One-Click Buy: September Harlequin Blaze

by Jo Leigh

  In fact, she had to fill in the details as they sped to a police boat. It was long and sleek and, according to the chief, faster than the speed of criminals.

  He brought along six men, heavily armed, in what she assumed to be the British colonial equivalent of a SWAT team. As they flew over the water toward the Pretty Kitty, all Tate could do was pray. If only he could still be alive, she’d give more money to charity. She’d work in a soup kitchen. She’d trade years off her own life. Anything. Just not what Ed had said. Not that.

  She stood up, too insane to be still, next to the captain. Wind and sea mist sprayed her face, ruining the makeup she’d so carefully applied this morning. Well, that and her tears.

  CHARLIE HADN’T MOVED at all, and as Michael knelt next to him, his chest constricted with a stab of guilt and regret. He put his fingers to Charlie’s throat, searching for a pulse. He thought maybe…but that could be his own heartbeat.

  He bent down, putting his ear right over Charlie’s heart. There, damn it. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t in great shape, but he wasn’t dead.

  Relief made his eyes water as he sat back up. Now it was just a matter of time before Tate and Ed came back. Before Michael could finish taking the trash out.

  He put his left hand down to steady himself as he rose.

  The blow to the back of his head pitched him forward again, and for a second he thought Ed had returned to surprise him. But when he looked up, it wasn’t Ed but the not-so-dead, very pissed off Jazz.

  THERE IT WAS IN THE distance, the Pretty Kitty. She’d been brought aboard unconscious and she’d been taken under duress, so this was the first time Tate had really seen the boat. It was gorgeous. Sleek like a cheetah, it was an exceptional yacht in a harbor full of yachts. No wonder they’d gotten to the Caymans so quickly.

  The beauty of the vessel paled as the thought occurred again, as fresh as the first time, that it was Michael’s coffin. She chased the image away as quickly as it had come, but there was no more admiration for the boat.

  She held on to the dash, willing this boat to hurry. To take her to the man she loved. To find him alive. Nothing else mattered. Nothing.

  JAZZ STOOD UNSTEADILY on his widespread legs. His shirt-Hawaiian, like Ed’s-was matted with blood. Blood that dripped down his fingers into the pale plush carpet.

  He glowered at Michael with malevolent red eyes. “You’re gonna die,” he said. “You are gonna die slow.”

  Michael reached for his weapon, stuck into the folds of his pillowcase brace, but Jazz beat him to the punch with his own second gun at the small of his back. The Derringer was small, but it would kill just fine.

  “Drop it,” Jazz said.

  “Like hell. It’s over, Jazz. You’re the only one left alive.”

  “Ed’s still alive.”

  “He won’t be-”

  Charlie moaned. Of all the rotten timing…He moaned again and moved his head.

  Jazz sneered and moved his gun so it pointed at Charlie. “You still think you can stop me?”

  Michael smiled as he got to his feet. “With one hand tied behind my back, asshole.”

  Jazz took a step back, a hell of a lot more shaken than he’d been a minute ago. “Stop there or I kill him.”

  “Go ahead,” Michael said. “You pull that trigger, it’s the last thing you ever do.”

  “Fuck you, man.” He jerked the gun up to shoot, but Michael was quicker. He dived over Charlie, knocking Jazz off his feet. Jazz lost his gun, but he still had his hands and he hit Michael, hard, in the right shoulder. The pain nearly knocked him out, but not quite.

  The second blow hit his bad shoulder again. Michael had to get his left hand moving. He had to get his gun up, aimed at Jazz-and this time there could be no mistakes.

  He could feel Jazz’s knee come up against his stomach, his fist come down on his shoulder, then his other fist into his head. It was the most inelegant fight Michael had ever seen, but it was working. In another minute Jazz would be out from under him, and once that happened, adrenaline alone would carry him through.

  With all the energy he had left in his body Michael pulled his left arm up, raised it above his head, stuck the barrel in Jazz’s gut.

