In Too Deep Page 27

  "You need her now," Michael said flatly. "If she isn't alive, and where I can see her, I don't talk."

  The door opened. Cruella was back.

  "Henri left to pick up your guests," Leli'a told her father. "They'll be here in half an hour. Have they told you where it is yet?"

  "Get out," her father snapped, rising to his feet. He crossed to her and jerked her by the arm until he could stare down into her face. "This has nothing to do with you. I wouldn't have this problem if you'd minded your own fucking business and stayed where I'd put you."

  "I couldn't stay in school forever, Papa. I knew you'd want me here now that I—"

  "That's something you and your fool sister have in common, Leli'a." He shoved her away, then slapped her with unconcerned brutality. Her head jerked back as she stared at him with wide, dark eyes. "You have the small brains of a woman. Women weren't designed to think. Women are for fucking. Nothing else."

  He strode back behind his desk. "Do something useful. Remove the cover from the second drawer in the credenza behind you."

  Despite her reddened cheek, the girl shot her father a triumphant look, but Michael saw a dose of fear in her dark eyes. She removed a folded drop cloth from a drawer, then shook out the white plastic sheet and dropped it to the carpet.

  "In less than half an hour my buyers will be here," Church told Michael, indicating Leli'a should spread the cloth over the carpet as he was talking. "I can kill Tallulah now, or you can tell me where my detonation device is." He looked at Tally. "No hard feelings, darling. But I can't entertain if your entrails are splattered all over my carpet."

  Michael heard Tally's swift inhalation beside him. He didn't look at her. Hell, he couldn't look at her. "You're one sick bastard, aren't you? Here's a news flash, asshole. I'm the one who has your detonation device. Kill her, and you might as well kill me while you're at it. As long as we're both alive and kicking, you have a small chance of getting what you want. Kill her, and that's history."

  "Excuse me. Do I get a vote? Because right now swallowing agonizing cyanide, or being chewed alive by fire ants sounds much more appealing than standing here listening to you guys!"

  "Let's not waste each other's time." Church leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers over his mouth. "You've gone to great lengths to return. You wanted revenge. You didn't achieve it. If I'm not going to get back the pulse generator detonator, what's to prevent me from killing both of you now?"

  "Not a thing," Michael said mildly. The explosion would happen in—he tilted his wrist and glanced down—an hour and six minutes. Whether Church had the pulse generator detonator or not. Whether Michael was dead or alive. It made no damn difference.

  "I should have killed you the last time you interfered in my business."

  "It wasn't for lack of trying," Michael pointed out.

  "Still," Church continued without pause, "I am curious as to why you brought Tallulah with you."

  "You'll have to ask Bouchard."

  Church glanced at his second in command. "So, you did invite her."

  "No, Papa, I did," Leli'a said defiantly. "I wanted to meet her. I wanted to see if she was special. Or prettier than me."

  "And to get rid of her once and for all," Michael said flatly.

  "You stupid fucking bitch. All this trouble, and for what? Nothing! Get over here!" Church waved the gun at her, motioning her forward, and the girl moved closer. The white plastic sheet rustled underfoot.

  Without flinching, Church aimed and fired, shooting his younger daughter between the eyes.

  There was an abrupt, shocked silence, then Tally screamed as Leli'a crumpled onto the plastic sheet she'd used to protect her father's carpet.

  "Oh, my God. Oh, my God." Tally pressed the back of her hand over her mouth as she stared with horror at the girl's body on the floor. A puddle of blood formed under Leli'a's head as she stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

  Tally spun around to stare at Church. Blue eyes glazed with horror, white-faced, she struggled to get free of the men holding her. "You monster! You sick, despicable… monster!"

  The phone on the desk rang. Ignoring Tally, Church picked up the receiver. "What is it? Are they here?" He listened intently, his attention now fixed on Michael. The color drained from his fleshy face. "Is that so? And… ? I see. How long? I will take care of it on this end." He paused. "Good. Send them in. Yes. That would be advisable."

  Church put the phone down just as the door opened and four men stepped inside.

  Michael glanced at them from the corner of his eye: low on the evolutionary scale, big and armed to the teeth.

  Church's pissed-off voice demanded attention. "I've been informed by my people that you have set a detonation device on my merchandise."

  "Yeah. Imagine that."

  "The device is apparently set to go off in little over an hour. My guests will be here in minutes. You will tell my associates exactly how to disable the timing device."

  "If I could, which I can't, I wouldn't. Guess it doesn't matter if you have the pulse generator's detonator after all. It's all going to go kaplooie, anyway."

  "Wrong, Lieutenant. You will disable your bomb, and return my detonator. Show him why, if you please, Mr. Griffith. Not the hands. We might need them later." He glanced up at the men behind Tally. "Keep her from interfering."

