An Angel in Stone

by Peggy Nicholson

  She glanced up at the signs pointing the way to Customs in half a dozen languages, turned that direction, then shrugged and said, “Stopping for a while.”

  Too snooty to care about what he was doing, but he’d tell her anyway. Couldn’t hurt to show his cards now; in a few minutes she’d be history. “Me, I’m headed for Borneo. Pontianak.” That was the return address he’d found on a letter in Lia’s bureau. From her family or boyfriend, he figured. Either way, it oughta be enough to go on.

  “Oh?” She glanced at him with a tad more interest. “Ever been there before?”

  “Sure thing. I checked it out ’bout five years back, while I was on leave from my unit in the Philippines. My granddaddy got himself lost on the island, way back in the second World War. Thought I’d sniff around, see if I could find any trace of him. But you ain’t seen rugged country till you’ve seen Borneo. Without knowing the place to start looking from, it wasn’t nothing but a snipe hunt.” Now he had her attention. Her shiny lips parted to ask a question as he added, “All I ever caught was a bitchin’ case of the—”

  “Raine,” said a man behind them, reaching out to grab her shoulder.

  She stopped and swung on her heel.

  Szabo glanced back as he kept on walking. The big guy off the plane, making one last play for her. Go ahead, make a date. See where it gets you.

  He’d decided that he didn’t need competition on this particular snipe hunt. Ashaway All was a company, not just the leggy blonde, he’d learned when he studied their Web site. Even with this Ashaway cancelled, the rest of them should still want to buy a fire opal dinosaur.

  Meantime, he’d find himself a blind, where he could sit and watch the fun.

  “Have supper with me tonight?” Cade suggested.

  “What makes you think I’ll be in town?” For all he knew, she was flying on. Raine glanced over her shoulder; couldn’t let Mr. Smirky get away. Talk about coincidence! Could he really be the grandson of one of the missing paratroopers?

  “You’ll be here. I’ll meet you in the bar at the Blue Moon Hotel.”

  “You…snoop!” Jet lag was definitely setting in; she should have realized before. The seat next to hers on the same flight—and now this? “How did you find out where I’m staying?”

  She shook her head and glanced again after Mr. Smirky, but dammit, he’d vanished into the streaming crowd. “This is the best you can do, Kincade?” She turned and stalked on. Sooner she made it through Customs, the sooner she could find her hotel and take a nap. Cade strolled along beside her, taking two strides to every three of hers. “You want to be a bone hunter when you grow up? Fine, be my guest. Go right ahead and do it. But find your own dinos, don’t tag after me!”

  “Why not? I’d say it’s high time a bigger dog came along, to take your bones away.”

  With a wordless snarl she swerved around an oncoming electric cart, wove on past travelers babbling in a dozen tongues. She’d have to call Trey and tell him to sweep headquarters for bugs. Check the computers for data traps and custom cookies. So this was a sample of what Cade’s money could buy. They reached the turnoff to baggage claims and she glanced at him hopefully, but Cade smiled and shook his head. Like her, he travelled light.

  When they came to the customs hall, a uniformed guard pointed his white-gloved finger at Raine, then sent her to an inspection line on her left. Kincade started after her, but the triage man wagged his finger sternly, then banished him to a line at the right.

  Good riddance! She’d deal with Kincade later, but now it was time to relax. She had to pass inspection; customs agents could smell fear as easily as a Doberman sniffed out a timid postman.

  She twirled her furled parasol and did what she always did when she had guilty thoughts to hide. She chose a silly, happy song from her childhood, something from an animated film, a song that brought a smile to mind, and sang it inwardly.

  The line moved in fits and starts. Some tourists were passed without a hitch. Others, the agent all but shredded their baggage. Raine could see no rhyme or reason to it. The blushing grandmotherly tourist whose polka-dot panties he was currently unfolding didn’t look like a terrorist or a drug mule.

  Wonder if smuggling drugs is still a hanging offense in Singapore? She wasn’t up-to-date on the latest sentences, but this was a state that outlawed chewing gum and caned grafitti artists—if they were lucky!

