him out with that amazing sex.

  A short nap, though, was all he’d needed to refresh him. The rest of the time between then and now he had spent watching over her as she had watched over him, as well as periodically checking the street.

  Now was a few minutes after midnight. Dressed and ready, his bag at his feet, he stood over the bed gazing down at Brenna. She looked so peaceful he hated to wake her, but they needed to be on their way.

  Hunkering down on his heels beside the bed, Casey reached out a hand. With the tip of his forefinger, he lightly traced the path of faint freckles sprinkled on her left cheek, following their route as they traveled across the bridge of her nose to her other cheek. Brenna frowned, swatting at what she must consider to be a pesky insect. Her eyes remained closed.

  Stretching forward, he brushed a kiss on her mouth. This brought a more effective result. Smiling, she stirred and opened her eyes.

  “It’s time,” he informed her softly.

  For a half moment she looked confused, and then she understood. “It’s midnight?”

  “A little past actually. You need to get dressed, so we can clear out of here.”

  “Why did you let me sleep so long?”

  “Same reason you let me sleep after we got here,” he said, coming erect. “You might have had more sleep than I did last night, but it wasn’t enough rest. And we’re both going to need to be fully alert now.”

  “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be ready.”

  Rescuing her clothes from where they had been scattered in haste, she scooted toward the bathroom. The last sight Casey had of her before the door shut was of her tantalizing bare bottom.

  And, oh, man, that was some view, bringing an instant thickening to his groin.

  But he realized that all he could have at this point were the memories of a few hours ago.

  As memories went, however, they were damn good ones. Some of them were innocent, like the fragrance of her silky hair. Others were downright wanton, such as the memory of her wet heat tightening around his pulsing shaft. Yeah, he’d settle for those.

  He would have preferred staying on that course, but his thoughts shifted to something more serious as he continued to watch the bathroom door, waiting for it to open. Brenna and him. Did their lovemaking mean anything, or had it just been sex ignited by their situation? Something that, just as it had two years ago, been marked for failure?

  Casey’s feelings on the subject remained both uncertain and confused when Brenna emerged from the bathroom. He determined they would have to stay that way while he concentrated on getting them out of this mess.

  He’d turned off the lamp while he was keeping his vigil. The light from the street was all they needed. It was sufficient enough to let him see she was dressed, bearing a tote in either hand and with her purse hanging by its long strap from her shoulder.

  Unlocking the room door, he laid the key on the table.

  “You’re not going to drop the key at the reception desk?” she asked.

  “No, Jo-Jo will know to find it here in the morning. We won’t be leaving by the front door.”

  She didn’t pursue it. He had her wait while he opened the door and checked the hall. Satisfied that it was clear, he signaled her to follow him.

  When they passed the stairway that descended to the first floor, she understood without being told by what means they were exiting the hotel.

  “We’re headed for the fire escape, right?”

  She had remembered. “Right.”

  The outside fire escape was located at the far end of the hall on the back side of the hotel. Access to it was not by a door but through a window. Brenna was not happy with the situation when Casey raised the sash, and she poked her head through the opening.

  “It’s one of those ancient iron jobbies pinned to the side of the building. The kind where you can see through the bars clear to the street.”

  “So?”

  “Maybe it’s not safe.”

  “Gee, I never thought of that. Okay, you go first,” he directed her, “and if you fall through, I’ll know not to follow.”

  He laughed when she glared at him.

  “McBride, if you ever decide to be one of those spies who come in from the cold, you know, quit the bureau, I bet with that Irish mug of yours and the right routine, you could find work as a stand-up comic. Like at one of those dives under the ‘L’ tracks on Chicago’s South Side.”

  He loved the way she nailed him with her own brand of humor whenever he tried to get funny with her. He’d missed that.

  “Come on, I’ll lead the way.”

  Swinging one leg over the sill, he ducked through the opening onto the fourth-floor platform. Brenna passed him his bag and her two totes, waved away the hand he extended to help her and joined him on the grating.

  Shutting the window behind them, Casey preceded her down the zigzagging flights. The last one, more iron ladder than stairway, was one of those affairs kept raised for the sake of security. It took his weight on it to lower it to street level.

  Brenna scrambled after him. If she’d been at all nervous during the descent, she’d been silent about it. He waited until she was clear before he lifted the rusty ladder back into its original position.

