St. John’s voice and clipped words were immediately recognizable.
“Go,” he said.
“One. A Cecil Bedran. Registration expired several years ago. Check showed he’s deceased.”
“And number two?”
“More interesting. Current, but according to the record, it’s on a 1972 Ford van.”
“Hmm,” Draven said. There was no way that car had been a van of any vintage. “Name?”
“Business name. Caribe Merchants. Post office box in Belize City.”
When he heard the name, Draven’s mind made the obvious leap instantaneously. He wondered if he was wrong about el mercader, if the drug dealer truly was behind the attacks and had been all along.
“Who are the primaries at Caribe?”
“Layered ownership. We’re digging.”
The moment he acknowledged the information St. John disconnected. Conversation with the man was always short, and sometimes painfully brief. He talked as if he had a finite number of words to use in his life, so he had to ration them.
“News?” Grace asked, coming up beside him.
“As much as you ever get out of St. John.”
“Ah. So the saying’s true?”
“What saying?”
“If Draven’s a legend, St. John’s a mystery.”
Draven grimaced, but the expression faded as Grace’s mouth curved upward. It was a natural enough smile, but he sensed the same uneasiness he’d felt in the past couple of days.
Ever since he’d kissed her.
“I’ve heard about him,” she said. “Though I’ve never spoken to him for longer than a minute or two.”
“I’m not sure that anybody except Josh ever has,” he said dryly.
She smiled again, and again he felt the change in it. She was smiling at the comment, he thought, but wary of who had made it.
By necessity he had gotten fairly good over the years at reading people. And there was no doubt in his mind that Grace had changed. Or rather, her attitude toward him had changed. She was more watchful, more sensitive or more nervous, he wasn’t sure which. Like she had been when he’d first arrived, yet different. In any case, it was putting him on edge, because he didn’t know what to do about it.
That alone was unusual enough for Draven to bother him. In part it was because he wasn’t used to not knowing what to do, but also because he didn’t know if it was a continuation of the problem that had made him hand Josh his resignation, or if it was simply Grace herself who had derailed his usual mental acuity.
If he thought about that kiss, the answer to that question was clear.
If he thought about that kiss, the answer to anything else was lost in the heat.
“I need to head back to the trailer,” she said. “I have to make some calls.”
Unable to speak just then, he nodded, and they started to walk.
They needed to talk, he realized. Or do whatever it was going to take to get rid of this new tension between them.
The moment the thought formed in his head he recoiled inwardly. Was he actually thinking he wanted to initiate one of those kinds of talks with a woman? Had he gone totally crazy? Volunteering for something like that was way out of his comfort zone. He’d rather volunteer for armed combat.
Hell, those kinds of talks were armed combat, and the male of the species was usually weaponless.
“I guess I need to thank you again,” Grace said.
Draven stopped in his tracks. Given his current thoughts, his mind shot to the impossible. He’d never been thanked for an unasked-for kiss before—not that there were many in the first place—and he doubted that record was about to be broken.
“Thank me for what?” he asked carefully as she stopped herself and turned to face him.
“Marly.”
He let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding. “Marly?” he asked, his voice nearly normal now.
“That scene two days ago aside, she’s…a different girl. Her old self, almost. But better.”
He wasn’t sure he didn’t like the old Marly better, thorns and all. This new girl, all giggles and sweetness, didn’t seem quite real to him. The old Marly had at least been honest. Blunt, angsty and occasionally rude, yes, but honest. He didn’t quite trust any change that came about simply by the presence of a good-looking male.
Like you don’t trust any change that comes about simply by the presence of a good-looking woman?
His own snide thought dug deep, stinging, and he spoke quickly, before she could ask what was wrong.
“Don’t thank me, thank Buckley.”
“But he’s only here because you brought him.”
He shrugged. “Needed another body. I remembered him from his interview.”
“And you knew he’d charm Marly.”
“Hoped.”
“I just hope…” Her voice trailed off.
He stopped to look at her. “Hope what?”
She sighed. “That she doesn’t get hurt.”
“That was in his orders.”
“What was?”
“Making sure Marly didn’t get hurt.”
Grace chuckled, but it was an odd, rueful sound. “You really don’t know much about fourteen-year-old girls if you think that’s within his control.”
He wondered about the undertone, but he’d already admitted as much, and didn’t see that there was anything more to add to her observation.
“He’ll do what he can,” he said instead.
They started to walk again, until this time Grace suddenly stopped.
“Darn,” she said, in a disgusted tone. “I forgot some papers I need to call about the sealer delivery.”
She started back. Draven turned to accompany her just as his cell rang again. This time the ID window said not St. John, but Buckley. He’d taken Marly out in the new inflatable an hour or so ago, so Draven let Grace get a little ahead of him before he answered in case Buckley had something to report that Grace shouldn’t overhear. If something had happened to Marly, that wasn’t the way he’d want her to find out.
“Draven,” he answered finally, when Grace was out if immediate earshot.
