Devil Dead

by Linda Ladd

  “Hi, honey, I’m home,” he said, reaching out and pulling her up against his chest.

  “Stop, you’re cold and wet.” She laughed, though, at the way he was nuzzling her neck. He didn’t shave every day anymore, and his whiskers were scratchy.

  “You should’ve come back out there, Claire. The waves were magnificent.”

  “Yeah, I saw them. They’re a little too intimidating for me, but you looked good on that surfboard, I have to say.”

  Black grinned and kissed her cheek, and then turned onto his back, heaved out a deep breath, and shut his eyes. Claire turned over and braced the side of her head in her palm so she could look down at him. He looked so totally at ease now, hair even darker when wet and pushed off his forehead, as tanned and fit and handsome as she’d ever seen him. Maybe she should wait some before she got so serious, let him enjoy himself a little while longer. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe the time had come. No time like the present, or so they say.

  “Listen, Black, I’ve had a lot of time to think, you know, way out here in the middle of nowhere. So I’ve been thinking things through.”

  He didn’t open his eyes or even turn his head. “Good. That’s what I was hoping you’d do. This place is good for soul-searching.”

  “I’ve made some decisions.”

  Okay, that got his attention quickly enough. He opened those bluer than blue eyes of his and turned on his side, too, bracing his head in his palm, so they lay facing each other. He searched her face. “What kinds of decisions?”

  “Number one decision. I’m ready to go home.”

  First, his face reflected surprise, and then a frown, but one that disappeared almost at once. Then, he said, “I thought you liked it out here. I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

  “I do like it here. It’s been the best two months of my life.”

  That made him smile. “Come on, then, let’s stay a little longer, another month maybe, just the two of us. Nobody around to bother us. All alone together in paradise. Like the honeymoon I’ve always wished we could have.”

  “You gotta get married first for a honeymoon to happen.”

  “Right, go ahead, stick in the knife, twist it around, why don’t you? But at least you’re wearing your engagement ring now. That’s something I guess.”

  Claire smiled at him but got right back to business. “I really need to go back to work.”

  That brought out a heavy sigh. “You’re on extended medical leave, if I recall. Charlie said to take as long as you needed.”

  “Well, I’ve done that. It’s April, and I’m perfectly all right now. All my bruises and swelling are long gone, and I miss working.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Oh, really? Maybe that’s because you haven’t stopped working since we got here. You have a conference call every single morning while I’m out taking my run on the beach. You get emergency calls from your psychiatric clinics on your sat phone all day and night long. I don’t have my work, and I miss it.”

  “You only recently healed from a terrible beating. You need more time to get over it, both physically and emotionally.”

  “I am over it. I miss my friends. I miss my house. I miss everything we left behind. I miss my job.”

  “And there lies the problem. Your job.”

  “Maybe not.”

  Black perked up considerably. “No?”

  “Well, for one thing, I’ve decided to quit my homicide position and go private.”

  Pure shock, followed by one helluva big smile and the deepest dimples she had ever seen on man, woman, or child. Oh, yeah, he looked euphoric, to be sure. “No joke? Really? You’re going to do it?”

  “After a lot of thought, I think it’s the best thing for both of us.”

  “Well, thank you, God. Finally, at long last, you’ve come to your senses.”

  At that, Claire smiled a little. But she was serious, and she wanted him to be, too. “I thought I was gonna die on my last case—you know how bad it was. I had accepted it, out there when I was alone in the dark and lying in that sleet and snow. I thought I would freeze to death before anybody found me.” She stopped, not liking to relive those last minutes before she lost consciousness. She tried to shake the awful memories out of her head. “Well, I’ve realized that I don’t particularly want to die, not yet. I don’t want anything quite that terrible to happen to me again, either. That night made quite an impression.”

  “You’ve handled it better than most people would. I’m just sorry it had to happen to you.”

  “So I’m gonna take you up on your offer to fund my private investigation business, but there’s gotta be some conditions. Some ground rules. You do understand that, right?”