  He almost lost it as Jazz bellowed and struck him fiercely in the head, in the shoulder, in the stomach. But Jazz didn’t hit him in the left hand.

  Michael pulled the trigger.

  The sound of the gunshot filled his head as blood splattered his body.

  He tried to move, to get off the dead man, but all his strength had gone with that last bullet.

  He felt the dark close in on him. And he felt grateful.

  “YOU HAVE TO STAY HERE.”

  “I can’t.”

  Chief Eccles shook his head, even as he braced himself as the grappling hooks pulled the police boat up against the Pretty Kitty. “We don’t have any idea who’s up there and how many weapons are on board. You could be killed.”

  “I don’t care. If Michael is alive, he’ll need me.”

  “The ambulance boat will be here in a moment.”

  “Please,” she begged. “I have to-”

  “I know you want to see him. But I can’t let you on board. I promise I’ll let you see him as soon as it’s safe.”

  She couldn’t argue anymore. They were in position and ready to board. Numbly she watched as the men in their heavy armor climbed up into the yacht, quickly disappearing into the saloon.

  She’d given the chief Michael’s description, afraid that they’d think he was one of Ed’s men. Even so, the thought scared her. Maybe scared was better than knowing. She could deal with scared.

  The minutes ticked by. She heard no gunfire. There were shouts, but she couldn’t understand the words. The ambulance boat pulled up, and as quickly as they could the EMTs climbed into the yacht, carrying heavy bags and a portable gurney.

  If they could go aboard, that must mean that the coast was clear, right? What kind of chief would let his EMTs walk into a gun battle?

  There was only one cop left on the police boat. His job was probably to keep her from disembarking, but at the moment he was busy on the radio, his gaze on the ambulance boat.

  That was all the permission she needed. With strength she didn’t know she had, she jumped over to the ladder leading up to the Pretty Kitty’s saloon. She made it onto the yacht just as the cop assigned to watch her shouted out. But he was too late-she was going to find Michael no matter what.

  There was a huddle of men just at the door to their room. EMTs crouched beside someone, but she couldn’t see who.

  She took one step, then another, dread and hope battling it out in her head. When she saw them lift Michael’s body onto the gurney, her heart shattered.

  She was too late. Ed had told her the truth. Michael-her lover, her hero, her friend-was dead.

  They came toward her, one EMT pushing the gurney and Michael. Her horrified gaze took in all the blood, all the bruises on Michael’s face. God, they’d tortured him. Tortured him, then killed him in cold blood.

  “Miss?”

  She looked up into the dark man’s face.

  “Why don’t you come with us? I’m sure he’ll feel better seeing you first thing when he wakes up.”

  Tate blinked. “What?”

  “I said why don’t you come with us?”

  “No-that last part. You said when he wakes up?”

  The EMT nodded. “He’s gonna be sore as heck, but he’ll be fine.”

  The words took their own sweet time sinking in. And when they did, when she finally got that she hadn’t lost him after all, Tate fainted dead away.

  19

  THE PHONE RANG AT eight-forty, stopping Sara just as she was about to leave Tate’s place. The day had been so horrible, starting with that dreadful meeting first thing, that she’d made an appointment to get a deep-tissue massage to work out some of her stre
ss.

  She turned, going toward the nearest phone, but William beat her to it. She smiled at him, then went back to the door. When he gasped, she stopped.

  “My God, my God, it’s really you!”

  Sara’s heart slammed into overdrive as she hurried back to the phone. She dropped her tote and held on to the living room wall as the truth sunk in. Even if there had been no words spoken, she would have known it was Tate by looking at William. He was pale as a ghost, far too thin and haggard, but the joy in his eyes was like a rebirth.

  “Where?”

  Sara wanted desperately to hear Tate’s voice. She knew it was real, but she still needed more.

  “I’ll be there by morning. You don’t worry about a thing. I’ll come get you and we’ll straighten everything out.”

