SOMEONE WAS OUT THERE… WATCHING…WAITING

Kelly reached in the drawer for her automatic, and she was still digging through the clutter when a pebble shot toward her across the grease-stained concrete floor. She looked up, her fingers finally closing around the butt of the gun. The silhouette of a man filled the hangar’s entrance. She stiffened, her gut filling with an odd mixture of fear and hate.

Nick Cavanaugh.

What was he doing here? Why had he come strolling into her life after all these years?

She watched as he calmly dropped his duffel bag and slowly raised his hands, his cocky grin never fading.

“It’s good to see you, too, Kelly.”

“What do you want?” Her voice was cold.

Nick nodded at the gun. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you guns are dangerous?”

“Depends which end you’re facing. It feels fine from this side.”

He took a step forward. “I guess, but I’ve never been comfortable around a woman with a pistol in her hand, especially when she’s pointing it at me.”

Someone Safe
Lori L. Harris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Bobby Harris With love.

You are my world.

And

For Bobbie Laishley Who made me believe I could do anything.

Thanks, Mom!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lori Harris has always enjoyed competition. She grew up in southern Ohio, showing Arabian horses and Great Danes. Later she joined a shooting league where she competed head-to-head with police officers—and would be competing today if she hadn’t discovered how much fun and challenging it was to write. Romantic suspense seemed a natural fit. What could be more exciting than writing about life-and-death struggles that include sexy, strong men?

When not in front of a computer, Lori enjoys remodeling her home, gardening and boating. Lori lives in Orlando, Florida, with her very own hero.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Nick Cavanaugh—He was one of Immigration and Customs Enforcement’s toughest investigators. And just as there’s always one woman who lingers at the back of a man’s mind, for every investigator there’s one case that he can’t forget. For Nick, the case is Princeton Air, and the woman is Kelly Logan.

Kelly Logan—She’s the scrappy, blond beauty who owns Bird of Paradise airline. Seven years ago, she was in love with Nick, but then he destroyed her family….

Rod Griffis—Owner of the local dive shop and the kind of guy who is always helping out those around him. He’s in love with Kelly, but her feelings for him are anyone’s guess.

Myron Richards—He was the Agent in Charge and Nick’s mentor. He and Nick have always had each other’s back…until now.

Doug Willcox—Recently divorced; Special Agent Doug has his hands full with two kids and an ex-wife, and tended to disappear at all the wrong moments.

Benito Binelli—This big-time drug dealer was the No. 1 bad guy on every federal agency’s most wanted list and the headliner on Nick Cavanaugh’s hit parade.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement special agent Nick Cavanaugh scanned the case file one last time before setting it aside.

The first day back after an investigation was completed meant hours compiling detailed reports. Nick preferred field work to paperwork and was a hell of a lot better at it. Unfortunately, the prosecution required both.

For the first time, he realized just how late it was and that the cramped office smelled of the Mexican food he’d thrown uneaten into the trash can. After three weeks of greasy fast food and doughnuts, he hadn’t been able to face the enchilada and refried beans any more than he had been able to face going home to an empty condo.

With the office and his thoughts closing in on him, Nick stood and crossed to the window. He opened the blinds. Gray pavement and shale-colored buildings. Not a view that would make an Orlando travel brochure. Under the last vestige of dusk, the scene appeared as somber as his mood.

When he returned home last night, he’d found a note on the kitchen counter. Stephanie, his girlfriend of more than eleven months, had moved out while he tracked a load of cocaine up the Eastern Seaboard.

He really wasn’t surprised. The job, his lifestyle, wasn’t conducive to long-term relationships. But in the beginning, he’d hoped this time might be different.

When they’d first dated, she had seemed independent enough to handle the occasions when a case kept him out of town and out of touch. In recent months, though, that had changed.

She talked about how, because he wasn’t available, she’d turned down this invitation or that one. He told her often enough to go on without him. But even when he said those words, he knew they weren’t the right ones.

The bottom line was he couldn’t give her what she wanted. Marriage and kids. A husband who showed up at the dinner table every night.

It just wasn’t in him. Wasn’t part of his makeup. He wasn’t a nine-to-fiver. He’d be bored with any job that kept him behind a desk or any relationship that became as predictable as his and Stephanie’s had.

It really was better that she was the one to move on. Easier for her. She’d find someone ready to give her what she wanted. What she was entitled to. And he, no doubt, was getting exactly what he deserved.

Fatigue overtook him as he stood there, staring. He recognized the feeling that crept up on him more and more of late, from the dark alleys of his mind.

Regret.

Over cases gone sour, over failed relationships. Regret that he wasn’t a better friend for Myron when his wife had passed away. That he hadn’t mended fences with his own father before his death five years ago. That perhaps he was responsible for a man hanging himself. That, though he had no other choice, he’d killed a fourteen-year-old kid in a dark warehouse.

He couldn’t seem to let go of any of them; instead, he kept them buried inside. They escaped some nights, and he welcomed them because they were all he had.

The phone rang.

He briefly considered ignoring it, then, relenting, turned and grabbed it. “Cavanaugh here.”

“Can we meet?”

Recognizing his friend Ake Almgren’s voice, Nick managed a tired smile. “That wife of yours must be giving you the night off for good behavior. Or she’s tired of having you underfoot,” he added as he sat again.

He envied Ake and Sue their solid marriage, their kids. Maybe tonight more than at other times. He rubbed the grit from his eyes. “Or does Sue think I need some cheering up?” Recently, Sue and Stephanie had been getting together for lunch or a movie, so Ake’s wife probably knew about Stephanie.

There was a hesitation on the opposite end of the line.

“Hey, Ake. I’m okay.”

“I was sorry to hear about Stephanie’s decision, but that’s not why I’m calling. I almost wish it was.”

“What do you mean?”

Ake didn’t answer him, and at the continued silence, the muscles between Nick’s shoulder blades bunched. “Ake? Sue’s okay, right? The boys, too?”

“They’re fine. You alone?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Does the name Kelly Logan mean anything to you?”

His hand clenching the phone, Nick straightened. He hadn’t heard the name in more than six years. Except in his own head. The case, the woman, were some of his biggest regrets. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he knew he’d see her there.

“You investigated her back in ninety-six.” Ake prompted, obviously thinking his silence was due to his inability to place the case. “Princeton Air.”

“I recall the investigation. It was one of my first cases,” Nick said. “We got a tip a small cargo airline was moving weapons for the Irish Republican Army. I went in undercover.”

Ake picked up where he stopped. “The father committed suicide before he could be taken into custody. Both the girl and Aidan Gallagher, a known IRA sympathizer, walked.”

“Couldn’t be helped,” he said. “We had nothing to tie them directly to the guns. The only material witness, a courier, was dead before we could get to him, and the only prints found on the weapons were the father’s.”

“And just two of the crates were recovered,” Ake said.

“That’s right.”

“The report I’m reading says Aidan and the Logans were friends, that he claimed his appearance in their home was innocent.”

“And there was no evidence to suggest otherwise. The Logan girl even called him uncle.” Nick reached over and switched on the desk lamp.

“Not a casual friend, then?”

“No. If I remember the story right, John Logan and Aidan grew up in the same Belfast neighborhood. Several months earlier, the old neighborhood had been ripped apart by a couple of bombs. John’s sister was one of the ones killed.” He recalled John telling him the story, the tears in the Irishman’s eyes. Nick had never been an IRA sympathizer, but, in that moment, he had certainly been an empathizer.

“Why all the questions, Ake? Most of what you’ve asked so far must be in the report sitting in front of you.”

“What do you know about Benito Binelli?” Ake continued.

With the question, the headache thrumming just below the surface, perhaps for hours, mushroomed, an atomic bomb going off at the base of Nick’s skull.

He massaged the stress-tightened muscles. “Businessman. Scum. Has a team of lawyers to keep him out of jail.”

“What would you say if I told you there’s evidence Kelly Logan’s in bed with him?”

Nick’s fingers tightened on the handset again. “What would I say?” He came up with numerous possibilities. Most of which he was unwilling to voice. “I’d say he’s a little old for her,” he said, though they both knew Ake had meant in bed figuratively.

From all accounts, Benito Binelli appeared a happily married man with two teenage daughters. Currently, his only vices were the selling of illegal drugs and the occasional murder when someone was foolish enough to get in the way of business.

“Where are you going with this, Ake? Are you guys working Binelli now?”

“Yeah.” After another brief pause, Ake picked his words carefully. “This isn’t an official call. It’s strictly one friend asking another for an opinion. It’s important that it doesn’t go any farther. At least for now.”

“Sure.” He stood to look out the window again. “Whatever you say.”

“Kelly Logan’s name came up in several of the reports. As background, I read over the file on Princeton Air.” Ake hesitated again. “There’re some unusual similarities between the two investigations.”

“Unusual? In what way?” Nick asked.

“I rather you look at it for yourself. I may just be seeing spooks where none exist.”

It was an odd choice of words. “Okay,” he said, his tone cautious. “Do you want to meet? I could use some dinner.”

Someone tapped at his closed door. He’d thought himself alone in the suite of offices. Myron poked his head in.

Realizing Nick was on the phone, the resident agent in charge offered a small salute, but remained mute. Nick noticed the strain around the other man’s eyes.

“Myron just—”

Ake broke in. “Watch what you say.”

Nick’s gaze dropped away, and he reached for the empty coffee cup on the edge of his desk. “Okay. What do you propose?”

“We need to talk. Tonight. Alone.” Ake suggested the top level of a nearby parking garage.

