In Too Deep Page 15

  He looked out over the calm water, and the jubilation of only minutes ago faded. His heartbeat slowed to a familiar thud. Thud. Thud.

  Shit.

  The sand was cooler where it was wet as Michael approached the lacy foam trimming the waves. He didn't bother looking around. He knew no one could see him back here behind the boulders. And hell, fact was, even if they could, who the hell cared? Doing a final visual check was one more displacement activity he used to delay the inevitable.

  The sapphire water was deeper because of a sharp drop-off close to shore. Great. He didn't have far to walk before he freaked out.

  He paused, drew in a deep breath. Centered himself. He could do this. Goddamn it. He had to do this.

  While the French Polynesian sun beat down on his head, Michael remembered a rainy summer's day in the Sierras. All four boys were determined to teach their seven-year-old sister how to swim. Mamie had been more than enthusiastic, despite her bad heart.

  The river had been fairly deep, but sluggish. Michael had jumped in first, ready to catch his sister. Kyle had instructed her how to hold her breath; Derek had grabbed her skinny little arms and demonstrated how she was supposed to move. And Kane had run around screaming like a wild Indian, and dive-bombed the water, splashing them all amidst shrieks of laughter.

  God, he'd fearlessly loved the water, even then.

  Michael scrubbed his jaw, his throat tight as he stared unblinkingly at the placid skin on the water.

  "Hugo? Help me out here, Bud. Help me so Church doesn't win. Again."

  He could do this. He could. Just a second. That's all he needed. A second submerged. Christ, he could do this. He drew in a ragged breath.

  "One-two—" He took off running. "Three," full tilt. "Hoo-yah!"

  The water felt as cold as ether on his shins. Jesus. It clawed at his calves like icy knives. His brain went numb with terror. Felt like a heart attack. Fear—intense—debilitated, paralyzing. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't even fucking run.

  "Hugo. For God's sake, man…"

  They were like two halves of a whole. Together since basic training, together through Hell Week and BUD/S. Inseparable. Invincible. The best of the best, and cockily aware of it, too. Even in the pitch-dark, Michael was as aware of Hugo as if they were holding hands instead of tied together on a six-foot line. They knew each other's moves so damn well, it was as though they shared a single brain. One mind. One thought. One goal.

  Only the two of them had been inserted for this extremely dangerous op. The Marie Jose had been pirated by Trevor Church, a modern-day buccaneer who'd become the scourge of French Polynesian waters for years. There wasn't much a single government could do about him. He did his dirty work on the high seas, and out of territorial waters. But this time, he couldn't be ignored. He'd progressed from minor infractions to the big leagues. He'd hijacked an enormous shipment of weapons being transported from Santiago. There was enough ordnance on board to blow away a large chunk of the Orient, for which it was headed.

  Right now the ship was riding anchor hundreds of miles from any inhabited islands as Church awaited the buyers. Intel had reported the terrorists would be there tomorrow. Noon. When they arrived, the Marie Jose would be a dimple in the ocean.

  Hugo signaled. Target. Dead ahead…

  Michael blinked back the clausty darkness and cold and shoved them back into memory.

  The sun beat down on his head, the light breeze felt chill on his sweat-drenched skin. He extended his right foot; one more large stride and he'd be thigh deep. He could do this, goddamn it. He could do this… light-headed enough to pass out, he jerked the leg back in place.

  He'd made it knee-deep before admitting defeat. Sick to his stomach, he stood there like a statue, the ocean sucking at his legs like some vile creature determined to drag him below. As if the sea had let him go once before and it was still trying to make up for the mistake. He felt sick, dizzy with fear. His body drenched in sweat, his heart manic. He forced himself to stay there. Knee-deep in the crystal-clear water. Counting each frantic heartbeat.

  After ten, agonized minutes, Michael allowed himself to turn tail. He trudged out of the viscous water, almost blind with fury and despair.

  He'd sailed on the son of a bitchin' sea for ten freaking months. Dared it to take him. Laughed at its power over him. And in the end, the vindictive bastard always won.

  He dropped to his stomach on the hot sand.

  Push-ups.

  Five hundred.

  Penance for the faint of heart.

