by ML Gamble
It was identical to the shirt worn by one of the dead men on the freeway last night.
Was it the same logo she had noticed at Inscrutable Security all those months ago? Molly couldn’t remember. Her legs stiff with fear, she hurried on. A few yards past the man, she risked a check in the direction he had been looking. Just as she did, a tall, younger man in a white cap and shades, wearing a red L.A. Rams T-shirt, came out of the market she had visited a short time before.
The second man motioned for the first to come inside. A hot stab of premonition shot through Molly. She had never believed in intuition or visions, but at that second she knew these guys were looking for Alec.
Without running, Molly made it back to the gate, groceries and all, in three minutes. Mr. Cashmere Pants was leaving with his teenage girlfriend, and she ticked them both off when she hurried by without a word as he held the gate for her.
Her lungs hurt from the quick, jerky breaths she was taking, and her arms ached from the twenty pounds of junk she was lugging. But she kept up the pace down the long walkway toward the Geisha Empress. As it loomed closer, Molly searched for Alec’s figure, but he wasn’t anywhere in sight.
She got to the stairs and dumped the bags into the cockpit, taking a moment to look toward the gate. At that moment, the white Mercedes pulled up.
“Dammit. Alec? Alec, where are you?”
Molly stuck her head through the door and looked around the galley, then stumbled down into the boat. Alec wasn’t on board!
She pulled back the curtains and looked out to the dock walkway just as the black man and his companion sauntered through the gate.
The gun, Molly thought. I have to get the gun Alec had yesterday.
Frantically she searched, but couldn’t find it. Finally she pulled a knife out of the drawer and took a deep breath, then peered out the window again. The two men were nowhere in sight.
She had to go out, she decided. There was no other way to keep track of this probable new wave of assassins and try to warn Alec without showing herself.
Draping her jacket over her hand, Molly ventured out onto the deck. Beneath her, the boat creaked. Ducking down even with the cabin, she spotted the men. They were on the Geisha Empress’s bow. The black man was hanging over the bowsprit, holding on to the railing with his right hand. His left hand was stuck in the pocket where she had seen evidence of the gun.
Slowly Molly crept up another rung on the ladder leading to the top of the Geisha Empress. The guy with the hat was talking in a low tone and pointing to the water. She looked around hurriedly but saw no one else on their boats. Down the channel, she spotted a coast-guard cutter moored, and she wondered if she could somehow get their attention.
At that second, the guy in the hat turned and looked right at her.
“Hey! What are you doing?” he yelled.
The second man turned and withdrew the revolver from his pocket, curbing her notion to run. With a bolder attitude than she felt entitled to, she shouted, “I’m a friend of Fred Brooker. What the hell are you two doing trespassing? Leave now or I’ll call the coast guard.”
They walked toward her, the man in front motioning with his gun for her to stand still. He had taken off his sunglasses and Molly could see he was older than she’d originally thought, very handsome and sympathetic-looking despite the gun. “Stand still, miss. No one is going to hurt you.”
“That’s damn straight, mister.” Molly dropped the jacket covering the knife and raised the weapon slightly. “Get off this boat. Now.”
Both men looked surprised and a bit shaken at her show of force. The guy in the hat held up both hands. “Take it easy, lady. I’m not—”
“You heard me. Get off this boat now.” Molly raised the knife higher and allowed what she hoped was a demented look to take hold of her features. The waves splashed the keel of the Empress and Molly felt her roll slightly with the current. She was getting very nervous, sure that at any second the two men would rush her.
“What in the bloody hell.... Molly?”
She turned at the sound of Alec’s voice. He was standing in the cockpit, dressed in a wet suit.
“Get the gun, Alec!” she yelled, then whirled back to the men. The one in the Rams shirt grabbed her and knocked the knife into the water. The other stepped closer, a very serious look on his face.
“Alec Steele? You need to come with us.”
