Undertow (33 page)

´He·s not alone,µ she told the woman sweetly, sliding her arm around his waist.

´
I·m
here, and so are our five
adorable
children. And our Doberman, Hans.µ

´Maybe later,µ he told the woman with a laugh, as Teal preceded him up the ladder to the deck. The invitation in the tal er woman·s eyes was pretty clear, but it meant nothing compared to what was right in front of him. ´We·ve gotta feed those kids and hungry dog,µ

he said, indicating the upper deck. Smiley leaned back on his chair, holding a fishing pole and shot him a toothy grin.

The two women on the
Slow Dance
were joined by a petite blonde in a cobalt blue one-piece.

Ńice,µ Teal muttered under her breath. Ŕed, white, and blue.
Very
patriotic.µ

He stroked her class A ass as she scrambled up ahead of him. Í prefer you in nothing at al .µ

´Keep that in mind.µ The second he stood next to her, Teal wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a French kiss that curled Zane·s toes. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered. Ćonsider me your bodyguard, Ace.µ

He felt an odd tug in his gut at the way she trusted him enough to st ake her claim so publicly. ´They·re over there shaking in their thongs, as we speak,µ he assured her. With a chuckle, he kissed her nose, then laced his fingers through hers, as he whispered for her ears only. Ĺet·s give everyone the good news.µ

The brunette leaned over the railing. ´Y·al are invited to drinks later if you want.

Do y·al have a babysitter?µ

´Don·t even think about it.µ Teal nuzzled his cheek, stil walking.

Źane.µ Saul came to the open doorway of the salon, Zane·s cel phone in his hand. He held it out. Ĺogan.µ

Shit. A cal tomorrow would·ve been a hel of a lot better. Everything would be over, the story could be exaggerated and built on. Hel , by then it would be the stuff of legends. But for right now, he was nose deep in the shit of it al .

´Wolf, I·m kinda tied up right now,µ Zane indicated that Smiley come inside and close the door behind him. The women on the
Slow Dance
were lined up at the railing like magpies, watching them through the large windows of the salon. Ćan thi s wait?µ Every second he wasn·t prying that box out of the plane was another second closer to the thing detonating.

By accident. By design. By miscalculation.

Ńo,µ Logan said shortly. ´There·s a guy here.µ

´Here isn·t very specific, bro. What guy and w here? Somewhere in South America?µ Smiley, Davis, and the others weren·t that interested in his personal conversation; they were standing around waiting for Zane to give them news. And as much as he loved his brother, Zane didn·t want to talk to him right then. ´How about if we catch up tonight?µ he suggested, about to cut his brother off.

Ćutter Cay,µ his brother snarled, answering the question as to his location.

´Dude is a fancy lawyer from New York. Has a client who
claims
he·s our long lost fucking brother.µ

´What? Christ.µ His bel y cramped. His dad hadn·t been cal ed Casanova of the Caribbean for keeping his dick in his pants. Í swear I·l cal you later, Logan.µ

Áre you okay?µ Teal frowned as Zane closed his phone, stuffing it into his swim trunks pocket. The cal had distracted him when he didn·t need any distractions. Now what?

Ĺater.µ He wiped a runnel of water from her wet hair off her cheek with his thumb, his blue, blue eyes troubled. Teal shivered at the contac t, wanting to slide into his arms so she could feel « what? Safe? Loved? Needed?
Get a grip,
she told herself as she stepped away from him.

´We found the box,µ Zane told everyone as he turned away from her. The relief in the room at his news was as palpable as high pressure being released from a sealed decompression chamber. Ímpossible to retrieve without proper equipment,µ he told them, his voice grim, his shoulders and jaw rigid with tension.

Í·m going to St. Maarten to rent what we need.µ

´Get the Broco cutting system,µ Teal instructed briskly, shoving her hands in her pockets.

Ít·s hot enough to cut through, or melt, just about anything. It uses a hundred and fifty amps, so it·l run off my generator. And I·ve used it before, so it·l take less pract ice time.µ

´Fine.µ Zane headed toward his cabin to change, then said over his shoulder,

´Wil you cal around? Find it, then you can tel me where I·m going.µ

Teal started fol owing him. Í·l go with you ³µ

Ńo, stay put. Nothing·s going to happen with tha t party boat anchored out there. Too many witnesses. I can move faster alone.µ

His logic sucked. But he looked stressed enough without Teal giving him her opinion of his ridiculously alpha idea.