  Sara watched as fat tears slid down the old man’s cheeks. Her own tears started then, and her chest got tight with a mixture of emotions too big to hold in.

  “Yes, she’s here. She’s been here the whole time. She’ll come with me.”

  Sara nodded happily, wondering a million things at once.

  William’s face changed and so did his posture. “We’ll talk about him when I get there.”

  Michael. It had to be. Oh, thank God. He must be alive, too, and they’d been together. Finally the whole story would come out. Jerry Brody, the main suspect, had sworn the kidnapping had nothing to do with him, but now everyone would find out for sure.

  She didn’t care. Tate was alive. For the first time in ten days Sara could breathe.

  When Mr. Baxter hung up, he grabbed her in a hug that would leave bruises tomorrow. It was perfect.

  “YOU’RE UP.”

  Michael turned at the sound of Tate’s voice to find her sitting beside his bed. His hospital bed. “How’d I get here?”

  “The cavalry showed up. Too late to be of much help to you, however.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re here.”

  She smiled, wishing now that she’d had a few more moments with a hairbrush and some makeup. She’d done little but cry since she’d been roused on the ambulance boat. Michael had still not gained consciousness at the time, and as she’d waved away the concerned medics, she’d asked them a hundred questions-all of them nonsense, really, because Michael was alive.

  She’d ridden with him to the hospital, and while he’d had his wrist worked on she’d called her father. It had been so good to speak to him, to know that Sara was there and that she’d taken care of him. They would all be together in the morning, which was wonderful, but right now she needed to be with Michael. To make sure he was all right and that he wasn’t going to disappear.

  “How long have I been out of it?”

  “It’s ten. At night, just so we’re clear.”

  He looked at his bandaged hand. “Is this all the damage?”

  “To you, yes.”

  “They found all the bodies?”

  She nodded. “There’s going to be an inquest, but don’t worry. You’ll be cleared in a moment. Ed’s in jail and he’s not ever getting out.”

  “Charlie?”

  “He’ll live. He’s here in the hospital. He has a concussion, that’s all. But I’m afraid he won’t be getting off so easily.”

  Michael looked away. “I’m glad he didn’t die.”

  She scooted her chair closer to the bed and touched his arm. “I called my father. He and Sara are flying in first thing in the morning.”

  “Good. Great.”

  “You’ll be released by then. But I’m afraid you’ll be in police custody until the inquest. I was assured there would be no delay. When my father gets here-”

  “I’ll hand in my resignation.”

  “I was going to say he’ll make sure you’ll have everything you need. I’ve gotten us a room at the Ritz, so as soon as you’re free-”

  “Tate…I appreciate all of this. I do. But let’s slow down a little. There’s a lot to deal with, and my head’s still too fuzzy to understand it all.”

  “Of course,” she said, embarrassed at her own presumption. “I’ll call the nurse.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’m probably going to be knocked out till morning. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re getting some rest.”

  “I’m fine. That chair is really comfortable.”

  He shook his head. “Go to the hotel,” he said too quietly. “Get a good night’s sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  His tone was gentle and concerned, but his message burned in her chest. He wanted her gone. What she didn’t know was if he meant for tonight or forever.

  Frankly she wasn’t in any shape to ask the question. Better to leave it unanswered than to know for sure. “Okay. I’ll send the nurse.”

  Michael nodded. His gorgeous face looked even more rugged with the dark bruises and his five-o’clock shadow. She hated that he’d been so badly hurt, but her prayers had been answered. He was alive. It shouldn’t matter that he was sending her away. It shouldn’t-but it did.

  She stood, put the chair back, then headed for the door.

  “Tate?”

  She stopped.

  “No kiss goodbye?”

  She smiled as she went back to him. She bent over him and brushed her lips over his. He touched her arm with his left hand as he kissed her back.

  When she pulled away, the look in his eyes told her everything. When he’d asked for a kiss goodbye, he’d meant it.