“I don’t think so, mate,” Alec replied, pointing a gun at the man’s face. “Now drop it and let the girl go.”
The older man dropped the gun and nodded at his partner to release Molly. She ran to Alec and picked up the discarded gun. “Now what?” she asked.
“Keep them covered while they come down,” he said. “All right, chaps, inside now.”
The men looked grim, but respected Alec’s firepower and hastily descended the narrow steps. Molly kept the gun trained on them while Alec tied their hands and legs with sailing line and covered their mouths with adhesive tape. He had asked them several times who they were, but they refused to answer.
He searched them, found wallets with no identification but plenty of cash, dragged them to opposite sides of the galley, then motioned for Molly to go back up on deck. Alec followed, then sat on the steps where he could keep an eye on his “guests.”
“We’re going to take the boat out and moor her,” Alec whispered. “Then we’ll take the dinghy back in and use their car.” He handed Molly the keys. “Make up a couple of bags of supplies. We’ll get another boat. Be safer than using the Empress, now that we’ve been spotted.”
Quickly Molly told him about the girl in the store recognizing the shirt. Alec swore and shook his head. “I should have thought of that. Well, too late now. Hopefully, she’s a typical beach bunny and won’t recall your face. Get the supplies together then, love. We’d better wait a bit before we bring them up on deck again, just in case any friends of theirs turn up. In the meantime, if you don’t mind, I’d love a cup of tea.”
While Molly worked, Alec stripped off his wet suit and kept an eye and a gun trained on the two men. They stared back but remained complacent. This bothered him more than anything, for he had the distinct impression they were waiting for reinforcements.
Molly handed him two canvas bags, her purse and a bundle with warm clothes in it, all the while taking in Alec’s appearance. He looked much stronger and more alert. He wore the bandage over his neck wound, but save for a skintight yellow swimsuit, he was bare. His body was incredible. Well-developed calves, muscled thighs and a flat stomach glistened under a matting of softly curling blond hair in the California sunshine.
Molly found herself distracted from her fears for the moment as she stared at his nipples, which were small and hard from the bite of ocean breeze blowing across the channel.
“That was a hell of a time to take a recreational dip,” she snapped at him when she realized he had noticed her staring. She was aggravated by their close call and felt more worried than ever for their safety.
Alec narrowed his eyes at her but his voice was calm. “Sorry, love. I was just trying to clear my head. Well, now that you’re packed up, how about that tea? Then we’ll head out.”
“Fine,” Molly replied, “but why don’t I cover the boys while you make the tea. I can watch from the galley steps.”
Alec chuckled, then handed her the gun. She watched as he puttered around the kitchen, pulling out mugs and tea bags and sugar.
She watched as he competently put bottled water in the mugs and placed them in the microwave. While he worked, she eyed the walkway, then glanced at their two prisoners. She felt anxious, as if she had forgotten something important, but shook off the feeling.
The red timer readout was counting down, four, three, two, one... It went off at the same instant she cried out, “Alec, stop the microwave before it—”
The high-pitched wail of the timer cut off her words. In horror, she watched Alec grab his head and fall to his knees. His moan was more intense this
time, as if the pain were greater.
Molly stood, her hand sweating around the gun as the two men stared at her, challenge in their eyes.
“Alec. Alec, are you all right?” she demanded. In response, he shuddered, then lay very, very still.
It was hard to swallow. Molly berated herself for not thinking faster. Alec was pale, and the prisoners’ gazes grew more hostile by the second.
“Sit tight, boys,” Molly heard herself say, then she took a step down into the galley, which was the last place on earth she wanted to be.
Chapter Eight
Alec bounced back from the inadvertent microwave attack after twenty minutes of unconsciousness. They were the longest twenty minutes Molly could ever remember spending. Not surprising, since she passed it holding a gun trained on two men who, if looks could kill, would have claimed her as their victim several times over.