“Buckley. We’re just off the south tip of the island. Marly wants to go to Ambergris Cay, shopping or something. Thought I’d better run it by you first.”
What was it with girls, women and shopping? he thought. He wondered if Grace had the same tendency. An image flashed through his mind, of trailing after her in some up-scale mall. He should have recoiled at the very idea, but instead he found himself thinking about what watching her shop would tell him about her.
“Sir?”
Buckley’s voice was uncertain, as if he thought the connection might have been dropped. Draven again dragged himself out of an uncharacteristic reverie. No matter what had happened between him and Grace, it was no excuse for losing focus.
Belatedly he considered Buckley’s question for a moment. He knew Buckley would have had thorough training in all sorts of watercraft, it was part of Redstone’s own, in-house academy of sorts. So that wasn’t an issue; Marly would be safe with him running the boat, even in unfamiliar waters.
Besides, he knew that Buckley wasn’t clearing it with him for that reason anyway; what he really wanted to know was if there was any reason connected to their situation here that they shouldn’t go. Ambergris Cay to the south of them was the most developed island in the area, a tourist mecca, and as such was relatively safe. And his gut told him their problem was isolated, confined to this bit of land.
“Stay away from the north end here,” he said. “And check in when you’re back.”
“Right.”
“And make sure she pays for everything,” he added. “We had a little acting-out problem a while back. Don’t think it will recur, but keep on her.”
“Yes, sir. Want me to call her mom?”
“No. I’ll tell her.”
He disconnected the call, and picked up his pace to catch up with Grace, who wa
s just entering the structure that would eventually become the control tower above the small terminal building.
The building exploded into a fireball.
Chapter 17
It was a replay of her nightmare. With different special effects. Instead of the slow rumble of the earthquake that had built until it was impossible to stay on her feet, there was a single, huge flash and boom, knocking her off her feet in the first instant. Her ears were ringing, so much that she could barely hear the galelike rush of the firestorm.
She tried to move. Couldn’t. Something was pinning her down. Something hard and heavy lay across her hips. The beam, she thought. The one that was supposed to hold up the terminal’s roof. She pushed at it. It didn’t move.
She almost screamed.
Just like before, she was trapped.
But this time she could burn alive before anyone got here.
So get yourself out, she ordered silently. She made herself focus, not think about Nick and the others, and who else might be trapped. Or worse. She could do nothing for them unless she got out herself.
She thought she heard a shout, but with her ears still ringing she couldn’t be sure. She hoped so; it would mean at least someone else was alive. She looked around as best she could through eyes that were streaming tears in the midst of the smoke, to see what was within reach. Then she twisted, turned, trying to ignore the pain. By turning on her side she managed to raise the beam slightly with her own body. She stretched as far as she could and just managed to reach one of the cinder blocks that had been blown sideways out of the half-built wall. She pulled it toward her. With a tremendous effort she wedged it under the beam. When she rolled back, the pressure eased.
“Now or never,” she muttered, and began to struggle to free herself from the still-tight fit.
For an agonizingly long moment, as the fire raced closer, gobbling up whatever fuel was in its path, she didn’t think she was going to make it. And then, with a final shove using all her strength, she was free.
She heard the shout again. Her name. She scrambled to her knees, glanced at the inferno that was now a mere yard away.
“Over here!”
Her shout brought on a paroxysm of coughing. She decided to shut up and just get out while she could still breathe at all. But she could barely see, and the heat was getting so intense she was sure the fire was nearly at her. She knew she didn’t have time to think about it. She simply had to take her best guess at which way to go and get moving.
She stayed on her knees and crawled. Wished she had something to tie over her nose and mouth to filter the smoke at least a little. She was beginning to feel disoriented. Wondered if she was going in circles. Then a strong hand grabbed her. She looked up through the swirling smoke. And once again the harsh angel was there, hovering, sheltering her, saving her.
“Can you stand?”
Reality snapped back into place. Draven. Of course. Who else would come marching through hell?
Her throat was so raw she didn’t trust her voice to speak, so she answered him by standing. She expected him to lead her out, but instead she was suddenly airborne as he picked her up over his shoulder. She let out a yelp of surprise, but it instantly brought on the coughing fit she’d feared.
“Quiet,” she heard him say.
Since she could barely breathe hanging upside down over his shoulder, she had little choice but to obey that order.
She closed her eyes against dizziness and the worsening sting of the smoke. The sensation of being upside down only furthered the disorientation she was feeling. She very much didn’t want to pass out. She was afraid she’d never wake up again. She had cheated the reaper once before, she didn’t know if she could get lucky twice.
She wasn’t sure when it started, just became aware that the breath of air she’d just taken had been clean. Smokeless. Life-giving. Even as her somewhat sluggish brain recognized the fact she felt herself sliding to the ground. She tried to stand, but her knees seemed oddly wobbly. And then strong arms caught her under the shoulders and knees and lowered her gently. She opened her eyes and once more it was a flashback to that other nightmare day, only this time she knew the harsh angel, knew he was just a man. An incredibly strong, brave and haunted man.
