Atwah eyed her up and down and laughed, an unpleasant sound coming from him. “You must mean very little to the wealthy doctor. He would have bought you something more appropriate like gold and diamonds, yes?”
Caitlyn assumed her very best regal pose, complete with elevated nose. “No, that would be platinum. And only perfect, multicarat diamonds. Gold clashes with my coloring.”
He stuffed the music box in its packaging and tossed it carelessly into the cockpit. “You have a little trinket to hang on your dash,” he said with disdain.
She forced her hands to stay on her hips instead of grabbing for the precious gift. Or throttling Atwah.
“Well, hell, I guess I made another mistake.”
The ice in Stillman’s voice made Caitlyn cringe. When she looked at him, his mouth was set in a grim line, his eyes glacier-blue.
“Platinum and diamonds. That’ll be easy to remember—those were Hilary’s favorites too.”
Oh great, was it an act, or had Dr. Butt Head come back? Did he really think she was a gold digger like his ex? Oh sorry, that was Mrs. Butt Head the Third.
Before Caitlyn could think of a smart-ass comment, a burst of automatic gunfire coughed from the edge of the gravel path. She flinched then ducked behind the ladder, half-expecting hot metal to rip into her flesh. Instead, she heard a harsh yell. She jerked her head up and saw Joe’s T-shirt splattered with blood. He swayed drunkenly before he crumpled to the gravel some thirty feet away from her. “Nooo!” she screamed in horror and held on to the aluminum ladder to keep from falling.
Osprey and egrets scattered in a flurry of screeches and flapping wings. Wind slithered through the palmettos and palms with a dry raspy noise. Or was that the sound of her gasping for air as she ran toward Joe? Her boots slapped on the concrete, but she didn’t seem to get any closer to her fallen friend.
“Caitlyn, stop!” Stillman yelled. Other voices, foreign and angry joined his, but made no sense. More confusing was seeing Yasin standing grim-faced over Joe, loading a new clip in his MAC-10. Her blood froze while her lungs burned.
Had it all been a lie? Had this been an elaborate, ugly hoax? Were Clay and Ryan both dead, as well?
She was still running when she was hit from behind. Concrete exploded in front of her, stinging her face and outstretched arms. Something heavy and solid landed on top of her, expelling what little air she had left and bouncing her head forward. It hit the landing pad with an audible thunk.
Stillman’s roar of rage sounded far away. Gravel and sand bit into her cheek and she couldn’t breathe. Sounds slowly faded and the sun disappeared altogether. She was drowning, her lungs imploding from a too-rapid descent. Sharks circled. Flat black eyes watched, unblinking, as she screamed in fear and rage.
* * *
Stillman grabbed Atwah by his shirt and belt and threw him off Caitlyn as Yasin tried to stop him. God damn it, she wasn’t supposed to get hurt. Stillman fell to his knees at her side, his hands shaking as he ran them over her, feeling for broken bones. Her shriek still echoed in his head.
He was supposed to have blocked her view—to protect her. Gently he turned her limp body over. Tears threatened his assessment and he cleared them with choppy swipes from the back of his hand.
Blood oozed from the road rash on her forehead and cheek. He swore again. Her beautiful skin had sand and gravel embedded in it. His hand hovered over her without touching. An angry knot the size of a baby’s fist was already forming on her forehead above her left eye.
“Is she alive?” Atwah asked, his boots coming in view on the other side of Caitlyn’s supine body.
Stillman ignored him.
Yasin knelt next to Atwah’s feet and took Caitlyn’s wrist in his hand. Stillman growled.
“Yes, she’s alive. We should move her inside,” Yasin said, jerking backward before Stillman’s fist could connect.
“Doctor, carry her to the house. Yasin, make sure the mechanic is dead.” Atwah stepped back. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Caitlyn stirred, her eyelids fluttered then widened in a flash of awareness. Stillman grabbed her shoulders before she could get more than a couple of inches off the ground. “Stay still.”
She cranked her head up, her eyes wild. “Joe. Is he—” She swallowed hard, a spasm distorting the graceful curve of her neck. “Is he dead?”