“I’ll see you there in five.” Nick replaced the receiver just as Myron dropped into the chair in front of the desk.

“Who was that on the phone?”

“Old college friend,” Nick offered. “Wants to meet for a beer.” He pulled his holstered weapon out of the top drawer and slipped it on. “Did you need something?” he asked when Myron made no move to stand.

“No. I was just finishing up and saw your light on. Thought we could catch a sandwich.” He rubbed his knees. “Maybe another night.”

“Sounds good.” Nick said. “Everything okay with you?”

“Sure.” With a forced smile and a soft grunt, Myron pushed stiffly to his feet. His shoulders sagged. “I guess I’m just restless. It’s been a year today, and I still don’t know what to do with myself. Pathetic, isn’t it? I feel like a lost pup scratching at the back door of a dark house.”

The previous July, Myron had buried his wife of thirty-four years. Nick hated seeing the pain in the other man’s eyes. Myron was more of a father to him than his own had been, and still he didn’t know what to say. So he said nothing. And regretted it.

“If you’re on your way out, I’ll walk down with you,” he offered.

Myron opened the door. “I just need to stop by my office and make a quick call to my daughter.”

When they reached Myron’s office, Nick stayed outside in the hall. After several moments, though, he found himself glancing down at his watch. He’d told Ake five minutes. Something had rattled the experienced FBI investigator. Nick reached in his pocket for the pack of cigarettes he carried. Instead of taking one, he glanced with uncertainity at the bank of elevators twenty-five feet away and considered going on ahead, but then he remembered the look in Myron’s eyes. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt. As he waited, he did his damndest to keep his mind away from Kelly Logan. Without success.

He couldn’t say he was surprised to hear of a connection between Kelly and Benito. Disappointed, though. He’d always hoped he was wrong about her.

He rested his head against the wall behind him and closed his eyes.

Why was it, when he could barely remember the color of Stephanie’s eyes, he could still recall the way Kelly had looked the first time he’d watched her climb down from a plane and stride across tarmac?

Tight jeans and a baggy sweater. Long, loose stride. A smile that hit a man dead in the gut and kept going.

Myron closed the door to his office, and Nick straightened.

“How’s Lily?” Nick asked as they headed for the elevator.

“Okay. Better than me.” Myron shifted his briefcase to the opposite hand and reached into his pocket for his keys. “I finally agreed to put the house on the market, so we’re at least talking again.” He glanced at Nick, offering a weary smile. “She’s like Bev. Determined.”

“She’s like Bev in other ways, too.”

“Suppose she is,” he admitted, seeming to give additional thought to the observation. “Can’t cook like her mother, though.”

Nick followed Myron into the elevator. “Different generation.”

“You can say that again.”

“You’re a dinosaur.”

“Lily has another term for it, a long word that manages to sound like a compliment, but isn’t.” Myron stepped out into the parking garage and Nick followed.

“How about we catch that sandwich tomorrow night? Maybe shoot a few games of pool?”

“Sounds good,” Myron called and offered a small wave.

Four minutes later, Nick’s car skidded into the parking garage.

After taking the ticket from the entrance machine, he entered the parking structure. At this time of night, the garage, which catered to bank customers and employees, was mostly empty.

What in the hell was going on? Was Kelly hauling for Benito? Nick felt his gut tighten at the possibility.

His sports car roared up to the top level. A clear, star-studded Florida night spread overhead. Tall buildings, several lit to reveal the bold architectural details of the New South, surrounded the structure.

As soon as he circled around the ramp’s guard wall, he spotted Ake’s car, one of the few vehicles parked on the unprotected rooftop. He pulled alongside the large sedan expecting to see Ake sitting behind the wheel, but the Buick was empty.

But, then, he was more than ten minutes late. Maybe Ake had decided to stretch his legs.

Nick climbed out, stood next to his own vehicle. In the distance, interstate traffic hummed. Closer, an ambulance wailed. He searched the lot for movement. What had made Ake think of a deserted garage as a meeting place? Only rookies considered deserted lots and buildings good places for private conversations. He preferred crowded restaurants with loud music and booths. As did Ake usually. So what was different about this time? What did Ake want to show him?

He walked out into the driving lane, looked toward the far wall, then behind him. Nothing.

Backtracking, he glanced inside the Buick, front seat, then back. John’s child seat was strapped in place, a diaper bag sat on the seat, and Ake’s briefcase lay on the floorboard.

He tried the door and found it unlocked. The damp stickiness on his fingers registered at the same time the interior light came on.

Dropping into a crouch in front of the open door, he released the strap holding the 9mm secure in the shoulder holster, flicked off the safety as soon as steel broke free of leather.

Blood glistened on the charcoal upholstery. At least one bullet had missed its mark and torn into the seat back, the blood-splattered guts of the upholstery leaking out like torn flesh. Not a lot of blood, though.

He could taste the vaporized gun powder against his tongue now. Only minutes old. Which meant whoever had done this might still be close by, might have Ake pinned down somewhere.

“Ake!”

Nothing.

Looking down for the first time, he spotted more blood leading toward the rear of the car. A lot more.

He shouldn’t have waited on Myron. He should have sensed something was wrong. Reaching in, he removed the keys from the ignition. As he backed out of the path of the dome light, his shoe sent an object pinging across the pavement. A small caliber casing from the sound of it.

Stopping short of the rear of the car, he rested his back against the fender of his small car, distancing his body the same way he attempted to distance his mind.

He’d opened doors and trunks in his career, often knowing what he would find inside. He’d seen the bodies of men tossed into large shipping cartons after their illegal contents had been emptied, their remains left there undiscovered for days, until the stench of death brought help too late.

Nick shoved the key into the trunk lock and turned it. As the lid came up, the interior light blinked on.

He staggered back as if he’d taken a couple of shotgun blasts to the chest and gut. The pain was real. Not physical, maybe, but still burning and messy.

Ake’s body was folded nearly in half, the gray carpet beneath him rapidly turning crimson.

The wave of nausea hit Nick with the solid vengeance of a Louisville Slugger.

It was several seconds before Nick could move again. Refusing to look back, he calmly walked to his car, almost daring the shooter to take him out, too. Better the pain of a bullet tearing into flesh than what he felt inside.

He called it in. As he waited for homicide, for the FBI and the crime scene technicians, anger replaced shock; determination, the pain.

He could hear the keening of sirens. The muffled, mechanical scream as they climbed through the bowels of the parking garage. But they were nothing compared to the raw howls roaring inside his head.

Ake and he went way back. Had gone to school together. Played basketball on weekends. He’d been the best man at Ake’s wedding. Was godfather to both of his boys. Ake was one of the few people he truly trusted.

And now he was gone.

Somehow, Nick would find whoever had done this. Someone would pay.

Chapter Two

Hell was probably ten degrees cooler than the Abaco Islands in late July, Kelly Logan decided.

Massaging the stiffness in her neck, she tried to ignore the way her clothing stuck to her skin. The corrugated metal sides of the airplane hangar, when coupled with the island heat and the ceiling fan revolving slowly in the dense, skeletal shadows overhead, turned the structure into a large convection oven. Everything seemed to cook faster. Except for the company books.

She lifted the top page of the bank statement. What she wouldn’t give to just cram all six months’ worth in the trash can. She could fly anything from a single-engine prop to a heavy cargo plane to a small jet, but even the simplest accounting managed to defeat her. She just wasn’t a numbers person.

Fatigue overtaking her, she checked the time. Ten-thirty. No reason to take a dinner break at this point. In fact maybe she should just pack it in.

And maybe she could have if her mechanic, Ben, Bird of Paradise’s only other employee, had managed to come back as promised after his dinner break.

Closing her eyes, she scrubbed her face. What was she going to do if the ads didn’t bring in more business? Cutting fares again wasn’t an option; the margins were already nonexistent, and there was more meat in a poor man’s stew than left in her operating budget. And fuel costs were expected to continue to rise to the record levels of early 1970s.

What was going to happen when she couldn’t keep it together any longer? What then?

She studied the plane sitting thirty feet from her and wondered where in the hell she had gotten the dumb idea she could build an airline from the ground up?

Her father had taught her how to dream, how to reach for what seemed impossible when her feet were flat on the ground. He’d taught her to set goals, to work hard to achieve them. But, unfortunately, he hadn’t taught her how to fail, which accounted for the sick feeling curled up inside her most nights when she closed her eyes.

A noise broke the silence in the hangar.

Kelly glanced toward the large opening at the front of the hangar, all thoughts of business vanishing. She couldn’t quite identify the origin of the sound. An animal foraging in the underbrush along the edge of the tarmac? Or had the sound been of human making? Considering the time, she knew it wouldn’t be her mechanic. If he was following his recent pattern, Ben was facedown on the pub’s bar by now.

She continued to watch the doorway where the shadows of swaying palm fronds broke the halogen glare of the outside light. A gust of wind stole through the doorway, bringing the scent of the nearby Atlantic, and with it, the certainty that someone was out there.

Watching.

Waiting.

She reached in the drawer for the small automatic weapon that she usually kept locked on the plane, was still digging through the clutter when a pebble shot toward her across the grease-stained concrete.

Kelly looked up, her fingers closing around the butt of the gun. The silhouette of a man filled the opening, the lamp light from the desk barely reaching him.

She stiffened, her gut carrying an odd mixture of fear and hate.

Nick Cavanaugh.

What was he doing in Marsh Harbor? And why now? Why come strolling back into her life after all these years?