And that made it seem even more of a miracle than it had been that day in Turkey.
“Are you all right?”
She wasn’t sure. Her throat was viciously raw, her eyes bleary from smoke and tears, and she had to try to sense past that and assess the rest of her body.
She hurt here and there; she couldn’t deny that. But when she flexed muscles and bent joints everything seemed to work, with no sudden stabs of pain.
“I think so,” she said, barely able to hear her own croak over the steady buzz. “I was trapped. Under a beam.” She suppressed a shudder.
Draven said something she couldn’t hear.
“Ears,” she said.
“I’ll bet,” Draven said, his voice sounding rough, raspy, as if he’d breathed in as much smoke as she had. Or as if his throat were tight. “You were too damn close to the blast.” He paused then, touching her cheek with surprising gentleness. “You saved yourself this time, Grace.”
“But you—”
“I just helped you outside. You got yourself out of that trap, and that inferno.”
The bigger picture snapped back into her mind. “Marly,” she gasped.
“She’s fine. Nowhere near the blast.”
“Nick,” she said, trying to get up. Draven gently but firmly stopped her.
“I saw him outside. He’s all right.”
“But the framing crew, and the others, they were—” She had to stop to cough, a heavy chest-straining cough.
“We’ll find out in a minute,” he said when the fit abated. “Look at me.”
She did, only then realizing he was streaked with ash or soot just as she was, just not as thoroughly. He stared back into her eyes until she started to feel uncomfortable. Then he put one hand in front of her left eye.
“Keep them open,” he instructed.
He was checking her pupils, she suddenly, belatedly realized. “I didn’t hit my head,” she said.
He didn’t answer her. He moved his hand away quickly, then repeated the action with her other eye.
“I’ve had a concussion before—” she had to stop to cough again “—I know what it feels like. I don’t have one.”
“No, you don’t.”
Was he speaking louder than normal, she wondered, or were her ears clearing up? “Then can I get up?”
“No.”
“I’m really fine,” she said again.
“Just relax.”
Only then did she realize he was methodically and gently running his hands over her.
“I don’t think anything’s broken,” she said, her voice still rough.
“No,” he agreed.
“Then what are you looking—”
“Blood,” he said shortly.
“Oh.”
“She all right?”
Although the ringing seemed to be lessening, she hadn’t heard Nick approach. She looked up at him, glad to see he looked relatively unscathed.
“I’m fine,” she said, feeling a little spurt of irritation when Nick looked to Draven for verification.
“Small burns. Nothing too bad. Probably some bad bruising to come.”
“That,” she said, “I can pretty well guarantee.” She shifted her gaze back to Nick. “What about the crews?”
“They’re all…accounted for.”
She relaxed, letting out a sigh of relief. But then what he’d said and how he’d said it registered.
“What do you mean, ‘accounted for’?”
“I’d say he means he knows where they are,” Draven said. “Move your arm out this way. Then the other arm.”
She flicked him a glance, wondering if he was trying to distract her. She looked back at Nick, her vision still blurry.
“Was any
one hurt?”
Nick hesitated. He glanced at Draven again, and tension spiked through her.
“You’ll get a full report later, I’m sure,” Draven said. “Right now we need to get you cleaned up.”
Grace scrambled to her feet, catching Draven off guard enough to break free. She felt a little wobbly, but faced him as steadily as she could. She was still blinking rapidly, trying to clear her streaming eyes. She knew she must look frightening, but right now she didn’t care.
“I’m responsible for this project, which means I’m responsible for the people on it,” she said. She turned back to Nick. “Who’s hurt? Do we need an airlift?”
“It’s already on the way,” Nick said.
In that moment her vision cleared, enough to see the look on his face.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Who?”
Yet again Nick glanced at Draven. He had apparently become the man in charge, no matter what she said. And as the fire behind them began to finally ebb, she supposed she could see why. This was now his crime scene, or whatever Redstone Security called things like this.
After a quick glance at her, Draven finally nodded.
“Chuck.” Nick’s voice was tight. “And it’s a lot worse.”
Grace knew the two men had worked on several jobs together. And she also knew Chuck was one who had asked to be assigned to this job after he’d learned she was the project manager. She felt an aching sense of culpability; she’d never had a serious injury—other than her own—on a job before, not even the one struck by the earthquake. And now one man had been hurt twice.
Besides, she liked Chuck. He’d always been cheerful, worked hard and thought himself very lucky to be working for Redstone.
Nick’s eyes were suspiciously bright, and he excused himself before, Grace guessed, he lost control. As he walked away, Grace felt the tiny shivers going through her. It must have been bad, for Nick to react this strongly. Would Chuck be the first death she’d ever had on a project?
She should have stayed on the ground, she thought through the fog of shock that enveloped her. Because right now she felt like she was going to fall down.
“Can you walk to the motor home, or shall I carry you?” Draven said.
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