“Yes,” Yasin said harshly from his crouched position next to her fallen crew member.
As much as Stillman had anticipated this reaction, when her voice cracked on a gut-wrenching wail and her eyes filled with tears, he wanted to blurt out the truth. Which could get them all killed.
“Pick her up,” Atwah said in a voice that expected immediate response.
Stillman bent and gently gathered Caitlyn’s shaking body in his arms. She molded into him, supple and vulnerable. Seeing her like this, with all the fight gone, hurt more than he’d imagined. God, had he made the wrong decision?
Atwah headed down the gravel path without a glance at Joe or Yasin, and some of Stillman’s tension eased. If Atwah had decided to check Joe himself...
He lengthened his stride to keep up with Atwah. Caitlyn’s hands clutched and released his T-shirt repeatedly, like a kitten. Her sobs had quieted, but tears still spilled freely down her damaged cheek. He bent his head over her. “How do you feel? Dizzy? Nauseous?”
“No,” she choked out between sniffles.
She’d lost consciousness long enough to indicate at least a mild concussion. He refused to contemplate anything more serious given their current medical resources. He hitched her higher. “Could you put your arms around my neck?”
She complied and nestled her face against his neck. He felt her uneven breaths against his skin, but it sounded like she’d stopped crying. If he hadn’t seen her earlier devastation, he wouldn’t have known the kind of control she was exerting to contain it now.
The mansion came into view. Yasin had been right about that, as well. He’d said Atwah would move them to the house as soon as Joe was out of the equation. Now Stillman just had to decide what to do about the bugs and cameras Caitlyn had found when she’d been there last. Assuming Atwah put them in the same room.
Caitlyn stiffened when she saw where he was carrying her. “What’s going on? Why are you taking me here?”
He squeezed her. “Look at me.” He waited till she shifted to face him. His stomach sank. Her blood-streaked cheek had swollen, her eyes were red, and her lashes were still wet from tears. “Ah, honey. You look like you lost the fight.”
Tears welled again and he swore. “Hey, that was supposed to be a joke.” Idiot, she was in no mood for teasing. She believed her crew member and friend had just been shot to death right before her eyes.
“Not funny, Dr. Butt Head.” She grabbed a handful of his T-shirt and wiped her face—and nose—with it.
He shook his head and stopped walking. “I know. Answer me truthfully,” he said. She nodded, her eyes watching his warily. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” She stared at him, waiting.
His heart beat harder. She hadn’t even hesitated. “After I clean your wounds, I’ll need to leave you alone for a little bit.” He frowned when she opened her mouth as if to protest. “You’ll need to locate all the bugs and surveillance cameras in the room. When I get back, maybe we’ll figure a way to disable them.” He kissed her hard. “Just keep trusting me, Queeny, because what you saw wasn’t real.”
While her mouth tightened into a frown, he saw a spark of hope light her eyes and she gave him a small nod before looking away.
When they arrived in the room he took care of the worst of Caitlyn’s cuts and bruises and saw her settled on a plush bed. Then Atwah escorted him back to help Yasin “dispose” of Joe’s body.
As he trudged to the landing pad he silently cussed his stu
pidity. If he hadn’t acted like a total...butt head...over Caitlyn’s reaction to the music box, which he’d totally forgotten about buying, she wouldn’t have been hurt. And she wouldn’t have seen Joe “die.”
Atwah left Stillman under Yasin’s guard so he could return to the mansion, presumably to keep an eye on Caitlyn.
Stillman fumed at Yasin as soon as Atwah was out of earshot. “I don’t want that motherfucker near her.”
“He won’t molest her, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Yasin assured him. Joe’s body had been moved to a small cart, and covered by a green tarp.
Stillman lifted the tarp. “Are you okay?” His stomach did a three-sixty. The torn and bloody T-shirt looked too damn real. But it moved with Joe’s regular respirations. Followed by soft, heartfelt swearing.
“I’m feeling lower than flea-shit right now,” Joe said.