She watched as he calmly dropped his duffel bag and slowly raised his hands, his cocky grin never fading.

“It’s good to see you, too, Kelly.”

“What the hell do you want?” Her voice came out clipped and cold.

Nick nodded at the gun. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you those things are dangerous?”

“Depends which end of it you’re facing. It feels fine from this side.”

He took a step forward. “A sound argument, I suppose. But I’ve never felt comfortable with a pistol in a woman’s hand. Especially when it’s pointed at me.”

“Well, there’s an easy solution for that one. You could pick up that satchel of yours and leave. Save me the trouble of putting a bullet in you.”

Nick seemed amused. “Are you any good with it?”

“Good enough.” She nudged the revolver’s barrel upward. “How did you find me?”

“Your mechanic.”

“Now there’s a lie if I ever heard one,” she said, her tone scathing. “Ben has no more use for you than I do. He’d tell you to take a hike off the nearest pier before he’d tell you a damned thing.”

“Perhaps he didn’t realize who he was talking to. He’d had a lot to drink.” His eyes narrowed. “Come to think of it, I may have told him I was an old friend.”

“Same Nick. Whatever it takes. Lies. Fabrications. It doesn’t really matter, does it? As long as you get what you want.”

He took another step, his hands dropping slightly. “I just came to talk.”

Kelly thumbed the hammer back.

The definitive click as it locked into position brought him to a sudden halt. Nick pushed his hands several inches higher.

It was her turn to be amused, she decided. Not that he looked truly worried. It would take more than a gun leveled at his chest to shake Nick. Still, all in all, it wasn’t a bad moment.

Feeling in control for the first time since he’d stepped through the door, she allowed herself to really study him.

The neatly clipped, chestnut hair of seven years ago had been allowed to grow longer, until it brushed the collar of his T-shirt. His shoulders had always been broad, his body well-muscled, hard, but now there was a power about him. Dangerous, her mind prompted.

It was still too dark to see the color of his eyes, but she remembered them. Too well. They’d be the same deep, steel-gray color of the Atlantic when churned by a hurricane. Unreadable. Unrelenting. Treacherous.

“You don’t really want to shoot me.”

The calm assurance of his words grated against her nerves like raw metal skidding across tarmac.

“Just how sure are you of that, Cavanaugh?” She stepped out from behind the desk. “Do you think I hate you any less today than I did seven years ago? Do you think I’ve forgotten about what happened? Forgiven you?” She moved closer still. “Forgiven myself for letting you use me to destroy my father?”

For the first time, she saw uncertainty in his eyes, an emotion she’d never seen there before. Nick had always been so blasted certain about everything.

“I know you don’t want to believe it, but I regret what happened to your father. If I had known he was going to—”

She cut him off. “You’re right. I don’t believe you. My father’s dead because of you and your investigation.” Kelly’s finger tightened on the trigger. “You were always so sure you were right. About everything and everyone. Did you ever, for even one moment, consider what the price of being wrong might be? And who would pick up the tab for your mistake?”

She found his silence patronizing. “Maybe you should have,” she suggested as she tossed the small automatic on the desk behind her.

Slowly, Nick lowered his hands.

“No ammo,” she offered as she leaned back against the desk with what she hoped passed for an amused and satisfied smile. “There’s a full box of shells around here somewhere.”

She gave a casual glance to where the checkbook and bank statements covered the desk, then at the nearby filing cabinets with their jumble of parts catalogs, invoices and air-time logs. “You didn’t give me enough time to locate them. Of course, if I’d known it was you, I would have looked a hell of a lot harder.”

He chuckled unexpectedly, the deep sound seeming to resonate in her middle.

Tightening her arms across her, she watched the play of muscles beneath his shirt as he moved into the hangar’s shadows. Though she hated him now, she couldn’t seem to quite forget how his chest had once felt beneath her hands.

Fragments of a thousand memories she’d kept locked away, came rushing to the surface. The way he had tasted. The strength of his body. The need he had created in her. She hadn’t known who he was then, though, hadn’t known what loving him would cost her.

He walked around the brightly painted King Air, with the airline’s trademark spray of bird-of-paradise blooms and thick jungle foliage, seeming to view it from all angles. “I see flying’s still in your blood and your smart mouth is the same.”

“You used to like my smart mouth.”

“Maybe I still do.”

The remark caught her off guard. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Okay, Nick. You’ve had your fun. What do you want?”

Without answering, he prowled past her, his steps taking him to where a short hallway led to a supply closet, the bathroom and a small lounge. Nick stopped to examine the photos just to the right of the door, many of them the same ones that had lined her father’s office.

“I always liked this one the best,” he commented.

The black-and-white photo commemorated her first solo at age nine. She was perched atop her father’s shoulders, her bare knees hanging from beneath her dress, both skinned. Her smile wide and happy, a duplicate of the man who held her aloft.

She wondered if Nick had actually expected her to play nice, to act as if they were old friends. She shook her head in amazement. “I didn’t catch the evening news. Did hell freeze over?”

He gave her a tight smile. “I would have thought starting up an airline was a high risk proposition. Seems every time I open a newspaper, one has hit the dust.”

Turning away, Kelly caught sight of the satchel on the floor. Her satchel. The full impact of the situation hit her. After all, Nick was with Customs.

Maybe she should have thought of it when he’d first shown up, but she hadn’t. And there was no way he could know about the bag’s contents, was there?

She just needed to remain cool, go on pretending she had nothing to hide. She would have liked to kick the bag under her desk, but knew the action would only serve to draw Nick’s attention.

“Okay. Logan’s business strategy one-oh-one. Some smaller commuter lines try to make a profit in a saturated market. Too much supply for the demand.”

“And the Abacos aren’t a tough market? Seems quite a few of the big hitters serve the area. Must make it rough at times.”

“You’re right. They’re not as wide-open as they once were. Making a buck isn’t quite as easy.”

“There are other ways to make cash. Easier ways.”

Given their history, she would have to be a complete fool not to realize where he headed with that comment. He thought she was smuggling. Which meant this was undoubtedly some kind of fishing expedition.

Kelly folded her arms across her again. “I think it’s time you left. If you don’t, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.” Her gaze level with his, she picked up the phone as if to make good on the threat.

He waited to move, long enough to let her know he was more amused than worried. Nick pushed away from the wall and walked toward her, his dark gaze never leaving her face.

It was then she realized she wasn’t immune to him. Maybe no woman ever could be.

He stopped just in front of her. “Okay. We’ll play it your way.”

She lifted her chin, tightened her arms and spine. Her heart battered the inside of her ribs, and it wasn’t just fear this time. “I do have the home court advantage.”

She sensed the tension in his lean body. Felt a more potent one uncurl deep in her own. Being this close to him, the hint of his aftershave reminded her just how grubby she was. Not that she gave a damn. She didn’t care what Nick thought of her as long as he left her alone.

She forced herself to keep her gaze level with his. She could see the small flecks of midnight scattered through steel. He wasn’t here to leave her alone. He wanted something. From her.

He smiled slowly, until it was raw and sexy and knowing. “I’ll be staying over at the Hopetown Hotel.”

“Tell someone who cares.”

“I’m just mentioning it because I want you to know I’m not going very far.”

“Whatever it is you think you know, you’re way off base, Nick.”

“I doubt it, Flygirl.”

At the door, he picked up his duffel. “Next time you pull a gun, make sure it’s loaded. And be ready to use it.”

“If I ever have you lined up in my sights again, I won’t hesitate.”

IT WAS PAST MIDNIGHT when Kelly placed the last crate of bronze castings on the scale. She listed the weight and contents on the manifest, then used a marker to number the top.

At several points during the past hour, she’d caught herself worrying about the reason for Nick’s visit.

Obviously he suspected she was involved in some type of smuggling. Not the Ocularcet, she reasoned. The FDA would be more interested than Customs in the unapproved drug she carried in the side pocket of her bag. For Customs to get involved it would have to be something with a financial payoff. If she took their previous history into account, the answers would be guns.

Which meant she had nothing to fear. He wasn’t going to find anything incriminating. There were no guns stashed beneath the lounge sink or in the luggage compartments of the King Air.

If Nick wanted to waste his time investigating her, that was his problem and not hers. She’d just keep to business as usual. And as far as the Ocularcet, come morning, she’d deliver it as planned. If she got caught at Customs going in, so be it. The cause was a worthy one and, with any luck, she wouldn’t get jail time. The way she saw it, with a child involved, she didn’t have any choice. At least, none that she could live with.

“Hey, there.”

Kelly jumped at Ben’s greeting. Her earlier irritation rose again. “I thought you were coming back to load the plane.”

“And here I am,” Ben Tittle stated simply. He was fast pushing sixty. Most would call him scrawny, but that was just an illusion. In the past year, he’d gone native, taken to wearing shorts and T-shirts and often looked as if he’d slept on the beach. Despite his appearance, he was still the best aviation mechanic on the islands. And, after her aunt, the closest thing Kelly had to family.

The stink of stale Scotch and cigarette smoke reached her. She noticed the grin on his face remained uncontrolled, loose, and his eyelids drooped over his watery blue eyes.

Confronting him now about his drinking would be a waste of time. Morning would be more productive. Maybe, after some sleep, she might actually feel up to it.

Kelly secured the luggage compartment on the King Air. “I loaded the foundry’s shipment.” When Kelly crossed to the desk, Ben followed and stood just behind her as she checked over the flight plan.

“Why take the King?”