  Given such an unforgiving outlook, its agent was bound to take a dim view if he found the items hidden in the hollow handle of her parasol. Thirty thousand in tightly rolled U.S. cash, always useful in emergencies. Her trusty throwing knife, stripped down to its component parts. Wonder if they’d call my curare a drug? She supposed technically the gum was; anesthetists used it sometimes in surgery. Though for her it was ammunition—a reversible paralytic to coat the darts for her blowgun. Which was what the handle of her parasol became, once you unscrewed it from the silk head, then extended its telescoping sections to their full six feet.

  Raine took another deep breath and twirled her weapon. But what’s a girl to do? She couldn’t carry a gun on a plane or across borders. And though she’d love to believe she could handle anything or anybody she encountered with her wits and her bare hands, it wasn’t necessarily so. Blame it on my father, she declared inwardly, as the agent unzipped her shoulder bag on the table. It’s Dad who taught me always to be prepared.

  “Is this your first trip to Singapore, miss?” asked the agent, fingering her clothes.

  “No, I came through here on a boat, when I was eight.” Her smile wavered for a moment; that had been the trip where she lost her mother. She rallied and added, “I suppose it has changed a bit?”

  He twitched a wry smile, then said crisply, “And the reason for this visit?”

  “Just passing through on my way to Borneo—to Kalimantan. But I need to buy some maps, camping gear. Thought I could use a break for a night. I fly on tomorrow.”

  “Your parasol, please.” He opened it, pursed his lips at the bold black-and-orange Chinese tiger prowling a field of sky-blue. “Very…hmm…pretty.”

  “Thank you.” He turned his attention to its spokes and stem, and somehow she kept her cool.

  When he handed it back, she let her sigh of relief trickle out. Resting the parasol’s handle on her shoulder, she twirled the silk to a stream of colors overhead. “I was born in the Year of the Tiger, you see, and the sun is so fierce out here, what with my complexion…Though actually I’m the kind of blonde who tans.”

  Her efforts at distraction weren’t working. He returned to her cosmetic kit and emptied it out. “Two tubes of toothpaste?”

  Only one, she started to correct him—as he pulled the second tube from the depths of her carry-on! Not her brand; it had been tucked in below the blouse she’d worn last night. Ohhhh. Was her face going white? Or maybe green. “Yes, umm, two. One for regular use. Then a heavy-duty, industrial-strength brand for when I eat garlic and I’m going out on a date.”

  Am I babbling? I’m babbling. And jeez, doesn’t he see it? The bottom end of the tube had been unrolled at one corner. A scrap of clear plastic stuck out in plain view. Had to be the edge of a small plastic bag. Dear God, is he blind? He’d never ever believe her if she claimed she’d never seen it before. Oh, let him be blind! She closed her parasol with a snap—thought she’d faint as he grinned at the idiocies of women. And moved on to her backpack.

  At least a thousand years oozed past before Raine tottered over to the clerk who inspected her passport, marveled at all the places she’d been, then stamped it. On she walked, mouth dry as cotton, heart racing, eyes fixed on the doors ahead. Freedom just beyond them. But somebody wants me dead. Hung by the neck till I’m dead. Kincade, you bastard, you!

  She couldn’t help herself; she looked back. And there he was, just opening his bag for his own inspection. As if by magic their eyes connected. He smiled, lifted a hand in a “hey, come back here” gesture. Then he spoke to his customs agent—who turned to stare
at her.

  “You bastard!” she whispered, wheeling and walking faster. “You murdering snitch!” If only she could toss the tube, but out here in the middle of the floor…Gotta play it cool. Hang on till I make the street.

  Szabo couldn’t believe his eyes; the agent had missed it! Just went to show you there was no justice anywhere. Watch him try to sneak through Customs with a pack of bubble gum—they’d bust his sorry ass in a heartbeat. But a blond bimbo could boost her B cups to double D with Baggies stuffed full of heroin—the worst she’d get was her butt pinched, as she sashayed out the door.

  “Well, I’m not takin’ this!” He cut to the head of the nearest line and caught its startled agent by the sleeve. “Hey, you see that blonde over there? Yeah, that one. I sat beside her on the plane from the States, and she was bragging she’d make a killing. She’s got half a pound of heroin hid in her bag. Thought you might like to—”

  But the guy shrugged him off and dashed away toward a guard.

