Navajo Echoes

“Small world.” One in which a governor of a Caribbean island was linked with a businessman connected to the Russian mob in Denver. Why would Kirshner be here? Several possibilities presented themselves. All were negative.

Lily kept the conversation going. “We’d really like to try some of the local foods. Do you recommend any restaurants?”

He waggled a forefinger at her. “I cannot choose just one. The others would be insulted. But I can warn you that many of our dishes are very spicy.”

“I love hot food. And all these wonderful fruits. Mangos and guava.”

She played the role of innocent tourist to the hilt, leading the governor and his entourage through a litany of small talk, even soliciting a recipe for curried goat that was used by the governor’s housekeeper.

John wasn’t sure where she was headed with this chat until she slipped in a casual question. “I’d really like to know how to make that dish. May I stop by and talk with your housekeeper? If it’s not too much of an imposition.”

“I have a better idea,” Ramon said. “Tomorrow afternoon at four, I am hosting a cocktail party at the governor’s mansion, where many of our local specialties will be served as appetizers. I would be pleased to have you join us.”

“Thank you, Governor,” Lily said. “You’re so gracious. We’ll be there.”

After a few more words, they rejoined the throng of dancers on the sand. John leaned close to her ear. “Nice work on wrangling that invite.”

“Like Sun Tzu said—keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“You think the governor is an enemy?”

“He’s suspicious, especially since he knows Kirshner.”

John agreed. When Lily put her mind to the task, she had the makings of a damned good agent. Not that he intended to tell her so. She had plenty of ego without his compliments.

AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK, THE NIGHT was still warm, but Lily was glad that she’d purchased a couple of black sweatshirts to cover their colorful island clothes. They needed to be subtle and careful as they headed out for their midnight meeting with Robert Prescott.

As soon as they left the hotel, John pointed out the small, dark man who followed them at a consistent twenty-foot distance, stopping when they stopped and starting up again when they moved on. They meandered along the main road in town, crossing from one side of the street to the other. Most of the storefront shops were closed, but the restaurants and taverns were still open for the tourists. She paused to look in a window and turned her gaze toward the street behind them. For a moment, she thought they’d shaken their silent pursuer. But no. “He’s still there. Who sent him?”

“Your new best friend. The governor.”

“Because I wanted the recipe for curried goat?”

“You know why we’re being followed,” John said.

Because they might lead the way to Robert Prescott. In spite of the easygoing Caribbean atmosphere, she was aware of the long grasp of danger that reached all the way from Denver to Cuerva. Other agents at PPS had been threatened. They had lost one of their own.

The reappearance and return of Robert Prescott signaled the end game. The final solution. And someone wanted to stop them.

John checked his wristwatch. “We’re running out of time.”

“How far to Pirate Cove?”

“Three miles. We can follow the road that runs along the perimeter of the island and then cut down to the beach.”

“Why not start on the beach? We could swim.”

“Bad idea.”

She resented the way he dismissed her suggestion without even considering it. “Why?”

“On the beach, there’s no cover. We’d be too obvious. And if somebody wanted to shoot us—”

“No way. If this guy intended to gun us down, he’s had plenty of opportunities.”

“Not really. I’ve kept to populated areas.”

“It’s a long walk.” She shuffled along beside him. After the freedom of dancing on the sand, her sandals felt like bricks strapped to her feet and the idea of another cross-island trek almost brought tears to her eyes.

He pointed to a colorfully painted bench beside a beige stucco wall. “Wait here.”

Splitting up seemed like a terrible plan, but she did as John ordered, sinking onto the bench, bending down to massage her calf and putting her ankle holster within easy reach.

John didn’t go far. He approached a young man sitting on a beat-up motor scooter. After a quick negotiation and an exchange of cash from John’s money belt, they had transportation.

“Did you rent this?” she asked.

“Bought it.”

His extravagance surprised her. “What about the expense account?”

“I’ll resell when we’re done. Maybe even turn a profit.”

She perched behind John on the scooter, which was only slightly larger than a moped and not much faster. Top speed was probably about thirty miles per hour, but it was better than walking.

On the scooter, they doubled back, passing the man who had been following them. He jogged after them. John whipped onto a side street, then took a couple more zigzags. Then, they were on an unlit two-lane asphalt road, bordered by thick vegetation on either side.

Despite the crowds in town, there were no cars out here. She held on to John’s waist for balance, but her gaze fastened on the road behind them. If the man who had been following them gave pursuit, her backside presented an obvious target. She saw no one. No headlights. No light at all except for the full moon. No sounds but the putt-putt of the scooter and the squawks of island parrots.

The entire island was only sixteen miles from end to end, and it didn’t take long to get to the far end, where John turned right onto a road that was little more than a bike path. At a rocky strip of beach, he stopped. “This must be it. Pirate Cove.”