“It’ll handle the weight well enough, and I have a passenger to pick up. World’s most obnoxious passenger, Superjerk, is making another round trip. He’s scheduled to go back on Sunday. Bringing a friend with him this time. I can’t wait to see if it’s male or female. Care to make a small wager?”

She almost wanted to chuckle at the sour expression the news brought to Ben’s features. She didn’t like Jeff Myers any more than Ben did. Occasionally, when she was out over the Atlantic and the attorney started in on just how rough the ride was, how the beer nuts were stale, how the fare was out of line, she fantasized about opening the door and booting him out.

She flipped through the manifest, thoughts of the lawyer fading. “Nick Cavanaugh dropped by tonight.”

She looked up to catch Ben’s expression. Though he seemed to be surprised, was he?

“Why would he do that?” Ben asked.

“I thought perhaps you might be able to tell me?”

His eyes narrowed in what appeared to be confusion. “What do you mean?”

“He said you told him where to find me.”

“Then he lied.”

She nodded. “Which doesn’t come as a complete surprise, does it?”

Ben looked relieved at her easy acceptance. He glanced down at his flip-flops. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“No. He didn’t come straight out and ask if I was smuggling, but he sure as heck was doing some serious trolling.”

“Did you tell him he was wasting his time?”

“Yes. Not that it will stop him.” She scanned the top of the desk, felt as if she were leaving something important undone. When nothing reached up and grabbed her, she dismissed the feeling. She was just too tired to think. Too exhausted to even care about Cavanaugh. “The plane needs to be washed and the cabin vacuumed before morning. It might be a good idea if you bunked down here tonight so you can take care of both those things.”

Staying at the hangar would also keep him out of ditches, but Ben looked anything but pleased by her request.

He jerked a thumb toward the back room. “I can’t get a decent night’s sleep on that damn cot.”

She sighed. “No matter where you spend the next five hours, it’s not going to qualify as a good night’s sleep,” she pointed out. “But at least you would be here to do your job.” And she wouldn’t have to worry about his hurting himself or someone else on the road.

She turned away, as annoyed with herself as she was with Ben. She wasn’t being completely fair here. He’d stood by her through the very dark days following her father’s death. Without him, she could never have even made a go at the airline. The first year, he’d taken only a small wage and, without the funds he’d recently put in, Bird of Paradise would already be out of business.

She faced him. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just tired. And I’m worried.”

“About Cavanaugh?”

“No. About you. About your drinking.” As soon as she said it, the look in his eyes went from concern for her to wariness. There was no going back, though. “What’s going on, Ben?”

“Nothing. I’m just having a good time.”

“No, you’re not,” she said quietly and picked up her satchel. She stopped at the door and turned back. “This can’t continue. It’s not good for your health.”

“I know,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”

“I’m here for you,” she said. “Just as you’ve always been there for me.”

“I’ve never doubted it,” he said and smiled before he, too, turned away.

AFTER LEAVING KELLY, Nick hiked toward the marina. He’d made arrangements earlier to be taken over to Elbow Cay by boat. Marsh Harbor was the most densely populated area of the Abacos, but at this time of night the streets were empty, especially of taxis.

With no traffic to watch for, he found himself thinking about the meeting with Kelly. She had changed, but her hatred hadn’t. He hadn’t expected it to. Just as he hadn’t really expected Kelly to provide him with any answers tonight. He just wanted to make her nervous, give her something to worry about.

And, if he wanted to be truthful, he’d been curious enough to want an up-close-and-personal look at the girl-woman he’d investigated seven years ago. From what he’d seen, there was little of the girl left.

He recalled the way her shorts had exposed unbelievably long and tanned athletic legs. Where her blouse had been unbuttoned, smooth skin glistened. And above that were the pale green eyes filled with loathing.

Not that he gave a damn how she looked at him. The only thing Nick wanted from Kelly was information that would take him even one step closer to finding Ake’s killer. That was it.

Not that he held out a lot of hope. She was his weakest lead at this point. Come morning, he’d start making inquiries on a more promising one. He had a line on a guy who had worked on Binelli’s yacht up until several weeks ago. Disgruntled employees were usually willing to talk. And of course, Binelli wasn’t the most understanding of ex-employers.

He needed to work fast, though. After all, he was functioning in some very gray areas.

Even showing up in Kelly’s hangar tonight was likely to have repercussions. Officially, he was staying in the Abacos for a much-needed vacation. But, after tonight, he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t appear very prominently in several surveillance photos.

And once those photos landed on Myron’s desk, Nick would be ordered back stateside.

He’d had to pull half a dozen favors to get what information he had on the FBI’s current investigation. Which wasn’t nearly enough.

What he did know was that they’d been documenting Binelli’s business dealings, both legal and illegal, for over a year. The possibility of a connection between Binelli and Kelly had surfaced only recently, though, when Binelli’s attorney, Jeff Myers, had used Bird of Paradise for repeated trips to the islands.

Early on, there had been no substantiating evidence. No cash had been uncovered during inspections, even when dogs were used, and all transactions within Kelly’s bank accounts had remained consistent with those of a struggling company. At least, they had until the end of June, when a single large deposit of cash had been made. There had been no paper trail. Not conclusive, but when added to the previous history, it was highly suspicious.

Nick shifted the weight of the duffel higher on his shoulder. He still hadn’t been able to figure out the “similarities” Ake had mentioned on the phone.

The rumble of a car motor broke the night’s stillness. Nick glanced back at the approaching vehicle, only the second he’d seen since leaving the hangar. Edging over, he made room on the narrow road for the car. He looked over his shoulder again as the vehicle drew closer, but kept walking.

The car’s engine roared suddenly. Tires squealed.

Nick dove sideways. But not fast enough.

The chrome bumper slammed into his thigh, the impact catapulting him across the hood.

He tried to roll with the impact, lessen its pounding effect, but pain exploded in his head as he crashed into the windshield.

Chapter Three

An hour later, Kelly took the winding road to the marina where she kept her boat. She had planned to stay at Aunt Sarah’s tonight, as she had for the past two nights, because her aunt was out of town, but now wanted the comfort of her own bed.

Having parked at the far edge of the lot, she walked toward the rented slip behind the building. A breeze off the water cooled the night, brought the temperatures, which hovered close to a hundred in the daytime, down to the low nineties, almost bearable if you added a cold drink to the equation.

The squat, frame structure housing the water taxi lay dark. She glanced absently in the front window as she passed. Lights from the back filtered through, creating a shadowed army out of several dozen plastic waiting room chairs.

During the drive, she had managed to keep her thoughts away from Nick and focused on Ben.

She wondered if he was worried about Bird of Paradise going under. Sixty-year-old mechanics weren’t exactly in demand. Especially considering the industry’s recent problems. Within the past month, one of the big carriers had announced it was closing its doors for good. That meant huge layoffs and a glut of aviation workers scrambling for jobs. Not that Ben would be the only one faced with the prospect. It wasn’t just ticket agents and flight attendants and mechanics losing jobs. There would be plenty of pilots walking the streets, too. Many of them would be far more experienced than she was.

Kelly turned the corner of the building. A bulb had burned out in the light fixture, leaving the sidewalk in deeper darkness. She shifted the weight of the satchel to her other shoulder. In all likelihood, to find work, she’d have to leave the islands and her aunt.

The sudden pain in her upper arm nearly drove her to her knees. She screamed. Someone—a man—a large man—grabbed her and hauled her back into the dark alcove of the side entrance.

He shoved her face-first against the building. Splinters from the rough wood siding scraped her palms as she tried to protect her face.

“Shut up.” A knife blade flashed next to her cheek.

When she tried to look at him, he drove her farther into the corner.

“Do that again, you’re dead.”

Blood pounded in her ears. She gulped air, tried to stay reasonably calm by concentrating on fragments of information. He was dressed well. Not a T-shirt. A sports jacket. Hard-soled shoes. She could hear them against the concrete. His voice. Not rough, like his words. Maybe from the Midwest.

“There’s some money in my bag. Take it. Whatever you—”

Not waiting for her to finish. He jerked the satchel off her arm, tossing it away, then forced a dirty burlap bag over her head.

She gagged violently. The scratchy cloth smelled as if it had been used to haul fish or conch. Or worse.

Blinded, she could still feel the blade resting against the side of her neck. He pulled her around, ripped open her blouse.

Air spilled from her lungs. “No!” She tried to pull away. He forced her flat to the wall again.

“Please. No,” she begged in a harsh whisper, unable to find the breath to speak louder. “Please!”

The sound of his heavy breathing told her he was looking at her. As his fingers brushed the material covering her breasts, then explored more boldly, she attempted to emotionally disconnect. She needed to stay calm, to think. He didn’t want her able to identify him. Maybe he intended to let her live.

Or was the blindfold meant to terrify her further?

He chuckled softly as a tremor went through her. “I said take it easy. Kelly.”

She went rigid at the sound of her name, was thankful for the wall at her back when her knees gave out. She wasn’t a random victim. He knew her. How? From where?

The knife scraping the side of her neck cut short any further attempt to think.

He dragged the blade upward almost as if it were a razor, heat, the warm trickle of her blood, following the cool sting of steel.

She swallowed reflexively, felt the edge bite again. Instinct ordered her to jerk away. She fought the urge this time. “Please,” she begged again through gritted teeth. “Please…”

Ignoring her pleas, or perhaps because he enjoyed hearing them, he used the tip of the knife, this time slicing the skin over her collarbone. She bit back the sharp gasp of pain. Living was all that mattered.

“I…I’ll do whatever…y…you want,” she repeated, the sour burn of bile mixing at the back of her throat with the metallic taste of fear.

