His Only Obsession (Protectors Book 27)

by Beverly Barton

  “Are you offering to cook something for me?”

  “I’m hungry. You’re hungry. I don’t see why not.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Okay, Gwen told herself, maybe if you’re pleasant to Will, he’ll be pleasant to you. There’s no need to argue. We can be friendly without being friends. Or lovers.

  An hour later, after sharing a breakfast of coffee, scrambled eggs and banana muffins, they docked at St. Mallon. Will’s contact, whom she suspected was a freelance operative he’d known during his years as a government agent, met them at the marina.

  “Molly Esteban made a drop this morning, then they headed out.” The man—whose name, she suspected, even Will didn’t know—spoke with a British accent. “They’re probably going to Baccara next.”

  “Why Baccara?” Gwen asked.

  Will gave her a withering glare, silently reminding her that he’d told her to keep quiet, to let him do all the talking.

  Ignoring Gwen’s question, Will asked, “Did you see anyone on board, other than the Esteban woman and Captain McGuire?”

  “An old man with snowy white hair and a curly-haired boy.”

  “You didn’t see a young redheaded woman?”

  “No. The only woman I saw was Molly Esteban.”

  “Thanks.”

  As soon as Will’s contact left them, Will grabbed Gwen’s arm, turned her around forcefully and marched her toward the Footloose.

  “Why hasn’t someone arrested Molly Esteban?” Gwen asked, keeping in step with Will as she tugged to free her manacled arm. “Or at the very least, why haven’t the authorities detained her?”

  Will released his tenacious hold on her but didn’t slow his pace as he responded in an aggravated tone. “The contacts that Dundee’s uses often work on both sides of the law. They’re not in a position to report crimes, even if they’re eyewitnesses to them.”

  “Then why doesn’t Dundee’s—”

  Will groaned. “You ask too many damn questions.”

  “So Dundee’s uses unscrupulous people for undercover work when it’s necessary. I might not approve, but I do understand. And as for asking questions, if I don’t ask, how can I learn?”

  When Will didn’t respond, she kept quiet until they were halfway to the boat, then asked, “How do you know you can trust that man? How can you be sure the Sun Dancer is really headed to Baccara? He wouldn’t even tell us why they’d go there.”

  “I trust him as much as I trust any Dundee contact. As for him lying to us—he’d have no reason to lie. And Baccara is the last island north of here before you hit the wide expanse of the Atlantic on the way to Bermuda. If Molly and Mick are delivering drugs, they’d hit Baccara for sure.”

  “Oh, I see. So, I take it that we’re off on our wild-goose chase again.”

  “Yeah, and the Sun Dancer has less than an hour’s head start,” Will said. “It sure would help if we knew exactly where they planned to dock.”

  “You mean your contact couldn’t find out that small detail for you?”

  “Stop being a pain in the ass, will you?” He urged her into motion.

  She kept pace beside him, all the while wondering why on earth she didn’t just give up on finding her father and go back to her safe, contented life in Huntsville.

  Because her father’s life was in danger and the old fool hasn’t got sense enough to know it!

  But definitely not because she wanted to stay near Will Pierce.

  Molly Esteban looked at herself in the mirror. Face it, you’ve got ten good years left, at most. She needed to be socking away some money now, while she was still young enough to get by on her looks. God knew, she didn’t have much else going for her. And she wasn’t exactly getting rich hooking up with losers like Mick McGuire. But for now he’d have to do. Why couldn’t The Professor have been a rich old codger instead of a certifiable kook? The guy was crazy about her. She’d seen to that. Lucky for her, he could still get it up. At least occasionally. If there was one thing Molly knew how to do, it was make a man happy in the sack.

  If Emery was wealthy, she’d marry him. After all, at seventy, how long could he live, especially with her around to give his heart a workout on a regular basis?

  “You look good enough to eat.” Mick came up behind her, nuzzled her neck and groped her boobs.

