In Too Deep Page 23

  A familiar, and welcome, feeling of calm anticipation filled Michael. The same sensation he'd always had when inserted on a mission and the shit was about to hit the fan. Damn, he'd missed it. He hefted the CAR-15 comfortably in his hand. Not making an aggressive show, but not bothering to hide it, either.

  Michael recognized the seven men on deck. All local island guys. Honor among thieves. They were heavily armed with MP5s, and stood like cats at a rat hole waiting for him to make a move. They'd have a long wait. He'd played in ball games much rougher than this.

  "What's up, guys?"

  "Mr. Bouchard wants to talk to you," Palaki said, not meeting his eye.

  And Michael wanted to talk to him. With his fists. "Yeah?" he said casually. "Well, here I am. He can talk to me anytime."

  He kept his back to the wall of the wheelhouse. The odds were the shits, but he'd been in worse situations and lived to tell the tale. The only difference was that this time he had a distinct blind side. He angled his head for the best visibility.

  He could get off several rounds, and kill a few of them, but by then he'd be a sieve. They wouldn't kill him until they had the info they wanted, but they didn't have to give him a great quality of life until then, either. Under normal circumstances he'd take his chances. But right now there was too much at stake.

  Because once they got through with him… there was nothing to keep them from going after Tally.

  "Where is he?" Michael asked, not lowering his weapon.

  Feilo, who also refused to meet his eye, gestured to the other boat. A slithery chill went through him. He'd rather face a dozen blazing guns than cross the few feet separating the two vessels.

  "Fine. Tell him I'll put the coffee on, he's welcome anytime."

  Palaki waved his weapon. "He say you come. Now."

  A quick glance up showed the muzzles of half a dozen weapons pointed at his head.

  Stalemate.

  Michael considered his options. At least if he went aboard the other boat he'd be able to keep Bouchard in his sights. And away from Tally. He strode across the deck.

  Feilo and another man dropped a lightweight ladder, climbed down, then stepped across, clambering over the railing of the Nemesis. Michael obligingly handed them his CAR. And raised his arms when told. They searched his body for more weapons, and while they'd stripped him of the gun in the small of his back, they didn't go down far enough to discover the knife sheathed on his left ankle.

  "Where's Tally?" Feilo asked.

  Michael shrugged, one leg over the teak rail. Jesus, the few feet separating the vessels looked a million miles wide, and the lapping water in the valley between the hulls beckoned. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"

  Michael blocked spatial distance and took the leap to the rung ladder. It clattered against the Fiberglas hull of the Beautiful Dreamer. Michael hung there, over the hypnotic lure of the water a dozen feet below. He hauled himself up the cold metal rungs, then tossed a leg over the railing and landed on the deck of the other vessel, bathed in an icy sweat, but on two feet. Hoo-yah.

  He didn't see the guy on his left, who delivered the hard blow to his head. By then, it was too late.

  Tally strained to hear what was going on up on deck. She couldn't hear a damned thing. Where was Michael?

  She held the large black gun in her hand. He hadn't had time to show her how to use it. Although the operation seemed basic—point and pull the trigger—Tally was pretty sure there must be more to it than that. On the other hand, if it were much more complicated, every redneck in the United States wouldn't have a gun rack on his truck.

  Without moving her hand, she tried to see if the gun had a safety catch on it. It didn't appear to, but then, damn it, she had no idea what a safety catch looked like. Even if she figured it out, she wouldn't know if Michael had it ready to shoot, or if she'd have to… Tally groaned. If nothing else, the thing looked big and scary.

  The Nemesis rocked, and she froze, staring at the locked door. She cocked her head as she heard the soft susurrus of voices.

  Her heart sped up. Arnaud. It had to be Arnaud who'd come aboard. The bastard.

  Thank God Michael had taken a gun with him. Arnaud was a bully, but she bet he would back off considerably if faced with another man carrying a weapon.

  A few seconds later she heard several sets of footsteps on the deck overhead, then those same heavy treads running down the stairs. Heart in her throat, Tally stood, lifting the gun in both hands and pointing directly at the door. It would probably look more effective if she could stop shaking. On the other hand, what man wanted to take a chance with a clearly nervous woman aiming a loaded weapon at him?