“Sure you will. Now that I’ve got your attention. And because you’re a smart lady and you want to live, don’t you?”

She nodded.

Where was the knife? She couldn’t feel it. Not at her throat. Not where he’d just cut her. Where was it?

“You’ve got something doesn’t belong to you. All you have to do is return it.”

“I don’t underst—”

He forced a knee between her legs. “Mr. Binelli pays me to make sure no one screws with him. I’m damned good at it, too. So don’t screw with me.”

“I…I don’t know what… I don’t know any Bin…Binelli. A mistake—”

He used his grip on the burlap sack to slam her head back against the siding, used his forearm across her throat to keep her there. “No. You’re making the mistake, Kelly.”

He stroked a fingertip over the wound on her collar bone, the touch oddly gentle, at odds with his other actions, then traced a circle around each cloth-covered nipple. She clenched her eyes closed as if that would somehow block out the image in her mind. It didn’t.

“Perhaps you remember him now?” he asked calmly. She could feel his erection now. Pressing against her abdomen.

She found herself nodding. Give him what he wants. Appear to go along. Survive.

“See. Isn’t that easier? You have twenty-four hours to return what doesn’t belong to you.”

She numbly nodded again.

“There was a Customs man at your place. What did he want?”

He’d been watching her even then, knew Nick had been there. When she tried to speak, her voice shook. “He wanted to… He asked about flights.”

His fingers continued their play. “You wouldn’t be stupid enough to lie to me, would you?”

She swallowed. “No. I wouldn’t—”

“I didn’t think so. And it better stay that way. Return what doesn’t belong to you and you’ll live.” He leaned down until his mouth was next to her ear. “Play games, talk to Customs or the police, the only thing you’ll be good for is shark bait.”

He abruptly shoved her down into the corner. She cowered on the cold concrete.

Pulling her blouse together, she felt for buttons with stiff fingers; finding none, she tied it together. She could feel him standing over her. Clasping her arms, she fought to control the sharp shudders that came endlessly, one after the other.

When enough minutes had stretched, soundless and expectant—when she had finally convinced herself she was wrong about her attacker still being there—she felt the first glimmer of relief and reached for the burlap still covering her head.

His low chuckle stopped her in midmotion.

He’d been watching her cringe like some beaten animal at his feet. Anger twisted in her.

She left the blindfold in place, but pushed her way up the wall until she stood unsteadily. “You won’t kill me. We both know it. Not until Binelli gets what he wants.”

He laughed. “Don’t go thinking you’re too smart, Kelly. Or I’ll be forced to finish what I’ve started here.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you sick bastard?”

He stepped closer. “No. I’d love it.”

At his words, Kelly took a sharp breath. She listened to the crunch of his footsteps as he walked away.

With the first heave, Kelly ripped off the hood. Doubled over, she emptied her stomach in the corner. She scraped at the dampness on her cheeks, wobbled back a step, then, straightening, dragged her fingers through her sweaty hair. She tested her bruised cheekbone.

Binelli? Who in the hell was Binelli? Why did her attacker think she knew him when she’d never even heard the name before?

She grappled to make any sense out of what had happened, but no matter how she turned it, she was in deep trouble. The kind where people ended up dead.

She’d been right all along. Nick’s showing up tonight hadn’t been by chance. He’d been after something. She couldn’t even begin to figure out what was going on, but she was sure Nick already knew what the attack had been all about.

She stood there in indecision. She needed to move. But where? Going to the police would be a waste of time. They couldn’t help her. They’d fill out a report. Send someone out to gather evidence, including the vomit. In the meantime, she’d be like a blind woman. She didn’t known what her attacker looked like. He could walk up to her in broad daylight on the street, in a crowd, or anywhere, and kill her.

Who was Binelli?

Taking a sharp breath, she bent forward, pushing hard against her abdomen, the panic so sharp it felt as if a knife were being driven between her ribs. When she finally managed to straighten again, sweat poured from her.

If she wanted to live, she needed answers.

And the only one likely to have them was Nick.

THERE WERE NO LIGHTS ON inside the hotel, most tourists having fled the intense heat of July and the threat of hurricane season. The air was heavy and hot and suffocating; the moon, nearly full and high in the sky, was bright enough to throw sharp shadows beneath the trees.

A hunter’s moon.

Kelly circled the long, low-slung structure until she spotted a single room off by itself where the drapes were drawn.

She approached carefully. If there had been anywhere else for her to go for the answers, anyone else for her to turn to, she wouldn’t have come here.

After looking nervously over her shoulder, the memory of her attacker’s warning to stay clear of Nick still prominent in her mind, she tapped lightly.

“Nick, open up. It’s Kelly.”

Nothing. Not even the sound of someone moving around inside. She rapped again, this time with more force.

Then, when there was no answer, with desperation.

The panic she’d barely kept under control broke loose inside her and she pounded harder. Had he lied about where he was staying?

And, if he wasn’t here, what was she going to do? Where would she go? Who could she turn to?

“It’s a little late for social calls.”

Though the slow drawl of Nick’s words had barely broken the night’s silence, she jumped.

As she spun to face him, her hand climbed to her throat, remained there.

He leaned against a pillar not more than five feet away, his stance seemingly as lazy as his voice. And yet, even with the distance between them, she could feel the tension in his body, the sharp interest in his gaze.

He wore the jeans he’d had on earlier and a dark shirt, which hung from his shoulders unbuttoned and untucked. As her glance swept down to his bare feet, she hesitated on the automatic he held in front of him, the barrel currently pointed at the concrete.

He thumbed on the safety before palming the piece.

“I would have figured this was the last place you’d show up tonight, Kel.” He arched a brow. “Or any night, for that matter.”

She shut her eyes briefly, forcing her thoughts into some semblance of order, and was thankful for the deeper shadows of the covered walkway. She didn’t want him to see just how terrified, how desperate she was feeling.

Hugging the green hooded jacket she’d pulled on over her ruined blouse, she looked down, the shakes still wracking her body. “I want some answers.”

As he closed the distance between them, Nick watched for signs of a weapon, but saw none. A satchel weighted her left shoulder, a good spot to conceal a gun, but she seemed barely to notice it hanging there. Her hair was windblown around her face.

Stopping in front of her, he couldn’t seem to stop his fingers from lifting a strand of it, testing its texture, getting closer to her than she wanted him to be. Invading her space.

He realized he’d forgotten just how short she was. Maybe five-four at most and a hundred and ten pounds of hard muscle and flowing curves. Soft skin. An appealing package if you could ignore her taste in business partners.

“What kind of answers are you looking for?”

As he tucked the hair behind her ear, he saw the scrape on the side of her neck. Or was it a burn of some sort? “What’s this?”

When he tried to touch her, she jerked away, covered the area with her hand.

“Nothing,” she said and met his gaze.

It worried him that the usual directness was oddly absent, her pupils appearing overdilated. As if she were on something.

Nick felt his nerves take a little joyride on him. He needed to be damned careful. It had been after leaving her hangar tonight that someone had tried to resurface the local roads with his hide. Either she’d made a phone call after he’d left or she was being watched and whoever was doing the watching had followed him.

“Kelly?”

She looked up at him. “I want… I need to know the real reason you came to see me. No more games,” she added.

Without answering, he reached around her and turned the doorknob. He sensed her withdrawal as he once more got too close. “Let’s take this conversation inside. Where we can talk without any interruptions.”

She remained where she was, her arms locked around her body, across the jacket. Out on the water, it might have been needed, but why continue to wear the coat? Especially zipped up tight as it was now?

Unless she was hiding something beneath.

“Inside is safer.” Without waiting for her agreement, he shoved the door wide and, simply by advancing, forced her backward.

All of the rooms had been furnished pretty much the same. Inexpensive hotel furniture from the eighties, worn terrazzo floors, cotton spreads. A refrigerator in one corner.

“You wouldn’t have brought any surprises with you?” he asked as he kicked the door shut and slid the Glock into the holster concealed beneath his shirt. “Maybe in that bag of yours?”

He stripped the satchel off her shoulder and tossed it toward the bed, heard it land on the mattress. “I need to check you for a weapon.”

“There’s no need—”

“We can make this fast and easy, or difficult. It’s your choice. But I don’t plan to have a gun stuck in my face twice in one night.”

Making a sound somewhere between disbelief and disgust, she held her arms away from her sides.

He patted her down, his hands moving over her quickly, efficiently, finding those areas where concealment of an automatic weapon might be possible. He could feel her rebelling when he checked the area between and below her breasts, then lower.

Touching her in the nearly dark room, even in the rapid, fluid motion of a professional body search, even with the possibility someone might bust through the door behind him, brought back memories of the last night they’d spent together. His hands had done a hell of a lot more in Key West. And, yet, he recalled how, at the time, it hadn’t been nearly enough. Another of his regrets, he realized, and tossed it into the basket with the rest of them. One of these days, he was going to run out of room.

Nick stepped back abruptly. After dragging a small dresser in front of the door, he picked up the satchel and grabbed Kelly loosely by the upper arm. “Should I expect company?”

“Like who?”

The edge of irritation and impatience in her voice sounded more like the woman who had confronted him with a gun earlier that night. Moments ago outside, he’d thought he’d sensed something far different, something he hadn’t been able to identify. And, because he couldn’t, it had worried him. “Maybe you brought a few friends along.”

“I think I would remember if I had.”

“But would you tell me?”

He wasn’t surprised when she ignored the question.

“Next door,” he ordered, ushering her toward the connecting opening.