  Black grinned. “Oh, yeah, I figured that was going to happen. But anything you want, anything at all. Just name it.”

  “Okay, then. You gotta let me be in charge. I am the boss. I make the decisions, I decide which cases we take, I decide who I work with and how we get the job done. Your advice is always welcome, of course, but I call the shots.”

  Black was still smiling and nodding. “Absolutely. No problem. Claire Morgan Investigations. I like it.”

  “Uh-uh. My name already pulls in way too much notoriety. I sure don’t need any more. I’ve got a name in mind, too. Something simple.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “INTEL.” She watched his face closely, curious if he’d go for it.

  Black considered a moment. “Short and simple, easy to remember. I can have business cards designed and stationery made up within a couple of days. I’ll order my PR guys to come up with ads and TV spots.”

  “You are not hearing me, Black. I just said that I want this all kept simple and quiet. I want uncomplicated. No publicity.”

  Nonplussed, Black just stared at her. “No publicity? None? Why not? How will clients find you?”

  “That’s right. No ads, no TV, no radio, no nothing. I want to do this on the QT.”

  “And again, I ask you, and you’ll get cases how?”

  “Word of mouth, friends who need some kind of help, that sort of thing. Referrals from your colleagues and friends, or mine.”

  “Okay, fine. Whatever you say.”

  “And I want a lot of it to be pro bono, you know, completely free of charge. Especially if the client doesn’t have much money. Because I know how that feels.”

  Black frowned. “Well, I’m not so sure about that. I’m a businessman, Claire. You do want to make some money on this thing, right?”

  Claire continued, ignoring his last question. “And I’m gonna stay on with Canton County Sheriff’s Department in an advisory capacity. If Charlie’ll let me do that. I’ll just take a leave of absence for a while to set things up, see how I like working private. Then I can help out Bud and Charlie as a special investigator, if they need me on a homicide case. Same thing down in Lafourche Parish with Russ Friedewald and Zee Jackson. If they need me, I want to be available.”

  “No problem. We can iron out all the details later. We’ll set things up as soon as we get home.” He paused and considered her. “More important to me, when’s the wedding going to be?”

  Claire had wondered when he was going to bring that up. She’d been expecting it ever since they arrived, but he hadn’t said a single word about getting married until that moment. “Well, actually, I’ve been giving some thought to that, too.”

  “Man, is this ever the day that I’ve been waiting for. So when’s it going to be? How about tomorrow? We can fly over to Papeete on the big island, get married, and head home as man and wife.”

  “I was thinking more like some time this summer, around the Fourth of July, maybe.”

  “That’s a long way off.”

  “If you’ll remember and since you’re so sentimental, that’s around the time we met. And that will give me time to plan everything.”

  “I’d rather do it here and now, but I’ll take what I can get. If that’s what you want, July it is
.”

  “Okay, and one more thing. Laurie Dale and Nancy Gill are gonna help me with the wedding, and they said we need some music. I need you to choose a song for the wedding. Something that reminds you of us. You know, kinda like our song.”

  “How about the ‘Wedding March’?”

  “No, no, something that fits us. You know, as a couple. A regular song.”

  “‘Here Comes the Bride’?”

  Claire laughed. “Stop, Black. Be serious. I mean it.”

  Black appeared to think, but only for a moment. “‘Unchained Melody.’ Without a doubt. My favorite song.”

  “Okay. How does that go?”

  “You don’t know how ‘Unchained Melody’ goes? By the Righteous Brothers? Good God, Claire, you ever listened to a radio in your life?”

  “I don’t have time to sit around and listen to the radio. All that noise keeps me from thinking about my cases.” Nope, she wasn’t particularly romantic, she admitted it. But he was, sometimes anyway, and did it rather well actually. Just so he didn’t go overboard and embarrass her, it usually turned out pretty cool.

  Black just grinned, and then he sang a couple of verses to her, very low, and he actually didn’t sound too bad. Corny as hell, true, but not too bad.

