Chapter Eight
“He did what?” Mel curled her fingers around the knife’s hilt, nails digging into her palm. The pain centered her, kept her from blasting through the pallet of crates she was hiding behind to strangle a dark-haired, dark-eyed someone she knew all too well.
There was shuffling on the other end of the line, then after the snick of a door closing, Jamie spoke again, a little louder. “He gave himself up.”
Through the crate’s slats, Mel eyed The Ellen not two hundred yards away. She was on the TE dock, in the TE shipping yard, almost to the damn ship. And then Danny had to go off script, again. “He couldn’t wait five fucking minutes?”
“Lynch threatened an employee. Siobhan and John were going to expose themselves. Danny beat them to it.”
“And you didn’t stop him?”
“Tried,” Jamie said with a sigh. Not offended she’d asked, just frustrated, same as her. “He flipped the lights on in the bridge. It was either be exposed too or hide and do what I can to help you. And him. He thinks there’s more to this.”
“Shit.”
Danny was nothing if not loyal, and with employees and family members on the line, of course he’d trade himself for their safety. The youngest Talley was, ironically, the most responsible when it came to TE and the most reckless when it came to his own life. Add to that the insane notion he’d developed that crashing their investigations had made him some sort of junior detective. He was every sidekick ever with more money and better clothes. And a devilish grin that had hooked her.
“It worked,” Jamie said, interrupting her self-directed eye roll. “She let the hostage go.”
“And took Danny instead. Hold. Moving.”
She snuck from her current hiding spot to another behind a closer pallet, one that afforded a clear line of sight to the only remaining entry onto The Ellen. A lower-level starboard cargo hold was open, to which a mechanized conveyor belt had been connected. Up the ramp lumbered two bulging mercs in paramilitary garb and between them a third man who looked half their size and age. By the way he was dressed—raggedy jeans and a hoodie with a computer bag slung over his shoulder—and by the way he hunched his shoulders and darted jumpy looks between the mercs, Mel guessed he wasn’t there of his own free will.
“In position,” Mel whispered.
Jamie picked up where he’d left off. “Danny’s proven useful before in these situations.”
“Except he’s flying solo on this one.” In all those other “situations” Danny had crashed, he’d had backup—or he was the backup.
“He thinks he can negotiate with her,” Jamie said. “They know each other.”
Mel paused in the step she was about to take toward another closer crate, hand clenching around the knife hilt again. “Know each other?”
Jamie cleared his throat, and that was answer enough.
Don Juan Danny strikes again. Danny’s flirtatious streak had helped them before. Would it be useful now? Or would it only get him in more trouble? No help for it now. She had to work with what she had. Reckless Danny and all.
“Are they still on deck?” she asked.
“He led her below deck. He said ‘stateroom’ to me right before he gave himself up. That must be where he’s headed.”
Mel inched closer, slinking from behind one crate to behind another. “Where are you?”
“Directly below the bridge. I still have eyes on the deck.”
“And everyone else?”
“Cam’s hiding them in the crowd.”
“Can you two swap positions?” Cam had the necessary authority to make people follow his orders, but he was also a kidnap and rescue specialist. She could use that to her advantage.
“Not without being noticed,” Jamie answered, affront underlying his voice.
She hadn’t meant to imply Jamie wasn’t a competent partner. Before he’d left the Bureau, Jamie had been a promising field agent, trained by the best—Aidan. But he’d left. “You’re not a fed anymore, Jamie.”
“Neither are you.”
No, but she was Chief of Security for TE. This was her job; it wasn’t Jamie’s any longer. “Jamie, I can’t ask—”
“You didn’t ask. They’re my family too. Now, where do you need me?”
Point made; and no use arguing, or wasting time arguing. Jamie was a valuable asset too. He’d been the Bureau’s best cyber agent, which, as she watched the scrawny young man disappear onto the ship, could come in handy.
“Meet me on the lower deck, starboard cargo hold door.”
“Lynch said all the entrances were sealed.”
“Except that one. Two guards just led a civilian with a computer case inside.”
“Maybe Danny’s right.”
Between her and Aidan getting delayed in transit, Lynch’s dubious IRA claim, and now the civilian, she tended to agree. “There’s definitely something more going on here. I’ll meet you at the door.”
Clicking off, she crept to the line of crates closest to the ship, ducking behind one just as the two mercs returned to the end of the ramp, resuming their post. There was twenty feet between her and the ramp. Twenty feet of wide-open, well-lit concrete with absolutely no cover. The gun in her holster and the ones at her back were tempting, but none of them were loaded with tranq darts and she didn’t yet have grounds to shoot to kill. Plus, gunfire would make a racket, and that was the last thing she wanted.
She had to approach some other way. The alternative that came to mind was pure Danny.
Don Juan Danny.
Twelve Months Ago
“There’s no way we’re getting a table in there tonight,” Mel said, eyeing the packed restaurant. She’d hit the brakes a block away when she’d realized where they were headed. “It’s New Year’s Eve, and I know you didn’t have time to make a reservation.”
She’d caught an earlier flight back from Boston, where, on a case-assist, she’d had to tell a family their missing daughter would never be coming home, her body found slaughtered by a serial killer the Bureau had captured a day too late. She’d shown up at Danny’s yacht twelve hours ahead of schedule, just wanting to hide in her lover’s arms and forget the worst part of her job. Danny, though, had insisted they go out.
