Operation Blind Date

by Justine Davis

He made her put on the Kevlar vest he dug out of his pack. She protested, saying he’d need it if anyone did, but he insisted and she finally gave in. It was the only thing he could do to protect her, and that was the only thing that would enable him to stay focused on the job at hand.

  Compartmentalize, he ordered as they paddled out. She handled the kayak efficiently, if not with familiar ease, and he could tell she’d done it before. It could be nice, under other circumstances, cruising around the sound with her, up close and personal in the small watercraft. He’d never taken the time for such leisurely exploration in all the years he’d spent here. He was more of a get-where-you’re-going-and-do-what-you-came-to-do kind of guy. That he was pondering this at all told him how much trouble he was in.

  Don’t think about it, he ordered silently. Don’t think about anything but the job. Especially don’t think about her maybe getting hurt, or worse. Just do the job. Like you have countless times before.

  So why was it so damned hard this time?

  He knew the answer even as he thought the question.

  Just think about trying to explain to Quinn why you had your head up your ass, he told himself. And he dug down deep and found the focus, although he wasn’t sure how long it would hold. Until the moment Laney was in real danger, he guessed.

  The man was back out in the rear cockpit. Laney had told him he’d gone inside once he himself had gotten back to the docks. She’d been watching intently. But this time he was facing the other way, looking out toward the entrance to the cove.

  Watching the sleek, black helicopter that was making slow, high circles above it.

  A normal person might look, watch. Might wonder what the helicopter was doing there in the first place, and certainly what it was doing hanging out in one spot like that. Might wonder if there was something going on in the water below that they should be concerned about.

  But a guilty person, someone with something to hide, something big, might well assume the helicopter was there for them. And react accordingly. What the guy did now would tell them even more than his ignorance of his supposed home port.

  He got ready to run.

  “Rabbit?” Quinn’s question echoed in his ear.

  “Rabbit,” he confirmed.

  “Rafe?” Quinn said.

  “Copy.”

  The man scrambled up to the bow of the boat, fumbled with the mooring line fastened around a cleat. Teague saw his assessment of the man’s lack of sailing skills had been accurate: he was having difficulty with the unsuitable-for-the-purpose square knots. And he was getting frantic, clawing at the knot uselessly.

  After a few more seconds, enough time for Teague to get closer, he quit the battle and darted back to the cockpit, dug in one of the bench lockers and came out with a knife. Teague watched as he sawed at the line near the cleat, while calculating his own approach. Quinn had moved in closer and lower, and the man looked over his shoulder as if he’d realized it.

  The line finally parted. He didn’t even pull it clear of the buoy, just let it trail in the water, and Teague had the thought that if it was long enough to tangle in the prop his sloppiness could end this rather quickly.

  Teague motioned to Laney to get clear. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the helicopter’s noise. “If he’s as lousy at steering that thing as he is everything else about it, he might run right over a kayak.”

  He saw reluctance in her eyes, but she did as they’d agreed and paddled away. Quinn was low enough now he was kicking up a lot of concentric waves and spray, and the noise was an effective distraction. So far, the man seemed so focused on the helicopter he wasn’t paying any attention to them, if he’d even noticed them at all.

  He scrambled back to the helm, slipping once as he looked over his shoulder again at the helicopter that was now barely a hundred feet away and even less off the deck. Since he hadn’t started the engine first, the boat was drifting, powerless, the current and probably the wind Quinn was generating nudging it backward. Underneath the sound of the bird closing in, Teague heard the bark of the boat’s engine trying to crank. And crank again, apparently in a similar condition to the boat itself. Finally it turned over. He couldn’t hear it, but saw the belch of smoke from the exhaust.

  Teague looked to the far side of the boat, saw Laney’s kayak. The stern of it, anyway. She wasn’t as far back as he would have liked. Of course, he would have liked her safely back onshore. But she should be clear unless the guy decided to turn and aim for her, and Teague doubted he even knew she was there. He’d only just spotted him, and thanks to the shift in the boat’s position he was coming at him head-on.