After twisting the lock and shoving a straightback chair under the knob, he crossed to the window. He didn’t like it. Kelly showing up like this. First the hit-and-run attempt and now Kelly’s nocturnal visit.

What did it mean? Who wanted him dead? No one from the States had known where he was going or what his intentions were. As far as Myron knew, he was taking a few weeks off to get his head straightened out.

“Stay there,” Nick ordered when she tried to follow. As she sank onto the bed, he briefly scanned the stretch of lawn ending at the incline to the beach below, then dropped the satchel at his feet and stooped next to it. He used one hand to do a rough search. Finding no weapon, he tossed it on the closest bed. “You packed light tonight.”

She retrieved the bag. “Did you really expect to find a gun in there?”

“Call me cautious.”

Something Ake hadn’t been on that final night. Which was only one aspect of his murder that worried Nick. How had the killer managed to get close enough on a wide-open rooftop to put two well-placed bullets in Ake’s skull? Nick didn’t like any of the possibilities that came to mind.

He again looked out the window. If trouble came, it would be from out there. “You wanted to talk, so have at it.”

“Why are you over here? Out of your jurisdiction?”

“Vacation.” He glanced at her and added, “To do some scuba diving.”

In obvious impatience at his answer, she shoved a hand through her hair. She glanced away briefly, maybe in indecision, then met his gaze again, her lips thinned.

“You expect me to believe that? That you just happened to run into Ben tonight over at Gilroy’s—a meeting Ben says never took place? That you decided to stop by the hangar for the sake of old times?” She took a sharp breath. “The old times weren’t that good, Nick. In fact, I could have gone my whole life without ever laying eyes on you again.”

She tightened her arms across her. “So can we just cut to the chase here? What is it you’re after? What is it you think I’m involved in?”

“Come off it, Kelly. Wasn’t it you who said no more games?”

“Who is Binelli?”

His expression hardened. “The innocent act won’t play this time. I may have bought it seven years ago, but I know better this time. Tell me, what are the chances of an innocent citizen’s name coming up twice in connection to the same type of crime?”

She remained in the shadows. “You think I’m smuggling again.”

“If you came here hoping to convince me you’re not laundering Binelli’s drug money, you’re wasting your breath.” He glanced out the window again.

“Laundering drug money? You’re wrong, Nick, about me, about my being involved with anyone named Binelli. As wrong as you were about everything seven years ago.”

He turned and faced her. “Do I need to remind you that your father’s prints were on the two remaining crates we found in the storeroom that morning, on the guns inside them?”

“Do I need to remind you that, except for the prints, except for the word of a weapons dealer who had previously perjured himself on the stand, the evidence was circumstantial? Photos of me and Dad with Aidan. He’d been a guest in our house for years. Not often, maybe, but he still stopped around to talk about old times, about flying. God, Nick, they grew up together.”

“On the streets of Belfast. Where they both lost family.”

“Dad hated war, violence of any kind.”

“Yet he welcomed a man with known terrorist connections into his home. Invited a man who supplied weapons that killed and maimed to sit at his table.”

“You sat there, too. He trusted you just as he did Aidan. Look how wrong he was about you. You betrayed the friendship in every conceivable way.”

“Are you suggesting he didn’t know about Aidan?”

She let out a sharp breath. “I don’t know. Maybe he did. Perhaps he turned a blind eye to Aidan’s connections. He never discussed Aidan with me. But my father can’t defend himself, can he? He never got the chance.”

“No, he didn’t. But does an innocent man hang himself? Leave a note admitting to a crime he didn’t commit? In that same note, exonerate his daughter? I’m sorry for what he did, but he was guilty.”

“And me? Because I didn’t hang myself. Does that mean I wasn’t guilty? Is that why you guys didn’t charge me?”

Nick rubbed his face. Had she been guilty then? Had she known what her father was doing? It was a question he’d wrestled with for the past seven years. And as far as the reason Kelly hadn’t been indicted, it had been a judgment call made by prosecutors. There had been no direct evidence linking Kelly to the guns. And they’d thought that selling nineteen-year-old Kelly as a desperate gun runner with connections to a terrorist organization to a jury would be a real uphill battle. One they might not win.

“Nick?”

“You’d do better to worry about the present, Kelly. If you want to talk, really talk, I’ll listen. I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“Just as you did in New Jersey?” She picked up the satchel from where she’d laid it on the bed, and then hesitated. In the dimness, he couldn’t read her eyes. “Maybe you’ve forgotten how it was, Nick. How you left me in that holding cell. How you walked away without ever once looking back.

“I had just watched my father be cut down from that rafter.” She took a deep breath, met his gaze again. “I thought I was in love with you back then. It was your arms I turned to, your arms I wanted locked around me. Until that moment, I trusted you. Even when I learned who you really were. What you were. I don’t think I’ll make the same mistake twice,” she offered and, without waiting, crossed to the door.

“Kelly?”

She stopped, her hand already on the knob.

“Be careful. Binelli plays by his own rules.” Nick didn’t know why he felt it necessary to offer the warning. Maybe because he knew the people she’d chosen to associate with, was worried she might not know the full extent of what they were capable of.

“I already got a taste of it tonight.” Turning, she unzipped her jacket, pulled it wide.

Confronted with the torn and bloodied blouse, Nick hauled her forward into the moonlight coming through the window. What he’d thought was a burn or scrape on the side of her neck, what she’d been careful to conceal from him by the hooded collar of her jacket, he now recognized as the work of a knife. Though it wasn’t, the cut in the area of her collarbone had bled enough to look serious. He didn’t miss the pattern some scum had drawn on her bra. All wounds easily concealed beneath clothing. Her attacker obviously had some practice at terrorizing women.

“Who did this?”

“We didn’t exactly get around to formal introductions.”

“Why did it happen?”

“Why? Because Binelli thinks I have something that belongs to him?”

Kelly stepped free of his grasp, rezipped the jacket as he moved back half a step. “I don’t suppose it matters that I have never set eyes on Binelli.”

“And that’s why some of Binelli’s muscle messed you up? Because you don’t know the man?”

“If I knew what was going on, I wouldn’t have wasted my time coming here, would I?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, his tone hard-edged. “With your back plastered to the wall, I might look like your best hope.”

Something, maybe indecision about his next move, made him look out the window at that moment.

A man sprinted across the lawn. A second followed.

Busy watching the two, he hadn’t seen Kelly reaching for the door again until it was almost too late. He grabbed her before she could get it open. “Don’t go out there. You’re safer with me. For now.”

She tried to shake free of his hold, but he only tightened his grip on her upper arm. “Damn it! Listen to me. There are two men outside watching the room next door.”

“I don’t think I was followed. I was careful.”

“Which means it’s me they’re after.”

“Why would they be after you?”

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? The outcome will be the same. For both of us.”

“I was warned not to contact you or the police.”

He stared outside again. “So why did you come to me, Kelly, and not the police?”

“The police wouldn’t be able to protect me, not against someone like Binelli. And they’d only have questions. You, on the other hand, have answers.”

“None you’ll like.” He pushed her back into the shadows next to the wall, out of harm’s way, then flicked off the automatic’s safety.

“Hell of a first night of vacation, don’t you think?” he added as he took up a position next to the window.

Nick watched the shadows of two men sweep past. He didn’t question the decision to take Kelly along, told himself it was because she just might be able to provide him with some of the answers he needed. But he knew better.

“How did you get here?” he asked.

“Boat.”

Nick eased forward and, as he watched, one of the men rolled around in a smooth, practiced motion and kicked in the door to the adjoining room. Furniture thudded and banged. Nick’s attention shot to the connecting door between the two rooms as a solid blow landed against it.

He checked back outside to where the second man stood guard. He needed him to follow his partner inside. Otherwise, they were as good as trapped.

Another kick landed against the connecting door. He could hear the jamb splinter.

“Be ready for anything,” Nick said between gritted teeth, but didn’t look in Kelly’s direction.

The chair under the knob exploded across the room.

The second man followed the first in.

Nick ripped the front door open, grabbed Kelly and shoved her outside ahead of him.

Chapter Four

“No matter what, keep moving!”

Nick dragged her along with him. Moonlight splashed down on the wide expanse of yard, forcing them to hug the shadows of the cement block building.

At the sound of footsteps behind, he glanced back. “We’ve been made.” His fingers tightened around her upper arm. With the automatic held easily in his right hand, he looked more like a warrior than anything civilized. She took comfort in that. Nick was a tenacious fighter, a survivor. If anyone could keep them alive, he could.

He crowded her closer still to the building, until her shoulder scraped the block’s roughness. She gritted her teeth against the pain.

When she looked up at him, she noticed his attention focused on the walkway ahead. In another dozen yards, they’d run out of cover; they’d have to sprint across open lawn. “Is there another way to the dock?”

“Not without going back.”

“Where are the keys to the boat?” he asked sharply.

“In the ignition.”

Glancing back, he swore and roughly shoved her ahead of him, his body blocking hers as he lifted the gun. He squeezed off three quick rounds.

The vibration of sound slammed through her, sharp staccato punches to her chest. At any moment, she expected to feel the impact of bullets. She lost her hold on her bag and grabbed for it as Nick pulled her forward.

“Leave it!”

“No.” She jerked free.

With a grim expression, he retrieved it, passed it to her.

Thirty feet out, motion-sensitive outdoor flood lamps captured them in a searchlight glare. A shot, muffled by a silencer, popped. A second and third followed. The ground at their feet exploded.