  Claire shook her head, laughing at him. “I dunno, Black. That sounds pretty damn sappy. Like we live eight thousand miles apart, and I hate you.”

  At that, Black stopped singing, his smile fading, his dimples disappearing, and he became very solemn, very fast. He continued with the words but now he just said them, his eyes holding hers, and in a way that sobered her expression, too.

  They just stared at each other, Claire completely blindsided by his abrupt change in mood.

  “Tell me you aren’t going to back out of the wedding, Claire.”

  Claire hadn’t been expecting that, either. But she had shown some reticence about getting married in the past, so she could understand his question. But she wasn’t dragging her feet now, not anymore. “No way am I ever gonna back out of the wedding. Absolutely not. And that’s a promise.”

  Black smiled. “Well, okay, then. Why don’t you come over here and show me how much you love me?”

  His light mood returned, and he pulled her in against his chest. Claire was certainly okay with that, so she slid her arms around his neck and found his mouth, enjoying the intimacy as much as he did. Now things were settled, and she felt happy. Happy and relieved. Black seemed pleased with their future now, too, and there would be no more worrying about what lay ahead for them. Good or bad, the die was cast. So she lay there in his arms, enjoying their closeness, his tender touch, the way he could make her feel, and gradually let go of all thoughts except for him.

  Unfortunately, however, their little moment of mutual ecstasy did not last long. The insistent buzz of a boat’s motor broke into the crashing of waves, a sound that was highly unusual around their isolated island. Claire immediately pulled away from Black and sat up and searched the shining sea, slightly alarmed, that vital self-protective instinct shooting alive, the one she had learned not to ignore, and learned the hard way, from many past, and yes, horrible experiences. Living nightmares followed her around like her shadow on a summer afternoon, so better safe than sorry had been her motto for a long time now. She finally spotted a big black boat that was headed straight at them and at a very high rate of speed. Which, of course, did not bode well for them now, or in the past, or in the future, or ever actually.

  “That’s probably just Edward, coming over to cook dinner,” Black told her, reaching for her again, not worried in the least. But then again, he hadn’t been recently beaten up by a crazy man with a hammer, either.

  “No, it’s not. It’s got a much bigger and more powerful motor than Edward’s does. I can tell the difference in the way it sounds.”

  Not once since they’d arrived on Motu Teta had another boat approached their cove, so Black also now sat up and took notice. Silently, they watched the speeding craft gain on the far end of their pier. After a moment, Black was apparently concerned enough to pick up a pair of high-powered binoculars off the table beside him.

  “So who is that, Black? Friends of yours, maybe?”

  “Don’t think so. Only a few people even know we’re out here. But those guys are definitely coming here to see us.”

  Black stood up, shielding his eyes from the dazzling fire and orange brilliance of the setting sun, one that was painting quite a glorious, Leonardo da Vinci–ish backdrop behind the boat. “You stay here. I’m going to walk out there and see what they want. It’s probably nothing. Maybe the real estate people need my signature to renew the lease, something like that. Wait here. I’ll take care of it.”

  Claire leaned back against the cushions and watched him stride off barefoot down the dock, still wearing his black swim trunks. She had on the blue and red one-piece swimsuit that she had bought for herself when they landed in Papeete, one she deemed more suitable for scuba diving and windsurfing and spear fishing than the yellow string bikini Black had gotten her. Skimpy bikinis were not exactly appropriate for company. Especially unknown company who happened to be driving straight at them, full speed ahead and with no invitation. She picked up her Glock 19 from the table beside her and pulled it out of the leather holster.

  Claire had learned a long time ago that she would be wise to always anticipate trouble, no matter how unlikely it was, and therefore kept her weapons never far from hand. Even out in the middle of nowhere, in the vast reaches of the South Pacific. Within minutes, the boat had slowed and pulled up to the end of the pier pilings where Black was waiting. Claire stood up, too, still holding her weapon down beside her leg. After her last case, she had vowed never to be taken captive again, not by anybody. She would never again take chances, not now, not any time in the future. She had learned her lesson. Bad guys were very bad. Evil was very evil. Dead was very forever.