  Teague waved, casually, as if there was nothing unusual going on, as if there wasn’t a helicopter closing in just yards away. The man barely spared him a glance, clearly still thinking him no threat.

  The boat started to move, turning as he tried to clear the buoy and head out toward open water. And in that moment so did Quinn, bringing the chopper down even lower and closer. The man’s expression turned to pure fear. Teague moved in, paddling hard and fast. The chop from the rotor’s wake made it tougher, but he dug in deeper, forcing the little personal craft through the broken water. He had to get there before the guy could get any speed up.

  He wasn’t sure he was going to make it. The boat began to move, to turn toward the entrance to the cove. There was no way he was going to be able to keep up if the guy got it going forward.

  Even as he thought it, Quinn acted. He quit hovering. The rotors tilted, grabbed air and the bird shot forward and down. Straight at the boat. To the man at the helm, it must have seemed the helicopter was diving right at him. On a deadly collision course. It would take a tough heart and steady hand to maintain in the face of that.

  This guy had neither.

  He slammed the boat’s engine into Reverse. The neglected machinery protested by dying instantly. He abandoned the wheel and hit the deck with a scream Teague heard even over the helicopter as it roared past, arcing back to safer altitude as it cleared the boat by a nearer margin than was sane. Quinn Foxworth was one hell of a pilot.

  This was his chance, and Teague knew it. He’d have to move fast and smooth to avoid ending up in the drink trying to do this from a kayak. No time for hesitation, once he started he was committed. Momentum was key. He drove the kayak up against the swim step. Ignored the bobbing of the boat in the chop. Scrambled out, up and over.

  He was on the deck of the cockpit before the man realized what had happened. It took a moment to recover from having nearly been sliced to pieces by an eggbeater flown by a clearly crazy pilot.

  Teague ran toward him, hoping to take him down before he could react. But the man was too close to the cabin hatch, and he yanked it open and dived inside a split second before Teague had his hands on him. Teague started down the narrow steps after him.

  And stopped dead.

  He backed up slowly, holding his hands up.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  “You!” the man exclaimed. Clearly he’d been so unnerved by Quinn’s startling tactic that he hadn’t even realized the man who had come up over the back of the boat was the same one he’d talked to earlier.

  “Hi, again,” Teague said, his tone cheerful. “Sorry, didn’t catch your name before.”

  The man opened his mouth as if he were going to give it, as if this were some kind of normal, social meeting. The mind worked that way sometimes, Teague knew, falling back on the learned forms when everything was in disarray.

  And this guy’s plans had certainly been chopped to bits.

  “Back off,” the man ordered, his voice low, shaky and edged with a wildness that didn’t bode well for anyone.

  “Take it easy,” Teague said.

  “You’re together, aren’t you? You and that maniac in the chopper?”

  Looking at th
e big picture, Teague doubted Quinn would be the one considered a maniac by most people. But that was probably not the best thing to point out just now.

  “Back off,” the man repeated. “And tell your buddy in that damned helicopter to back off, too. Or I’ll gut her like a fish.”

  He meant it, Teague thought. And he had the means. In his hand was the knife he’d used to cut the mooring line.

  And it was at Amber’s throat.

  Chapter 32

  “Back off, Quinn,” Teague said into the headset. “He’s got a knife and he’s using Amber as a shield.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Exactly,” Teague agreed, angry with himself. If he’d been ten seconds faster, hell, even five, he would have had the guy before he got down into the cabin. But now he had Amber jammed up against his side, and the narrow but deadly sharp filleting knife already had drawn blood, a thin line that trickled down her throat.

  A moment later the sound of the helicopter faded as Quinn withdrew.

  “You’re a cop,” the man said with disgust.

  “No,” Teague answered. “Just a friend.”