With some gentle urging and that mug of tea, it took less than an hour after the incident for Alec to claim the helm of the Geisha Empress and steer her into the open waters of the Pacific. Molly was sorry they couldn’t put her under sail power, but considering the fact she had to play guard, she settled for the smooth ride offered by the powerful inboard engine.
When they were four miles from the marina, Alec turned the boat toward the shore. A couple of hundred yards off land, near a deserted fishing dock, Alec dropped anchor. “We’ll leave them here. The shore patrol will check them by tomorrow morning, if they haven’t figured how to get themselves untied before then.”
“I’m glad you’re okay. Sorry about the ambush,” Molly offered. “When I asked you to make the tea, I never thought about the timer.”
“Hey, I understand. You weren’t trying to cook my goose and repay me for that rough stuff last night, were you?”
He sounded his old cocky self. She realized it was Alec’s nature to always put pressure on a sore spot. “Yeah. But you’re too hard-boiled for that. Right, mate?”
They laughed, then hurried through the chores of securing the boat.
“I think it will be much safer leaving the Geisha Empress and traveling to Catalina by other means,” Alec said, “considering your chat with the gal in the store. Why don’t we drive their Mercedes to San Pedro, take the ferry over and rent a car to get out to the lodge? I don’t think anyone will think to look for us there, once the Empress is recovered.”
“It sounds fine to me,” Molly offered, “except that whoever these guys are, they thought to look on Brooker’s boat for us. Why not his lodge?”
Alec fell silent for a moment, then admitted, “Even though they aren’t carrying ID, I think those guys are cops. Maybe the girl at the market called in a report.”
“Can’t have happened that way. They were out there waiting when I went into the store.”
“Well, someone else could have seen us.”
“Do you think we’re that famous?” Molly asked, incredulous that anyone would recognize her in a moving car.
Alec nodded, then stopped winding up line and stood and faced her. “I was going to tell you as soon as you got back from shopping. I had the radio tuned in to a network news broadcast. They’re describing us as fugitives.”
“On the radio?” Molly shrieked. A local station she could understand, even a major Los Angeles station. But a national one? “Why?”
“Because someone tried to take Fred Brooker out in prison yesterday. Nearly did it, too. Electrocuted a guard instead, when the bloke pulled him away from a booby-trapped electrical line in the prison kitchen. This whole mess is shaping up very dramatically for those news barracudas. Nearly dead rich criminal, followed by dead bodies discovered this morning on the doorstep of a beautiful woman—a woman who happens to be a witness in the Brooker murder trial. I’m surprised we’re not all over the media with that lead-in.”
Molly slumped onto the deck and put her head onto her knees. Things were worse than she ever imagined they could be. “Are they saying we’re involved?”
“One report made us out to be as bad as Bonnie and Clyde. Sorry, love, but it looks like your fifteen minutes of fame have arrived.”
“Maybe we need to rethink this a bit, Alec. Even though we’re innocent of everything else, we could go to jail for tying up two policemen.” She gestured toward the cabin. “I think someone should contact Lieutenant Cortez and offer our explanation about the dead men they found at my home. Obviously Brooker’s got people looking for you—for us now, I suppose. But even if they take you into custody, Dr. Chen could treat you.”
Alec vehemently shook his head, then caught his forehead between his hands. The sudden motion seemed to have pained him. “No. Until I know who those gorillas were that met me at the airport, and who that punk was that was willing to kill us both at your house, I’m not going near the coppers. So let’s just all drop that particular bag of bones.”
His handsome face hardened and the same, brook-no-argument expression she had seen last night during her abduction reappeared. Since she was in no position to force the point, Molly shut up.
But once they reached shore she was going to demand that Alec contact Alicia Chen again. He had to get medical treatment before he could shake some of the paranoia that she thought was making him even more jittery than their experiences warranted.
Molly shivered as she thought about what he had told her, that he had been “programmed” to kill someone. Was it safe to be alone with him? she wondered.