  Good enough. And now it was time to do a fast fade. Once these guys started asking questions and taking names, no telling where they’d stop. He glanced at his dive watch, then lengthened his stride. Just time to grab a hot dog before he caught the plane to Pontianak.

  Ten yards to the doors…Nine…And if she didn’t have a heart attack first, then maybe her guardian angel had somehow managed to—

  “Miss! Hey! You, miss!” a man called somewhere behind. “Please to return here!”

  Raine ducked her head and bolted for freedom.

  “Now that one,” said Raine, with both her hands full. She nodded toward the cross rib that fit into the forward part of her foldable kayak. “No, no, not that. Yes, that one. Yes! Thank you.”

  The child beamed as he brought her the piece. He retreated to the circle of his friends, who crouched on the beach, watching with dark-eyed fascination.

  “Would you believe the manufacturer claims this can be done in twenty minutes?” she grumbled, easing the rib into place. They couldn’t understand a word she was saying; it was all in her tone. “I’ve never put one of these together in less than thirty.”

  And how long did she have, before the police traced the cab she’d caught outside the terminal? Learned that its driver had taken her to the harbor where most of the cruising yachts anchored?

  “Now, Bart, if I could have the clips?” She aimed her chin at the cord of expansion clips, and this time the smallest boy—the one she’d given a Bart Simpson T-shirt—brought her the pieces with a glorious smile. The hem of his man-size medium dragged in the sand.

  “Thank you. Excellent. Yeah…” she murmured absently as she slotted the first clip into its rod. “Now I know you guys must be thinking that probably I should tough it out. Hunker down somewhere for the night.” She was exhausted; the adrenaline rush on top of jet lag had left her shaking.

  But how to go to ground? She was a fox without a den. Customs had recorded her passport, which meant she dare not use it. And there wasn’t a hotel in all Singapore that would give her a room if she couldn’t produce one.

  She couldn’t see walking the streets all night, dodging the cops. Then hoping to somehow connect with Ohara, when he flew in from Malaysia tomorrow afternoon. Even if she found him, doubtless every branch of Customs was alerted. They’d be guarding all the exits; how could he fly her out?

  No, her every instinct cried that she put maximum distance between her neck and any noose ASAP. She hoped Trey could sort out this mess later, clear her good name, but for now…Stay calm, stay cool, keep moving.

  She nodded at the next piece and a third child delivered it. “Can you guess what it is yet?” she asked her audience.

  Considering this was the only show on the beach, did they even care? It was intricate, it was mechanical, they were male.

  Which meant, of course, that they had all kinds of advice and they were convinced they could do it better. Still, in spite of their kibitzing, Raine put the FirstLight together in record time.

  She let them carry it for her to the water’s edge—twelve feet long, it weighed all of eighteen pounds. She loaded it, then shook each small grubby hand with great solemnity. “Thank you. Couldn’t have done it without you guys. And remember? If anybody in uniform asks, you haven’t seen me.”

  More gap-toothed smiles, nods all around. They yelled with delight as she dipped one end of her paddle, then the other—and glided out over the wavelets, paddling off toward the anchored boats.

  A hundred yards out, Raine reached for the tube of toothpaste. She hadn’t dared ditch it before; it was a death sentence to any innocent who found it. She dumped the plastic bag’s white powder, then the tube, where they could do no harm.

  With a sigh of heartfelt relief she stroked on, her eyes scanning the fleet. She needed either somebody who’d already cleared Customs for departure, or somebody with a fine disregard for the rules.

  She found her man at the outer edge of the anchorage, hanking a jib on the forestay of a big catamaran. “’Hoy, Duetta!” she called, drifting up alongside. “Heading out?”

  “I am.” The captain had a lean, wiry build and a deepwater tan. Blue, sun-crinkled eyes above a flourishing crop of auburn whiskers. A widening grin as they studied each other.

