Ironclad Cover

by Dana Marton

  She opened her mouth to make some kind of an argument, to open some dialogue between them on the subject, but he was dragging the WaveRunner into the water already.

  “We should get the pictures to Carly, see what she can make of them,” he said.

  “THIS WILL TAKE a while,” Carly said as she hit the Enter key. “There are millions of mug shots in the CIA and FBI databases. Slow work.”

  Brant watched how Nick—who had the apartment next to Carly’s and had come over when Brant and Anita had arrived—stood by her chair, the comfortable aura around them. Something was going on there.

  “Now, let’s take a look at this ship.” Carly brought the digital picture Anita had taken from the beach onto the screen.

  She could barely make out the cabin windows. The image was too dark and too fuzzy, the ship had been too far.

  A window of controls appeared at the bottom of the screen as Carly worked. She was adjusting contrast and colors. A couple minutes into it, they were getting somewhere.

  “Let’s try to look at the negative,” she said, and adjusted something else.

  They could see where the name of the ship was, a blurry strip of white on the black background.

  “Can you zoom in a little more?” Brant asked.

  She shook her head. “That only works in the movies. You can’t increase resolution. The picture is whatever resolution you took it as. I can enlarge, play with colors and contrast and all that, but that’s it.”

  “So it’s a dead end?” Anita was asking.

  “Not yet. I’m going to run it through this character recognition program I’ve been playing around with.”

  Brant stepped closer. “How does that work?”

  “Basically, the computer guesses what letters the shadows look most like,” Nick was saying, and Carly nodded.

  Carly ran her fingers over the keyboard and more windows appeared. In one of them the fuzzy image of the name began to reshuffle, pixel by pixel. The four of them stood there, eyes glued to the screen. Long seconds ticked by. Nobody said a word. Then finally the blob was beginning to take shape, distinct lines emerging here and there.

  AYTRAR II

  “Can that be right?” Anita looked up from the screen, her gaze meeting Brant’s.

  “I can check if a ship by that name is in the international registry.” Carly was already accessing the database. “This might take a few minutes.”

  “Coffee, anyone?” Nick headed to the kitchen and pulled mugs from the cabinets. He sure looked like he felt at home at Carly’s place.

  “None for me,” Brant said. He hoped to catch some sleep after they were done here.

  “I’ll take a cup.” Carly played the keyboard like a piano virtuoso.

  “Me, too,” Anita said.

  He walked out of the kitchen and sat on the couch in the living room, set his mind to Carly and Nick because he didn’t want to think about Anita and himself. Had those two crossed the line? Did he have a right to judge, considering he had come so maddeningly close to doing something on that beach that both Anita and he would have regretted?

  One second he was all clear and certain of his future. Eileen, two kids, a boy and a girl, she would still teach. He could see those kids in their school uniforms getting off the bus at the end of his driveway. The next second he was drunk with the sight and feel and taste of Anita and couldn’t think beyond the very second, beyond having her. It was madness, brought on by the heat and the fact that she was unlike the women he was normally around.

  At work, his female colleagues were competent and professional. If they looked sexy, he didn’t notice it because he wasn’t supposed to and he was always swamped with work up to his ears. In his private life there had been Eileen, although they hadn’t yet passed beyond friendship. The rest of the women on his street were married and he didn’t socialize beyond neighbors, colleagues and family. He hadn’t had the time or the energy to put himself out there.

  The effect Anita Caballo had on him came as a surprise. A surprise he wasn’t going to ponder any further. He took a slow breath and focused back on Nick and Carly, caught an easy glance and a half-smile that passed between them. Oh, hell. Something was going on there, all right. They would have to have a talk. He wasn’t looking forward to that. He had a feeling Nick Tarasov could be damn hardheaded when he thought the occasion called for it.

  “Bingo!” Carly shot out of her chair and was grinning from ear to ear.

  “What is it?” Anita moved closer.

  Brant stood.