  Two. Four. Six…

  At first, he imagined the high-pitched scream was in his head… he paused on the upswing… and heard it again.

  He was at a full-out, dead run before he realized why.

  More effective than a cold shower, a corpse lying on the sunny, tropical beach had knocked Tally's raging hormones into unconsciousness.

  Her scream still throbbed in the air around her. Throat raw, she stared down at the body she'd literally stumbled across as she'd been picking up shells on the water's edge.

  Well, that was the last time she'd go splashing through calf-deep water without watching where she was going. She'd been so busy obsessing about Michael's weird mood, she hadn't noticed a thing until the dead body had thumped hard against her legs.

  The scream had been purely involuntary.

  While her eyes were still trying to understand what she was seeing, her brain kicked her legs into high gear. She dashed up the beach as if it were a great white snapping at her heels.

  The tide pushed the dead man after her in some sort of macabre chase. Unnerved, Tally clapped a hand over her mouth and sank down onto the hot, dry sand several yards up the beach. Her gag reflex worked overtime no matter how often she swallowed.

  Get a grip, for heaven's sake! The poor guy is dead. He can't hurt you, she told herself, unable to tear her gaze from the body trapped in the shallows.

  It was Lu, the kid who'd crewed for them on the Serendipity. Tally recognized his tie-dyed T-shirt.

  Stand up. Walk away—one foot in front of the other. Get help. Get someone. No. Get Michael, he'll know what to do.

  The body—it was easier to think of Lu this way—must have washed onto the beach with the incoming tide. Facedown, his black hair drifted gently about his head with the lapping waves. His hair looked so delicate, it almost distracted from the hole in the back of his head.

  Almost.

  His lifeless hand beckoned with the rhythm of the sea. Come here. Help me.

  Tally swallowed hard, hummed a bit, then, "Oh the shark has… pretty teeth, dear," she sang as she kept vigil over the boy's body. "Lies a bod-y, oozing life. Some… one's sneaking round the corner…"

  "Jesus, that's morbid. Give it a rest, would you?"

  She shrieked and clutched the base of her throat as she spun around. Big, strong, I'm-no-hero Michael, in his fluorescent purple shorts.

  Yes.

  She noticed he was covered in sand. Sugary white dusted his taut, tanned muscles, and sparkled from the hair on his chest. While she was braving floaters, he'd taken a nap on the beach.

  In a demonstration of remarkable maturity, she refrained from jumping into his arms like a motherless monkey—but only because she didn't think she had the strength to run. She staggered to her feet, but stayed where she was, feet planted. A corpse bobbing nearby.

  "This is why you screamed?" he demanded. "The guy's already dead."

  "T-This is Lu."

  He glanced at her. "Lu who?"

  "The guy who crewed for us on the Serendipity the other day. That Lu."

  "Looks like he's been in the water a while."

  "Since Monday?"

  "Oh, yeah. Gunshot, point-blank. From the back."

  "Somebody shot him? Oh, God, poor kid."

  "At least he didn't drown," Michael said with no inflection, glancing at the obvious exit wound. "This was quick."

  "I'm sure he's very grateful."

  "How
many people were on the Serendipity that day?" Michael asked from his crouched position beside the body.

  Tally wanted to grab him by his hair and pull him back. She stared at his broad, scarred back. "Only the three of us."

  "Did you shoot him?"

  "Of course no—oh, crap. Arnaud!" Her heart did a double thump and then sped up. "Why? Why would he do something like this?"

  "A very good question. Too bad we can't ask him." Michael sounded savage.

  Tally dragged her attention back to Michael's face. Talk. Then you'll stop thinking. "You walked right by him—how could you not have seen him?"

  He shrugged. "Lucky, I guess. Come on. Let's go alert whoever needs to know. Poor bastard's not going anywhere."

  The sun's heat did nothing to ease the chill crawling through her bones into every single cell in her body. Tally shivered from the inside out.

  "Where's your stuff?"

  "Huh? Oh." She waved in the general vicinity behind her. She hadn't realized she'd dropped everything until he asked. Michael left her to walk over and snatch up her belongings.