  Two of them held her arms. She struggled valiantly in their hold. Even managed to bite one of them on the back of the hand. But they managed to contain her, and hold her away from the main bout.

  Two burly apes grabbed Michael's arms, yanking him out of the chair. Before he was fully on his feet, Mr. Griffith punched him in the stomach. Michael's breath left him in a whoosh, and he doubled over like he was supposed to. He brought his head up sharply, butting the man hard in the chin. Griffith's teeth snapped like castanets. He drew back his fist and punched Michael in the solar plexus.

  Michael twisted one arm free, and returned the body blow. The guard tried to regain his hold, but he was no match for Michael, who shook the other guy off and danced before the three of them, light on his feet, and a hell of a lot more motivated.

  Griffith's foot came up to kick him in the stomach. Michael sidestepped, grabbed the guy's foot with both hands, and twisted. His own momentum flung Griffith over onto his back. Swearing and cursing, he tried to get up but slipped in the pool of Leli'a's blood on the plastic sheet. He went down hard.

  A round of bullets shattered the front of Church's desk, missing Michael's leg by inches. Slivers of fine wood flew like confetti. He heard Tally scream, and Church curse. "Stop shooting, you fools. I want him alive!"

  A fist came in on Michael's blind side, but he blocked it with his forearm just in time. The impact made his arm go numb for a second. Someone came at him from the right. He lifted his leg and kicked the guy in the face. The airborne guard flew over Church's desk, scattering papers in his wake. Another one came at him. Michael swung a second too late. The guy used the butt of his CAR to slam a stunning blow on Michael's check. For a second, both eyes were blind. But that didn't stop him. He grabbed the weapon and dragged the guy closer, then flipped him over on his back and used the same method to coldcock him.

  "Bloody hell! Hold him. Hold him," Church yelled. His men were running around trying to figure out how to reach him. Michael stood with his back to the desk, surrounded by three bodies and two chairs. The men holding Tally dragged her out of the line of fire. He got a brief glimpse of her terrified blue eyes just as a man flew across the back of a chair, directly at Michael's middle.

  They went down together. Another guy tried to kick Michael in the head. He missed by a hair breadth. Michael shoved his arm into the prone guy's throat, and used his foot at an angle, aiming for the kneecap of the one standing over him. He kicked, and heard the crunch as the knee dislocated. The guy went down screaming.

  The guy on the floor wasn't breathing too well. Michael pressed down harder. The guy's eyes bugged, and he clawed Michael's forearm, trying to
break free. Michael leaned on him. His eyes rolled, and he was out.

  Griffith was back. This time with reinforcements. It took four of them to hold him, but this time Michael wasn't getting free. Griffith had hands as big as hams. And he knew how to use them. Left fist, right fist. High. Low. Left. Right. The man was methodical and thorough.

  Michael stood up as long as he could, then gave it up and dropped, curling into a ball to protect his guts from the kicks to the ribs that had him so stove up he couldn't breathe. And when he thought he just might die—it stopped.

  He dimly heard Tally sobbing, begging her father to make them stop. Michael could've told her nothing short of death was going to satisfy her old man. "Barely alive" would do the trick as far as Church was concerned.

  As long as Michael could manage to speak, and his hands were capable of disarming the detonator, the rest was up for grabs. They might've left his hands uninjured, but everything else hurt like hell. Guaranteed they'd cracked a couple more ribs. He pulled in a hesitant breath and winced as he exhaled.

  Still on the floor, breathing ragged and shallow, he tilted his wrist. "One hour, thirty-one seconds. And counting."

  "Perhaps we used the wrong incentive." Church's voice was just a little tighter. "Let us see how you react when you have to watch that same treatment applied to Tallulah."

  Tally wrenched herself away from the man holding her and planted her hands flat on her father's desk. She leaned in. "Do you think he gives a damn what you do to me? He doesn't. He used me to get to you."

  Church backhanded her.

  Michael rose to a half-crouch and used his body weight and adrenaline rush to shove the desk. Church screamed as the heavy desk pinned him to the window like a butterfly on a pin. "Get him. Get him!"

  Michael levered himself the rest of the way up with the help of the overturned chair, and grabbed a fallen CAR and held the men off. He could tell by its weight that the weapon was empty; but they didn't know that. Everyone froze.

  "I hope," Tally said flatly, cradling her cheek, "that this is the part where you tell me you aren't really my biological father." Bouchard had come up behind her and had his arm around her throat. Off-balance, she held on to his arm to stay upright. Her red nails were dug deep into the man's skin.

  Church tried in vain to shove the desk away from his thighs. "You, get over here and help me. If either of them moves, shoot to disable."