His arm around her waist tightened, pulling her close and shielding her from the worst of the wind howling off the Bay. “No faith, chica.”
“It’s the hottest ticket in town.”
“And I’m the hottest bachelor in town.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped out of his arms, tapping her heel. “You’re gonna pull a Don Juan Danny, aren’t you?”
“Watch the master at work,” he said with a wink, and despite her terrible day, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Do your stealth follow thing and wait at the bar. I’ll have us a table in five.” He gave her a quick peck, then turned on his shiny Oxford heel for the restaurant.
She followed on the other side of the street, watching him transform with each strutting step. Shoulders rolled back, chin held higher and a dimple in the one cheek she could see from her angle. Just before entering, he put on the finishing touches, unbuttoning his suit coat and running a hand through his thick black hair, making him appear more rakish.
Waiting for the light to change, she crossed mid-street and slipped through the beveled glass doors behind another group of diners. Danny was gone from in front of the hostess stand when the crowd cleared, and she turned for the bar, expecting to find him there.
A hand lightly brushed her elbow, drawing her attention the other direction.
“Ms. Cruz?” the hostess said, smiling politely.
“Yes, that’s me.”
She held out an arm toward the dining room. “Your table’s right this way.”
They turned the corner and sure enough, Danny had the best seat in the whole fucking house. His long legs stuck out from the end of a secluded corner table for two, his arm stretched across the top of the leather booth, waiting for her. He grinned and she bit her bottom lip to hold back her laughter, so improbable after the past few days. But that’s what Danny did for her, always—brought light into her otherwise dim, sometimes downright dark, existence.
She handed her jacket off to the hostess and slid in next to Danny, waiting for the waiter pouring Bollinger into champagne glasses to finish before turning to her lover.
“I’m impressed,” she conceded. “But just one thing.”
The handsome devil smirked down at her. “What’s that, chica?”
She grabbed his tie and pulled him nose to nose. “You’re not a bachelor anymore.”
Present
Taking a page from Danny’s playbook, she ran her fingers through her short springy curls, fluffing out her hair and making sure it covered the comm in her ear, then adjusted the V-neck collar of her silk wrap blouse, exposing the edges of her emerald-green bra.
Suit coat buttoned to accentuate her cleavage and hide the weapons, she strutted out from behind the crates, shoulders relaxed and hips swaying. She pretended not to notice the mercs going for their weapons—the one at his hip, the other under his arm—and acted as if she were fascinated by the ship.
She twirled a curl and made a show of biting her bottom lip and running one of her heels up the back of her other calf. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a boat this big or shiny before.”
“Ma’am,” said one of the mercs, “we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”
She feigned being startled, turning a wide-eyed gaze on them. “Well, aren’t you two handsome,” she drawled with a smile, channeling a little of Jamie’s Southern accent.
The green-eyed gaze of the one who’d spoken first swept her body. Not in a heated way but rather tactically, cataloguing weak points and where she might be hiding weapons. The other one, though, zeroed in on her cleavage.
Bingo.
She moved closer to her blue-eyed target, making sure he had a view right down her blouse. “Do I look like a ma’am to you?”
He shook his head but no words came out of his mouth.
“Miss,” said the other, “this is a closed party.”
She glanced over her shoulder, addressing him. “For Talley Enterprises, right? This is The Ellen?”
“Invite only,” he said brusquely.
She turned back to Blue Eyes, shooting him a megawatt smile. “Oh, I’m invited.”
“By who?” he asked, finally finding his voice.
She stepped closer, going up on her toes like she meant to whisper in his ear. “Daniel Talley, my husband.”
His eyes flared so wide she saw white, all the way around his irises, and that’s when she made her move. By the time the flurry of movement was over, she wasn’t looking at his face anymore. Standing behind him, she had his head locked between her arms, a hand over his mouth silencing his screams, and his body between hers and the other merc’s shot. She twisted them at the last second, sending the bullet into Blue Eyes’s shoulder. He groaned behind her hand, and she silenced him with an elbow to the juncture of shoulder and neck, pressure on the exact spot required to knock him out. She shoved his bulky deadweight into the other merc, causing enough chaos to sweep out a leg, catch both their ankles and send them tumbling down in a tangled mass. She came down after them, a knee at the conscious merc’s throat and his own silencer-fitted pistol pointed at his head.
“Who is Lynch working for?” she demanded.
“The IRA.”
She pressed harder with her knee and with the muzzle of the gun against his forehead. “I don’t believe you. Try again.”
“The IRA,” he croaked, trying to buck her off with his lower body.
“That’s enough of that.” She reached her gun arm back and nailed him in the balls with the butt of the pistol. The air rushed out of him, his eyes rolling back, and he was out, going limp beneath her.
Standing, she stilled and listened intently, for the sound of any feet rushing her direction, for any chatter on the mercs’ radios, for anyone gasping over the railing overhead. When she was sure the scene was clear, she knelt again by the injured merc, unfastened his belt, and used it to tie a tourniquet around his injured arm, stanching the bleeding.
She wiped the blood from her hands on the cement, leaving behind a holiday-appropriate note between the downed mercs. Sonja’s men would see it, would relay the message to their boss, and if Danny was anywhere within earshot, he’d know she was coming for him.
She left her rock-studded heels behind as an exclamation mark.