CHAPTER 7
DON’T REACT, CAIT. But Glenn’s mouth slipped into a sickly smile of triumph. She’d given away the truth.
A shiver chased down her spine.
“I wasn’t one hundred percent sure,” he said, “but how many white, female pilots can there be in the Caribbean?”
“So now you’re going to…what?” she asked. “You think people don’t know where we are tonight? Or why?”
He insolently lifted a shoulder. “Things happen in the jungle.”
Her stomach turned hollow. But if he planned to kill them and make it look like an accident, he wouldn’t want to shoot them now, right? Maybe they could work with that. She glanced at Kurt, who stood rigid at her side with his gaze on Glenn’s backup gunman. Was he thinking the same thing?
It was her fault for getting him into this mess. She hadn’t known Glenn was onto her, and she shuddered to think how he’d figured it out. Right now, though, she had to get herself and Kurt out of this alive.
This was what all that Krav Maga training she’d taken had been for. She’d practiced disarming maneuvers for hours at a time. But even if she could execute the move effectively, what about Kurt? He was too far from the other guy to use the same tactic.
Her throat tightened. She’d have to trust him to get out of harm’s way.
She counted to three. Come on, muscle memory.
With a deep breath, she exploded into action.
Head to the side.
Hand up to the trigger guard.
Redirect the weapon and turn.
Snap and twist the gun out of his hand.
Step back.
Holy shit, it worked! The whole action had taken a second, if that.
Glenn blinked and stared at his Glock, now in her hands. “What the fuck?”
“Don’t move.” Her pulse drummed in her ears as she aimed the gun at his chest, positioning herself out of reach.
Behind Glenn, his backup man was on the floor, unconscious. Kurt had figured out how to turn the tables on the guy despite the distance between them. Undoubtedly, he had skills and training far beyond hers. He hadn’t just been a PJ, he’d also been part of a special tactics squadron, which was a whole other level of elite.
“What are you going to do?” Glenn taunted, his wary eyes belying his bluster. “Shoot me?”
Good question. “I’d rather not, but don’t test me.” The magazine was in, the trigger was forward, so at the very least there was a round in the chamber, ready to fire. And Glocks had their safety built into the trigger.
She had no desire to shoot him, but he’d be a fool to make a move.
He had the gall to smirk.
“Got any idea what to do with them now?” she asked Kurt, who was using his belt to restrain the man on the floor.
Upstairs, a floorboard squeaked, drawing Caitlyn’s attention.
Glenn rushed her. Something flashed in his hand at the corner of her vision.
She pressed the trigger.
The gun kicked.
Crack.
Glenn jerked.
His jaw dropped and his blue eyes widened as he met her gaze. The knife slipped from his fingers and embedded itself into the wood floor with a thunk. “You…” He stared down at the scarlet stain spreading across his white shirt and sank to his knees.
Oh, God.
Caitlyn stumbled as the world around her tilted.
Was he…? Had she really just…?
Oh, God. The gun in her hands trembled.
Her pulse took off. She’d never… Not like that.
She tried to jettison the shock. Get it together, Cait. She couldn’t afford to lose it now. They weren’t out of danger.
But, Jesus, she’d never shot anyone point blank before. So close. So personal. His blood on her skin. Soaked into her dress.
It was self-defense. She’d had no choice. And no doubt the world would be a better place without Glenn in it, but she was no exterminator.
Her knees buckled.
“Hey.” Kurt grabbed her arm and kept her on her feet, his expression full of concern. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, trying to clear the fog in her head and the cotton in her ears. “I’m fine.” Or she would be.
“You had no choice.” He kneeled next to Glenn, who had slumped onto his side on the floor, and checked his back. “Through and through.” Then, he rolled him face up and tore open Glenn’s shirt to expose the oozing wound on his chest.
At the top of the stairs, a woman screamed.
Caitlyn swallowed against the rising bile in her throat and set the gun on the floor. “It’s okay. I’m looking for Rose.” She ran halfway up the steps on shaky legs. “And if you’d like to leave here, we can help you.”
“No. You must go.”
“But—”
“Rose is gone.”
Caitlyn’s stomach tumbled. Gone? “Do you know where she is? Did she get moved or…?” Caitlyn couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“She disappeared last week.”
The air rushed from Caitlyn’s lungs. Bile rose in her throat. If Rose had run, if she was safe, wouldn’t she have contacted Caitlyn or Shaylee? No. Oh, no.