“How are we doing for time?”

He checked his watch. “Six minutes to midnight.”

While John hid the scooter in the lush under-growth, she found a shadowed hiding place near the shore. She sat with her knees pulled up and her back leaning against the limestone.

She could see how Pirate Cove had gotten its name. Jagged rocks thrust into the sea, creating a natural barrier where smugglers could hide. Blackbeard and his crew of buccaneers might have rowed ashore to this very place and buried their treasure of gold doubloons.

John joined her and stretched his long legs out straight in front of him.

They sat quietly. Exhaustion rolled over her like waves from the sea, but her mind was still active. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.”

“About what?”

“You reminded me that I’m not a cop anymore.”

“Right.”

“That badge comes in handy,” she said. “If I were a cop, I wouldn’t have spent the past hour dodging through town, evading a tail. I’d arrest the creep and move on.”

“Simple,” he said.

And nothing about PPS was simple. “Our work is way more complicated than regular law enforcement. We don’t have the authority to lock up the bad guys. On the other hand, we’re not limited by a need for search warrants and chain-of-evidence procedure.”

“For someone like you, someone who acts on instinct, that ought to make a positive difference.”

She liked the freedom of thinking outside the box, but some of the things their job required bordered on being illegal. Like not reporting the plane crash. “It’s a little confusing.”

“How so?”

“Have you ever been asked to do something you thought was wrong? Like being a bodyguard for somebody who wasn’t a good person.”

“That’s happened,” he said. “But I didn’t think it was morally wrong. Even scumbags deserve protection.”

“How do you know you’re doing the right thing?”

When he turned toward her, the moonlight cast an intriguing shadow below his high cheekbones. “I trust in what I’m doing because I trust the vision of Robert Prescott, who founded PPS. He’s a good man. No matter what he asked me to do, I’d do it. Without questions.”

She’d heard so many stories about Robert Prescott, the former agent for the British secret service who was involved in dozens of international conspiracies. After he supposedly was killed in a fiery plane crash in Europe, the legends got bigger. Robert Prescott came off sounding like a combination of a superhero and James Bond. “You’ve been with him a long time. What’s he really like?”

“He has the qualities I respect. A sense of honor. Courage. Loyalty. He loves his wife, Evangeline, with all his heart.”

And yet, he’d stayed away for two years. There must have been compelling reasons. Soon Lily would know. Soon she would meet the legend himself. Excitement stirred her senses. Here she was on a Caribbean island in a place called Pirate’s Cove, waiting for a former MI6 agent. Life didn’t get more exotic than this.

John checked his wristwatch. “He’s late.”

“Edgar said we should wait only an hour.”

She hoped they hadn’t come all this way to find a dead end. In spite of her sweatshirt, a shiver went through her.

“Cold?” John asked.

“A bit.”

“Lean against me.” He slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “I’ll keep you warm.”

“I’m fine.” Right now she had the advantage in their game of sexual one-upsmanship, and she wanted to keep it that way. Shrugging off his arm, she repeated, “Just fine.”

“I’m not coming on to you, Lily.”

The hell he wasn’t. “Of course not.”

“Think of me as a big brother.”

“Can’t do it. I was an only child.”

“That explains a lot.”

He folded his arms across his chest and stared out to sea. As always, his attitude was calm, controlled and absolutely maddening.

She peered around his shoulder. “What does my being an only child have to do with anything?”

“No siblings,” he said. “You never had to learn to compromise.”

“Oh, please.” She got along well with other people. “Spare me the cut-rate psychology. Both my parents were doctors, and I was sent to a shrink at the first sign of rebellion.”

“And how did that work out?” he asked drily.

“What are you hinting at?”

“You’re still a rebel.”

“Maybe so,” she admitted. Definitely so. The more people told her that she shouldn’t do something, the more she wanted to give it a whirl. “I like to go my own way. What’s the point in following the predictable path of college and career, marriage and kids?”

“Security.”

He answered so quickly that she knew this was an issue he had considered. Doing what was expected. Being like everybody else. And yet that description didn’t fit John at all. For one thing, he was thirty-seven and not settled down with wife and kids. “Have you ever been married?”

He gave a quick shake of his head. “You?”

“No.” She hadn’t even lost her virginity yet—a detail she didn’t intend to share with him.

“How did you end up at PPS?” he asked.

“Long story.”

He grinned. “You don’t seem to mind telling long stories.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide. What you see is what you get.”

“We’ve got an hour to kill,” he said. “Tell me all about yourself.”

“I stepped off the predictable path when I dropped out of college in Ann Arbor.”

She told him about backpacking through Europe, working as a waitress when she could and picking up the languages.

