Deception Island (11 page)

“I can help.”

“I don't want to have to worry about you. I have it under control.”

The pirate spat out a gob of blood and God knew what else. With the gun, Jack pointed at the path. “Go,” he said to the guy.

“What will you do with them?” she said.

“Give them what they deserve.” He withdrew something from his pocket and held it out. Her pocketknife. “Just in case.”

She took it quickly. “You trust me with this?”

“No.”

He disappeared around a corner, the pirate stumbling ahead of him. Relief washed over her. She had no doubt he would “clean up,” one against five or not. Hell—he wouldn't kill them in cold blood, would he? She limped over to the flashlight. It still worked. Good. She didn't fancy crawling around the jungle blind with those spiders around. What a coward she was, running off and hiding. But Jack was right—she'd proved she wasn't much use. And it was nuts she even wanted to help. He was only protecting her because she was his ticket to get his son back. And once he discovered her real identity, she'd be of zero value to him.

Her damn conscience. She might need to find the override button before this week was out. Would Jack hesitate before pulling the trigger on her, if he was ordered to? That was what soldiers did. How many people had he killed in his job?

But he had a conscience, too.

Overthinking, again
. She limped along the track, away from the evidence of the scuffles, in case it wasn't Jack who returned for her. She pushed through a tangle of vines and found a palm tree to sit against, surrounded by a relatively bare patch of dirt that didn't seem to be crawling with bugs, or worse. With her shoes, she swept away a pile of sticks and leaves. Were snakes nocturnal? Scorpions? Reluctantly, she switched off the light. For an age she sat in the shadows, ears straining to catch any noise that wasn't explained by the ocean slapping and sucking at the bottom of the cliff, or the wildlife infesting the jungle.

A couple of times she thought she heard footsteps and froze, praying for them to be Jack's. A coconut thudded to the ground a few feet away, making her flinch. Occasionally, a shout filtered up. But no gunshots, thank God. If they got Jack, she'd follow his example—try to separate them, and pick them off one by one. She screwed up her face. Not that her fighting skills had been much use tonight.

Her knee throbbed like a jackhammer, her cheek burned, her cut foot itched. Sleep pulled at her eyes, and she yawned. An hour must have passed. Had Jack been hurt, or worse? Her neck prickled. A noise, behind her. She flicked on the flashlight. A face. She screamed.

Chapter 11

A hand wrapped over Holly's mouth, muffling her scream. A laugh rolled around her, low and deep. Jack. Oh, thank God.

“You jerk,” she mumbled. His skin tasted earthy, possibly bloody. He released her. “What happened?”

“Our guests left, with some encouragement. Bad manners to interrupt a honeymoon. All but one guy.”

She stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“No sign of the guy you fed to the spider. But I have a theory about where he is. Until we confirm it, keep quiet.” He stood, ducking under a branch. “Good hiding place. You're learning.”

“You found me.”

“I'm good at finding people.”

“And creeping up on people. Calling my name would have been just as effective.”

“And nowhere near as fun.”

“I've got a weapon. I could have used it on you before I realized who it was.”

“This one?” He held up her knife.

She patted her pocket. How the hell?

“Before I realized who it was...”
he repeated, slowly. “You're saying you wouldn't pull out a knife if you knew it was me? An hour ago it looked very much like you were going to shoot me. You're a complicated woman.”

“We have a complicated relationship.”

He checked the path and held back the vines for her. She followed, testing her weight on her shaky leg.

“How's the knee?”

“Feels like it's filled with glue.”

“Lean on me.”

He wound his arm around her waist and lifted her slightly, leaving her with no choice but to coast a hand up his back and over his sweat-slicked shoulder. They made slow, silent progress down the track. Dang, it felt good to feel those muscles tighten under her fingers as he stepped, to feel his body slide and shift against hers. Stupidly good. If she ever had another relationship—and she wouldn't—she'd like to get her hands all over a body like his. The tough-guy-with-a heart thing was also doing it for her, in entirely different ways. The kidnapping and threatening to maim—not so much. Was that her problem? She was attracted to men who wanted to hurt people—hurt her?

As they approached the former spiderweb, he stopped and disentangled himself, giving her a moment to find her balance before he stepped clear.

“Flashlight.”

She handed it over. He tracked the beam along scuff marks in the dirt to where they disappeared off the cliff, and dropped to his knees to peer over the side. She shuffled to look. In the weak far reaches of the light, she could just make out a crumpled pile of clothes and limbs on a tumble of rocks.

She scooted out a breath. “Dead?”