Pulling her back to the moment, the woman shooed her away. “Guards will be coming. Go. Now.” She shuffled out of reach, hiding the fresh bruises on her face in the shadows. “I saw nothing,” she said, and flew down the hall.
“Caitlyn,” Kurt called.
On leaden feet, Caitlyn forced herself to turn away. Gone. “Rose isn’t here.” Panic beat a tattoo on her sternum. What if they were too late?
“We’ll find her.” Kurt sounded so sure, she almost believed him.
She needed so badly to believe him.
He had fashioned a bandage for Glenn’s wound and now stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding the accomplice’s weapon in his bloody hands.
“Is he—”
“Alive,” Kurt said. “For now.”
The man he had knocked out moaned and his eyes blinked open.
The sound of men shouting outside filtered through the dwindling rain. “Lambert’s guards,” she said. “We need to go. They’ll shoot first, especially since—” Her gaze snagged on Glenn’s bleached-out face as she raced down the stairs.
He was a vile man who had been gunning for his dad’s life, but the guards would only see Lambert’s son in a pool of his own blood, and her and Kurt covered in it.
Time to run.
Well, shit. So much for a rescue.
Footsteps stomped on the front porch, and bodies made shadows through the louvered glass windows in the next room.
Kurt gripped the Sig he’d commandeered and reached for Caitlyn’s hand as she hit the bottom of the stairs, her face drained of color. “Let’s go,” he said. “Out the back.”
Her gaze swept over Glenn’s unconscious body and skittered away.
Kurt gave her gentle tug and she looked up. “I’m okay,” she said. She clutched his hand and followed him through the utilitarian kitchen.
Outside the window, nothing moved except the moonlit shadows of windblown trees. “Stand to the side. I’m going to open the door. When I go out, stay on me and stay low.”
“Copy.”
Bending low at the waist, he unlocked the deadbolt and let the door swing open.
He peered around the doorjamb, weapon at the ready. No visible threats. Behind them, the front door slammed open. No more time for a cautious retreat. “Now.”
He awkwardly descended the short flight of steps, Caitlyn on his heels, and raced for the cover of the thick vegetation just yards away, cool rain pelting his face.
A man appeared around the corner to their left. Kurt registered the AK in the guard’s hands and fired. The man went down—probably stunned rather than injured, given that he was wearing a tactical vest—and they kept running.
Once they were hidden behind a screen of low palms and other bushes, Kurt slowed and waited for Caitlyn. Her fancy heels were more of a hindrance than his prosthetics. Score one for technology. Then again, she was probably less likely to catch a toe on a root or in a crevice without realizing it.
“I’d take them off,” she said, gesturing to her feet, “but I think this will be even more treacherous without shoes.”
He was pretty sure Dan’s wife Alyssa would agree. After escaping into the jungles of St. Iz, her feet had been battered. “Any chance we can make it to your plane before they do?” Kurt asked.
“If they don’t know it’s us yet, maybe. If I skip the preflight check—” she wrinkled her nose “—we could be in the air within minutes.”
“And if they suspect, we’ll be walking into an ambush.”
“Even if they don’t suspect, they’ll be closing all avenues of escape. And there’s no cover once you enter the airfield. We’d be easy targets until we get to the plane.”
“And even then…” They couldn’t be in the air immediately. The propellers would take a minute to get up to speed, and they were far from quiet.
Low voices and thrashing sounds came from somewhere behind them. Shit. What were the chances the guards hadn’t used their radios to provide Kurt and Caitlyn’s description to the rest of their team already? Probably nil.
It wouldn’t take long for one of them to realize who she was. Many of them had seen her around their boss for the last year.
“Does Lambert have a boat?” Kurt asked.
“Several.” She waved toward the water. “But the dock is usually guarded too. We’d have to take a dinghy out to one of the bigger boats, so we couldn’t exactly be stealthy. And I have no idea where the keys are.”
“If we can find cover, maybe they’ll pass us by. Then we can work our way around to the north side and get to the rescue car.”
“Good idea. If we can’t get to the van, there are bound to be limos with drivers at the ready. And you have a gun if they need convincing.” She appeared to have recovered from shooting Glenn. At least for now. Being chased was a first-rate distraction.
“No need to be so bloodthirsty. I brought cash.”
She grinned, and he fell a little deeper under her spell. Even rain-soaked and harried, she was breathtaking.