  Turning around, he surveyed their situation. The light here was weak but just adequate enough to show him they were in an alley with trash bins ranged along the wall outside the back door of the hotel.

  Like a wary animal, he raised his head, sniffing the sultry air, listening carefully. There was no sound. The night was quiet. The windows of the hotel rooms above them were dark. If there were other guests in the place, they had neither seen nor heard any signs of them.

  Decid
ing they could advance, he took them to the end of the alley where it joined a street. “From here on,” he warned Brenna, “we’re going to have to be extra cautious.”

  “Thought that’s what we were being ever since you showed up at the guesthouse,” she pointed out.

  Casey saw no need to respond to that. In fact, unless necessary, it was better for them not to speak at all. She seemed to understand this, maintaining a silence as he guided them through the maze of deserted, late-night streets in the direction of the waterfront. He could only trust his instinct was reliable about that.

  Only once did Brenna break the silence, issuing a little yelp of alarm when something streaked in front of them.

  “Relax,” he whispered. “It was just a startled cat.”

  The cat and her reaction to it brought an end to the quiet after that. When they reached the corner, Casey heard the throbbing sound of reggae music. He judged it came from a couple of streets over, probably from an all-night bar.

  Something less innocent than a cat and reggae music came out of the night another block on. Proceeding slowly down the street, the flashing blue dome on its roof identifying it, was a police cruiser.

  Casey didn’t hesitate. “In here,” he directed, backing both Brenna and himself into the black shadows of a deep doorway.

  He could feel her tension as they huddled there together, the cruiser advancing at a crawl. Casey was fairly certain that, unless one of them moved, they wouldn’t be spotted. The doorway was too dark for that.

  There was no mistaking Brenna’s relief when the cruiser turned a corner and passed out of sight. The rush of her expelled breath told him that.

  “Do you think they were looking for us?” she asked.

  “Specifically? I doubt it. Probably just on routine patrol.”

  “But if Marcus does have considerable influence with the island police, they would have been instructed to at least keep an eye out for us.”

  That Casey didn’t doubt.

  “You know,” she added, “it would have been a whole lot easier to get that water sample to Miami if we could have simply mailed it or sent it to the lab by a package service.”

  “And how reliable do you think either of those would have been with Bradley in control here?”

  “Not very.” She sighed, then added a quick “You do have the bottle safe, don’t you?”

  “It’s right here in my bag, well hidden and cushioned against any impact. Let’s move. We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover.”

  Casey understood that Georgetown was not a large city. But neither was it a small one.

  There was something else he understood. Marcus Bradley wouldn’t be a billionaire without relying on his considerable intelligence. Okay, he had sent his goons to hunt them down. But, knowing how big Georgetown was, he would have eventually realized there was little chance of finding them, that Brenna and Casey could be hidden anywhere.

  Casey had surmised that Bradley would have called off his two men hours ago, at least by the time he and Brenna were locked inside the hotel room. Oh, the risk had still existed, but the element of danger had been slight. Otherwise, Casey would never have allowed Brenna to stand watch while he slept. He had no intention of letting her know that, though. He didn’t want her thinking he didn’t trust her, because he did.

  This was the explanation for why, after that single pursuit this morning, they had not again seen anyone suspicious on the streets, either from the lookout of their room or on their journey on foot tonight. That didn’t mean they hadn’t still needed to be careful. Their enemy was unpredictable.

  There was one thing Casey was certain of. Bradley hadn’t given up. He would know that what Casey and Brenna needed was to leave St. Sebastian. He had blocked their escape by air. That left only the water.

  Yeah, the cunning bastard was saving his thugs for the harbor. That was where the real threat waited. He and Brenna had a challenge ahead of them. Starting now.

  They were nearing the harbor. The humidity in the night air had thickened. Casey could feel it, could smell the salt and the seaweed from the ocean.

  He drew Brenna close against him, took care to make sure they hugged the shadows as much as possible.

  She must have also sensed they were about to arrive at the waterfront, because when they reached a fork and he started to bear off to the left, she stopped him.

  “Not that way. The docks for the sailing vessels and powerboats are along to the right.”

  “Yeah, I know. All the high-end stuff, which is why we’re going in the opposite direction.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m guessing you’re going to tell me just why that is.”

  “Because the docks to the right are certain to be flooded with security lamps and probably a guard or two patrolling them all night. Whereas the few docks off to the far left...”