  The two guys in the boat threw docking lines to Black, and he caught them and looped them around the pilings. Both of the men on the boat had on plain white ball caps and white Tshirts and white pants and white sneakers. Veritable male angels, they looked like. They climbed out and started talking to Black with a lot of expansive gesturing. Bad thing was, they both suddenly pulled out their own semiautomatic weapons and trained them on Black’s bare chest. Never known to be stupid, Black raised his hands and then was quickly forced down onto his knees. By that point, Claire was running down the pier toward them, her own weapon held two-handed and pointed squarely at the lead man’s chest.

  “Drop your weapons!” she cried out over the wind and surf. “Put them down! Now!”

  The two assailants glanced over at her and didn’t seem to be shaking in their boots. Both kept their guns beaded on Black’s heart, apparently considering him the greater danger. Wrong.

  Closer now, she found that the two men were smaller than Black, which didn’t mean much since he was six feet four and probably around two hundred twenty or thirty pounds, mostly hard muscle. On the other hand, both guys were wiry of build and tough looking. Neither was particularly muscular or intimidating and didn’t seem worried about the loaded gun she held pointed at them. That was a very big mistake on their part.

  “I will kill one of you before you get a shot off,” she called out calmly. “Put the guns down. I am not kidding. I will shoot you.”

  Then the smaller man swiveled his weapon to her. The other one kept his handgun beaded on Black. “Throw your gun in the water, sister. Now!” he ordered her in a harsh voice.

  Sister? What was he? A two-bit Al Capone? At that point, however, Claire decided that Black’s lead assailant had assaulted people before, probably frequently, too, and starting from around age eight up. He knew what he was doing. He wasn’t Polynesian, not judging by the short-cropped red hair and matching goatee and Caucasian features and Australian accent. The other guy was white-blond and clean shaven with steely dark eyes and looked just as deadly. So, question was, who had she
and Black pissed off in Australia? Okay, at least the Australians hadn’t shot them down on sight. That was one good sign, among a plethora of rather bad signs.

  “Get serious,” she told him, and meant it. “I will shoot you dead, trust me. I won’t hesitate. I stopped hesitating a long time ago.”

  “Wait, now, just wait a minute, all of you,” Black said, always the calm and collected one when confronted by armed hooligans. Yep, he was as composed and steady and clear thinking, as usual. None of those things applied to her, of course. But he was a famous shrink, and all, and he knew how to defuse dangerous situations. Herself? She usually defused them with a well-aimed bullet, or two. Something Black usually frowned upon. He probably wouldn’t this time, though, since his chest was the one with the bull’s eye on it.

  A peace lover at heart, Black was still busy placating. “How about we all take a deep breath here? Nobody needs to shoot anybody. Who are you guys? What do you want from us? Is this a robbery? Hey, take whatever you want. We aren’t going to stop you.”

  Well, speak for yourself, Black, Claire thought.

  “Our orders are to bring you out to the yacht. The boss said you’re both dangerous. So call the bitch off or she’s the one who’s gonna end up dead.”

  Bitch, was it? Well, that was certainly uncalled for. In fact, it was downright tacky. “I rather doubt that, mate. But either way, I’ll have time to blow your head off.” Strangely, now Claire felt very calm. Maybe Black’s composure had finally worn off on her. Felt good, like old times. She had a gun in her hand and it was pointed at a bad guy. Yep, she was ready to get back to work, all right. Her finger was itching to pull the trigger a couple of times, maybe more.

  Her gaze met the ginger guy’s blue eyes and held as steady as steady could be. She infused utter and complete hatred in hers, just so he’d know. After ten seconds or so, Crocodile Dundee’s gaze wavered first, but only slightly. Maybe he didn’t want a bloodbath after all. Maybe he was fond of his head and wanted it to remain intact. Maybe he was sorry about calling her a bitch. Probably not that, though.