Nick turned, fired quick rounds at the wall where their pursuers sought cover, then two more at the spotlights. Glass exploded and rained down as they continued to run.

Kelly shifted the weight of the satchel to the opposite shoulder. She pushed herself, yet still slowed Nick. If she hadn’t been such a damned coward, she’d tell him to leave her, but when it came to men with guns…

Another shot snapped. Her knees buckled. Nick grabbed her hand, and she half stumbled in his wake toward the stairs and the cover of trees ahead.

More shots. A barrage that chewed the air, the ground. Yet she could barely hear them over the roar of blood in her ears. They weren’t going to make it. It was all going to end here. She was never going to know why. Never going to know who.

Nick faltered beside her, then, with a sharp intake of breath, went down.

In horror, she watched as his face twisted with pain. He’d been shot. In the leg.

Cursing, he rolled and unloaded the remaining bullets from his position on the ground as the two men vaulted the wall. One fell, remained doubled over. Not dead, but wounded.

Nick ejected the spent clip. He slammed in another and immediately tapped out additional rounds, forcing the remaining man to seek shelter again.

Climbing to his feet, Nick pushed her ahead of him. “When we get to the top of the steps, I’ll drop back and slow him. If I’m not there by the time you have the motor started, get the hell out of here.” His fingers tightened. “Don’t wait on me.”

Her lips thinned. “You didn’t leave me back there.”

“I don’t have time to argue.”

“Just make sure you’re there.”

Kelly focused intently on the trees ahead, the shade beneath them. The possibility of some cover. But it would also make the steep stairs difficult to handle.

Her foot was already on the top step when she saw the man on her boat and dove to the ground. She barely heard the rustle of land crabs around her or felt their hard bodies brushing against her. The man now ripped open the compartments where bait and freshly caught fish were usually kept. Fiberglass covers slammed against the boat deck.

With the next burst of gunfire, he glanced up, appeared to gaze directly at her, though she knew he couldn’t really see her.

In the next instant, he vaulted over the side of the boat and onto the dock.

“More company,” she said when Nick dropped next to her.

For a brief second, breathing hard, he watched the man sprinting the length of the dock, then glanced over his shoulder, possibly gauging how much longer they had before they were squeezed. “I’ve always liked a challenge.”

“Well, I don’t.” She wiped the sweat from her forehead. “What now?” Her lungs still burning, she looked toward the hotel, but couldn’t locate the man closing in from behind. “I can’t run much farther. With your leg, neither can you. I know a place,” she said and fought to breathe. “Not too far. A house. We should be able…” She saw his hesitation. “If you have a better solution…”

The man was at the bottom of the steps now. In seconds, he could be right on top of them.

“Nick?”

He pulled her up. “Which way?”

As soon as they stood, they were spotted. The man below held fire, perhaps briefly afraid the shadows belonged to his friends, but the man behind didn’t hesitate. Bullets ripped savagely at leaves and twigs and hunks of bark.

After half a dozen steps. Nick pushed her to the ground. Dropping to one knee beside her, he unloaded yet another clip. Explosion after explosion went off until she lost track of which protected her—the ones from Nick’s gun—and which came from the weapons of their pursuers.

A bullet slammed within inches of her hand, then closer still until she felt the heat of its impact as it chewed a hole in the soil. Her chest ached as if she’d been pummeled. She couldn’t seem to breath. Or think. Or move. Instead of seconds and minutes, time was measured in never-ending explosions.

Then deafening silence.

Nick remained kneeling over her, his left hand keeping her down, his face barely discernable in the shadows as he waited. Instead of its usual saltiness, the night air tasted of spent powder. And of fear.

He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and bent down until his mouth was close to her ear. “When I give the signal, run. I’ll be right behind you.”

She looked around her for the first time. They were closer to the hotel’s maintenance alley than she had realized.

“Now!”

Kelly scrabbled to her feet, headed for the cover of a Dumpster as more rounds attempted to force them back to the ground. Nick followed.

They worked their way around the back of the hotel by way of the service courtyard and alley. The beach was an easy sprint just beyond and offered the cover of trees and dunes.

Ten minutes later, they ducked into a narrow lane created by tall, vine-covered fences. Nick rested behind a group of trash cans, while Kelly slumped against the side of the building, her lungs on fire. Her leg muscles, after running close to a mile in the soft sand, cramped. In fact, at that moment, there wasn’t much of her body that didn’t hurt, ache or burn.

“I don’t like it,” Nick said. “That was too easy.”

“Easy?” she managed between heaving breaths. “I’d like to see your idea of hard.” She closed her eyes. “I take that back.” She exhaled harshly. “I’d rather not.”

Nick’s expression remained grim. “Even if the one I hit wasn’t just wounded, one of the other two should have continued to chase us.”

“Maybe they were afraid of the police.”

“Men like that aren’t worried about the law.”

“You were well prepared,” she commented. “As if you were expecting them.”

“I was warned.” He placed the gun next to him on the pavement while he removed his shirt.

“You said those men might have been looking for you?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate.

Earlier, she’d noticed changes in him. But since she’d knocked on his door those differences had become even more apparent. There had been no hesitation, no change in his voice when he talked of killing a man.

Seven years ago, there had been a softness in Nick. It had been so deeply imbedded at his core it had been nearly impossible to reach, but in those last few weeks before her father’s suicide, before everything had changed, she’d seen glimpses. She suspected it no longer existed. He was now as ruthless and determined as the men following them. The bare, well-muscled chest and shoulders and the leather holster weighted with a very serious piece of steel did nothing to lessen her impression of him. Nor did the closed expression on his rugged face.

With her forearm, Kelly swiped away some of the sweat continuing to bead her forehead. What had happened in the intervening years to harden him. The job, no doubt.

“How many bullets do you have left?”

He stood to wrap the shirt around his thigh. “Enough to keep us alive a bit longer.”

The wound didn’t look so bad from where she was sitting, though she suspected, listening to his harsh intake of breath as he pulled the material tight, it was causing him quite a bit of pain.

Kelly followed suit and got to her feet. The last thing she wanted to be was left behind. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Yeah.” He started to take her arm, then seemed to decide against it. “It’ll need to be cleaned out when we get wherever we’re going. Perhaps now would be a good time for you to let me in on our destination.”

Kelly picked her way along the alley. “My aunt’s house. She’s out of town until tomorrow.”

Nick caught up and pulled her to a stop. “I don’t recall any aunt.” He tightened his fingers around her arm.

She sensed his distrust. “I’ll tell you what, Cavanaugh. You can believe whatever you want. You can put your ass right back on the ground and stay here with your leg the way it is, but, right now, I want more cover than this alley is providing and maybe some kind of bed.”

With that, she jerked free of his hold and turned and walked away. Nick caught up, fell in step beside her.

They were a strange pair, he decided. Neither trusting the other, yet linked together again by a second twist of fate. He glanced over at her, studied her profile. The hair, red-gold when caught in sunlight or in lamplight, turned a paler, more muted shade in the moonlight. The tail end of a breeze played with it now.

He recalled the feel of it earlier. Silky and cool. Just like her skin… Nick kicked that door shut. Kelly was no less desirable now than she had been back in Jersey, but he was a hell of a lot smarter now.

They passed no one as they traveled the narrow streets.

Brightly colored cottages and shacks jumbled along the waterfront like cereal boxes on a shelf. The muggy night air offered odors. Age and uncollected trash. Hibiscus and frangipani blooms. The stench of oyster beds at low tide.

Though Elbow Cay was a decent-sized island, the settlement was compact, small enough they’d be easy to spot.

“I’d liked to get off these streets. How much farther?

“We’re close.”

He followed without comment when she ducked down a narrow alley between a pair of two-story clapboard structures. Though she didn’t knock before entering the unlocked door of one of them, caution made him pause to check the area.

A cat, curled in sleep, was braced against the front door of the other building as if waiting for it to open. A flag barely fluttered overhead. Otherwise, there was no sign of life, no lights on inside either home.

The door through which Kelly disappeared groaned softly with the breeze. Tension tightened in him as he considered the possibility he’d walked into a trap. Not of Binelli’s making, but of Kelly’s. There was no aunt. He’d done the background check on her seven years ago and knew as much.

Nick removed the magazine clip from his weapon, switched it with the full one in his pocket. Safety off, he edged inside, halting next to her.

Except for the subtle scent of a recently cooked meal, the dark room smelled much as the outdoors had. The French doors along the opposite wall were open, moonlight angling into an enclosed courtyard beyond.

Something moved in the shadows and he aimed the Glock.

“No!” Kelly ordered in a desperate whisper and nearly tripped over a suitcase. “It’s a cat.”

Nick dropped the muzzle of his weapon. “A cat?” Most of the furniture suddenly seemed alive as tabbies and Persians and calicos spilled like an advancing army onto the floor. Some mewed in quiet greeting, others in a complaining meow.

“Looks like the local feline rescue.”

He nudged a suitcase with a foot. “Your aunt’s? The one who is out of town?”

He didn’t like it. He was still weighing his options when she suddenly tried to shove past him and out the door.

“We can’t stay here.”

Instead of letting her go, Nick pushed her farther inside, closed the door behind them.

If she was worried about who was upstairs there was a fifty-fifty chance it was an aunt. They were better odds than he’d get with Binelli’s people.

“We stay here tonight and get out before first light.”

“No we don’t. I won’t put her at risk.”

“You should have thought about that before now.” He wrapped a hand around her upper arm. “But since you didn’t, you can make some introductions.”