  “I get it. Where the cheaper stuff is parked and where no self-respecting yacht would ever consider being moored.”

  And also, Casey hoped, where none of Bradley’s thugs would be waiting for them. Chances were they would think the other area, with its dozens of choices, a more likely target. At least initially, which is why he and Brenna had to act fast.

  * * *

  Casey was right in his choice. What security lights existed here were few and scattered. And two of them, she noticed, were burned out and the bulbs had yet to be replaced. Nor were the docks themselves in the best repair.

  No sign of any guards. No sign of anyone at all. He had her watching closely for that as she followed him in his swift tour from powerboat to powerboat.

  He had a small flashlight he’d taken out of his bag, its beam narrow but strong. At each craft where he briefly stopped, he shone the beam through the windows at the gauges on the control panels, shielding the glow with his hand, before turning off the light and moving on rapidly to the next dock and the next boat.

  “What are you looking for?” Brenna asked him.

  “Fuel levels on the gauges.”

  She understood him without further explanation. “You’re searching for a boat that’s full.”

  “I don’t want to take a chance of our going empty out there.”

  “And with no gas pump available here at the docks at this hour...” She trailed off as a thought occurred to her. “You haven’t said just what our destination is. Assuming, that is, when you find the boat of your choice, you can get it started.”

  “The nearest island north of here with an airport and scheduled flights. They’re out there, strung like pearls on a necklace. Shouldn’t be hard to reach the closest one.”

  Brenna thought he was overly sure of their success, but she offered no resistance, simply following him onto the next dock and the next powerboat.

  “Ah, this is the one,” he announced triumphantly, selecting the first boat they stopped at after checking its fuel gauge.

  Brenna knew nothing about boats, but this one looked awfully old to her. It was a wooden craft on a single level, custom-built, she guessed. There was only one cabin, enclosed on all sides.

  “Quaint,” she remarked.

  “Hey, she’s a classic. Can you make out her name? My Last Dollar. Someone has a sense of humor.”

  The tide was in, which meant he had to lower himself less than a foot to the open, rear deck. Turning, he helped her aboard.

  “But is it seaworthy?” she questioned.

  “She’s too well kept not to be. Locked, of course,” he said, trying the rear door.

  She watched him open his bag and take out a small case.

  “Do I need to ask what that is?”

  “My set of lock picks.”

  Which was how he’d gotten into the guesthouse.

  “Keep a lookout while I go to work here.”

  A lookout, the man said. That’s all she’d been nervously doing since their arrival at the docks. Where were they? she wondered. Marcus’s hired thugs? Even though she and Casey had kept out of the light as much as possible, moved stealthily f
rom boat to boat, their voices low, she expected the enemy to find them at any moment.

  Brenna was anxious, wanting to get away before that could happen.

  “I’m in,” Casey said, opening the door. “I’ll want you to hold the light here, please.”

  She hated to leave her watch on the deck. But, realizing he needed her, she joined him in the cabin. The light from outside, even with the windows all around, was so weak she could tell little. The wheel was at the front and what seemed to be lockers were at the sides under the windows.

  He passed her the flashlight. “Keep the beam down as much as possible, less chance of its being spotted that way.”

  “Where do you want me to aim it first?”

  “Run it along the floor. There! Stop!”

  She had the beam pinned on a metal ring in the floor. “What is it?”

  “Hatch for the inboard engine compartment.”

  Grasping the recessed ring, he lifted the hatch, motioning for her to shine it directly into the compartment.

  “Yep, we’ve got us a four-stroke, powerful enough for our purpose. And here’s the tool box over here.”

  He removed the metal box from the compartment, lifted the lid and examined its contents while she continued to hold the light.

  “Plenty of tools but no sign of the spare key I was hoping for.”

  “That means you’ll have to hot-wire it, doesn’t it?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Can you? I mean, do you know how?”

  “I’ve done my share of hot-wiring cars on behalf of the FBI when necessary. I’ve even hot-wired a couple of powerboats, and providing the system on this one isn’t too sophisticated...”

  He began to choose the tools he would need: clippers, a sharp knife, a roll of electrical tape.

  “Bring the light up to the helm station,” he directed her. “Can you get down on your knees and hold it underneath?”

  Casey was already flat on his back on the cabin floor and wriggling beneath the control panel.

  “Have I got the light low enough?”

  “Fine. Just hold it steady.”