by Lucy Quinn
“At which point they called Hayley and told her she’d have to get the money to them instead,” Hunter finished. “Yeah, makes sense.” He was full-on scowling now. “And the fact that she lit out of here all upset, and with the money—”
“Means she’s making the drop now.” Cookie nodded. “Damn! But maybe we’ve still got time to stop it.” She pulled up the number on the burner, and then stabbed Call.
“What’re you doing?” Hunter demanded, but shut up as she set the phone on Speaker and tilted it up between them so they could both hear. It rang only once before someone answered.
“What’s your excuse this time, princess?” a voice rasped. “Getting cold feet? That’d be… unfortunate.” It was a man’s voice, deep and rich, and not from around here. At a guess Cookie would have pegged the speaker as Southern, maybe Florida or Georgia, and with an odd inflection like maybe English wasn’t his first language, though he was clearly fluent. So bilingual, perhaps. Cuban-American?
He was waiting for an answer, but Cookie knew if he heard her voice he’d bolt. So she concentrated, closing her eyes and sending herself back in time, channeling every second she’d spent as a teen mimicking her idol up in her bedroom. “No excuses,” she finally answered, and was pleased to hear that her voice was higher, sharper, and sweeter than normal. “I’ve got the money. But I can’t get away as fast as I thought. Not unless you want someone to notice.” She took a breath before plunging on. “I need a little more time.”
That produced a laugh from the other end, and what sounded like a bark behind it until Cookie realized it was a seagull. Whoever was calling was on or near the water. Which wasn’t all that surprising, she knew, given that they were on an island, but still it was something.
“No more time,” the blackmailer snapped. “Eight tonight, just like we planned. You bring the money and your secret sleeps with the fishes.” He laughed, though the sound was lost behind a low, rough ringing. The rasp of it sent a thrill right through Cookie, and she had to clamp down to keep from yelping in excitement as the man continued, “Don’t show and you’ll be reading all about it in the morning news reports.”
She tried to tamp down her glee. Still channeling Hayley, she hoped she sounded frustrated when she said, “Fine, I’ll be there.”
“You’d better be, songbird.” He laughed again, an ugly sound out of keeping with his smooth speaking voice.
The call ended, and Cookie finally opened her eyes, to see Hunter staring at her.
“That was amazing,” he whispered, before realizing there was no more need for quiet and repeating it at a normal volume. “That was amazing. You sounded just like her, and I’m only six inches away.”
“Ha, you should see me sing A Number I Could Never Be,” she told him, grinning with relief and triumph at the same time. “Everybody said I should do one of those celebrity sound-alike contests.”
“I believe it.” He nodded approvingly before turning serious again. “But we’re still stuck here. We know the meet’s at eight. We know it’s definitely blackmail, but we don’t know who’s involved and even worse, we have no idea where.”
Her grin grew so wide it threatened to split her cheeks. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she practically sang at him. “I happen to know exactly where they are.” She glanced at the phone and saw that it was already after seven. “And we’d better get a move on or we’re going to be late.”
Without waiting for a reply she pocketed Hayley’s phone, checked to make sure her pistol was in its customary place at the small of her back, snagged a windbreaker off the hooks in the entryway, and headed out the front door. Hurried footsteps told her Hunter was right behind her, and she smiled, the exhilaration of the chase already zinging through her.
The thing she missed about the FBI the most was bringing down the bad guy, and she couldn’t wait to get started.
20
“Okay, explain to me where we’re going,” Hunter said as he drove. They could have walked but time was of the essence.
“To the docks,” Cookie replied, struggling to hide her grin. When her ex-partner groaned, she couldn’t hold it any longer, and laughed at his annoyance.
“You know what I mean,” he chided her as they reached the docks and pulled into one of the spaces in the ferry terminal’s parking lot. “You said you knew exactly where we were going. I want to know where that is, and how you’re so sure.”
“Nun buoy,” Cookie answered, already climbing out of the black Mustang—she’d been amused to see that Hunter had rented the exact same kind of car as last time, but she had to agree that it suited him. She waved a hand, indicating he should follow her. But she didn’t make for the main pier, where the ferry moored. Instead she turned to the right, walking past several other private docks until she reached a slip near the end of the row.
A slip that contained only a small, battered motorboat. The kind where you had to sit on the back bench to steer.
“What the hell does that mean, ‘none, boy’?” Hunter demanded as he followed her. “And what the hell do you think you’re doing,” he added as she carefully stepped across into the boat.
“We need to get out on the water,” she explained, reaching under the bench the same way she’d seen Dylan do just a few days before. Her hands brushed up against something metallic that jingled at her touch, and she smiled as she clasped the keys. It took a second of maneuvering to pull them from the hook he’d installed there, but then she had them and was trying each one until she found the key that fit into the ignition switch on the outboard motor. “Come on,” she urged and waited impatiently as Hunter cautiously joined her, sitting quickly on the forward bench as the boat wobbled a bit from the added weight.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked, eyeing her warily. “I seem to recall last time that you said you had no idea how to handle a boat.”