She stared at this man she’d known for such a short time under the strangest of circumstances. Though she felt no fear as she looked at him and had seldom been burned trusting her instincts, a flash of panic warmed her blood. They were together because of chance encounters and circumstance. Was her instinct that he was telling the truth about being tortured and brainwashed enough to make her stay with him?
The bandage on his neck reminded her of the proof she had seen of Alec’s torture. She thought of his pain, his anger and also how he had saved her life this morning. If he’d been hired to kill her, why wouldn’t he have done it last night or this morning? And anyway, why kill her at all? He was the eyewitness. None of it made sense.
Shaking off her doubts, Molly touched Alec’s arm. “How are you feeling, physically, I mean?” she asked.
“Not quite kipper, but working on it.” He flashed her a smile. “How about yourself? You look damn normal despite no sleep and the mayhem you’ve witnessed.” Though the words weren’t effusive, his look was full of approval.
“Thanks, I think,” she replied. “Can I help you with anything on the boat?”
“You ever sailed before, Molly?”
“No. Well, yes. I’ve been on a sailboat, but I didn’t handle any of the ropes or anything.”
“Lines.”
“Lines, sorry. Now I need a sailing interpreter.” Molly squinted up at the mast. “Okay, I’ve hung on to some lines once before. I did steer for a while, but the boat I was on didn’t have a wheel, it had a tiller. All I remember about that was that the boat went in the opposite direction I steered.”
“You don’t have to worry about that with the Empress.” He pointed toward the steering wheel. “Okay, love. Drive her just like a car while I set the lines. Then we’ll be off. It’s going to take us awhile to get to San Pedro from here.”
Molly saluted and jumped up. “Aye-aye. Let’s do it.”
Alec reached out to brush her cheek. His hand trembled slightly, and his eyes were intense when he looked deep into hers. She felt as if she should say something but suddenly could think of nothing.
Alec, however, could think of everything that could have and should have been between them. He’d been attracted to Molly at their first meeting, not only for her looks, which were lovely and appealing and full of life, but for the air of openness and decency she wore.
It made him want to do daredevil stunts, to race under a summer sun at fourteen knots and hear her holler to stop, to take her back to Australia for a look-see at the dingos, sharks and sheer s
pace he loved so.
But none of that was likely, he realized with a stab of realistic thinking. He’d entered her life again as a fugitive with a countdown to death ticking away. It was a bomb he couldn’t control or defuse. The last thing he wanted, the last thing he’d be able to live with, was bringing this sunny, lovely young woman any more pain than she had already endured because of him over the past twenty-four hours. Turning his eyes away, Alec shut off the thoughts of what could be.
Alec moved away from Molly so quickly she wasn’t sure if she had imagined his touch or not. Without another word, they worked to stabilize the boat, hauled their personal belongings up on deck, locked their prisoners in the galley and climbed down into the dinghy.
The tiny outboard engine started immediately, and they were back at the slip in a few minutes. Alec decided to deflate the dinghy and sink it with the engine, which they did unnoticed in the nearly deserted marina. They hauled their satchels out to the Mercedes. It was a rental, they discovered, and held nothing to help identify the men any further.
Alec started the engine. “It’ll take a bit to get to San Pedro.”
“We’ve got to get some hot food,” Molly replied. So they headed first to a fast-food restaurant.
“Deep-fried tucker,” Molly kidded.
“Pass the salt and ketchup,” Alec kidded back.
Their meal was courtesy of the contents of one of the visitor’s wallets, into which Alec had stuck a signed I.O.U.
Molly chanced a last furtive glance over her shoulder as they merged onto the freeway, but found no gunmen with cocked guns or swarming SWAT teams, or even an errant news helicopter circling above.
Delighted to have food in her stomach, she leaned back against the lovely leather seat and immediately fell asleep.
Alec drove on, unwilling to turn on the radio and wake his sleeping passenger, even though he knew he should be keeping track of the news reports.