  She drew in a breath. Arnaud was the obvious culprit. But what if he wasn't the one who'd shot Lu? He was, after all, also dead. Who else was out on the water that day? Michael Wright, that's who. He'd got on her case about not heading in because of the typhoon. But he hadn't headed in either, had he?

  What if he'd blown up the Serendipity'? What then?

  Tally shivered. Oh, God. None of this made sense. Why would Michael do something like that? He couldn't have shot Lu. He'd been too far away… But why would Arnaud kill the boy?

  The unrelated events of the last few days suddenly felt extremely related to Tally.

  The boat blowing up. Arnaud's death. The man in her room. A push down the stairs. Now, poor, dead Lu with the back of his head blown away.

  And beside her, at every bizarre turn, a sexy, one-eyed man.

  Tally snorted. She was letting her fertile imagination run wild with possibilities. All she needed was a one-armed man, then she could be a TV show. Oh yeah, it was way past time to get a reality check.

  Michael returned with her clothes and tote. He handed her the bag, and wrapped the towel around her shoulders. With a slight shake of his head, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

  He let his gaze drift down the length of her body, from her wildly curling hair, down her towel-covered chest, along her bare legs, to linger for a second on her bare feet and sand-clenching toes. "Let's get you back to Auntie's," he said flatly. "I think you're in shock."

  Had he seen the question in her eyes? She held her breath and felt the burn of that one-eyed inspection through every atom of her body. Oh, God, he's potent. Tally shuddered. All her emotions were going haywire, and there didn't seem to be much she could do about it. She took a step away from Michael. Ha! As if that would help.

  "Shouldn't w-we… ah… pull him farther up the beach?"

  "Tide's going down. Come on."

  Just the brief brush of his hands as he pulled the towel around her shoulders set her pulse into overdrive. Tally adjusted the towel in what she hoped was a suitably casual gesture.

  Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Who to trust?

  He turned and started walking down the beach. She gathered the edges of the fabric in a white-knuckled fist, and pretended the towel wrapped around her was a comforting hug.

  Chapter Eleven

  « ^ »

  "Auntie, give the lady a brandy," Michael commanded the moment they walked into the bar. "Make that two."

  Auntie glanced from Michael to Tally and back again. "My specialty. Comin' right up, you bet, hottie."

  "Here or out there?" he asked.

  Tally glanced around. "Outside. Thanks," she said as Auntie slid two half-filled Coca-Cola glasses across the tiled bar. She caught Michael's eye and raised an eyebrow at the size of the shots Auntie had poured.

  "You need it," he told her. "Let's sit."

  "Eaha te tumu?" Auntie demanded, scanning Tally's face. Tally figured she probably appeared as pale and freaked out as she felt.

  "The matter is she just tripped over Lu's dead body," Michael answered for her. He took both glasses and jerked his chin, indicating Tally walk ahead of him.

  "Lu drowned?" Henri asked, coming up beside them and walking to a table out on the lanai, followed by Auntie carrying the bottle of brandy.

  "Shot," Michael said flatly, scanning the audience for reaction to his statement. "Point-blank. Back of the head." He made no attempt to lower his voice. Within seconds, his announcement had the desired effect. A crowd collected around them.

  He handed Tally her glass. "Take a slug."

  She took a giant gulp and nearly gagged. It tasted like nail polish remover, but she figured it was medicinal, and took another sip, then shuddered as it bit all the way down.

  Henri crossed himself. "Mon Dieu." Auntie plopped the bottle in front of Michael, then flopped down heavily beside Henri. Her husband took her hand and kissed it absently. "This is very bad. We've never had a murder on Paradise."

  Several locals were seated at a table nearby with Auntie's niece, Leli'a, and two other island girls Tally hadn't seen before. A group of men gathered at the bar to listen as Michael walked them through the events. Tally drained her glass and pretended she was listening to the synopsis of a movie. Better that than close her eyes and see poor Lu with his brains leaking out of that big hole in his head.

  Tally shuddered, grabbed the bottle, and poured another hefty dose of medicine, then took a healthy gulp and shuddered again.

  As soon as Michael finished the story, Auntie wrapped Tally in a bear hug. "Poor baby girl. This bad magic, this. Have another drink. Something powerful and tasty?"

