Lethal Affair

by Jean Thomas

  She could hear him fiddling with the wires, muttering instructions to himself as he worked, cutting and peeling. To Brenna, it all seemed to be taking forever. She wanted to urge Casey to hurry, hurry before they were caught here. She didn’t. She knew he was moving as fast as possible.

  A moment later he reached for the roll of tape, slicing off a generous piece of it. “Just have to bind these two bare ends together, and then we’ll see whether we get a spark from the battery to the ignition. Almost there.”

  Brenna held her breath. And was rewarded seconds later with the engine rumbling to life.

  “That does it,” Casey said, sliding out from underneath. “We’re in business.”

  She got to her feet in relief, the flashlight shaking now in her hand as she checked through the windows. Had the sound of the engine alerted anyone? Were their pursuers already racing this way? If so, she could make out no figures.

  Behind her Casey was piling the tools back into their box, storing it again in the engine compartment, closing the hatch.

  “You can turn off the flashlight now. We have lights on the control panel. Come out on deck and help me cast off.”

  “Where do you want me?” she asked him when they were in the open.

  “I’ll go up to the bow and handle the line there. You take the one here in the stern.”

  When Brenna leaned over the gunnel to free the line from the piling, she discovered a long pole attached to the side of the boat. “Casey, there’s a pole here,” she called to him.

  “It’s a boat hook. There’s a matching one on the other side. They’re used sometimes to hook into a dock or push off from one. We won’t need them here.”

  He must have detached his own line because, with the boat no longer moored, it rocked when she stood up. They were free! Now if only... She didn’t finish the thought, saving it for what she hoped would be a prayer of thanks once they reached the open waters.

  Back into the cabin they hurried, where Casey mounted himself on the pilot’s stool while she resumed her watch at the window.

  Lucky. We are so incredibly lucky. Please, God, let it last, she silently pleaded.

  She learned why the boat hooks weren’t necessary. Narrow though their dock berth was, Casey was so capable easing the throttle into a stern position that they backed out smoothly.

  From here, using both wheel and a forward position on the throttle, he turned the bow gently.

  “I hate to steal this baby from what has to be her proud owner,” he said as they crept away from the docks and across the harbor, all without a challenge. “But if we ever get where we need to go, I’m going to make it my business to see she gets returned to that owner.”

  Brenna nodded, her attention still fixed not on where they were headed but where they were leaving. No sign whatever of a pursuit. Yes, incredibly lucky.

  Minutes later, they cleared the breakwater. Casey opened the throttle to a full position. With a roar, the boat leaped forward, cutting through the open sea. They were in the clear. It was time for that prayer of thanks.

  Chapter 13

  Casey consulted the gyrocompass to make sure he was bearing north. There was no opportunity to depend on the position of the stars, even had he or Brenna been able to adequately read them. The sky had clouded over, obliterating both stars and any moon that might have risen.

  He’d had Brenna check the lockers for maps or charts. She didn’t find any. They either hadn’t existed on the boat, which was unlikely, or had been removed. He’d have to use the gyro and his sense of direction to get them to another island.

  Not the most reliable means. The Caribbean Sea was a large body of water. It would be easy to miss any island at night like this. An inhabited island, of course, would mean lights. They would help.

  There was an alternative. He could cut the engine while there was still plenty of fuel, drop anchor and wait for daylight.

  He might do that but not yet. He wanted to make certain St. Sebastian was well behind them. They were already in good shape, though. They’d lost the telltale glow of Georgetown some time ago. Just the darkness now on all sides.

  His confidence was premature.

  Just seconds later, Brenna, who had stationed herself by the windows at the rear of the cabin, called out to him.

  “Casey, there’s a light behind us!”

  “Something up in St. Sebastian’s highlands maybe that we missed until now?”

  “No, down at our level. Not steady either, like it’s moving with the water. I think it’s another boat.”

  “How far back? Can you tell?”

  “Not possible. Light’s too small. Although...”

  “Although what?”

  “I think it’s growing brighter since I first spotted it. Casey,” she reported, her voice lifting in urgency, “I think it’s coming after us!”

  “All right, don’t get alarmed. Could be anybody just happening to be traveling in the same direction. Come on up here and take the wheel while I have a look for myself.”

  She came, but she wasn’t happy about it. “Casey, I’ve never handled boats.”

  “Just keep the wheel steady. That’s all you have to do. I’ll be back before you can miss me.”

  A couple of minutes out on the open deck were all he needed to convince him that Brenna was right. There was something too deliberate about this boat, not just its being there but coming straight toward them, to be a coincidence.

  Casey expressed his frustration in a string of soft but strong curses.

  He wasn’t going to kid himself about who was chasing after them. Bradley’s bastards had finally managed to find them. How wasn’t important. What did matter was the escalating brightness of the lights on that other boat, a sure sign it was closing on them.

  That meant it was a powerful cruiser, something probably considerably faster than theirs.

  He’d left Brenna too long at the helm. He went back inside, closing the cabin door behind him. She turned her head to look at him when he took control of the wheel.