He didn·t want her to go with him. Wel , instead of pesteri ng him with her own worries, she·d give him space to think. When he came back, he·d remember that they were a team and he needed her. She had time to make one phone cal ³no Broco cutting system³when Zane entered the room dressed in jeans, deck shoes, and a black T-shirt. He looked somber instead of elated. Teal chewed her now growing thumbnail as her own tension ratcheted up a notch. He hadn·t remembered they were a team. She blinked away the threatening wetness at the back of her eyes. Since when did they need to be attached at the hip? If he had to do this alone, then she would support him. ´Don·t bother with Hampton Wholesale ³they don·t have the right tool. I·l keep cal ing and let you know as soon as I find one.µ

Zane exhaled, as if centering himself, before sending her a grateful smile.

´Thanks, sweetheart.µ He patted his back jeans pocket where he kept his phone.

Í·l be listening for you.µ

Teal blew her bangs out of her eyes and sent him a wink, al while control ing a bel y of nerves.

´Don·t let anyone on board for the duration,µ Zane addressed Smiley and Davis, who looked a little affronted that he felt the need to tel them how to do their jobs. Í don·t care if it·s a blue-haired little old lady. Especial y not a blue -haired old lady. Got it? No one.µ He turned to stare at each of them. Ńo diving, no heroics.

Stay inside. Don·t trust
anyone
. I·l be back in a couple of hours.µ

Davis, who·d walked into the gal ey and had been talking on his cel phone while Zane had been changing, turned around. Á man named Joseph Young is waiting for you at Bobby·s Marina. He·s our immediate supervisor. He·l escort you to pick up this piece of e quipment, then return here with you.µ

Í·m going to put in at Phil·s,µ Zane said tightly. His hair was dripping on the col ar of his shirt, and he hadn·t even run a comb through it. For no reason at al , Teal·s heart started to race.

´Too smal and intimate,µ Davis informed him. ´We don·t want the wrong people fol owing you. Stay in crowded locations and stick with Young. He·s a hundred pounds overweight, but he·s a professional. You·l recognize him; his face is perpetual y red, and he has yel ow hair. He·s six two, he·l be wearing black pants, blue shirt, open over a white T -shirt.µ Teal presumed the open shirt observation wasn·t a fashion statement. Young would be armed.

Good. Knowing Zane would have an armed bodyguard made her feel marginal y better about him going off on his own. ´You have a gun, right?µ

´Won·t need it, but yeah.µ He gave her a quick, hard kiss on the mouth and strode out, closing the salon door firmly behind him. He waved at his fan club stil hanging over the rail of the
Slow Dance,
then disappeared as he jumped down to the dive platform and his Sport.

She listened for the wel -bred purr of the smal engine starting up. Í·ve got things to do,µ

Teal told the men. She didn·t know
what,
but she didn·t want to be watched while she did it.

* * *

His sweat-stained, baggy shirt covered a shoulder holster. Between his weight and the tropical heat, the guy was a heart attack waiting to happen. Í have your Broco torch in my car. Need help carrying the thing. Young lady named Teal found it, paid for it, and had them water seal it by the time I got to the shop.µ

Of course she had, Zane thought with relief. He·d never doubted her abilities.

Í can help,µ he said, fal ing into step with the larger man. The guy·s slow pace was counterpoint to how fast Zane·s heart was racing. He wanted to get what he needed and head back to Teal. To the
Decrepit
. He could practical y hear a metronome ticking away in his head.

´How far away are you?µ

Young indicated several dozen cars parked in the shade at the tree line which separated the parking lot from a nearby hotel·s grounds. ´Quarter mile. Lot was fu l

·cause of the cruise ships.µ

Crap³papers, branches, the odd soda can³stil littered the enormous parking lot; ironic when the sky was a crystal ine blue and the sun hot. Smiley and Davis had told them the time restraints. But what if that time line was wrong? Or a lie? Zane shoved his shades up his nose. But why would they lie? Damn. Just because he couldn·t think of a logical reason, didn·t mean there wasn·t one.

´How long have you known Davis and Smiley?µ he asked as they walked through the crowded parking lot. Hundreds of rental cars and dozens of tour buses were parked waiting for the passengers. Although the island was only thirty -seven square miles, it was a popular destination. Several cruise boats were in port and more would come throughout the day.

The place was hopping and looked like the crowds at Disneyland.