“That was a different kind of boat,” Cookie said, brushing aside his objections. Of course, she was actually worrying about that herself, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. Instead she mimicked what she’d watched Dylan do, checking the lever on the side, pulling out the choke, and turning the hand grip on the throttle before grabbing the starter rope and yanking on it once, twice, three times. On the third try the engine sputtered to life, and she carefully let it back in, then pushed the choke back in as well until the engine noise smoothed out.
“Untie the rope and bring it onboard,” she instructed, and smiled when Hunter stood carefully to do as she said. Look at me, she thought, getting the hang of this captaining thing. And ordering Hunter around was an added bonus.
Once he had the boat unhitched, the rope coiled up beside him, and was seated again, Cookie tugged on the throttle arm, angling them away from the dock. She barely managed to keep from cheering as the little boat pulled away from the dock and began making its way slowly but steadily out over the water. That wasn’t so hard.
She’d have to apologize to Dylan later, of course for borrowing his boat without permission. But since it was to help Hayley, she had the feeling he wouldn’t mind too much.
“Okay, Captain Ahab,” Hunter called over the rush of the water and the wind, pulling Cookie out of her sudden pit of jealousy at the thought of one Miss Hayley Holloway. “Now that we’re on the water, and you’ve duly impressed me with your ability to pilot a boat, will you please stop being all smug and explain to me exactly where we’re going?”
“Oh, fine.” Cookie couldn’t resist mock-pouting for just a second. “We’re headed to a place called the Lookout, or Lookout Island. It’s a little tiny rock maybe twenty minutes out from Secret Seal, sort of north and west of us. That’s where Hayley’s meeting her blackmailer.”
“And you know this how?” Hunter still looked a little annoyed, but also intrigued. And impressed. She could get used to that. “You said ‘none, boy’ before,” he remembered. What’s that all about?”
“It’s a nun buoy,” Cookie explained, fighting down a flashback to si
tting back as Dylan piloted this very same boat across these very same waters and explained to her this exact same thing. Now wasn’t the time. “It’s a kind of buoy they use to mark the channel that boats are supposed to stay in. I heard the bell when the blackmailer was talking, and recognized it.” She shrugged. “It’s close enough to get to easily, but far enough that nobody’s going to happen across it. And if they’re coming by boat, they can just grab the money and take off, head out onto the open water. It’s the perfect spot for an exchange.”
Hunter nodded, though he didn’t look entirely pleased. “How does a FBI agent from Philly know anything about buoys?” he asked. Ah, that was why he wasn’t happy.
There wasn’t much point in denying it. “It’s where Dylan and I were headed,” she answered, hand firmly on the throttle, eyes flicking past Hunter to study the water up ahead. Fortunately the moon was out, so she had plenty of light to navigate by. “When we found Dickie.”
“Ah. And this is his boat, isn’t it?” Hunter gestured around them. “Looks like the kind of thing he’d own. And that’s how you knew where the keys were, and how to start it. He show you all that?”
“Not exactly,” she admitted. “Or at least not deliberately. But yes, it’s his boat. And yes, I watched him start it. I just paid attention.” She frowned at Hunter. “I’d have called him and had him take us, but I figured we didn’t have any time to waste.”
“You’re right about that,” Hunter agreed, checking his watch. “It’s a quarter to eight now. We’re cutting this close.”
We really are, Cookie thought. Especially if she couldn’t find the Lookout. Maybe they should’ve gone to get Dylan after all. But just then she heard a familiar ringing. It was the nun buoy. Glancing around, she spotted it up ahead and to the right. She adjusted her course so that they would pass the bobbing red cone with it on their right, just as Dylan had said.
“We’re close,” she told Hunter, but saw that he’d figured that out himself. He’d already drawn his pistol, and had twisted around so he was facing forward, ducking down into a crouch in order to be less visible.
“Any idea what to expect once we get there?” he called back over his shoulder.
“Other than a terrified Hayley with a backpack full of money, a scumbag blackmailer with a nasty laugh, and at least one boat?” Cookie replied. She shook her head, even though Hunter couldn’t see that from his current vantage. “Not a clue.”
“How big is this Lookout?” he asked.
“Dylan said it’s no bigger than a football field,” she answered, “but I never actually saw the place myself. We got a little sidetracked with the dead body and all.”
Hunter squared his shoulders, and she could tell by his body language that he was scowling again. “So we don’t know if it’s completely open, or if it has a bunch of little dips and valleys where people could hide, or if there’s any sort of building there? Great.”
“I don’t think there’re buildings,” she answered, thinking back. “Dylan said it was the perfect place for a picnic, so there’s got to be at least a small open area, I’m guessing. That’s probably where they’ll meet. But beyond that, no idea. Sorry.”
This time he did look back, to give her a reassuring smile. “Hey, no worries. You knew where this was, which is way more than I did. And you managed to operate this deathtrap, which I also couldn’t do. So you’re way ahead right now.”
Cookie laughed. “Yeah, well, let’s take this guy down and keep Hayley—and her money—safe, and we’ll call it even.”
“Sure thing,” he said. “I’ll just swoop in and save the day, you sit here and keep the boat warm and look pretty.”
“Sure, that sounds like me,” she shot back, which made him laugh. “You know that’s not how it’s going to work, right?”