Jack called out to the guy. Not a twitch. He dropped a large stone, which landed with an echoing crack a few yards from the body. Nothing. He trained the beam on the guy's chest and narrowed his eyes—watching for movement? “By the way he's lying I'd say his neck's broken. He must have stumbled off the cliff in panic, or pain. He sure screamed for long enough before he went over, but then it stopped suddenly. I guess that's why.” He looked up at her. “I thought it was you screaming.”

“You must have been worried sick.”

He shrugged. “Hard to secure a ransom for a dead hostage.”

He stood, brought an arm across his chest and pulled it into a stretch, like he had when they were running. Her gaze flicked down his dirt-smudged torso, all the way to the trail of black hair that disappeared into his shorts. Oh, dear lord, he was fine. She blinked hard.
Really? You've just seen a dead body—a guy you had a hand in killing—and this is your reaction? Truly screwed up
.

“So you've killed one guy with a shark and another with a spider,” he said. “What are you planning to do to me?”

Oh, the things she could do to him, none of which involved any wildlife except herself. “Any tigers on this island?”

“It's too small.”

“Death by slow Doris, then.”

His teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “Loris. Slow loris.”

“Whatever you prefer.” She cocked her head. “I'm surprised you let those pirates go.”

His jaw tightened. “Never kick a stray dog. I gave them one chance to get away and they wisely took it. Poverty will be driving this. They'll have families to provide for. Maybe this will shock them into going straight.”

“You don't really believe that people like that can change?”

He studied her, unblinking. “I believe in redemption, yes—that you can leave the mistakes of your past behind.”

Her heart skipped a beat, for some stupid reason. “So that's what you meant when you said you'd give them what they deserved. They deserved a chance.”

“In my experience the line between good and evil is blurry.” He slid in next to her and gripped her waist. Her breath quickened. “And dead bodies make a hell of a mess, which wouldn't make for a romantic honeymoon. Let's go.”

“We're just leaving him there?”

“I might be able to retrieve the body at low tide but not now. Don't worry, princess. He's sleeping very peacefully.”

She slid her hand up to find that sweet spot on his shoulder—purely for balance, of course. They settled into a rhythmic stride, Jack taking the weight off her bad leg. So he, too, had a weakness for the underdog. That could come in useful, if he discovered just how much of a stray she was. “Would you give the people who are threatening your son a chance?”

His shoulder tensed. “Would you, in my situation?”

“I guess if I had a child I'd do whatever it took to get him back.”

“There's your answer.”

Whatever it took
. Her gut curled. Including harming his hostage? Killing her?

Once, Holly had cared strongly enough for a man to do anything for him. Would she have eventually gotten over her qualms and killed for him? She'd done a lot of other things she'd never before considered herself capable of, getting more brazen with each hit. But she'd always assured herself her crimes were victimless—she was screwing banks and big business while they were busy screwing the American people. She was just an underdog snapping at the top dogs.

What if Jasper had continued to escalate their crimes, had pressured her to hurt someone physically? She'd been so addicted to his approval and terrified of being abandoned, she would have done anything—not that she'd been able to rationalize it so clearly at the time. Oh no, perspective had taken six long years to find.

Perhaps it was just as well the Feds had pounced when they had, just as well Jasper had immediately betrayed her. The spell had broken that day. Never again would she let a man—or anyone—have that much influence over her. Needing someone made you vulnerable, and she was safest in her own company. Prison had given her that gift, at least.

As they crested the hill that led down to the lagoon, the strain of a motor drifted in over the ocean. Jack stilled. After a minute, it faded completely.

“Do you think they'll return?” she said.

“They've been burned. They'll look for an easier target.”

“Aren't you worried they might ask questions about the kind of bride and groom who can flatten five goons in the space of a half hour? Make the connection with—” Her face heated. She'd been a fingernail away from saying
Laura
. She swallowed. “My disappearance.”

“They won't advertise this defeat. And I doubt they're following your kidnapping on a live web stream. People out here live simple lives—not like you're used to, princess. Survival is their only ambition.”

Holly grimaced. She understood that, all right. “I guess the drive to survive can lead to desperate acts, huh, Jack?”

“This is too slow,” he growled. In the flicker of an eyelash he scooped her up like a baby. Again.

“You like doing that, don't you?” And getting out of any conversation that might dent his armor. Sighing in resignation, she wrapped her hands around his neck—and immediately regretted it. It brought their skin too close, with only her thin top separating them. As he strode, the friction created a reaction under the fabric she hoped to God he couldn't feel. She tried to pull her torso away, but he adjusted his grip to hold her closer. Or would it be good if he felt it? That's what she wanted, didn't she—him to feel something
for her? Her top rode up, leaving his bare arm flush against the skin of her lower back, his fingers pressing into her waist. His other hand was firm under her knees. He smelled of fresh sweat, salt, spice.