  “It’s not good, is it?” she said. “I can always tell by how rigid you become.”

  He wasn’t going to lie to her. “We’re not going to be able to outrun them, but I’m damned if I’m going to kill the engine and just sit waiting for them. It isn’t over until it’s over.”

  Which might, he angrily realized a moment later, be sooner than later.

  The glass in one of the rear windows exploded as a bullet tore through it, mercifully missing them, burying itself instead in the wood of the frame that surrounded the control panel.

  “Brenna! Flat on the floor! Now, and stay there!”

  She was down and hugging the floor when a second bullet whistled through the air. Where this one struck Casey didn’t know.

  “Were you hit?” she cried out. “Tell me you weren’t hit!”

  “I’m all right. I’ve got my head and shoulders low.” All but his hands, which he kept on the wheel, were out of range.

  Hell, the SOBs not only had a high-powered boat, they also had a high-powered rifle. And all he had was a knife. His fear now was there would be a hail of bullets, and one or more of them would strike something vital on their craft and put it out of commission.

  Casey waited for that, but it didn’t happen. Were those two bullets merely warning shots?

  Brenna had the explanation for the failure of more gunfire. He was crouched over so far his vision was no longer on a level with any of the windows. But she must have lifted her head just high enough to get a glimpse of the windshield.

  “Casey, it’s raining! Raining hard!”

  Sonofagun, fortune was smiling on them again. Although the sound of the engine had been too loud for Brenna and him to hear the rain on the roof, it must be thick enough to make it impossible for their enemy to sight them now. That overcast had ended up producing a blessing.

  Best to be careful, he told himself when he eased back up on the stool and cautiously reached for the switch that a
ctivated the windshield wipers. Brenna was right. It was a heavy downpour. The wipers slashing rapidly across the glass were having a job of it clearing any kind of a view. Not that there was anything to see out there but the blackness.

  “Hey, can I get up now?”

  “Give it a few more minutes. I want to be sure it’s safe.”

  Managing to lock the wheel into its present position, Casey left the helm and edged around the prone Brenna to the rear of the cabin where he peered through the side of the back window that remained intact.

  He was unable to get so much as a weak glimpse of the running lights of the powerboat behind them. The rain was that solid. That being the case, the occupants of the other cruiser wouldn’t be able to see them.

  Doesn’t prevent them from catching up with us, though, if we both maintain this course. In which case...

  Casey hurried back to the helm station. He was unlocking the wheel when he heard from Brenna again.

  “This floor is getting awfully hard.”

  “Sorry. You can get up, but hang on. I’m going to change course.”

  They were running in a northerly direction. He turned their craft east and into an absolute wall of rain. “That should confuse them.”

  Brenna, standing at his shoulder, observed, “Let’s pray we lose them altogether. The question is, are we going to end up losing ourselves out here?”

  “Better that than their finding us.”

  There was little likelihood of this as long as the rain continued, and so far it was falling without letup. No thunder or lightning, however, and scarcely any wind. Not enough, he thought, to make the sea more than a bit choppy, with only an occasional swell their craft cut through with a slight bounce.

  Casey lost track of time and distance. He and Brenna didn’t speak as they traveled on, maintaining their course with his eye periodically on the gyrocompass. All that changed was the rain. It was finally beginning to lighten.

  When it was no longer a tropic drencher but merely a drip, luck failed them again.

  “What’s that?” Brenna asked sharply, referring to a sudden clunking sound coming from the engine compartment.

  Before Casey could answer her—not that he had any clue—the engine sputtered, made a kind of gasping sound and died.

  “I guess I don’t have to ask what this is,” she said. “It’s the sound of silence.”

  She couldn’t have put it better, he thought. Or, in this case, worse. Except for the faint slap of the sea against their hull, there was nothing. Not the reassuring rumble of the engine, not the patter of the rain. Nor, thankfully, so much as a distant whisper from the other cruiser anywhere in the area. The enemy had lost them.

  And if anybody up there cares at all, it can stay that way.

  The cabin was quiet until Brenna finally spoke up again. “Could we be out of gas?”

  “The gauge was the first thing I checked, sweetheart. We’ve still got plenty of fuel.”

  “Oh.” She waited a few seconds before her next question. “Shouldn’t you maybe have a look at the engine?”

  “I suppose I could do that.” Not that it would do much good. Although he had a bit of knowledge on the subject, he was no mechanic. But if it made her feel any better...

  Flashlight in hand, Casey left the helm, squatted down beside the engine compartment and raised the hatch. He was silent as he slowly circled the interior of the compartment with the beam of the flashlight, studying what amounted to the guts of the powerboat.

  “Spot the problem?”

  He looked up to find she had joined him. She knelt on the other side of the open well, a solemn expression on her face. Like a scientist gravely consulting with her colleague on their joint project.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Which surprised the hell out of him. “See this belt over here flopping uselessly?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It shredded with wear and finally broke.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “Yeah, it’s bad. The belt is part of the water pump that cools the engine. Without the belt, the engine overheats and seizes up.”