After seeing injustice on a global scale, she’d felt the need for order. That was when she’d moved to Denver and entered the police academy. “Then I joined PPS. It feels like this is where I belong. I love the people in the office. Former FBI agents like Evangeline and Melissa. Jack Sanders was an Army Ranger. Cameron Morgan, the cowboy.” Her gaze bounced into his eyes. “Then, of course, there’s you.”

“What about me?” he asked suspiciously.

“You’re very secretive. The strong, silent type. All I know about you is your work. You’re an electronics genius and an expert in security systems.”

“I like detail work.”

No surprise there. He was a master of precision and planning. “Tell me about growing up. Did you have a big family? Were you good in school?”

John checked his wristwatch again. “We’ve waited an hour. Robert isn’t coming tonight.”

How typical of John to divert the subject as soon as it shifted to him. She followed him across the sand to the bushes where he’d hidden their transportation. Climbing onto the back of the motor scooter, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her cheek against John’s broad back.

In a moment, they were back on the road, headed back to the hotel. She snuggled closer. Hanging on tightly wasn’t really necessary; they were only going about twenty-five miles an hour. But she liked holding him. Her attraction to John was far from sisterly fondness. He was much too sexy to ever be thought of as a brother.

She heard him curse, sat up straighter and peeked around his shoulder. Headlights. A big vehicle. A Hummer. And he was coming right at them.

As the motor scooter skidded off the narrow road, she heard herself scream.

Chapter Four

The motorbike careened wildly. John clenched the brake. He fought for control.

The headlights swerved toward them. This wasn’t an accident. The Hummer was coming right at them. The son of a bitch meant to run them over.

John swung hard right, finding a narrow pathway through the thick foliage. Low branches lashed his arms and shoulders. Lily’s arms tightened around his midsection. The front tire ricocheted over rocks and exposed tree roots.

With nowhere else to go, he had to stop and stop fast. It was a damn good thing that this was only a scooter instead of a heavy motorcycle that would crush them both. Maneuvering so he wouldn’t fall on top of Lily, he crashed sideways into a shrub, taking the impact on his thigh. He yanked her off the bike onto the ground beside him.

“Stay down,” he ordered as he drew the Glock from his ankle holster, positioned himself on one knee and took aim.

His vision faded. Edges blurred. The wavering shadows from branches and fronds in the moonlight became dim, murky shapes. He blinked hard. Not now, damn it. This was the worst possible time for his eyesight to fail.

The fronds and branches became indistinct. All he could see were the bright lights of the Hummer. It would have to be enough. He fired three times in rapid succession.

Beside him, he heard Lily moving around, probably with her own weapon drawn. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. “Get down,” he repeated.

“Like hell.”

From the direction of the road, he heard the slam of a car door.

“Go home,” came a yell. “Leave Cuerva now.”

John pointed his gun toward the voice and fired again. Shooting blind.

He heard the vehicle pulling away and sank back onto the ground. Eyes closed, he inhaled and exhaled with measured slowness, struggling to calm the tension in his body and to ignore the stabbing pain in his forehead.

His blindness was temporary—caused by an old head wound that had damaged his ocular nervous system. He should have expected it; these episodes were brought on by stress and exhaustion. He’d sure as hell had plenty of both today. Two crashes. One in a plane. Another on a scooter.

He felt Lily’s hand on his cheek and pulled away. He didn’t want her to know about his vision problem. Gruffly, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry about me. You don’t look so good.”

“Give me a sec.”

Her small hand touched his thigh and she made a tsk-tsk. “Your trousers are torn to shreds. Our clothing budget on this trip is going to be sky-high.”

Praying for light, he opened his eyes and saw nothing but shades of gray. He squinted through the opaque darkness. A while back, a doctor at the VA told him about an operation that might repair the nerve damage. But if it failed, there was a twenty percent change he’d go blind. John wasn’t a gambler.

He could deal with these infrequent episodes if he controlled the level of his tension. He had to fight the darkness.

“John?” Her slender fingers laced through his, and she squeezed. “John, you’re scaring me.”

“Nothing to worry about.” Shielding his eyes, he waited for the wiring inside his head to sort itself out. These spells passed quickly. Only a few moments. Just long enough to force him to take a medical discharge from the Marine Corps.

Looking up, he saw the shape of Lily’s face. He blinked slowly. Once. Twice. His vision began to clear. Her delicate features swam into focus. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

He wasn’t about to share his disability with her. Didn’t need her pity. “Let’s head back to the hotel.”

“Something’s wrong,” she said.

He pushed himself to his feet. His head was spinning but focus was coming back. He could see the trunks of palms and citrus trees. Thick, leafy ferns. Jagged rocks. The crumpled front wheel of the motorbike. There would be no resale on this equipment. “We’ll walk the rest of the way.”

