In the Dark (14 page)

She growled at the reprimand. Luther swallowed a chuckle. He found her temper as interesting as everything else about her. Most women would be grateful to be shielded from danger. Not Hannah. She wanted to be right there in the thick of things. His respect for her crept one notch higher. "I'll let you help next time," he promised.

"Next time?" She sent a glare over her shoulder. "If we find what we need, there won't be a next time!"

He was counting on it. "Look," he soothed, still paddling alone, "Westy and I do this kind of thing all the time. We can read each other's minds. We don't need any added distractions."

"Now I'm a distraction," she said to the cloud-ridged horizon.

Heck, yeah.
It was bad enough that he couldn't get this morning's interlude out of his mind. Her temper right now was turning him on. It made him want to prove to her just how much of a distraction she really was, how much of a woman. He thought of the hours they had left before tonight's planned insertion.

Time for a marathon of afternoon sex,
came the undisciplined thought.

Hannah tossed a glare at him. "Is that really all I am?" she demanded. "A distraction?" Her gaze dropped to his gleaming torso.

He decided to go with honesty. "You distracted me pretty well this morning." He watched with satisfaction as her cheeks flamed pink.

She faced abruptly forward, for once at a loss for words.

Luther's pull on the paddle lagged. He realized suddenly that his arms ached, so he laid the paddle across his knees and let the current carry them.

The scent of brackish water filled his lungs. An osprey winged overhead, eyeing the river for darting fish. A breeze set the leaves to flutter on the approaching shore. It was lovely. But thunderclouds piled high on the horizon, promising foul weather.

Luther wiped the sweat from his brow and started paddling again. As they approached the other side, Hannah joined the effort, sending vicious strokes through the water as if she couldn't get to shore fast enough—or away from him.

She said nothing to him as they dragged the canoe onto land and turned it over.

"We need to stow our stuff in the car this afternoon," he said, "without being seen."

"We're leaving tonight?" she asked, glancing at him quickly.

"If we have to. It's just a precaution."

"If we stay, you can sleep in the chair," she announced. And with that, she hurried ahead of him, knit pants clinging damply to her thighs as she all but ran for the entrance.

You'd better run, little girl.

He tamped down the impulse to chase after her; to throw her onto the bed and prove how thoroughly distracting he found her. That was what Veronica would have wanted. Taunting and running were standard operating procedure for her.

But not for Hannah. He didn't know exactly how he knew that, only that he did.

Entering the room in her wake, he heard her in the bathroom, showering. Her knit top and wig were on the bed; her clothes lay in a heap on the floor. Luther's heart beat thick and heavy. He tossed aside his shirt and kicked his own shoes off. His fingers settled on the zipper of his jeans.

Stop,
he commanded of himself.
Think. Are you ready for this?

He knew his weaknesses even better than he knew his strengths. Once he made Hannah his, he wasn't going to want to give her up.

So, no, he wasn't ready. This wasn't going to happen.

His relationship with Veronica had taught him a lesson he couldn't afford to ignore. Finding the right woman was crucial. Until he met a woman whose goals in life meshed with his, right to the names of their unborn children, he wasn't going to get involved. What was the use of making mistakes if you failed to learn from them?

He'd done a lot of tough things in his three years as a Navy SEAL. Walking away was one of them.

It was a perfect night for insertion. Thunder rambled continuously as thunderheads swept over Sabena, drenching the landscape. Lightning stabbed fiery fingers toward treetops and the roofs of buildings. No one in his right mind would go out on a night like tonight.

Hannah hung over the balcony rail, watching Luther disappear into the dark as he jogged toward the river. Supposedly, Westy was waiting down by the canoes, wearing the second diving rig. Luther had donned the first here in their bedroom, giving Hannah a fascinating glimpse of how the rebreather worked, recycling the diver's own air to eliminate bubbles.

Dressed in a wet suit with his gear slung over one shoulder, he'd left, dropping over the balcony, into the silvery rain. Hannah quivered with the need to follow. But as Luther had bluntly pointed out, there was nothing she could do.