  “And that’s what happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  “If I had a replacement belt, I might give it a try. But there are no spares down here, just those cans of oil.”

  Turning off the flashlight, he lowered the hatch into place, rose to his feet and dusted off his hands. Brenna stood, as well.

  “I guess,” she said, “it would be stating the obvious to say we’re stranded out here.”

  “Yep.” Even the sea wasn’t taking them anywhere. He didn’t have to view it to know it had to be perfectly flat now. He could feel the absolute calm. There was no movement whatsoever beneath the boat.

  “Do you suppose there’s a chance of finding flares in any of the lockers?” she wondered. “Wait, though. That’s no good. Setting off rocket flares that are seen for miles could—”

  He finished the rest for her. “Send the bad guys straight to us.”

  “Casey, what are we going to do?”

  “Wait.”

  “Until?”

  “Daylight. There’s bound to be a friendly boat sooner or later, and when they can see us and we can see them, we’ll let them know somehow we’re in distress and ask for a tow to a safe port.” Without a radio on board or the cell phones they had ended up ditching in Georgetown, he realized they had no other choice.

  Neither of them mentioned the possibility that the sooner-or-later boat could turn out to be the enemy.

  “Guess I’d better put down the anchor,” Casey said.

  He went to the helm station, but either the motor that lowered the anchor wasn’t functioning or the chain was jammed.

  Going out on deck, he tried to hand-crank the anchor out. It was stuck fast, and in the dark he wasn’t about to attempt any repair.

  “No luck?” Brenna asked when he returned to the cabin.

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. In this flat sea, we’re not going to drift any distance.”

  Back to the helm station he went where, except for one low light, he switched off all the power to conserve the battery. She had unfolded a couple of deck chairs in his absence. They settled down on them for what promised to be a long watch

  Elbow propped on the arm of his chair, chin resting in the palm of his hand, Casey gazed at Brenna in the gloom. He’d always admired her spirit, but he had never before considered her capacity for courage. He guessed it was about time he did just that.

  Yeah, he decided, she qualified for that. She might be worried about their situation. Who wouldn’t be? But she wasn’t fretting about it. She was doing exactly what a brave person would do—preserving her self-control.

  He supposed he should be telling Brenna this, but that kind of thing could lead to a declaration of feelings. Deep feelings. And Casey wasn’t prepared to go there. Not after she’d given his ring back to him two years ago. He maintained he’d long since overcome her rejection. The truth of it was, however, there were moments when he still felt the sting of that broken engagement.

  She might not be a coward, but in that respect he was.

  * * *

  It seemed to Brenna they had been on the run forever. Two days actually, but they had been a very long two days. There had been no time for the expression of any personal emotions. Not even when they’d made love. Not really.

  This, though, was a quiet interlude made for emotions. At least for her. But Brenna suspected Casey wouldn’t welcome any introduction of the subject.

  There was, however, one thing she’d been wanting to know almost from the moment he’d arrived on St. Sebastian. This seemed as good a time as any to approach it. Casey might not appreciate discussing it. If he refused...well, she would simply tell him she understood and let it go at that.

  “Casey?”

  “Mmm?”

  “You’ve never explained your suspension to me. When I heard
about it, I asked Will, but he didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, the bureau has managed to keep a tight lid on it. They’re good about achieving that kind of thing. When they’ve finished the investigation to their satisfaction and made decisions, they’ll release a statement to the media, but until then...”

  “I’m not the media.”

  “Meaning you’re asking me to tell you.”

  “Even though we’re no longer engaged, I still care about you, Casey. Naturally, I’d like to know.”

  He hesitated so long she thought he wasn’t going to tell her.

  “It isn’t a pretty tale, Brenna,” he warned her.

  “I’d still like to hear it.”

  “All right, you insisted, so here it is.”

  Leaning forward in his chair, he told her the story in a deep monotone. A deliberate tactic she suspected in order to spare both himself and her unbearable emotions.

  “Two other agents and I were sent from Chicago to another Midwestern city. The teenage daughter of a federal judge had been kidnapped by brothers demanding their terrorist father be released from prison. Negotiations to free the girl had broken down. That’s when the judge demanded the assistance of the FBI. They knew by the time the three of us arrived where the daughter was being held.”

  Brenna noticed he was careful to avoid mentioning location and names, as well as any particular details. She respected that, permitting him to continue his concise account without asking questions.

  “It was decided by people who should have known better that the only way to rescue the girl was for the three of us to break in there, weapons drawn while the two brothers were kept distracted. The result was a shootout, leaving both brothers dead and one of us agents wounded.”

  This time Brenna couldn’t resist a brief “The judge’s daughter?”

  “Safe in a locked bedroom. When the other agent and I managed to get in there, we found her bound, gagged and blindfolded on a chair. What we didn’t expect, what no one knew was that she wasn’t alone. There was a kid in there with her sitting on the bed, a boy who couldn’t have been more than ten.”

  Casey paused there, clearly reluctant to go on. Something terrible is coming, Brenna thought. I should stop him from telling the rest. But before she could do that, he finished in a rush. There was no monotone this time.