  "No more, thanks," Tally said quickly, remembering the effect of three, no four, piña coladas the other night. God only knew what effect swigging brandy like water would have.

  Her shakes had subsided, but she still felt sick to her stomach every time she thought about Lu. Poor, poor kid.

  "You not be knowing that boy." Auntie tucked Tally's hair behind both ears, and cupped her cheeks in cool hands. "No be worrying. You go upstairs, lie down, take nap. Then dress pretty for Auntie's luau. You see, everything be fine and dandy."

  Somehow Tally didn't think anything would be fine again—certainly not for the guy with a big hole in his head. She caught Michael's enigmatic look over Auntie's broad shoulder.

  "Henri, you take Palaki and Feilo, and go quick-quick beach, get boy. Tomorrow you take home to Fatu Hiva."

  "I'll go with you." Michael rose and started to follow Henri and the two young men. At the edge of the lanai he paused and turned to look back at Tally. "Later."

  She wasn't going anywhere; suddenly she was exhausted. She barely noticed when Auntie grabbed the brandy bottle off the table, then shuffled off behind the bar to pour drinks. Leli'a sauntered over to slip into the chair Auntie had just vacated.

  "You be going back New York City now, e oia?"

  "I live in Chicago," Tally told the girl absently. What did he mean later? Later what? Later they'd finish the kiss? Later they'd discuss the sudden appearance of the body? Later they'd go to the party together?

  Lord, the last thing she felt like doing tonight was attending a party.

  "Same," Leli'a said crossly. "You go. Nobody here want."

  Tally stared at the girl. "Well, thanks for the warm welcome, but I'm not going anywhere." Any woman with big boobs, a tiny waist, and long, silky black hair shouldn't, couldn't possibly be jealous of someone as flat-chested and plain as herself, Tally thought. Unless… "Do you like Michael?" she asked carefully.

  The girl's big brown eyes went wide. "Michael? Him?" She thumbed over her shoulder toward the beach, then shook her head. Her long hair flowed over her naked shoulders like liquid licorice. "Too old. Too poor."

  "Too poor?" Tally asked, amused at the avaricious gleam in the girl's eyes. "Hmmm. I see. Well, if it's not Michael, why do you want me to
leave? I'm only here for vacation, you know. Just a few weeks and I'll be gone."

  "You like Michael?"

  "Yeah, I do." Far too much, in fact. And if most of the men working for her father had left to deliver boats to buyers on other islands, then there was no one around to work on Michael's boat, and if there was no one around to work on Michael's boat, then he wasn't going to be leaving anytime soon. She took a mental breath at the litany.

  All of which meant she either had to withdraw her line of death, or she'd have to find a chastity belt.

  "Nobody else?"

  Unfortunately not. "Nope. Nobody else."

  "Nobody else," Leli'a repeated as a warning.

  "Right," Tally said with as much seriousness as she could. "Your boyfriend—boyfriends—are safe from my wicked wiles. I'm a one-man woman."

  Which was completely pathetic, and also rather alarming to discover.

  Because, unfortunately, her mother had been the same way. And look what that had got her.

  "Will you be at Auntie's birthday party?" Tally asked the girl.

  Leli'a gave her a hostile look. "E. I dance."

  "Great." Tally smiled, choosing to ignore the younger woman's venom. "You have such pretty hands, and I'm sure you're a wonderful dancer. I look forward to seeing you perform."

  Oh, those nasty green pangs of jealousy. Tally had been all but invisible as a teenager. Makeup, deportment, and, most of all, attitude had helped bring her out of her shell. She'd been plain as dirt, painfully shy, and the new girl wherever she went. The older she'd gotten, the easier it had been to pretend she had some sort of grip on this man-woman thing. Ha!

  Leli'a didn't realize what an arsenal she had in her voluptuous figure and those flashing eyes.

  "I'm going upstairs." Tally rose from the table. In the distance she saw Michael and the other men returning from the beach, carrying the blanket-wrapped body between them. She rubbed the chill from her arms.

  "See you tonight, Leli'a." Tally waved to Auntie, then opened the door to go upstairs to shower and change.

  Besides, upstairs was as far away from Michael as she could get at the moment, which was definitely a good idea. Putting a little physical distance between them might be a good idea.