  Shrugging him off, she scolded, “You can’t be doing stuff like that. Not now. What if Emery or Jordan came down here and saw you?”

  “They’re all on deck,” Mick said, grinning suggestively. “How about a quickie, baby doll?”

  “No! And I wish you’d stop asking. We’ve got a strictly business arrangement for now. I’m The Professor’s girlfriend until we dump him and the other two in Bermuda.” She straightened her low-cut, sleeveless shirt where Mick had messed it up, then ran her fingers through her short black hair and headed for the steps leading up to the deck.

  Mick caught her halfway up, whirled her around and gave her a hungry once-over with his heated gaze. “After screwing around with that old goat, you’ll be hot as a firecracker when you’re finally with a real man.”

  “That old goat rented this boat for us,” she reminded Mick. “And having him along as a front for us is working out just fine, isn’t it?”

  “So far, but what happens when we finish our deliveries? If it was just The Professor and his assistant, there wouldn’t be a problem, but what about the little redhead?”

  “I don’t know, damn it, but you are not going to kill her—” Molly lowered her voice to a whisper “—not the way you killed that other girl.”

  “If I’d known there was another one hiding out on this boat, I’d have gotten rid of them both at the same time,” Mick said.

  “As long as she believes we’re Emery’s friends, just investors in his hare-brained scheme, she won’t be a problem. We can just unload her in Bermuda with Emery and Jordan.”

  “Are you really that stupid?”

  She glared at him. “Yeah, maybe I am, so why don’t you explain it to me.”

  “Baby doll, the old man, the kid and the redhead—we’re going to have to dump them overboard some night before we reach Bermuda.”

  Baccara was the capital city of the tiny island nation of Latille, a tropical paradise with a rotting underbelly of crime and corruption. Will had been here once before, nearly five years ago. Even before he and Gwen stepped ashore at the marina, his gut tightened. He possessed a sixth sense when it came to trouble. That’s why he’d slipped the 9 mm Ruger under his lightweight jacket.

  “Are we meeting someone here?” Gwen asked.

  “Not here. I have to go into town to meet our guy.”

  “You mean we have to go into town.”

  “You’re staying here at the marina. There’s a halfway decent restaurant where you can eat lunch and—”

  “I’m not staying here. I’m going with you.”

  He took her shoulders gently. “It’s too dangerous for you to go with me. The part of town where I’m meeting my contact isn’t safe, especially not for—”

  “This guy is going to take you to where the Sun Dancer is anchored. If you go without me, what excuse will you use when you approach Mick McGuire? If I’m with you, I can tell him the truth, that I’m The Professor’s daughter and tracked him down to make sure he’s all right.”

  “I shouldn’t have told you that the Sun Dancer is here.” Dropping his hands from her shoulders, Will huffed. “There’s a good chance McGuire killed Tori Boyd and that she wasn’t the first person he’s killed. The guy’s dangerous. I know how to deal with dangerous people, but if you’re there, you’ll be in the way. I’ll have to take care of you.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “You think you can.”

  “If you try to leave me, I’ll follow you.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  He could easily give Gwen the slip, but then she’d be wandering Baccara alone. Because, no doubt, she’d try to find the Sun
Dancer on her own.

  “Okay, you’re going with me,” he said, knowing a no-win situation when it slapped him in the face. “But you will do what I tell you to do without question. Understand?”

  “No, I don’t understand, but I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do.”

  He eyed her skeptically.

  “Cross my heart,” she told him.

  “Stay at my side, keep your mouth shut and don’t do anything unless I tell you to. Can you handle that this time?”

  She stared daggers at him but kept silent. He took that as a yes.

  “Why did Mick say we were stopping again?” Jordan Elders asked The Professor.

  “He and Molly need to transfer some funds,” Dr. Arnell replied as he sipped leisurely on his rum and cola.