  The footsteps crossed the salon. The handle on the cabin door rattled. "Tally? Are you in there?" The handle jiggled.

  She didn't recognize the man's voice. An islander by the sound of him, and someone who knew her.

  Friend or foe?

  The handle rattled again.

  One man said to the other in Tahitian, "She's in there."

  Silence.

  The gun wavered in her hands. Who knew a gun was so heavy? Tally raised it a couple of inches, and braced the back of her legs against the built-in bed behind her.

  A loud crash indicated they'd hit the teak door with something heavy.

  Tally stared at the huge crack they'd made in the door.

  "Kick it again," came the order in Tahitian. "Hurry."

  "Michael?" Tally yelled. Just in case he was with them out there. She didn't want to shoot him by mistake.

  "He's not here," the man said in English. "Come out. Mr. Bouchard wants you."

  Mr. Bouchard's had me, Tally thought furiously. "I like it just fine right here. Tell him to go to hell."

  Another kick to the door. The crack lengthened.

  Tally checked to make sure the gun was still pointed more or less level. She closed her eyes reflexively as she pulled the trigger, then screamed with surprise at the loud retort, and the impact of the recoil. She fell onto her butt on the mattress behind her with a thump, and the automatic fired several more shots, up the door and then into the ceiling.

  Annie Oakley she was not. Her ears rang, her hands were numb, and her heart was doing triple-axels. She opened her eyes in time to see two guys breaking through what was left of the door. Her satisfaction at seeing one of them clutching his bleeding arm was short-lived as they charged her. They didn't have far to go.

  Two-fisted, she raised the gun.

  Michael was gone.

  Arnaud would kill her if he got his hands on her again.

  Tally pulled the trigger.

  She heard a loud thud as one man hit the floor.

  Oh. My God. She'd shot someone. She couldn't think about it.

  Run like hell.

  Where?

  No idea.

  Bleeding copiously from his arm, the first guy she'd shot jerked her off her feet before she could get by him. He plucked the gun from her numb fingers, then frog-marched her over the remains of the door, through the salon, and up the stairs. Lucky howled as they passed, then hissed and cried, and ran in circles around the guy's feet.

  The man lifted his foot.

  "Kick that cat," Tally told him, "and I'll rip your heart out through your nose!"

  He pushed her up the stairs ahead of him, then slammed the door on the yowling cat.

  Through the windows of the wheelhouse Tally saw a huge white boat looming above the decks of the Nemesis.

  "Where's Michael?" she demanded, squinting as she was shoved outside into the brilliant sunshine.

  "He and Mr. Bouchard are waiting for you."

  That's what Tally was afraid of. "And?" she asked.

  "Mr. Bouchard invited you to come aboard."

  "And I'm politely declining. Go and tell him so."

  "Tally, there you are," a nasal voice shouted.

  She turned to the source, then glanced up. Arnaud looked down at her from several feet above the deck from where she stood. Hi
s hair and clothing were immaculate as always, but his nose was swollen to three times its normal size, and had already turned black and blue.

  That made her feel better. She smiled sweetly. "Aw. Did I break your poor nose?"

  "Bring her up," Arnaud instructed the bleeding flunky beside her. His blond head disappeared from view.

  Tally estimated the distance she'd have to run to get away from this guy. Too far. The distance to the island? Too far. The chances of getting shot in the back while she did something that stupid? Good to excellent. "How am I supposed to get over there?"

  He indicated the ladder. It looked spindly, and way too flimsy.

  "I don't think it'll hold me," she said.

  "Go."

  She went.

  As soon as Tally's head cleared the railing on the other boat, she saw not only Arnaud but Leli'a as well. Oh, joy.

  "Thank you for joining us," Arnaud said civilly, as though he hadn't attempted to murder her a couple of hours ago. He and Leli'a sat at an umbrella-shaded table on deck having, of all things, lunch.

  Michael lay on the floor nearby. He wasn't moving, and she couldn't see his face. Was he alive?

  Her heart hitched. She forced herself to look away. Behind her, the man who'd accompanied her lifted the ladder to the deck.

  She strolled over to the table and pulled out a chair. "Now why doesn't it surprise me you two are in bed together?"