Remarkably, she was also calm enough to tread quietly, rather than racing in a panic through the undergrowth and giving away their position. Her green dress made for pretty good camouflage except for her arms and legs. Kurt shrugged out of his blazer and held it forward, tapping her on the shoulder. “Here, put this on. You’ll be less visible.”
Wordlessly, she donned the jacket and kept moving.
His gray shirt—not yet darkened by the rain—wasn’t as effective, but it was better than nothing.
A few minutes later, the rain stopped, leaving only the sound of water dripping from the leaves and the roar of the ocean. Kurt slipped and slid in the mud but managed not to trip.
No matter their decision, he and Caitlyn were at a disadvantage. Lambert had enough men on his security detail to cover all the avenues of escape. But if they could take the guards by surprise, they might make it out of this alive. And if they didn’t, then Kurt had never deserved the title of PJ. After all, his special tactics squadron did nothing but sensitive missions, rescuing other special forces, pilots, and high-value personnel who were stuck deep in enemy territory. It’s what he had excelled at.
Of course he’d always had a team, and about six backup plans. And his own legs.
They huddled inside a nest of fern plants, cool water drizzling onto their heads from the broad leaves, and waited, breath shallow, as Lambert’s men crept by in the near darkness. When several minutes passed and the men didn’t return, Kurt slipped out of their hiding place and stood, listening for any signs of additional men. None of the noises were close, so he waved to Caitlyn and she joined him.
They trod carefully, as quietly as possible, keeping to the jungle, which meant they had to skirt all the way around the outside of the airfield, adding precious time to their trek. But it only took a quick glance at Caitlyn’s plane to see they’d made the right choice. Several men surrounded the small aircraft, and half a dozen more were stationed around the perimeter of the fence.
They wouldn’t have had a chance at escaping via air. Especially not right now, when everyone was on high alert.
When they reached the north side of the house, red and white lights flashed atop an ambulance, and several police cars had jammed themselves into the circular drive near the front entrance. The beehive of activity in the driveway served as a perfect distraction as first responders and guests milled about on the column-lined porch and spilled onto the brick walkway, voyeurs, reluctant to leave the spectacle.
And probably forced to stay by the police.
Kurt’s body tingled with the awareness of Caitlyn at his side, but he pushed away the distraction and scanned the elegant cars parked along the quarter-mile private drive that led to the main gate. And more guards. They wouldn’t get two feet if they tried to steal a car and drive out of here.
“I see five guards, all near the house,” he said. “Do you see any I missed?” If even half of Lambert’s security team was out searching for them, they were spread thin.
“No.”
They needed to get off Lambert’s property and find the rescue van. They didn’t dare call for it to come to them, not with the police and security guards all over the place.
About a hundred yards from where he and Caitlyn waited, on the other side of the fence, two drivers leaned against their parked cars chatting. The heavy one smoked a cigarette, his foot propped on the back bumper, while the skinny one had his phone out, showing the smoking man something on his screen.
The rain started up again, just a few drops at first, quickly turning torrential. Both men swiftly sought the safety of their vehicles.
Under cover of the noisy downpour, concealed by vegetation and rain, Kurt and Caitlyn trudged toward the tall fence that lined the property. This far away, and through the rain, the people and commotion at the front of the house were blurry and dim. Most of the guests now huddled on the porch, as the paramedics brought out someone on a gurney.
“Do you think that’s Glenn?” Caitlyn asked.
“Yeah. I probably gave the other guy a concussion, but I doubt he’d need a stretcher.” Kurt gripped her cool, wet hand. “They’re protecting him from the rain, and they didn’t leave him in place for the crime scene techs, so he’s probably still alive.”
A short sigh that he could only interpret as relief escaped her lips.
“Let’s take advantage of the commotion and the rain. To get over the fence, we need to move further down where no one will see us.”
The black fence gleamed under a security light, each post shiny and slick and topped with a dangerous barb. No cross braces to serve as footholds. The climb would be difficult under any circumstances if not for one flaw. Every twenty yards or so, the fence was interrupted by a four-foot square stone column topped by a decorative cement pedestal with a planter on top.
“On my signal, run to the column and get out of sight,” Kurt said. They were hidden from the house but not from the men standing watch at the front gate. “I’ll give you a boost—”
“No need. I can get over that.”
Of course. If anyone were going to fail at this, it would be him. Luckily, he’d spent the last six years building his upper body strength to compensate for his legs. “Okay, go.”