This time his smile was even warmer—and tinged with not only respect but even pride. “Believe me, I know,” he assured her. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Good,” she declared, smiling back. “This’ll be just like old times.”
“We never used a boat before,” he pointed out.
“Okay, so maybe like old times but with a new twist.” Speaking of twists, Cookie shifted on the bench and switched hands on the tiller so that she could reach back under her windbreaker and pat the pistol in its holster there. She didn’t draw it yet, though—she didn’t like the idea of going into this empty-handed but she couldn’t risk fumbling the tiller because she was trying to clutch her gun at the same time. She’d get them there and then draw.
She just hoped that tiny window of being unarmed wouldn’t come back and bite her on the ass.
21
Cookie was just starting to get concerned again when Hunter called back, “Something up ahead. Your two o’clock.”
She looked in that direction, careful to keep her body still so that her hand didn’t inadvertently shift on the tiller. She’d already done that once when she’d turned to look at a bird flying past and, in doing so, almost capsized them. Squinting, she spotted a dark shape jutting up from the water. That had to be it—it was too big and bulky to be a boat, and she could tell by the way it absorbed the moonlight that it was solid ground of some sort.
“See anybody on shore?” she asked, keeping her voice pitched soft enough that nobody beyond their own boat would be able to hear them.
“Nobody yet,” he replied at a similar volume. “Think they’d be around the other side, maybe?”
“Maybe.” She concentrated on what she was doing. It was one thing piloting the boat across open water, but entirely another when worrying about running them aground or smashing the boat into some rocks. There’d been life jackets tucked away under the benches, and she and Hunter had both pulled those on, him holding the tiller steady for her so she could slip into hers—between that and the fact that she was actually a solid swimmer, Cookie wasn’t too worried about drowning. But if she smashed his boat to pieces, Dylan would never forgive her. Even if it had been for a good cause.
Fortunately, the little motorboat was relatively simple to handle. Plus it just felt like you were more a part of the boat and the water when you were sitting back here, feeling the thrum of the motor through your hand, letting the water’s spray splash against your face.
Yeah, there was definitely something to this whole boating thing. Something she’d have to look into more later on. Especially if Dylan was available to give her some pointers.
For now she focused on getting the little boat as close to the tiny island as possible, cutting their speed as they approached so that, by the time she actually bumped up against the rocks, they were barely inching along. She wasn’t entirely sure how to anchor a boat without a handy dock cleat, but fortunately the island’s edge was jagged enough that she was able to essentially wedge the boat’s nose into a narrow chasm, not hard enough to damage it but firmly enough to hold it in place in the absence of any strong waves. That would have to do for now.
She cut the motor and rose slowly to her feet, gesturing to Hunter to hop onto the island. He did so, with a grace and stealth that belied the suit he was still wearing, and then reached back to give her a hand up. Cookie took it—no point letting her pride prevent her from getting onto dry land as quickly and easily as possible.
“Anything?” she asked, drawing her pistol and holding it low along her thigh.
Hunter was listening intently, head up, eyes half closed, his own pistol in his hand. He started to shake his head, then stopped. “Hang on.” He closed his eyes, head tilting to one side and then the other, nostrils flaring. “Voices,” he reported finally, keeping his own to a whisper. “Over that way.” He gestured to the right.
Cookie nodded and followed as he began creeping in that direction. The island seemed to have a ring of taller, more jagged rocks around a flatter center, and Cookie wondered if it was the tip of an old volcano, or at least the top of a submerged mountain peak. She could see why it would make a good lookout post—glancing
back over her shoulder she could just make out the lights of Secret Seal Isle behind her, and of Hancock a little farther back and to her left. During the day you’d be able to see the approach to both, and you could probably duck behind the peaks here and stay completely hidden from anyone passing by.
Those thoughts fell away, however, when she clambered up onto one of those small peaks, looked around—and froze. From this vantage point she could clearly see a sleek, black boat on the other side of the island. And, roughly between it and their own borrowed boat, was a third, this one a regular cruiser, but still far simpler than the black boat.
And she could also see Hayley standing on what appeared to be a gentle slope in the middle of a meadow as if she’d moved to her mark at the center of a stage. The moon shone down upon her, turning her golden hair silver, highlighting her taut features and wide eyes—and creating pools of shadow around the tattered backpack she carried clutched in front of her.
Well, Cookie thought, at least she still has the money.
But perhaps not for long, as just then a voice called out, “That’s far enough, princess. Toss the money in front of you and back away, nice and slow.” It was the same rich, most likely Latin voice Cookie had heard over the phone.
Hayley shook her head. “You want it, you’re going to have to come and get it from me,” she declared, lifting her chin even though it wobbled a little, and her hands were trembling slightly around the backpack. “Unless you’re not man enough to face me.”
Cookie looked over at Hunter, who raised his eyebrows. Yeah, so the superstar had balls, even if she was putting herself in a dangerous position. Cookie tried to tell herself she wasn’t impressed, but knew better. If she’d been in the same situation without any of her training or experience, she’d probably have hurled the money as far as she could and then run screaming in the opposite direction.