  Arnaud nodded to a hovering servant, and the man poured Tally a glass of juice. She ignored it.

  "Where is the detonator?" Arnaud demanded.

  Tally gave him a wide-eyed look. "What detonator?"

  "The small silver 'box' you picked up on the beach."

  "Ahh. That was a detonator? I put it somewhere safe. I didn't know what it was. I guessed it was valuable. But a detonator? Wow. What does it detonate?"

  "Kill her and get this over with. When her boyfriend comes to, he'll tell us," Leli'a said coldly.

  "My boyfriend won't tell you a damn thing," Tally told them coldly. Wake up, Michael!

  "Did your lover tell you why he's here?" Arnaud asked.

  "Because your goons knocked him over the head?" Tally asked sweetly. "What's the matter? Afraid to face him man to man?"

  "Don't pussyfoot around, Arnaud," Leli'a said with distinct glee. "Tell her."

  "Tell me what?"

  "That Lieutenant Wright has been to Paradise before."

  Lieutenant? Michael was a cop? Since when? And no, he hadn't mentioned he'd been here before. In fact, he'd said otherwise. Tally remained silent.

  "He and his Navy SEAL partner came here last year to destroy your father. Are you aware of that?"

  Tally's mouth got drier. "No, but what has that got to do with anything?" Michael was a Navy SEAL? Little bits and pieces clicked into place like dominoes. Oh. My. God.

  "I would imagine your lieutenant has returned to the scene of the crime, as it were. I do believe he's come back to kill Trevor."

  Tally laughed. It wasn't exactly filled with wild mirth, but the idea was pretty damn far-fetched. "Michael is a sail bum. He would've told me if he'd been here before." Not, a little voice said, if he planned to kill your father.

  "He used you," Leli'a said smugly, dark eyes flashing in triumph. "He fucked your brains out because he wanted to use you. Haven't you looked in the mirror lately? You're a skinny, flat-chested… nothing. Did you really believe for one second a virile man like that would spare a glance for someone who looks like you?" The girl laughed. "Give me a bloody break."

  Tally's hand curled in her lap. How odd, her heart literally hurt. Ached. Silly, really. Of course she knew what she looked like. But she'd forgotten when she was with Michael.

  He'd made her forget she was flat-chested, and plain.

  She'd forgotten, because when he'd looked at her with hunger in his eye, she'd felt beautiful.

  But she'd be damned if she'd give this little bitch the satisfaction of knowing her barb had hit home. "Gee, Leli'a, sounds like you're jealous to me." Tally flicked a glance at Arnaud. "What's wrong, Arnaud? Not enough for her, either?"

  He flushed under his tan. The stem of his wineglass snapped between his fingers.

  "For heaven's sake." Leli'a waved for a servant to remove the glass from Arnaud. She gave Tally a withering look. "Don't sit there all pale-faced and wounded. You're a big girl. I'm sure the sex was more than delicious. Consider yourself fortunate he fucked you, whatever the reason. Girls like you don't get the opportunity that often, I'm sure."

  Leli'a crossed her legs and lit a cigarette. She inhaled, then blew the smoke at Tally. The breeze wafted the smoke over Leli'a's hair, and she fanned it away impatiently.

  Tally gave her a cat-got-the-cream smile. "Eat your heart out, you silly little girl. The sex was delicious. Unfortunately for you, you'll never know firsthand. Arnaud is—what—twenty-five years older than you? Old enough to be your father, in fact. Skinny, flat-chested, pitiful me has had them both, and news flash: I got steak, and you got the toy in a Happy Meal. Guess big boobs and miles of hair don't count for as much as you thought they did, huh?"

  Leli'a started out of her chair. Arnaud put a hand on her arm. She subsided, glowering like the teenager she was. "Now that we've got that out of the way, where is Arnaud's detonation device?"

  Tally, still trying to assimilate Michael's betrayal, shrugged. If Arnaud shot her right now, she doubted she'd feel anything. She was numb.

  "Don't be so damned impatient," Arnaud snapped to the girl. "They must both know where it is. We take no chances." He motioned for one of the men carrying a gun. "Bring him round. Dear Tally needs motivation to jog her memory."

