Someone Safe

“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?”