She sighed, rubbing away the goose bumps that prickled her skin. Temperatures were plummeting, bringing a distinctly autumnal chill. Sometimes, it was the woman's destiny to wait, she reasoned. Or was it?

Her spirits rallied as an option occurred to her. Actually, there
was
something she could do, she realized, turning toward the room to find her shoes. Luther had underestimated her capabilities for the last time.

25 September ~ 14:15 EST

"Here, sir."

He did it again. Luther jumped at the sound of Westy's voice, practically in his ear. The chief stood against the tree trunk next to him, camouflaged in his black wet suit.

Luther glared at him. He checked over Westy's equipment, and the chief did the same for him, wordlessly and with efficiency that came from regular practice.

Westy's favorite knife was strapped to his webbed belt. They would take no other weapons with them, their purpose being simply to photograph anything suspicious with the camera that was stowed in Luther's belt pouch.

Securing their masks and popping the mouthpiece between their teeth, both men waded into the water at their insertion point. They sank into mud up to their calves.

Even in the dark, Luther noted Westy's shudder. They walked in until the water was up to their waists, nodded, and went under.

Their masks were designed for nighttime dives and equipped with state-of-the-art infrared screening capabilities. What appeared from the surface to be a solid body of water was, in fact, a world of darting fish, sunken branches, hills and troughs, and shimmering organisms that were probably shrimp.

Luther consulted his underwater compass, and they struck out, crossing the creek that was surprisingly deep,
^;
After a hundred yards or so, they'd crossed the channel, and the complex network of pilings on which the warehouse was constructed. Neither man had surveyed the area from their current perspective.

They headed into the forest of sunken pilings, following the channel that had been dredged to allow big boats to dock inside. The muddy river bottom was only a few meters below them when they swam beneath the warehouse's outer wall. They came up against a bulkhead, and they were in the berthing area.

To their mutual dismay, the interior of the warehouse was illuminated. They would have preferred operating in the dark. If anyone was up there, they'd be seen.

Luther signaled that he would surface first. Keeping close to the bulkhead, he poked his head out of the water and lifted his mask to look around. A dozen naked lightbulbs dangled here and there, casting a paltry glow over stacked wooden crates, dollies, and huge refrigerators.

Not a soul in sight. He signaled the all-clear to Westy and they moved to the only ladder. Removing their flippers, they stowed them behind the ladder and climbed out stealthily in rubber booties.

The warehouse was immense. This berthing area alone was big enough to house a boat of substantial dimensions.

Luther glanced at Westy, who gestured toward the nearest wall. Their movements were muted by the drum of rain on the tin roof overhead.

Luther opened the door of the closest refrigerator. The smell of fish and oysters assaulted him. The place was an authentic seafood warehouse, no question of that. Imagine working here all day, Luther thought, finding the floor slippery under his booties;

He and Westy moved methodically along the wall, peering into each container they came upon. They found catfish, croaker, flounder, sea bass, and enough oysters to feed the entire population of Virginia, but nothing suspicious.

Luther moved to a mound of crates. Either they'd just been unloaded or they were left here in anticipation of being shipped off soon. He tried to tug one open but it had been nailed fast

Westy found a discarded hammer and, at Luther's nod, wrestled the nails free. One gave a squeak that echoed off the ceiling. Both men held their breath.

The quiet that followed reassured them enough to proceed. At last Westy was able to lift the lid. Luther pushed aside the straw stuffing. What he saw there made his scalp tighten.

Amid the stuffing lay a collection of AK-47s, just like the ones that had disappeared off a frigate bound for Somalia a month ago. Hot damn, they'd found Lovitt's hidden stash! He brushed aside the stuffing, hunting for serial numbers, anything that would link these weapons to the stolen ones.

He had to break out a penlight to find the numbers. With a tremor of excitement, he took pictures of the weapons and several close-ups of the numbers etched into them.

They moved to another crate, taking less care to keep silent as they struggled to open it. A scuffling sound caused them to freeze like thieves and turn their heads. What they saw made Luther's blood run cold.