Young huffed and wheezed but kept going. ´Davis, thirty years, Smiley about nine. Good, solid guys. They·l watch your back or die trying.µ

Ĺet·s hope they have no reason to,µ Zane said flatly, rubbing the back of his neck as they cut between the rows of look-alike rental cars. The conversation with Logan raised its ugly head, and he ruthlessly shoved it back. A
brother
? He supposed he should be shocked.

Surprised. Hel , even
pissed off,
as Logan clearly was. Given their dad had been a womanizing tomcat. Instead, he couldn·t imagine another Cutter brother ³it had been the three of them forever.

Zane wasn·t angry. Not pissed, either; curious, maybe. Intrigued. For sure. He shook his head, clearing his mind of an oddly numbered Cutter family reunion. He had a more immediate problem to deal with.

´What can you tel me about this Alphachip?µ he addressed t he back of Young·s sweat-stained shirt.

Young glanced over his shoulder, his head down as he took rattling breaths.

Ćlassified.µ

´Yeah,µ Zane said wryly. Í kinda thought that·s what you·d sa ³µ The other man suddenly crumpled. Zane stumbled into him, and had to grab a nearby rearview mirror to stop them from both going down. He shot out his hand to grab Young·s arm to help him up. But Young was too heavy to hold with one hand as he crashed to the ground.

The agent toppled over on his side before Zane could brace him. Śhit.µ

The guy·s eyes were wide open in his sweaty face. He looked shocked.

Shitfuckdamn.

Young
looked
dead.

Heart attack? Even as he crouched down to feel for a pulse at the man·s throat, Zane was digging his cel out of his back pocket to cal emergency. He didn·t feel a heartbeat. Hel . Poor bastard.

As he·d crouched beside him, Zane·s knee shifted the man·s bl ue cotton shirt aside. Young·s white T-shirt was already saturated in horrifical y bright red blood.

The smel was metal ic, like fresh meat. Gross. Shocking outside under the bright tropical sun. For a nanosecond, Zane·s brain didn·t compute what he was seeing.

Young had just been shot straight through the heart.

Something slammed with a shockingly loud metal ic
thud screech
into the passenger door of the Volvo behind him, mere inches from Zane·s shoulder. Christ Almighty! Someone was shooting at him as wel . Fuck this for a joke!

Zane yanked the Sig 220 from under his T -shirt as he looked around for the shooter. As he visual y scanned his surroundings, he slid the gun from Young·s stil secured, underarm holster. He checked the clip, then stuck it under his T -shirt at the smal of his back. He hated fucking guns. His father had taught al three of them to shoot. Plenty of long, boring afternoons out at sea. Always good to know how to defend one·s treasure from pirates. Not that Zane had ever encountered actual pirates, but thank God, he knew he could actual y hit something if necessary. Two loaded weapons gave him better odds.

He hoped it wouldn·t become necessary. Being a lover rather than a fighter, he·d always preferred talking his way out of a bad situation. But even he couldn·t talk faster than a bul et.

Using the nearest car as cover, he unfolded slowly from his crouch, scanning the surrounding area for the shooter. He didn·t
see
anyone suspicious looking, but he felt as though a giant bul ·s-eye was painted on his back. He reached up and slid an advertising flyer from under a nearby windshield wiper, tenting it over the Sig. It wasn·t going to fool anyone who looked hard enough, but it was al he had.

Every instinct shouted
run
.

No.

Think.

Pause.

Focus.

Decide where the hell I·m going before I·m exposed.

He was in the middle of a car-fil ed parking lot. If he turned back to the marina, and his boat, he·d be a sitting duck as he untied from the wharf. Not to mention, if he somehow managed al of that alive, he·d lead them straight back to the
Decrepit
and Teal.

Forget it. How about a more public area? Good news, there·d be hundreds of tourists and the shooter might be deterred by that many witnesses. Bad news was the shooter might not give a flying fuck and would shoot into the crowd and possibly hit an inno cent bystander.

Damned if he did and damned if he didn·t.

Straight ahead was a smal , touristy shopping area. Duty -free jewelry, booze, and electronics, the street already crowded with people swarming off the cruise boats. If he angled right, he could go through the extensive grounds of the nearby resort. People would be at late breakfast, at the pool, or on the beach by now. Not as many people, and a lot of trees and outbuildings to afford him cover. Also near the crowded beach. Crap! The resort grounds were the best bet for everybody.