  “The AYTRAR II is under Kazakh flag, registered to a company that’s owned by another company that’s owned by Peter Alexeev.”

  Excitement was a palpable thing in the room. This was the biggest breakthrough in the case so far. They had finally identified the link to Tsernyakov—Philippe Cavanaugh.

  ANITA SCANNED THE BEACH and made visual contact with Sam, Carly and Gina. They were easy to pick out. All four of them had dressed to be noticed. Nick and Brant, on the other hand, were here without an invite and as such, were blending in someplace. She couldn’t spot either, although she had scanned the sand from the edge of the water to the cement barricades on the other side of the hotel.

  “Splendid costume,” the woman next to her said, dressed as a pirate’s parrot, stunning feather head-piece included. It had to be extremely hot. The day had been a scorcher, which even the evening breeze coming off the ocean hadn’t tempered yet.

  “Thank you.” Anita smiled politely. She was dressed as a Caribbean princess in a colorful ruffled skirt with a corset top—it held her small gun without being noticeable. “I love your outfit, too. Very imaginative.”

  The woman flashed her a gracious smile before disappearing into the crowd.

  Anita swayed to the beat of the steel drums. The music was contagious—she couldn’t keep still if she wanted to. The dance was in her blood.

  Motors roared a hundred feet or so down the beach where a four-wheeler obstacle course had been set up for the pleasure of the guests who thought dancing was too tame an entertainment.

  “I’m glad you came.”

  The familiar voice made her turn. Michael Lambert stood behind her in the flowing robes of an Arabian prince, his gaze caressing her dress with approval.

  “Thanks for the invite.”

  “My pleasure.” He reached out a hand. “Would you dance with me?”

  She was supposed to keep an eye out for Cavanaugh, but she could do that while dancing. No sense in offending their host. She let him lead her out to the middle of the dance floor.

  The man could move, she realized after the first few seconds and gave herself over to the joy of dancing. After a while, she became aware of the sensation that somebody was watching her. She glanced at the circle of guests in various costumes who ringed the dance floor. Many of them had masks on. She took a better look at the men as Michael twirled her. Brant and Nick came separately from the women. She had no idea what costumes they wore.

  The song ended and the band switched to a slower number. Michael pulled her in close and touched his lips to her cheek. She looked up, surprised, and pulled back, just as Brant’s tight voice came from behind her.

  “May I cut in?”

  “Certainly.” Michael nodded with a rueful smile. “It was a pleasure. I’ll see you later.”

  She couldn’t form a response. All she could do was stare at Brant in his pirate-of-the-high-seas outfit.

  “Pirate boots?” She got the words out finally.

  “Mock me and die, matey.”

  She grinned. “Am I supposed to say something like, shiver me timbers?”

  “Yes, sir, Captain, your request is my command, would be enough.”

  She grinned. “You might want to pick a hobby to keep you busy. It’ll be a long wait.”

  Oddly the whole getup seemed to fit the man. He hadn’t shaved and his five-o’clock shadow gave him a swarthy, dangerous look. The sword in his belt looked all too real. He had on black pants an
d a worn gray eighteenth-century army coat, a wide belt with a big brass buckle. He was nothing like the pirate-dressed models on the covers of romance novels. He looked dangerous enough to pass for the real thing. His dark eyes were hard, throwing off lightning.

  “What is the nature of your interest in Michael Lambert?” he asked as he pulled her close.

  She felt a moment of thrill and fear, then realized they were supposed to be dancing. She swayed with him to the music.

  “None beyond being polite to the man. We danced.”

  “I saw that.” His words had an edge to them as sharp as his sword. All humor was gone from his face now.

  They were body-to-body and she got lost in the storm of his gaze as they moved together.

  Dancing with Brant was nothing like dancing with Michael. There was no comparison between the two men. Michael might have been smoother, but Brant possessed an elemental force that knocked the air from her lungs and made the surrounding world disappear. Dancing with Michael, she had no trouble scanning the crowd for Cavanaugh. In Brant’s arms, she wouldn’t have noticed if Carlos Santana had arrived in a golden chariot.