  He would have tried to give Amber a reassuring look, but there was a none-too-clean rag tied over her eyes. Duct tape was plastered over her mouth and a rope tied with those same knots—much more suitable here—held her wrists together behind her back. Her cheeks were wet, tears having already gotten past the dirty rag. Her blond hair was tangled and matted. There was a bruise on her left cheek, more along her arms.

  “A friend? With a helicopter?”

  “A private one. It wasn’t marked, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He doubted the man had noticed anything except that it was coming straight at him.

  Teague looked at Amber. He wondered if the restraints were a result of her venturing out on deck this morning. Perhaps she really had been trying to escape, stopped only by her fear of the water and inability to swim. She had to be terrified to have even considered it.

  He’d been right about the close quarters. Drawing his weapon, even the smoke grenade was out of the question; Amber would get hurt, maybe even killed. He had to find another way.

  “Give it up, man,” Teague said. “The cops are on the way, and they won’t be as reasonable as we will.”

  “We? Who the hell is ‘we’?”

  “Friends of Amber’s. All we want is her, safe.”

  The man snorted scornfully. “Snooty bitch doesn’t have any real friends. Not that would risk this. She’s all flash.”

  Teague heard Amber choke back a sob. “You’re wrong,” he said softly, thinking of Laney, the truest of real friends.

  “She’s a whore, doesn’t know the meaning of the word loyalty. If you’re one of them that thinks you’re her boyfriend, you’re a fool.”

  “I’m a fool? I’m not the one who’s cornered in a boat that’s adrift and headed straight for the rocks, with a helicopter pinning me down and the cops on the way,” he said.

  Teague had the feeling the guy hadn’t realized quite how precarious his position was until he’d heard it in words like that. He looked around the small cabin as if he expected to hear the crunch of the hull hitting rock at any second. Teague guessed the waters of the cove were calm enough that wasn’t likely to happen fast, although Quinn could probably blow them that way with rotor wash if it came to that.

  “Back up.” The man shouted the order, gesturing again with the knife at Amber’s throat, drawing a little more blood and a muffled cry from behind the tape. “Get outside.”

  Having little choice at the moment, Teague knew he was going to have to comply. Besides, he needed room to maneuver, and he didn’t have that down here. So it was to their advantage to be out of the cabin. He knew Quinn would be monitoring. And more importantly, once they were outside, so would Rafe. Now that it was clearly a hostage situation, he’d be prepping his shot carefully.

  The man was a good head taller than Amber, which would help. It would still be tricky, with the boat moving in four directions at once, laterally and vertically, but Rafe was indeed the best he’d ever seen, and if it could be done, he could do it. He’d even pulled off one or two that simply couldn’t be done, until he did them.

  Slowly his gaze fastened on the man with the knife; he backed up, slowly, trying to anticipate what the man would do. If he wanted to try another run for it he had to go up on deck to the helm. He might try it, using Amber as leverage to keep Quinn at bay. Which meant he’d need Teague here and alive for at least long enough to relay the message.

  He started up the steep, narrow cabin steps backward, never taking his eyes off the man. He focused on his eyes, watching for some expression to warn him the man had tipped over into panic, because as Laney had said, panicked people did stupid things.

  “We’re coming out,” he said into the headset, although he was sure Quinn had heard the shouted order. He was also sure his boss was intensely frustrated at the moment, despite having done what had to be done, keeping the boat where it was. But since it took both hands—and feet—to keep the helicopter in the air in such tricky and close quarters, there wasn’t much else he could do now but hang back and watch.

  And, if necessary, give the order to Rafe.

  Once again, Rafe was their ace in the hole, and Teague had never felt better about it. All he really had to do was make sure he got a clean chance. Get Amber clear. It wasn’t even a long shot, not for Rafe. Maybe six hundred feet. He’d done shots at ten times that distance. Hell, he could probably do it with a pistol, if he was in practice.