Whoa. There'd better be vodka in the cabin. She hadn't touched alcohol in years before yesterday's champagne, but she sure could use something to numb her overstimulated mind and body. Or would a drink make it worse?

Hell, maybe it was time to act on the things instinct was badgering her to do, take the game plan to its next logical phase. She'd never crossed that line before—was it crazy that she wanted to now? But they'd bonded tonight. It made sense to take advantage.

Trouble was, she'd only ever seduced men she didn't give a damn about, even men she despised. Certainly no one she was genuinely attracted to. This would be a whole different experience.

She splayed her fingers on his hot skin. She'd have to make sure she didn't screw herself over at the same time. Somehow.

* * *

Mon Dieu
. This woman was doing dangerous things to Rafe. Five thugs—four, once Laura had dealt with one—had proved much easier to control than his body's response to a woman he had no business being this close to. He upped the pace, ignoring the strain in his thighs, the heat of her body pressed into his, the fire on the back of his neck where her fingers pressed, the fresh scent of her. The sooner this torture ended, the better.

“I can walk from here.” Her shuddering voice did nothing for his self-control. There was no reason she should be out of breath, unless she, too, felt the...
Don't go there
. A woman like that should feel nothing but disgust for a lowlife like him.

“We're nearly there.”
Thank God
.

As much as common sense urged him to let her walk, he knew knee injuries needed rest. Without that, he'd be carrying her everywhere for the next few days. Not what he needed.

The path bottomed out on approach to the villa. He adjusted his grip, his fingers sliding further up her smooth back, confirming what the skin on his chest was already broadcasting—she wore no bra.

At last, blessedly, he staggered up the steps to the veranda, sidestepping the insect screen, which was hanging from a single hinge, and stepped over the broken door. The pirates had torn down the mosquito net, which at least made it easy to lay her on the bed. He switched on a lamp. It illuminated pink lips and far too much creamy skin.

Focus
. “How's your knee?”

“Okay, I think. Maybe I just twisted it.”

“Keep off it, and keep it elevated. I'll find something cold, to stop the swelling.” He slid down the bed, untied her laces and slipped off her shoe. The dressing over her coral cut had slipped off. He pulled the flashlight from his pocket and examined the wound. It didn't look red or inflamed. “I'll replace the dressing, too.”

He ejected the clip from the Makarov and laid the two pieces on the kitchen bench. There was just enough ice left in the cooler to wrap in a cloth and slip around her knee. He was tempted to throw some down the front of his shorts, to send a message to his body that this wasn't a woman to be desired. He filled a bowl with water and sat on the bed, beside her foot. If it wasn't for her twisted knee limiting her reach, he'd let her do it herself. But it was true what he'd said to her—keeping active kept him from going mad. Sleep wouldn't return easily, anyway. Perhaps he could dive into the lagoon again, to cool off—she couldn't come in after him, at least.

His call to let the pirates go free, along with a potentially very useful boat, better not come back to kick him in the balls. But hell, he had more than enough to handle with one hostile hostage—four more could have been the death of him, and Laura.
Tu respectes les ennemis vaincus. You respect defeated enemies
.

With the language mismatch, he hadn't even been able to interrogate them on Gabriel's local operations, though it was likely they knew nothing, given the reputation of
Les Pirates Fantômes
. And what if he and Laura had escaped in the boat—to God knew where—and the militia had returned for them? It'd be goodbye, Theo.

He repeated the sequence he'd performed earlier—sponging her wound with an antiseptic, smoothing on antibiotic cream and sticking on a dressing. “Done.”

“Thanks.” She propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes gleaming in the low light. “I bet you're a great dad.” She smiled wistfully.

The note of sympathy kicked at him. “Believe me, princess, I'm not.”

“You love him, don't you?”

“I'm his father.”

She nodded. “You love him, all right. That's more than a lot of kids get.”

Was she talking from her own experience? “Actions, not words, that's what's important.” Like being there for your family, not just sending money every payday.

Her eyes took on a faraway look, a sad look. “True enough.”

“You have a graze on your cheek. And a lump on your forehead.”

The corner of her mouth curled up. “I have a lot of things going on. Those are not a priority.”

“Still, I may as well wash your cheek while I've got the antiseptic out. You don't want a cut to get infected in this climate. Especially on a face...”

She raised her eyebrows at his unfinished sentence.

A face as beautiful as yours
. “A face as expensive as yours.”

He scooted up the bed. She pushed up into a sitting position and turned toward him, chin tilted, eyelids heavy, like she was fishing to be kissed. He clenched his stomach muscles.
Don't even think about it, Angelito.