Fifteen

Dean’s expression was grim as the broadcaster repeated the warning for all sea craft and seaside communities of the Outer Hebrides to be on the lookout for two suspects—a male approximately six feet three inches tall, fifteen stone, thirty years old, light brown hair, heavy beard, and a female approximately twenty-five, five and a half feet tall, nine stone, long, dark hair, and green eyes, both presumed armed and dangerous.

The descriptions were off a little in the particulars—he was six-four, two twenty—more like sixteen stone—and thirty-three—but close enough to identify them.

“What’s going on?” Annie said. “They are making it sound as if we are the criminals.”

That was exactly what it sounded like, which Dean knew wasn’t good. “Try another channel.”

It took a few tries, but eventually she found a news broadcast from Lewis. The bulletin came a few minutes later. “The big story this morning is the two men found murdered on a local dive boat, and the hunt for the two suspects responsible. The sole survivor of the horrible ordeal at sea, which took place about fifty miles northwest of Lewis, is telling a harrowing account of robbery and murder carried out by the charter captain and his American accomplice. Islanders are warned not to approach on their own, suspects are armed and dangerous, but to report any sightings to the police immediately.”

Dean swore.

Annie looked at him wide-eyed and pale. “Murder? What is he talking about? We didn’t murder anyone.”

Dean slowed the motor to meet her gaze. “No, but it sounds as if someone did.”

She made a sound that was a cry and gasp combined. “Jean Paul?”

He nodded. “That would be my guess.”

“But how is that possible? He was tied up.”

Dean had checked all the ties and made sure their hands had been behind their backs, where they couldn’t get the leverage as he had done to break through them. Jean Paul hadn’t gotten loose that way.

But Dean had made a mistake. In the hurry, he hadn’t patted him down to check for weapons. “He must have had a knife on him. Somewhere that he or one of the others could reach.”

“But what about the explosives? Why didn’t they mention anything about that?”

“I assume they are at the bottom of the ocean right now. Jean Paul probably threw them overboard before the coast guard arrived.”

It finally set in what that meant. “That means Julien . . .” Anguished, tear-filled eyes locked on his. “And Claude.”

“I’m sorry, Annie.”

She shook her head as if she didn’t believe it, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Dean reached out and swept a few away, but that was all the comfort he could give her right now.

He had to focus on other things. Like how the hell they were going to slip through a net cast for a murderer that was getting wider every minute.

•   •   •

Julien dead? Murdered by his former teacher and the man he admired so much? It couldn’t be true! But the tears pouring down her cheeks told her she knew it was.

As angry as Annie had been with Julien for involving her in this nightmare—and she’d been furious—she hadn’t wanted to see him killed for it. Punished for his crimes certainly, but not like this.

She’d believed him when he said he never intended for anyone to get hurt. Julien had been duped as well.

Oh God, poor Julien. Maybe she’d jumped into a relationship too quickly, but Annie had truly cared for him. She didn’t want to think that he would have gone through with blowing up the ship as Jean Paul had planned.

Was that why Jean Paul had killed him? But that didn’t explain Claude. He’d been in on the full plan. There had been no reason for Jean Paul to kill him. Unless Jean Paul’s only intention had been to turn the scrutiny from himself and put it on them. Had she unwittingly played a hand in Julien’s and Claude’s deaths?

The thought made her ill.

She couldn’t let Jean Paul get away with it. As soon as they reached the island—North Uist—she would find the nearest police station and clear everything up.

The question was whether she could convince Dan to come with her. If he truly wasn’t involved in anything illegal, the seriousness of the charges would have to make him want to clear his name . . . right?

“Jean Paul can’t get away with this. You have to come with me to the police station when we reach North Uist.”

Dan was standing at the wheel, looking out over the helm with his returned cap flipped backward against the wind. His gaze shifted to her for only an instant. “We aren’t going there.”

It wasn’t easy to hear over the loud throttle of the engine, but she knew she’d heard him correctly. “What do you mean we aren’t going there? Is there someplace closer? We have to find someone to explain this to right away. They think we are murderers! What if Jean Paul gets away?”

“I’m more worried about us getting away. With the storm over, I’m sure they have all the coast guard in the area out looking for us. Unfortunately there is a Maritime Operation Centre in Stornoway. They only have two helicopters on site, but it won’t take long to call in a few more. The one good thing we have going for us is that not knowing about the leak in the boat, they’ll have assumed that we would be able to travel all night.”

How did he know so much about Scottish Coast Guard operations?

“I don’t want to get away,” Annie said, her voice getting higher as her panic increased. “We didn’t do anything wrong!”

“That’s not how it looks right now, and I don’t have time to sit in jail while they figure it out.”

“That’s crazy. No one is going to put us in jail. As soon as we tell them what happened, they’ll realize Jean Paul is a liar.”

“How will they know that? What proof do you have? It’s his word against ours. And there is no way in hell I can get caught up in a murder investigation.”

“That’s what this is about! Whatever trouble you are in, it can’t be as serious as this. Please,” she begged. “The longer we wait, the worse it will look—and what if they let Jean Paul go?”

His mouth was clenched hard enough for the muscle below his jaw to tic. “That bastard is the least of my worries. You are wrong. It is very serious, and you can’t conceive the type of trouble this could bring. I never should have gotten involved. But I—” He stopped suddenly and stared at her. It was almost as if he blamed her. But then the flash of anger cleared, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Annie. But I can’t risk it. As soon as we are somewhere safe, I will do what I can.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Her frustration was getting the better of her. She couldn’t believe he was being so stubborn. Whatever he was involved in must be worse than she realized. First ecoterrorism and murder, and now God knew whatever he was caught up in.