Caitlyn sprinted to the fence, keeping to the east side of the column, out of sight. She removed her heels and his jacket and tossed them onto a bush on the other side of the fence. Then, she hiked her dress up to her hips, revealing her long, lean legs, grabbed the edge of the pedestal, and stuck one foot into a crack between stones.
Hoisting herself up, she slithered across the top of the column and jumped down on the other side. Tugging her dress down to her knees, she donned her shoes and the coat and stood watching through the rails, concealed from the row of limos and the guards by a thick hedge.
Well. He had no chance in hell of being that graceful.
Waiting until both guards were looking away, Kurt made a run for it. His shoes were too big to fit into the gaps between the stones, so he treated the top of the column like the edge of a swimming pool, pulling himself up and then pushing his torso onto the flat space next to the planter.
All that gym time had been worth something after all.
Shifting onto his butt, he lifted his legs over the fence and then rolled to slide on his stomach over the edge of the column until his shoes almost touched the ground.
He slipped in the mud and landed on his ass, but it could’ve been worse.
“You okay?” Caitlyn asked quietly, her tone brisk and no-nonsense.
Thank God. He didn’t want her pity. “Fine.” He let her help him to standing.
“That was impressive,” she said, her gaze roaming over his chest and shoulders. “You’re stronger.”
In so many ways. And weaker in others. But who wasn’t? Her attention made him want to preen. “Thanks. You were pretty amazing yourself.” The image of her dress up around her hips as she scrambled over the pillar like a natural sent a bolt of heat through him. God, she was sexy.
She smiled. Even with her triumph tempered by her sadness over Rose, he had to look away and take a few breaths.
Now all they had to do was get to their van. The original plan had been for the large taxi—driven by a volunteer with The Underground—to wait for their call, pretending to be for one of the other guests that Caitlyn knew was on the list. Kurt would have entered the taxi as if leaving alone, then it would have rendezvoused with her and the others about halfway down the driveway near a stand of banana palms, leaving Kurt behind with Caitlyn to rejoin the party.
Instead, they were on their own, and even though she hid it well, he could sense her disappointment in the round of her shoulders, the fatigue around her eyes.
The fence cast a helpful shadow, and they stuck to the darkness as they hustled toward the van’s waiting point. Ten minutes later, they stood on the side of the road, right where their ride should have been.
“You sure this is the place?” he asked.
“Positive.”
The street was deserted in both directions. “Fabulous.”
Of course the van was gone. Why had Kurt expected anything to go right? He knew better.
On the bright side, they weren’t dragging along a bunch of people they were supposed to have rescued. Little consolation for Rose being God-knew-where, and the others still stuck with Lambert, clearly being mistreated.
“Back to the limos?” Caitlyn asked.
“Yeah.” Kurt wiped at his wet face in vain as the rain kept coming. “I don’t see what choice we have, but Lambert’s guards have had more time to spread out, and the police might have joined the search. We’re going to have to be extra careful.”
They plodded toward the plantation, hanging in the shadows. Red lights flashed in the dark, illuminating the falling water, the trees, and the fence surrounding the large property as they approached. The road ended in a T at Lambert’s street, and Kurt peered around the corner.
“Fuck. There’s a roadblock.”
Caitlyn snuck a glance. “Do you know how to hotwire a car?”
“Yeah, but I haven’t seen any cars in this neighborhood old enough. Anything manufactured in the last twenty years will have an alarm and a starter lock that would make it pointless.”
She frowned.
He surveyed the street from behind a trailing vine growing over someone’s wall. “The good news is the limos are outside the police line. The cops are set up to prevent us from leaving the plantation, which means they won’t be looking for us to come back.”
“They will be on alert, though,” she said. “And there are probably guards along the fence line.”
“Right. If we stick to the shadows, I think we can get to the limo parked on this side of the street.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “You game?”
“Always.”
His kind of woman. He kissed her hard and fast on the lips. Before she could utter a wide-eyed response, he crept forward. She followed until they were ten yards off the black car’s bumper. Kurt hung back as Caitlyn tapped on the driver’s window. The man’s surprise was visible in the side mirror, but he rolled down the window.
“I’m already on a fare, ma’am. If you need a ride I can call my service for you.”
Caitlyn smiled and crouched down to eye level, shielding her eyes from the rain with her hand, wearing a sweet, helpless expression Kurt had never seen on her face. “We took a wrong turn and our rental car broke down. We’re due back at the port in an hour or the cruise ship will leave without us, but the rental car company can’t get anyone out here fast enough,” she said, her voice plaintive and distraught. She glanced at Kurt. “We can pay you cash.”