  “I’m looking to charter a boat.” Her eyes flicked over the double-hulled craft. Unpainted aluminum, shabby at first glance, but its lines were businesslike. The rig looked solid despite the stem of bananas lashed to the stern rail and a green parrot shuffling back and forth in the ratlines.

  “Bit late for a daysail, I’m afraid, and like I said—”

  “Not a daysail—a passage. I need to get to Borneo. Quick as I can.”

  “Might want to hop a plane, in that case.”

  “Well, actually…” She gave him a look that was equal parts rueful and comic and pleading. “I have this fear of flying.” At least, this week I do. She stole a glance over her shoulder, but there were no patrol cars on the shore. Not yet.

  He hadn’t missed that hunted look. He grimaced and said, “Then bring your kayak around to the other side.”

  Where nobody could see it from land.

  “Let’s have a cool one while we talk.”

  Chapter 17

  Kincade’s suite at the Raffles Hotel came equipped with the latest computer, as well as the traditional Jacuzzi. While his e-mail from the B-frog slid out of the printer, Cade watched without amusement as the hacker’s digital namesake gulped three letters turned to butterflies. The frog bugged his eyes in astonishment—no, make that indigestion. He exploded into bits and bytes, which fluttered down; the screen wiped clear.

  “Clown.” Cade was in no mood for anything but results. He snatched the message from the printer and read:

  Still no action. Ashaway hasn’t used a credit card anywhere in Singapore—or anywhere else. Likewise there’ve been no charges to the company accounts out of Colorado. Jaye Ashaway in New Jersey bought two shovels, a pickax and fifteen extralarge pizzas.

  She was excavating for amber, Cade recalled, with a pack of interns from Princeton. He’d assigned Marc to acquire the land on which she held a license to dig. Soon as the deed changed hands, he’d shut her down. But meantime, “Dammit, where’s Raine?”

  No calls placed between Singapore and any of the monitored phone numbers. Your target’s e-mail account has not been opened since she left NYC. Whatever your bird’s up to, she’s not cruising the cyber realms. Don’t you just hate it when they drop off the grid?

  Cade hoped that was all she’d dropped off of. When Raine had panicked and bolted yesterday morning, he’d tried to chase after her. Some basic male instinct demanding that, if she was in trouble, he needed to intervene.

  Which was idiotic, when you considered that he meant Raine nothing but ill. Planned to take her down himself.

  But that’s precisely why, he insisted inwardly. This was his payback. Vicarious vengeance just wouldn’t do.

  The airport security guards had been in n
o mood to humor him. Before he’d run ten feet, he’d found himself looking down the barrel of a gun. And once they’d realized that Raine had escaped, they’d vented their temper on him. They’d wanted Raine for smuggling drugs, he’d learned, after his release.

  Raine Ashaway? If she could figure a way to trade heroin for dinosaurs, then, well, possibly. But…Cade shook his head. Somebody had got it wrong. A case of mistaken identity?

  Whatever the mix-up, it screwed up his plans. He’d figured that the surest way to beat her out of her prize was to stick with her, like a basketball guard going one-on-one with a forward, driving toward the hoop.

  Once they found the T. rex, well, fair means or foul. He was bigger, tougher…His mouth twisted as if he’d tasted something sour. Richer, if that’s what it took.

  Whatever it takes, he reminded himself, to see the takers taken. He was still bound by the oath he’d sworn, that first terrible night in the boys’ school, while he stared out his window at a full moon striped by bars.

  The Ashaways had taken everything that mattered? His freedom, his home, his future, his hope. The one person in all the world that he loved.

  All right, then. He’d spend the rest of his life, taking whatever they cared about. Simple as that.

  But simplicity had an odd way of fracturing around Raine Ashaway. One desire had split into two opposing passions: He wanted her laughing in his arms.

  He wanted her miserable. Shattered.

  Jet-lagged, that’s all you are, Cade told himself. He’d hired a cab last night and prowled the city till dawn, looking for her. Wondering where a woman on the run could hide, in this alien world. Hoping he found her before the police did.

  But if the Singapore cops were going to catch her, surely they’d have done so by now?

  He sat down heavily at the computer and thought for a moment. What do I know about you, Raine? What would you do on the run?