“I know, it never occurred to me she’d react that violently,” Yasin said as he climbed behind the wheel of the cart. He started the electric motor and looked at Stillman with real regret in his eyes.
Stillman settled in the seat next to him and scrubbed a hand over his face. “If we’re handin’ out guilt, I’ll take mine with two swift kicks to the ass. If I’d been standing where I was supposed to be, she wouldn’t have seen your damn convincing bloody pyrotechnics.” He propped his boot up on the padded dash and leaned an elbow on his upraised knee.
Yasin had rigged a bulletproof vest with small exploding bags of blood, just like stuntmen did for movies. When he shot a round of blanks into Joe’s chest, he’d detonated the charges with a remote control.
“I’ve never tried it before. Supposedly, the DEA guys use them all the time.”
“What I know is I can still hear Caity’s screams in my head,” Joe muttered from under the tarp.
That silenced all of them. Stillman had to tell her the truth as soon as they were alone. But could she be as convincingly devastated in front of Atwah once she knew Joe was safely off the island?
“No offense, Doc, but I don’t like leaving her here,” Joe said.
“Yeah, but with you gone, she’ll have one less person to worry about,” Yasin observed accurately. He parked the cart alongside the boathouse and shut off the motor.
Stillman climbed out and scanned the manicured lawn and overflowing planters with their brightly colored flowers and greenery. The four boat slips were big enough for small yachts, the boathouse bigger than his apartment.
“How come we’ve never seen any workers? This place is immaculate, and that takes laborers. Lots of them.” He knew firsthand. As a kid he’d spent part of the year at his parents’ thirty-acre estate when he wasn’t stuck in boarding school or their Fifth Avenue apartment.
Yasin looked around as if he hadn’t noticed his surroundings. Yeah, right. The man noticed everything, even when he seemed oblivious.
“Whoever owns this place has a small army that comes in on Mondays. They clean the house, mow the lawn, do all this.” He gestured to the flowers. “We’re still trying to track the real owners. It’s hidden in corporate sleight of hand, but sooner or later we’ll find them.”
He dropped the slatted wood tailgate on the little trailer and gestured to Stillman to join him. “There aren’t any listening devices down here, but they do have security cameras, so we have to make this look good.”
It took ten minutes to get Joe moved to the small cigarette boat moored in the boathouse. Air-conditioning and a stocked refrigerator would keep Joe comfortable until Yasin moved him after dark. Fortunately, Atwah expected cold storage to preserve the “body.”
Saying goodbye was as emotional as any Stillman had experienced in battlefield partings. The stress of the hijacking had forged a bond few civilians understood. Their handshake turned into a backslapping awkward hug that left both men shuffling their feet and avoiding eye contact for a moment or two.
“Take care of Queen B. She...hell,” Joe began, studying the carpet, his hands on his hips. “She’s damn special. I expect to get her back, ya hear?” He glanced up and drilled Stillman with narrowed eyes. “Monday, beer and nachos at Jose’s.” He nodded at Yasin. “Guess that includes you.”
Stillman followed Yasin out of the boathouse. “Any news on our target or timeline?”
Yasin shook his head as he climbed into the cart. “I couldn’t get hold of anyone this morning. They were all in some big powwow. When I hand Joe over tonight, I’ll see what’s going on. Atwah’s foul mood generally means he’s run into trouble. He doesn’t deal well with disappointment.”
Yasin drove Stillman to the mansion and escorted him to his new quarters. “Atwah’s not a voyeur, but most of the rooms in the mansion are wired for sound and video—the owner’s doing, not his. With you both locked in, I’m guessing if you were to disable them, he won’t do anything about it. He has bigger problems taking all his attention right now—like when and where the bomb delivery is.”
As Yasin unlocked the room door, Stillman hadn’t decided how to tell Caitlyn about Joe.
She practically threw herself into his arms when he stepped through the doorway. “God, I was afraid they’d killed you too,” she said in a voice that quivered ever so slightly.
He wrapped her in his arms and just held on. It felt right. He felt right with her heart beating against his.
It didn’t last long—not near long enough. She pushed away, head up and eyes blazing. “That son of a bitch lied to us.”