Kurt nodded and hunched a little, trying to look as low-threat as possible while the man studied him in his side mirror.
“I, uh, I am not supposed to…”
“Please.” Caitlyn pushed wet hair out of her eyes. “We’re at the port in Ville-Nicolas, not the one in Sancoins. You might even get back before your clients realize you were gone.”
The driver cast a worried look at the police barricade.
“You know what? It’s okay. I’ll try the other guy.” She waved toward the limo in front of them.
“Three hundred.”
“Oh, thank you.” She managed not to look smug as she slid a stack of bills from her small purse. “How about two hundred now, two hundred when we get there?”
The driver frowned and glanced at Kurt again, but unlocked the doors with a loud click. “Okay.” Maybe because they were coercing him, he didn’t offer the full white-glove treatment.
Fine by Kurt. He opened the rear door and gestured for Caitlyn to slide in. Then, he joined her on the plush seats and shut out the driving rain. “Nice job,” he murmured in her ear.
Caitlyn handed the money to the driver through the lowered privacy window.
“Which cruise line?” the man asked, his brown eyes skeptical in the rearview mirror, even as he started the engine.
“Caribbean Queen,” Caitlyn replied without hesitation.
What would the driver do if there was no Caribbean Queen ship in the harbor?
His expression softened a bit. He maneuvered onto the road and sped away from Lambert’s estate.
“What’s up with all the police?” Caitlyn asked, looking over her shoulder as Kurt was, to ensure the cops didn’t react.
The police officers watched, but must not have thought it odd that a hired driver might eventually leave, especially since he was outside the barricade.
The driver shrugged. “There was a shooting at the party and they’re not letting anyone in or out.”
She visibly shivered and Kurt scooted next to her, putting his arm around her shoulder.
“Any chance we can get the heat on back here?” he asked.
The driver fiddled with the knobs on the dash and the cool air blasting from the vents quickly turned hot.
“I thought the island was pretty safe these days,” Caitlyn said with a frown. “No more rebels and a recovering economy.”
“It is,” the driver said, bobbing his head. “Very safe. And especially in an area like this, violence is not usual.”
They sat in silence for a moment, Kurt and Caitlyn dripping water onto the vinyl seats as the warm air tried in vain to dry them out.
“Where are you coming from?” the man asked them.
Caitlyn named a restaurant that must have been in the right general area to make sense. “The seafood was worth it,” she said with a satisfied smile.
“I have never eaten there, but it is a popular place.”
She sat back and interlaced her fingers with Kurt’s at her shoulder. He held tight, not caring if she was touching him for herself or for show.
The tap of the rain overhead, the hum of the engine, the comfortable seats, and Caitlyn pressed to his side all conspired to make him drowsy as he came down from the rush of adrenaline. But they weren’t safe yet. He couldn’t let his guard down.
“Thank you so much for doing this,” Caitlyn said. “We spent the whole day driving around the island, and it’s gorgeous, but I’d rather not get stuck here.”
“Where are you from?” the man asked, his voice and posture relaxing as they drove through the dark.
Caitlyn squeezed Kurt’s hand.
“California,” he said.
The driver glanced in the mirror again, his brown eyes lighting with interest. “Los Angeles?” he asked, his voice tinged with excitement. “I have always wanted to see Hollywood. And Venice Beach.”
“We’re from San Diego. It’s about two hours south, depending on traffic. Close to Mexico.”
They made small talk with the man, and reached the port in about twenty minutes.
Miraculously, the tower of a Caribbean Queen cruise ship rose above the harbor buildings, a brightly lit beacon among the smokestacks.
Caitlyn paid the driver the rest of the money and they watched him drive away before positioning themselves in a semi-private spot next to the tourist marketplace. The shops had stayed open late to take advantage of the rush of cruisers heading back to their ships for a late departure.
Removing a burner phone from her purse, she called Shaylee about the boat that was supposed to be waiting to take them and their nonexistent group to St. Lucia.
“Engine trouble,” she said, zipping the burner phone into her purse. “Shit.”
His thought exactly. Soon every police officer on the island—and probably most of Lambert’s private security team as well—would be on the hunt. And, eventually, the limo driver would realize what he’d done.
But Kurt wasn’t without resources of his own. “I have an idea.”