  She liked his inherent strength, his focus, his unyielding integrity. And she liked the way her body woke up around him. He made her feel things she hadn’t thought she would feel again, was scared and excited about. And as she relaxed in his arms, she realized that Brant Law was a man she could fall in love with.

  That snapped her to attention.

  Diosmio, was she ready for that?

  Was he?

  The time and the place was all wrong, for sure. She was involved in a mission that was more dangerous than anything she had ever done in her life. And yet she felt the tug, the slip of control, emotions taking over. That brought a swift flash of panic and she pulled away.

  What was she thinking? They had some mutual attraction going, something that she wouldn’t have minded discovering under normal circumstances. She drew the line at love. Not now and definitely not with this man. They didn’t fit into each other’s lives.

  “Do you mind if we stop? It’s too hot. I need a little walk.” She was already stepping away.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No.” She needed to escape and round up her common sense, scare it out from wherever it was hiding. “Thanks. I’m just going down to the beach.”

  She kicked off her sandals at the edge of the dancing platform and nearly ran to the water, didn’t stop until the balmy waves lapped at her ankles. She wasn’t falling in love, she told herself. She was just dazzled by the man. And why not? He was pretty impressive. A perfectly normal reaction on her part. She couldn’t be falling for him. Look at the occupation he was in. She wouldn’t have a peaceful moment in her life.

  A couple sat on the sand kissing twenty feet or so to her left, so she walked to the right. Far ahead, a group of people were splashing each other. She recognized two as clients of Savall.

  Her top dug into her skin. “I hate corsets,” she muttered.

  “Did you know women stopped wearing those to be patriotic?” Carly said through her earpiece. “In 1917. It freed up 28,000 tons of metal for the war effort.”

  “Should that make me feel better?” Anita groused, but couldn’t help but smile. She was always amazed at the amount of information in Carly’s head.

  She walked on and reached the group at the water’s edge at the same time as Michael Lambert did, coming from the other direction.

  “Enjoying the party?”

  She forced a smile on her face. “It’s great. I have a feeling people won’t forget this one anytime soon.”

  “Buy any raffle tickets?”

  “About a dozen.” Even though they were a hundred dollars each. But the kind of people who’d been invited were expected to be able to afford them. “I believe in dolphin rescue.”

  “Yet another thing we have in common.” He ran a finger down her arm.

  She didn’t pull away this time. She wanted to keep him around long enough to ask some questions. “Nice turnout. Any local celebrities here I should know?”

  “Mostly business people.”

  “All very important, I assume,” she prompted him.

  He laughed. “They like to think so. I think the demolition gimmick worked. Almost everyone who was invited showed. We’ll draw the winning raffle ticket at midnight and the winner gets to push the red button to bring the building down. The waterfront gets a new resort and the dolphin rescue gets a nice shot in the arm.”

  “And your company gets a healthy contract?” she asked.

  He grinned at her. “See? Isn’t it perfect? Everybody will be happy.”

  “Must have taken you forever to set this up.”

  He shrugged. “The demolition, yes. The party was a last-minute addition. The client insisted on it. They wanted the publicity it’s going to bring. Safety is a nightmare, though. We removed every single window to prevent broken glass from flying and took out as much metal as we could. Can’t risk it turning into shrapnel during the explosions. You have no idea what just the insurance for the party cost—” He stopped himself and gave her an apologetic smile. “But enough about business. Have you been to the treasure hunt yet?” He pointed toward the dozens of small white buoys that bobbed on the water. “There’s a treasure chest at the end of each line. Would you like to have a go?”

  Now that she looked closer, she could see the heads on the water, too. There were people who had already swum out there, at least a dozen. If Cavanaugh was one of them, with Michael by her side, she could gain a quick introduction.

  “Sure.”