  “I don’t understand why they didn’t take care of everything before we left Puerto Nuevo. We’re wasting a lot of time—”

  “Actually, if my calculations are correct, we’re right on time. These little delays have been no problem, because if we headed due north earlier, we would have been too soon. As of tomorrow, we should be able to find the island. It was precisely fifty years ago tomorrow that I washed ashore there.”

  “Professor, I know your theory about the island being hidden by some sort of cloaking device is as plausible as the belief in the plant that can produce longevity and good health to the people of the island, but it’s totally illogical.”

  “I’ve spent the better part of the past forty-five years searching for the island,” Dr. Arnell said. “I’ve borrowed money, acquired grants under false pretenses and used up all my own resources to fund expeditions into the vast unknown between the West Indies and Bermuda. If the island is visible at all times, then why haven’t I been able to find it? Why has no one else been able to find it?”

  Because the island doesn’t exist. Jordan wanted to believe in the island, in the miracle plant that grew there, because he longed to be a part of the discovery that could help mankind. And because he not only respected Dr. Arnell, but he genuinely loved the old man. The Professor had taken him under his wing when he’d been his student, had become like a father to him. Without Dr. Arnell’s help, he would never have gotten the scholarships to finish his studies and go on to graduate school. If nothing else, he owed the old man his loyalty on what could be his last great adventure.

  “You aren’t beginning to doubt me, are you, Jordan?”

  “No, sir. I want you to find your island and I want to be at your side when that happens.”

  The Professor lifted his wrinkled hand and clasped Jordan’s shoulder. “As soon as Molly and Mick return from their little errand, we will go back to sea, due north. I remember my father setting a course straight for Bermuda. If we retrace the journey I took with my parents and brother all those years ago, I’m certain we’ll find my island again. Fifty years to the day.”

  Fifty years to the day. The Professor now believed that the mythical island was visible only a few weeks every fifty years. What nonsense!

  Or was it?

  Gwen had never ridden a motorcycle and she wasn’t finding this experience something she’d ever want to repeat. Will had explained that they needed fast, reliable transportation to whip down back alleys, up on sidewalks and down dirt paths. Knowing absolutely nothing about motorcycles, she had no idea what make or model she was at present sitting astride behind Will, but her guess was that the monstrosity was far from new. It smelled awful, sounded awful and resembled a rebuilt piece of junk.

  Downtown Baccara looked a great deal like most Caribbean cities, and once again, she was missing everything of any interest because they were continuing their frantic wild-goose chase. Only this time, if luck was on their side, they’d make it to the Sun Dancer before she set sail again. They whizzed by groves of banana trees and fields of sugar cane.

  When the scenery changed dramatically from what she’d seen at their other ports of call, a sense of foreboding crept up her spine. Shacks and dilapidated shanties dotted the roadside.

  Gwen hung on tightly around Will’s waist, her heartbeat accelerating as Will slowed the cycle, exited the street and crept up a back alley. She felt open and exposed, knowing there was no protection between them and the sinister ugliness around them. They weren’t even wearing helmets. A mixture of odors assaulted her when Will stopped and parked the cycle behind a ramshackle house. Rotting garbage. Stagnant water. Human waste.

  God, she was going to be sick.

  “Wish you’d stayed back at the marina?” Will got off the motorcycle, then turned and helped her dismount.

  She couldn’t speak, afraid that if she opened her mouth she’d vomit on the spot.

  “You look green around the gills,” Will said. “If you’re going to throw up, do it now and get it over with.”

  Unsympathetic bastard! At that precise moment, Gwen hated him for being so smugly superior, for not being nauseated himself and for not giving a damn that she was.

  Okay, Gwen, stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re a big girl. Deal with it. You can’t blame Will. He did advise you to stay at the marina.

  Being here in this godforsaken, rancid alleyway was her own damn fault. And the fact that she was on the verge of upchucking was something Will could do nothing about one way or the other.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, before covering her nose and mouth to shield them from the stench.

  “Shh…” he cautioned her.