It took all his concentration to plant one foot in front of the other as he lurched toward the road. He hadn’t had one of these episodes in over two years, had almost begun to believe that he was cured. No such luck.

Lily scampered beside him. “What if they come back?”

He doubted that would happen. “If they’d meant to kill us, we’d be dead by now. The Hummer was a warning. Leave Cuerva.”

“I got the message,” she said. “And I’ll bet I know who sent it. I saw the license plate. GOV 3. It’s got to be part of Governor Ramon St. George’s fleet.”

The governor wanted to scare them off his island? Was he working with Drew Kirshner? The threat to them had to be connected to Robert. But how?

On the road, he set a slow pace. Though he knew the moon was shining brightly, his vision hadn’t recovered enough to see details. The earth beneath his feet seemed to disappear into a dull, dark haze.

It was only about a mile to town, and Lily talked the whole way. Mostly about how they could get even with the governor. Casually, she took his arm, and he was silently grateful for her guidance. Damn it, this was all wrong. He should be the one protecting her. Not the other way around.

By the time they got to the well-lit hotel, he had better clarity and only stumbled once on the stairs leading up to the entrance.

In their room, he collapsed on the red-curtained bed and closed his eyes. What he really needed was a solid eight hours of sleep. But that wasn’t likely to happen.

The mattress bounced as Lily joined him on the bed. Though she was quiet, he could feel her eyes on him, asking silent questions that he had no intention of answering. Never before had his temporary blindness interfered with his duties at PPS and it felt like hell, like he was helpless.

Her touch on his arm was as gentle as a nurse. He remembered the weeks after he was wounded. Lying on a hard bed in a military hospital with his head wrapped in bandages, he was completely blind. Not knowing if he would ever see again.

He knew lots of guys who were worse off than he was. Other men in his platoon had died. But he wasn’t thinking about them. Despairing, he sank deep into an abyss of self-pity. He couldn’t stand the helplessness. John always took care of others. His family. His friends. He wasn’t meant to be disabled.

“John?” Her sweetness irritated him. He’d rather hear her bitching about something. “What happened to you when we crashed?”

“The plane or the bike?”

“You know what I’m talking about. I’ve seen you on the firing range. You’re an ace marksman. Tonight, your shots went wild.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were,” she said emphatically. “I held my own fire because I wasn’t sure what you were trying to do.”

“No point in gunning for a Hummer,” he bluffed. “I was trying to scare them off.”

“I don’t believe you.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “You can tell me what’s wrong. I’m your partner.”

Logically, she was correct. His disability might put her life in danger, and she deserved to know. But he didn’t want to admit to his problem. Especially not here in this hotel room, which was probably bugged.

He sat up on the bed and opened his eyes. The valentine room swam into dull focus. It might help if he had his glasses. He was pretty sure they were in the carry-on bag he’d managed to save in the crash.

Leaving her on the bed, he went to the dresser, where they’d spread the miscellaneous items from their carry-on bags to dry out. The few clothes they’d saved were drying in the bathroom. He found his wire-frame glasses, wiped them off and put them on. His vision was better, but still not great.

Mindful of probable bugs in the room, he turned on the television and went out on the balcony, seeking privacy.

Lily hopped off the bed and joined him. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“You don’t need to know everything about me.”

“Please, John. You can trust me.”

He saw the vestiges of concern in her frown. She was still worried about him. Damn it. He didn’t need a nursemaid. And he sure as hell didn’t need to waste any more time feeling sorry for himself. He focused on the business at hand. “We need more information on Ramon St. George and the guy from Denver. Drew Kirshner.”

“And how do we get this intel?” she asked. “We lost the computer.”

“And the secure phone line,” he said. “There’s no way to contact Evangeline at PPS.”

“How about through the local cops?” she suggested.

“The governor’s men tried to run us down with a Hummer. I don’t think the Cuerva police are going to roll out the welcome mat.”

“We’re on our own,” she said. “It’s just you and me. Stuck on a remote Caribbean island where somebody’s trying to kill us.”

Though John loved his gadgetry and computers, there was something freeing about having to rely on old-fashioned logic and deductive reasoning. “Let’s look at the facts.”

“Two assaults,” she said. “The sabotaged plane. And the Hummer.”

“The methods are very different. The plane crash was sneaky, arranged by an unseen individual who probably wanted to kill us. The Hummer was an in-your-face threat, but they only delivered a warning.”

She drew the conclusion. “Two different factions are after us. The governor and somebody else.”

“Correct.” He appreciated her quick comprehension. “But there is a similarity in both attacks.”

“Motive,” she said.

“Both the governor and the unknown saboteur want the same thing: to keep us away from Robert Prescott. He’s got information or evidence that would harm both of them.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“I don’t know. Evangeline might have a clue.”

“Call her,” Lily said. “Just use the hotel phone?”

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