  Michael was alive. Thank God. Tally leaned back against the soft cushions as though she didn't have a care in the world. "I believe those earrings you're wearing are mine. Hand 'em over while we're waiting, toots," she told Leli'a, who was wearing a green cotton sundress, high-heeled sandals, and Tally's favorite silver-and-emerald earrings.

  "Tell me what you did with my pearl necklace before we kill you," Leli'a snarled in response, her pretty face pink under expertly applied makeup. The island girl was gone completely, Tally suddenly realized. This self-possessed young woman was not only well-dressed, and perfectly groomed, she also spoke perfect English.

  "Hmm. No more pidgin English, I see," Tally said absently.

  Michael wasn't coming around. Arnaud got up from the table to hassle his men. Tally dragged her attention back to Leli'a. "What happened?" she asked. "Did you take elocution lessons this morning?"

  Did Auntie know her niece was plucked-eyebrow-deep in Arnaud's business? God. Was Auntie involved in all this? And Henri?

  Michael lay insensate on the deck, while Arnaud and two guards crouched over him, presumably trying to decide how to get him to wake up.

  "I had a better education than you did," the girl told her coldly. "Twelve years at San Souci in London."

  "They might've taught you to speak the Queen's English, but that didn't help with your klepto problem, did it?" Tally said. One of the men had thrown a pitcher of water over Michael. He wasn't moving. Oh, God. Perhaps he was dead.

  Leli'a leaned over the table. "Let me explain something to you, toots. My great-grandfather brought those pearls up one at a time from the reefs of Bora-Bora more than seventy years ago. He had them strung in Paris for my great-grandmother. They've been passed from each generation of women in my family. My family, you bitch. Not yours. The pearls are mine, and always have been."

  Tally frowned. "Are you saying my father stole them from your family, then gave them to me?"

  "I'm saying my father stole them from me to give to you," Leli'a said flatly, her black eyes watching for Tally's reaction.

  Tally glanced over as another pitcher of water was thrown on Michael. Damn it. Why didn't he wake up? She glanced back at Leli'a. "I'm sure my father has a bill of sale. He gave them to me years ago. You would have been only a child then. Perhaps your father sold the—"

&n
bsp; "You not very bright, are you, sista?" Leli'a mocked in pidgin English, switching back to her faintly accented British as she said venomously, "My father is Trevor Church."

  Tally heard her quite clearly, but she said, "What?" anyway.

  "He was living with my mother when you and your mother were in Papeete looking for him ten years ago. I am more his daughter than you could ever hope to be."

  Tally felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach.

  She didn't doubt Leli'a's claim for a moment. She and Bev had come to Tahiti years ago looking for Trevor on a flimsy lead. Tally remembered the long, lonely days, and even longer, lonely nights. Her mother's desperation. Her own yearning. They'd both hoped. And in the end they had returned home under another crushing, bitter disappointment.

  God, what irony. She'd always wanted a sister. If only she'd known… and if she had, then what?

  She reached for the fruit drink on the table, not caring what was in it, and chugged it down. She didn't taste it. Had her father left Leli'a behind when he'd packed a bag and gone off on one of his "business trips"? Had he taken the little dark-haired girl with him? Had Trevor cared about Leli'a, and her mother, more than he'd ever cared about Tally and Bev? Had he called, and promised Leli'a the moon, then delivered nothing? Had he told her half-sister he loved her? And meant it?

  God. This shouldn't hurt so badly. It wasn't as if she and her father had ever had anything close to a relationship. But Leli'a had been with him for all these years while Tally had just dreamed of seeing him for a few hours… for those same years.

  A nasty, overwhelming, jumble of pain, jealousy, anger, and hurt tore through Tally. She ached with her father's betrayal. To herself. To her mother. Dry-eyed, she stared at Leli'a. She must look like her mother, although now that Tally knew, she thought perhaps the Tahitian girl had the same slightly crooked smile her fath—that Trevor—sported. Oh, God. She needed to go somewhere quiet to assimilate this. To come to grips with it all.

  One look at the triumph in Leli'a's eyes dissuaded her.

  "Why would he steal the pearls from you to give to me? It doesn't make any sense."