  A slender, ragged figure appeared as if from out of nowhere. He spoke English with a hint of an accent, his voice low and gruff.

  “You got the money?” he asked, his gaze darting in every direction.

  Will pulled a couple of hundred dollar bills from his pants pocket and offered it to the man. He grabbed the cash, inspected it and stuffed it into his shirt pocket.

  “I’ll show you where the Sun Dancer is docked. That’s all your money buys you.”

  Will nodded. “That’s good enough.”

  Gwen’s heartbeat quickened, and uneasiness shivered through her. The man, the place, the tension radiating from Will combined to issue her a warning. She was in the middle of something she knew nothing about, something dangerous.

  The dirty little man eyed Gwen. “You should not bring your woman with you. For another hundred dollars, I can take her back to town and guard her for you.”

  “My woman goes where I go,” Will said in a voice that allowed no argument.

  They followed their Baccara contact, the first one that had to be paid in cash, as he turned the corner and led them along a back street. Will rolled the motorcycle along with them as they left the alley, until their guide mounted a black Moped. When Will got on the cycle, Gwen positioned herself behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Will’s two-hundred-dollar contact led them along a dirt path, through a weed-infested area of high grass and down to the backwaters from the nearby lagoon. The guy made a U-turn, pointed northeast and zoomed back in the direction from which they had come, leaving Will and Gwen alone. Will parked the motorcycle behind a stand of tall trees, then helped her off.

  “Where are we going?” she whispered.

  “Northeast,” Will told her in an equally low voice. “My guess is that there’s a small harbor nearby, probably one used by smugglers and other unsavory characters.”

  Gwen groaned silently, wondering if, in her own way, she wasn’t as crazy as her father. After all, here she was, in way over her head, and all because she was trying to save her father from his own madness. What was she doing here, with someone who seemed perfectly at home playing spy games in the wilds of a lawless little island?

  When they had gone about a quarter of a mile, Will stopped abruptly, shoved her behind him and listened intently. Voices! But she couldn’t understand the conversation, was unable to distinguish what language the men were speaking.

  Following Will’s lead, she crept alongside a chainlink fence that separated the wooded area they’d just come through from what app
eared to be a small marina. In the distance she could see four docked boats. As they made their way closer, she caught a glimpse of two burly men deep in conversation.

  Will turned to her, put his finger to his lips warning her to be silent, then reached inside his jacket and drew a gun from the back waistband of his jeans. Gwen gasped. He glared at her.

  “Hold up there,” a deep, threatening voice called to them.

  Will whipped around, one hand holding his weapon, the other nudging her behind him, and faced the two approaching strangers. Gwen thought her heart would beat right out of her chest. Cold sweat popped out on her face and moistened her hands.

  “What do you want?” one of the men asked.

  “I’m looking for a fellow named McGuire,” Will said.

  “What do you want with him?”

  “Personal business,” Will said.

  “This is a private marina,” the taller of the two dark-haired, bronze-skinned men told him in English with no accent. “How did you get here? Who brought you?” Both men eyed the gun in Will’s hand.

  “I don’t want any trouble. If McGuire’s here, I want to talk to him. That’s all.”

  “You going to shoot one of us?” the shorter man asked. “Bad idea. You shoot one of us, the other will kill you and take your woman.”

  Both men came toward them. Gwen clung to Will’s arm, shivering, trying to think what she could do to help get them out of this situation. But before she had a glimmer of an idea, all hell broke loose. Will shot one man in the head. He dropped instantly. Gwen’s mouth flew open, but she stopped herself just short of screaming. The other man lunged forward, barreling into Will. The two struggled, rolling around on the ground, fighting for the weapon.

  While Gwen stood by, feeling helpless, not knowing what to do to help Will, the gun positioned between the two fighters went off.

  Oh, God. Will. Will!

  Chapter 7

  Gwen held her breath for a split second, then rushed forward to where Will lay beneath the burly guard. She needed to find something to use to knock this guy in the head. If he’d shot Will—