The queen wasn’t just unhappy, she was royally pissed.
Hell, she vibrated with anger. That was an emotion he knew how to deal with.
“It means they’re all dead, doesn’t it? Ryan, Clay and now Joe.” It was a whispered statement, not a question. She began pacing the floor like an expectant father, her motions jerky, lacking her normal fluid grace.
“They’re all dead. Well, he can forget all about his little plan. I’m not doing anything he wants,” she muttered.
Shit, she was planning a revolt. “Queeny, I—”
“No! The queen died with J-Joe.” The stricken look was gone in a flash and her blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t get in my way. The BITCH is back. And she’s not standing down.”
Chapter Eleven
Caitlyn ignored Stillman’s scowl. Good. He’d be easier to deal with if he was angry with her. And if she didn’t think about all that she’d lost—
Tyler. Oh God, she’d forgotten all about Joe’s son. He was supposed to move back home because his mother was dying. Pain sliced through her self-absorption, ripping a soft cry from her heart. Her legs gave out and she sank to the floor.
“God, Caitlyn. Is it your head? Can you hear me? Caitlyn!”
Stillman’s panicked voice connected and she blinked up at him. He’d moved her to the bed and was leaning over her with decidedly un-doctor-like fear in his eyes.
“Tyler. I forgot all about Tyler,” she said and tried to sit up. Stillman’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.
“No, stay. Who is Tyler?” He kept pressure on her shoulder and sat on the bed next to her.
She forced tension out of her muscles. Control, Caity, control what you can, and let everything else go. A deep breath helped her achieve at least the illusion of calm. Enough that she could speak about the painful subject without crying.
“Joe’s son.” The boy had given Joe purpose outside of himself. Claudia, his ex...now that was a subject better left untouched.
“Let me sit up.” Stillman relaxed his grip but didn’t move an inch. She scooted to the headboard and he leaned over to prop a pillow behind her head.
“You should stay lying down until we know how bad your concussion is.”
“Whatever.”
He sighed and sat back, his blue eyes inscrutable. “I thought Joe was divorced. Does Tyler live with
him?”
She blinked away the burning sensation. Tears were a waste of energy and never accomplished anything. And based on the funny look Stillman got whenever she lost it, they scared the crap out of him. “No, he lives with Claudia, the ex from hell, but since she’s dying, Tyler and his mom are—were—going to move back to Florida to be with Joe. Tyler’s only eleven.” Okay, she had to check the ceiling before her eyes overflowed and freaked out Dr. Please-don’t-fall-apart-on-me-now.
He swore and it helped ground her emotions. Her stomach cartwheeled off the bed. “Guess I get to be a mom sooner than I thought.” Claudia would freak, but since she had limited resources, mostly because of a nasty attitude, she’d end up grateful. Not that she’d ever admit it.
Stillman looked like he’d been slapped with a paternity suit.
“Relax, Doc, I’m not talking about the kind brought on by pregnancy.” A squiggle of disappointment winnowed through her chest. If his expression was anything to go on, fatherhood wasn’t on his agenda. She closed her eyes and let her head relax into the pillow.
Too bad, she could picture him teaching Tyler how to fly in that little red and black tail-dragger...or maybe a little girl. With ginger-colored pigtails.
“You’d take responsibility for Joe’s eleven-year-old son?”
His tone oozed disbelief. She cracked one eyelid open. “Yeah. Why? Don’t you think I’d make a good mother?” Both eyes were open now. She’d have to hurt him for sure if he laughed at the idea of her being a mom. Motherhood and flying were two skills she never doubted. Her pedigree might not match Stillman’s blue blood, but her nurturing gene was as good as anyone’s, and better than most.
He eased back, his expression suddenly guarded. “I don’t know. I guess I figured your career meant more to you than that.”
She sat upright. “What the hell does that mean? I can’t fly helicopters and be a mom at the same time? Welcome to the twenty-first century, doctor. Women don’t have to stay home to be mothers unless they choose to.” She twisted around and punched her pillow. Probably safer than punching him like she wanted to. Idiot.
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