She didn’t want to be involved with any of it. “Fine. You don’t need to come with me. Just drop me off and go wherever it is you are planning.”

He gave her that grim sidelong glance she was getting used to. “I can’t take the chance that someone will see us.”

Seeing his resolve, Annie felt her panic become desperate. “I thought you were joking about Bonnie and Clyde—I don’t want to be on the lam. Running will only make us look guilty.”

“I suspect you already do.”

She had no idea what he was talking about.

“Think about it,” he explained. “This is an experienced, professional terror organization. They usually operate in cells, which makes them even harder to penetrate. My bet is that all three of them were using false identities, and that they covered their trail in the event something went wrong.” He paused long enough to give her a pointed look. “The charter rental was in your name, wasn’t it?”

Annie paled, having just had the same thought. She nodded. “As was the room. Julien always paid cash. I noticed it but didn’t think anything of it.”

She knew a number of students who tried to use mostly cash to keep costs down. It was far easier to charge on a card than hand over big wads of cash. She had actually liked that about him. It made him seem responsible, prudent, and careful.

“Did Julien ever use your computer?”

She shook her head. “No. Not that I can think of.”

“Did he have access to it when you weren’t around?”

She thought a minute. “When I was in the shower or sleeping. A few times I left for class before he did.”

“Did he know your password?”

She bit her lip, embarrassed. “I don’t have a password. It’s my home computer—a desktop. You just have to hit Enter.”

Every word she said made her feel more like an idiot. She could practically hear him thinking “naive.” But it wasn’t as if there were state secrets on her computer. It was mostly just research backed up to a cloud account. She’d never had any . . . Oh no.

He read her expression. “What?”

“I had to cancel a credit card a few weeks before I left. There were a bunch of random Internet charges on it that I didn’t recognize. I assumed my number had been stolen.”

“Does your computer automatically remember your card number?”

She nodded, feeling like such a fool. Such a naive fool. “But he would have needed the three-digit code.”

“Which would take him a few minutes to find on the back of your card when you left your purse around.”

Oh God, he was right.

“I suspect some bomb-making supplies were purchased with your card,” Dan said.

She’d reached the same conclusion on her own. “I was the patsy,” she said, her voice hollow with humiliation.

“Julien probably hoped it would never come to that.”

He was obviously trying to make her feel better. Which only made her feel worse.

Now she didn’t just feel sick; she felt like crying again. What a mess. It was bad enough being tangled up with an ecoterrorist plot, but a murder investigation? “What am I going to do?”

She hadn’t been expecting Dan to answer, but he did. “Don’t worry. We’ll get it straightened out. But not from jail.”

“How?”

He paused. “I have someone who I think can help. As soon as we get somewhere safe, I’ll call. They also may be able to get the police on the right track with Jean Paul.”

“Is it a lawyer? My stepfather is an attorney. He doesn’t practice law anymore, but he has tons of contacts.”

Dan gave one of those rare curves of the mouth that she took to be a smile. “It’s not a lawyer. If we need your stepfather, I’ll let you know, all right?”

She nodded. “Where are we going?”

He pointed to an island on the map just off the west coast of North Uist. “Here, to wait it out until dark. We are sitting ducks in the daylight like this. We’ll look for a cave or someplace else where we can hide the boat. At least it’s gray and not orange or red.”

“And then?”

“As soon as it’s dark we’ll make our way around here”—his finger traced a path around an island called Mingulay at the southern end of the Lewis chain of islands—“to one of the islands in the Inner Hebrides as far south as we can go. We should have enough fuel to reach Tiree.”

He pointed at a roughly triangular-shaped island due west of the Port of Oban on the mainland. He had great hands. Big and strong with blunted fingertips and enough scars to make her think he probably worked in a shop of some kind. Although a couple of the scars looked like burn marks.

“Won’t they search there?”

“Eventually. But there are hundreds of islands in the Hebrides. We could spend months hopping between them, getting lost. It will take a while to check them all, and being this far south should give us some time.”

He’d obviously given this some thought. “Sounds like you have it all planned out.” She looked down at the bag he had by his feet. “I just hope you have a few more protein bars in there or it’s going to be a long day. I get cranky when I’m hungry.”

He winced. “I hope you aren’t one of those vegetarians who won’t eat fish.”

“You’re in luck.” She smiled, which seemed crazy under the circumstances. “I love fish.”

“Sushi?”

“My favorite.”

“Then I guess I know what I’m doing when we get there.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “I guess that means I get to make camp.”

He grinned and she felt that bump in her heart getting bigger.

“If it won’t offend your feminist sensibilities.”

“I think I can manage this once. But if you call me Bambi again, all bets are off.”

“I didn’t think you heard that,” he said with a laugh, and then gave her a nonapologetic shrug. “It’s your fault for looking at me that way.”

“Like a stripper?”

He thought that was hilarious and laughed. “More like I just killed your mother.”

“You were going to leave me!”

He sobered, and their eyes met. “I’m glad I didn’t.”

She knew he was talking about what might have happened to her, but the intensity of his gaze made her wonder if he meant something more.

“Me, too,” she said softly.

From the way her chest tightened, she suspected she did.

Only when his gaze flickered behind her and he swore was the moment lost.