She tried to twist free. “Like hell, I will! Just look at us. Your leg. My clothes. The only thing that would accomplish is scaring her.”

“Where does she sleep?”

“Upstairs. But, Nick, please don’t—”

“Save it, sweetheart.” He escorted her roughly to the steps, Kelly continuing to fight him.

“Damn it, Nick!”

He only tightened his hold. “Maybe you’ve forgotten just how well I knew you at one time. And maybe you’ve forgotten that touching performance you gave the press about how your father was the only family you had? How you had been left alone in the world?”

Nick felt her anger even before it manifested itself into the small, but hard fist she threw at him. The blow was glancing, but still carried enough power that when it landed on his already bruised ribs, he fell back half a step.

She didn’t fight like a girl. He realized he should have remembered as much. When she would have tried a second, he caught her wrist. “Take it easy. I just wanted to get the story straight.”

Eyeing him, Kelly pushed a section of hair behind her ear. There was no way he was ever going to believe her or trust her. And no reason to continue fighting the inevitable.

Besides, at the moment she wanted a shower and a bed. “Okay. Whatever.”

He waited while she zipped the jacket, did her best to straighten her hair.

They climbed into the darkness. The air was warm and musty, the daytime heat trapped in the narrow stairwell. The wooden treads, weak with age, gave slightly under his heavier weight. Ahead of him, Kelly moved with the sureness of familiarity.

Near the top, he pulled her to a stop. He could feel the rigid anger in her body. Or perhaps it was fear.

Was she afraid she’d be caught in the cross fire? He had proof of her complicity. Binelli wouldn’t be after her if she hadn’t double-crossed him. If she would double-cross someone like Binelli, why not a Customs agent?

This time, when Kelly tried to move ahead, Nick tugged her back against him. “Not so fast.” His hand crept beneath her hair as he eased her more tightly against him with the hand still holding the automatic.

He was suddenly very aware of the soft feel of her body touching his. “I’d hate to see anything happen to you, so don’t do anything foolish.” He dropped the hand holding the gun, allowing their bodies to hide the weapon.

“Aunt Sarah?”

Nick heard the shift of sheets. As light leaked from beneath the closed door, he eased back, taking Kelly with him. The door opened slowly.

The woman was somewhere in her eighties. Her white hair hung in braids on either side of her face.

“Has something happened, dear?”

“Just a boat problem. Nothing serious. I hope you don’t mind if Nick uses the guest room?”

“Of course not. Let me pull on a robe and I’ll help you freshen the linens.”

“The sheets are fine.” Kelly offered a reassuring smile. “Go back to bed. I’ll take care of Nick. I just wanted you to know we were here in case you heard us moving around.”

“If you are certain?”

Kelly nodded. “I didn’t expect you back until tomorrow.”

“I missed my kitties.”

“Of course you did,” Kelly murmured. “Good night, then,”

As soon as the door closed, Kelly faced Nick. “Unless you’re afraid of eighty-two-year-old women and what they might do to you in your bed, you should be satisfied now, Investigator.”

When she shoved past him, he let her go.

Kelly waited for him at the bottom of the steps. “The bedroom’s this way.” She led him through the kitchen, then down a cramped hall at the back of the house.

“The bed isn’t the most comfortable,” she said as she opened a door.

The glow of the small lamp she turned on seemed to mellow the scratched and dented surface of the brass headboard. A large crucifix hung in the shadows just above and reminded him of the one over his grandparents’ bed.

On the opposite wall, a dresser stood, topped by a mirror.

Except for the large, boldly done oil painting of a calico cat sitting in the sculptural shade beneath a tree, the room was dated and, Nick suspected, rarely used.

Kelly switched on the ceiling fan before facing him, her expression grim. It was the first time he’d seen her in reasonably good lighting since leaving her at the hangar. A bruise darkened on her forehead near the scalp, a cut marred the left corner of her swollen lower lip.

His gaze traveled lower still, to the closed jacket. He knew what it covered. “Maybe I should take a look?” Without asking, he pulled the zipper down.

She stopped him. He could feel the tremor of her hands where they loosely wrapped his wrist. “No. I’ll do it later. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“So he just roughed you up?”

After several long moments in which he sensed she fought to stay in control, she answered him, her voice so low he barely heard her. “If you’re asking if he raped me, no. He was too busy showing me what could be done with a steel blade and a burlap sack.”

She lifted her eyes to his and, making no move to cover herself, seemed to almost invite his gaze.

Her words, the added details, made what she’d gone through that much more real for him. Though he tried not to, he envisioned the attack, the sack covering her head, a knife pressed to her throat. The anger came, as he’d known it would. Maybe even as she’d known it would.

The blood on her blouse had long ago dried, as had the dark circles the psychotic bastard had drawn on the material covering her breasts, but the cut at her collarbone still seeped.

The most intense wound, though, shone in her eyes. She’d been terrorized, and even now he suspected the assault played over and over and over in her head like a gritty film clip.

Nick forced himself to look away. He’d keep her safe. For tonight. For longer if she’d let him, but he was afraid she wouldn’t. Maybe he could convince her to turn herself in, turn state’s evidence against Binelli.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured and, lowering his hands, stepped back. Now wasn’t the time to think about the future. Right now he needed to focus on their immediate survival.

“I dropped my phone back at the hotel. Do you carry a cell or does your aunt have one I can use?”

“Battery is dead on mine. There’s a pay phone two blocks over. Occasionally it even works.”

“No good. Too risky.”

“The dive shop has one. Rod’s a good friend. He usually opens early.”

Nick nodded.

“In the meantime,” she said, “we should take care of your leg.”

“Maybe we should talk first. About what you know. And exactly what it is Binelli wants back.”

“I’ll say it one more time. I don’t know Binelli.”

Nick rubbed his face. “You expect me to believe a criminal intelligent enough to run an operation the size of his, breaking every law on the books without leaving enough evidence for any government agency to get him off the street, doesn’t know who works for him?”

Kelly’s chin edged up. “Do I expect you to believe it? No. I don’t even believe it.” She arched a brow. “But it’s true.”

Nick shifted to ease the ache in his leg. “That’s bull!”

“Okay, Nick, what evidence do you have linking me to Binelli? More photos?”

“For starters.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked. “Since February, Binelli’s attorney has been using your airline on a weekly basis, always flying into Marsh Harbor on Fridays, back out on Sundays.”

“Jeff Myers is Binelli’s attorney?”

With one brow raised, he offered a hard smile. “You want me to believe you didn’t know that?”

“The only thing Jeff Myers is to me is a fare. As far as his frequent trips, he claimed he had a boat over here. Liked to dive. I didn’t believe him, of course.”

“Why?”

“It’s hard to spend any time on a boat without getting a suntan, or at least a burn.”

“Then what did you think he was doing on all those trips?”

“Actually, I didn’t much care. But if I thought anything, I suppose I figured he had a boyfriend over here and that whatever he was doing was none of my damned business.” She crossed her arms. “What else, Nick?”

“Past history, of course.”

“That would play a prominent role. Do I need to remind you once more that I was never tried in a court of law, never found guilty of anything?”

“Doesn’t make you innocent. Where did the extra fifty thousand in your account last month come from?”

Her eyes narrowed. He’d hoped to surprise her, and perhaps he had. But there was no way for him to be certain.

“Ben,” she said after a several-second hesitation.

“And where did Ben come by that kind of money?”

“A relative passed away. A distant uncle or something. He left Ben his estate.”

“Estates aren’t settled in cash, Kelly.”

“The deposit was in cash?”

Nick arched a brow. “You didn’t know that, either, huh?”

“Ben insisted on taking care of the banking.” She kept her gaze level and steady with his.

“Didn’t you find the inheritance story a bit coincidental? Ben producing cash just when you were turned down for a loan?”

“No.” She paced away. “Maybe. I don’t know,” she said, her frustration coming through in her voice this time.

“Is it possible Ben works for Binelli? Could he be loading and unloading the money without your knowledge?” At her hesitation, he added, “It wouldn’t be difficult for him to convince Binelli you’re in on the scheme.”

She shook her head. “I do the preflight checks. I handle most of the cargo. To smuggle something without my stumbling onto it at some point is nearly inconceivable.”

“Which, since you’re a two-man operation, leaves you.”

“You would see it that way.” She flattened her lips and frowned. “This is getting us nowhere.”

“It’s getting us to a consideration you haven’t even entertained.” Kelly might not fear him, but there was one thing she was truly frightened of. “The scum who assaulted you tonight wasn’t playing at being tough. Binelli only hires the best. And he’ll use whatever methods are necessary to make sure you either can’t or won’t talk to the government. My guess is, if he can’t get to you, he’ll start with those closest to you.”

He saw the horror in her eyes. There was a part of him that regretted being the one to lay it on the line for her, but she needed to know what she was up against.

“Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?” She turned away. “I’ll get a towel and some supplies for your leg,” she said, her voice dull and flat. “The bath is through the door.”

WHEN SHE RETURNED ten minutes later, he had a towel wrapped around his waist. A small amount of blood trailed down his damp leg. She placed the gauze and alcohol, along with scissors, tweezers and tape, on the mattress, then indicated the space next to the supplies.

He sank onto the edge of the bed. “Just take it easy with the alcohol. I’m not big into pain.”

Kneeling in front of him, Kelly shifted the towel slightly to get better access to his upper thigh. The bullet had punched a hole through the thick cord of muscle, taking only a slightly larger piece of flesh as it exited.

“Maybe I should be thankful he was using a copper jacket.”

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