  THE JET TOUCHED DOWN at seven-eighteen Caymans time. Tate had gotten to the airport forty minutes earlier and had too many cups of coffee as she’d waited.

  The good night’s sleep she’d promised Michael hadn’t materialized. She’d lain awake in her very posh suite, thinking. The fact that she’d still felt as if she was rocking on the water didn’t help, either, but mostly she’d just thought.

  She’d wanted a kidnapping to change her life and she’d gotten what she’d asked for. She hadn’t bargained on the close calls with death. But then, she hadn’t bargained on Michael, either.

  Bottom line, however, was that she would never be the same.

  She’d faced off with Ed, and despite his gun and his cell phone, she’d come out the victor. She’d kicked her kidnapper’s ass. That wasn’t opinion, it was fact.

  Would she ever have another panic attack? Yeah, probably. There had been that whole passing-out business when she’d found out Michael was alive. But the good news was she wasn’t going to stop living. She wasn’t going to hole herself up in her luxurious prison of a penthouse. She was a free woman. Forever more, if she did have a panic attack, she could think of the satisfying crunch of Ed’s testicles against her kneecap. That would surely get her through.

  The bigger question was what she was going to do about Michael.

  There was no doubt in her mind that she loved him. That she wanted to be with him, and not just for a fling. But she also wasn’t naive enough to think that scenario wasn’t rife with problems. There was her father to deal with. And the money thing. Then there was his guilt about his brother. None of those issues was going to be worked out with a nice chat.

  She was, however, not willing to let him go just because she wasn’t sure about how things would work. They’d just have to take it one step at a time.

  Assuming, of course, he was willing to try.

  The glass door between the tarmac and the terminal slid open, and there was her father.

  She ran to him and gave him a hug he’d never forget. Fresh tears came from that never-ending supply, but these were joyous, so maybe they didn’t count.

  He petted her head as he rocked her back and forth. She felt like a little girl again, safe in her daddy’s arms.

  Finally she pulled back, kissed him on the cheek, then jumped into another fierce round of hugs with Sara.

  It took a while, but they all finally finished crying and hugging and went off to the hotel.
r />   She talked the entire way, and after they’d checked in, she continued the tale in her father’s suite. She emphasized that Michael had saved her life many times over, but her father could be the most stubborn man.

  “Don’t get me wrong-I’m grateful he saved your life. But if it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t have been in that position in the first place.”

  “Stop,” she said. “I know you want someone to blame, so here’s a really good solution. Blame Ed Martini. He’s the one who kidnapped me, who threatened me. He was going to kill me that first night, after he got the ransom. Then he was going to kill me as soon as he got the big money. He tried to kill me in the middle of the street in George Town. That’s who you can blame. And when you’re done with that, you can go to Michael Caulfield and you can thank him for your daughter’s life.”

  Her father looked at her for a long time, and while a stranger would have thought he was completely unmoved by her speech, she knew he had listened. More importantly, he’d heard.

  “You care about him,” Sara said.

  She looked at her oldest friend. “I do.”

  “Is he really going to resign?”

  “I believe he is.”

  “And?”

  Tate sighed. There was no time like the present to let her father know exactly where she stood. “I don’t know. I need to make some phone calls. Michael needs an attorney and I want to make sure the inquest is in motion.”

  She kissed her father on the cheek, did the same to Sara, then went for the door. “Get unpacked,” she said, standing in the doorway. “I’m in 2720. I’d appreciate any help you two want to give me.”

  With that, she left the suite. On the one hand, she’d said what she needed to and felt stronger than ever. On the other hand, she was scared beyond words that Michael would disappear before she had a chance to figure out what to do.

  MICHAEL SAT IN THE beach chair, staring out at the ocean as the sun rose in splendor. This was the fifth morning in a row he’d come out for the sunrise, coffee in hand-left hand-the day stretching achingly ahead of him.