  He was taking off his clothes already and she joined him. Everyone had their bathing suits on under their costumes, as specified on the invitation. Her mike was hidden in a flower pinned to her top, her gun secured under her corset. With her back to Michael, she wrapped the gun into the bandana that had been tied around her arm and buried it a few inches under the sand, then tossed her clothes over it. Even if someone accidentally stepped on her clothes, which shouldn’t happen—tiki torches stuck in the sand provided plenty of light to see—the metal ribs of the corset would disguise the shape of the weapon. In any case, she didn’t have the option of a better hiding place. And she sure couldn’t take it into the water. She would be gone only a few minutes. She took her earpiece out, as well, not sure if the transmitter would survive the ocean, pretending she was taking off her large hoop clip-ons.

  The water enveloped her body like a comforting caress, the gentle waves providing just enough challenge to take her mind off Brant. It felt good to cool off, to stretch her body and get her muscles moving. She used to love swimming. And it seemed she still could put some power into it. Michael and she reached the line of buoys at about the same time.

  “Good luck. Grab whatever looks good to you.” He winked at her before he submerged.

  She held on to the line and felt her way down, found a crate of bottles maybe ten feet from the surface, identifying them by feel. Not enough moonlight filtered down to see more than shadows. She grabbed a bottle then let go of the line and kicked away, rising to the surface.

  “Champagne,” she said when Michael came up next to her. “What did you get?”

  He held up a large key that looked like a theater prop. “A free night at the hotel when it opens.” He passed it to her. “For you. Since I’m the developer, I get to wrangle free nights anyway.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Michael,” somebody was shouting from the shore. “Is that you out there?”

  “Go away, Philippe. I’m busy.”

  Philippe? The air caught in Anita’s lungs as she focused on the man who stood on the shore, a woman on each arm. Was that Philippe Cavanaugh? The height and body type seemed right.

  “It’s okay. I need to go out there anyway. The champagne is heavy,” she said.

  “I can hold it for you if you want to go down to look for more treasure.” Mike reached out a hand.

  She paddled wa
ter. “We can always come back in.”

  “Okay.”

  Cavanaugh was walking off.

  “Race you,” Anita said, and threw herself into swimming.

  They made it to shore head-to-head. Which didn’t prevent Michael from claiming victory.

  “And now my prize,” he said, as he reached out with his free hand and pulled her to him, brushed his lips against hers.

  It didn’t feel unpleasant, but there was no compulsion to linger, no wave of need and passion as it had been with Brant. She pulled away.

  He watched her for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. “It’s not there, is it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Stuff with the big guy, it’s the real thing?” he asked with a rueful smile.

  “I think so.” That was a scary admission to make.

  He nodded. “If it doesn’t turn out to be, you know where to find me. I better go see if the big finale is all set up.” He gave her another smile before he turned and walked away.

  Cavanaugh and the women had stopped a few feet from the water’s edge. Anita walked that way, as if she were on her way back to the dancing. She needed an excuse to talk to them.

  It hadn’t been necessary. Cavanaugh recognized her.

  “Hello. Anita, right? Nice work at the Beach Beauty Pageant.”

  “Thanks.” She gave him her best smile and ignored the glares from the other women.

  “Friend of Michael?”

  “Business acquaintance.” It wasn’t strictly true, but they did meet at a business function and she wanted to bring business into the conversation.

  Cavanaugh put his hands to the small of the women’s back and pushed them forward gently. “Why don’t you girls go and see what treasures you can hunt up.”

  They didn’t seem eager to leave him, but did as they were told. There was something so Hugh Hefnerish to the scene, it made Anita smile. All Cavanaugh was missing was the quilted silk housecoat.

  “So tell me what business you’re in,” he said, and reached an arm out to her.

  “Let me just quickly put my costume back on.” She glanced toward her small pile farther down the beach. She wanted the microphone and earpiece in place, so the others would know that she found Cavanaugh and hear the conversation.