  He emerged into the open air. The man shoved Amber up the steps. Blind and terrified, she stumbled repeatedly, earning a string of curses from the man that singed even Teague’s marine-corps-toughened ears.

  He could hear the helicopter, but didn’t want to look away. He also wanted to look for Laney, but he couldn’t let himself do that, either, not now. He judged from the sound Quinn had backed up as much as away, probably thinking another dive might be necessary. This also told Teague Quinn was relying on him to make the call for Rafe, although Quinn himself would, as always, give the order.

  The man edged backward toward the wheel, keeping his attention on Teague and the knife against Amber’s vulnerable throat.

  A flicker of movement caught the corner of Teague’s vision. By training he didn’t betray it by moving his eyes, but mentally shifted his focus to the edge, to his peripheral vision. And realized what he’d seen was the tip of a kayak, edging up closer, behind the man.

  Laney.

  He wanted to yell at her to get away, get clear, but he didn’t want to betray her presence to the man who right now was focused completely on him as he finally reached the helm.

  I’m not stupid, Teague. I know when to rely on the pros.

  I never thought you were. Ever. Far from it.

  The exchange echoed in his head. I’m not stupid, Teague.

  Give her credit, he thought. She’d earned it. And maybe it’s time you learned to rely on a civilian.

  “Hope you have a paddle,” he said, raising his voice, he hoped just enough.

  “It’ll start,” the man sneered, taking it just as Teague had hoped.

  He wasn’t sure if he hoped Laney had heard and understood or not.

  A split second later he knew she had.

  Drops of water sprayed in an arc as a double-bladed kayak paddle swung up over the railing. The man never even saw it until it caught him, hard, on the side of the knee away from Amber. He yelled. Spun around as the joint buckled. He staggered.

  And let go of Amber.

  Teague dove, taking him low, where he was already off balance. The man’s feet went backward; his heavy body went forward, over Teague’s back. In that instant Teague rolled to one side. The man hit the deck. Hard. Face-first. The loud thud was satisfy
ing.

  The man didn’t move. He appeared stunned, but Teague wasn’t about to leave anything to chance. He kicked aside the rusty knife the man had dropped when he hit. He pulled his own blade from his boot and went to Amber, who cowered away from him, muffled sobs coming from behind the duct tape. She was close enough to the rail he was afraid she’d go over.

  “Teague?”

  Laney’s voice came from over the side. The bedraggled blonde went still.

  “She’s all right,” he called. And thank God you are. He took a step toward the bound woman. “It’s all right, Amber. It’s over. Laney’s here with me.”

  He reached out and tugged off the blindfold. Amber blinked in the sunlight, looked at him, then spotted the man lying on the deck. She recoiled. Teague realized coming at her with that knife out without explanation probably wasn’t a good idea.

  She bore little resemblance at the moment to the beautiful woman in the photographs. Her eyes were indeed that striking color, but reddened to the point of looking painful from what had probably been non-stop crying. Her hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed the entire time. Teague was willing to bet she had never been this dirty in her life.

  Or as scared.

  He made sure his voice was gentle, reassuring. “Amber, my name’s Teague. I’m going to cut that rope off you. I need it for him.”

  She was shaking, but after a moment she nodded. He did it as quickly as he could. He cut the rope close to the knot, to give him the most length to work with. He quickly backed off. His instinct was to comfort the terrorized woman, but priorities demanded he secure the bad guy first. In seconds he had him trussed up securely, still facedown.

  In his ear Teague heard Quinn tell Rafe to stand down. He heard a sound at the rear of the boat; realized Laney had come around to the stern. She might need some help getting out of that kayak, he thought.

  He glanced at Amber. The terror was fading, but she still looked scared, as if she were not certain her situation had improved all that much. She looked up where the helicopter had retreated to a normal altitude. When she glanced over the rail at the water, like someone again contemplating risking the swim, he knew just how right Laney had been.