A Doberman pinscher stood not twenty feet away, regarding him through eyes that glowed yellow.

Westy reached slowly for his knife. Luther knew the chief could peg the animal in the heart if he had to. They both eyed the distance to the water, gauging their ability to dive in before the dog could rush them.

"Easy boy" Luther crooned, backing slowly toward the water.

The dog growled low in its throat.

"Hold it right there!" The voice came out of nowhere, echoing off the high ceiling. Beyond the watchdog, an elderly man stepped out of the shadows bearing a shotgun that was aimed at Luther's chest. "Who the hell do you think you are trespassin on private property?"  The man wore a security officer's uniform. Turning themselves over to him was not an option. Luther nudged Westy's arm, signaling for them to get the hell out. They both leaped into the water, jamming their mouthpieces into their mouths as they sank as deep as possible.

A sudden explosion coincided with a burning sensation in Luther's back, near his right shoulder blade. He flinched from it, twisting down and away, as he'd been trained to do to avoid taking another bullet. Two more pellets strafed the water close by. He glanced at Westy, relieved to see the chief beside him, unhurt. He reached for Luther, tugging him in the direction they needed to go.

A barnacled column scraped the right side of Luther's face as he veered too close to it. He fumbled to don the mask that was drifting off his head.

He'd been shot
He couldn't let the realization slow him down, but they'd had to leave their flippers behind, making their exit that much slower. Westy kept one hand on the strap of Luther's rebreather and propelled him forward, kicking hard for the both of them. Luther could see blood forming around him in a neon-green cloud.

By the time they reached the opposite shore, he felt too weak to slog through the mud. Westy propped a shoulder under him, urging him through it.

"My fault, sir," he panted. "I assumed the place was locked down at night. Didn't do my homework."

"We got what we needed," Luther answered, willing away the pain that radiated from his shoulder and down his spine. "We need to leave before the police get on it."

"Roger that."

He was about to give more detailed suggestions when a twig snapped ahead of them. Both men froze, peering into the inky darkness, expecting me worst.

"Luther? Westy?" A woman's voice sang out softly over the patter of rain.

It was Hannah. The men breathed a sigh of relief and moved in her direction, staying behind the trees. "Here," Westy called. "What are you doing outside?" he demanded.

Gee, that was the same question Luther had.

"I thought I heard a gunshot. What happened?"

"Lieutenant's been hit. It doesn't look too bad, but we need to leave now—"

"Luther!" And there she was, her spectacles flashing in the dark, her hands touching him lightly. "Where were you hit? Oh, your face is bleeding."

"It's just a cut."

"We need to keep moving," Westy reminded them.

Hannah went to prop herself under Luther's other arm. "We're all set. I pushed the car to the head of the driveway."

They looked at her for a stunned second. "You what?" Luther said.

"You're out of control, ma'am," Westy said with a chuckle.

Hannah's forethought would keep their departure from being overheard. Luther should have thought of it himself.

Right now it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other. Every step jarred his shoulder. He leaned on his companions, counting on them to guide him through the pine trees to their vehicle. Over their laboring breaths came the wail of sirens as police presumably raced to the warehouse, hailed by the ancient night watchman.

Sabena's finest would know right away who was behind the break-in. It wouldn't take long for the flippers to be found. To protect their dirty secret, the police would do whatever it took to keep the interlopers from getting away.

Hannah opened the passenger door and dove into the back. Westy lowered Luther into the passenger seat. It hurt more to sit in the low-slung car than it did to stand. Luther swallowed a moan and put his hands over his face.

"Find a shirt," Westy told Hannah. "Put pressure on his back here."

As Hannah hunted for a clean shirt, Westy jumped into the driver's side and was pulling them away before he'd even shut his door.

"This isn't the way we came in," Hannah said from the back as Westy hung a left. At the same time, she put pressure over the place where Luther had been shot and he almost went through the roof.

Shit, shit, shit!
Luther forced his eyes back open, using willpower to thrust aside the pain. He saw Westy hand a map to Hannah.