  Everyone looked from Michael to Church. Michael smiled. "Try me." He pointed the CAR at the closest man.

  The guy moved forward, calling his bluff. Shit.

  It made no damn difference, because Griffith hit him on his blind side. Michael fell to one knee, blood running into his good eye. The room spun. Griffith hauled him to his feet, and he stood there, swaying more than necessary, then let his knees buckle. Griffith let him drop back to the floor. Michael fought to stay conscious.

  Two guys stepped forward and started pulling the desk away from their boss.

  "Take her to the caves. Do not," Church said harshly, "kill her. Do you understand me, Bouchard? Do not kill her. I want the Lieutenant here to know she is alive and in danger. It will keep him motivated to retrieve the pulse generator device and tell us how to turn off the detonator. We'll see how strong his resistance is when his lover is at ground zero. In the meantime, I want the munitions cleared. Instruct the men, all of them, to clear the cave immediately. See to it, Mr. Griffith."

  "The tide isn't high enough yet," Griffith frowned. "Tomorrow morn—"

  "We don't have until tomorrow." Church turned to Tally with fury. "If your lieutenant doesn't restore the pulse generator detonator to me and disable the bomb he's planted on my merchandise, then you will drown—if you don't die first in the explosion."

  Tally turned to look at Michael. Her face was dead white, and a frantic pulse beat at the base of her throat. "Whatever happens, make him pay for this, Michael. Make him pay."

  Their eyes met in perfect accord before her escort jerked her toward the door.

  "Get him on his feet. Have Palei and Hanu escort our guest wherever he needs to go so he can do his job," Church instructed. "Griffith, gather your men, start clearing that upper cave. And as for you," he said to Bouchard, "you take her, and tie her securely in the lower cave."

  "The clock is ticking, Lieutenant," Church said, turning to look down at Michael. He was smiling, and his eyes were as black and flat as a shark's. "Tallulah's life hinges on you doing both your jobs within the next hour."

  "Get out." Arnaud grabbed Tally's arm and dragged her across the seat of the golf cart. The guard got out, spread his feet, then hefted his weapon, training it on them.

  Tally dug her heels in the sand and leaned back against the cart. "Go to hell."

  Bouchard pulled her to him, picked her up, and tossed her over his shoulder. She used her bound hands to pummel his back.

  He grunted as he scrambled over the lava rocks with her dead weight. "I should've killed you when I had the chance."

  "Yeah, well, now you have a baby-sitter to make sure you don't," Tally reminded him. The guard remained on the highest point of the rocks, watching them. The rifle trained on Arnaud's back. Which she just happened to be shielding.

  Blood rushed to her head, making her ears ring as she hung over his shoulder like a bat. Arnaud clambered across the rough rocks and scrambled down. Where once there was beach, it was now thigh-deep water.

  He grabbed her by the waistband of her shorts and tilted her upright. She dropped into the water feet first. It came well above her waist, stinging her cuts, and soothing the bruises.

  "In there." He shoved her between her shoulder blades to walk ahead of him.

  "In there" was an extremely narrow slit in the cliff face. Caves had a tendency to be dark. And dark was about the last straw she needed right now. She halted mid-stride. "No way," Tally said flatly. This was her absolute worst nightmare coming to life in living color.

  "Walk in under your own steam," Arnaud snapped, "or I'll knock you out."

  Oh, God. Neither was an option. She'd rather have been gutted like a fish in her father's living room than die in a dark place all alone. Not only would she have to go into a cold, dark place, but Michael couldn't tell Trevor where the detonator was, because he'd tossed the damn thing overboard. And he couldn't disable the bomb, because… oh, God. Oh. God. Oh, God. No one would ever come to find her. She'd die here. In the dark. Alone.

  Her breath came hard and fast. Her heart raced, icy sweat sheeted her body. The tide relentlessly surged against her, pushing her closer and closer to that opening. "Arnaud, please…"

  "Get inside." Arnaud punched her on the shoulder. "Now."

  "There's no point to this, Arnaud. You heard Michael. Nothing you, or Trevor, can do will make him give you back that detonator."

  "Trevor told me not to kill you. He didn't say I couldn't make you wish I had. Move!"

  Her breath hitched as her heart started hammering painfully. Not now. Damn it, this is no time to have a panic attack. "I c-a-n't," Tally gasped, trying unsuccessfully to suck in air. Too late. The sunny day hazed as her vision blurred. "I won't… ki-ll me no-w. Because as… as's-ure as God made l-little green apples, there's no w-way I'll go in th-there."

  Fatalistically, Tally observed Arnaud lift his arm. Then, in a blur of motion, he brought the butt of his pistol down on her temple.

  Her world went dark.

  Chapter Twenty

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  Tally's gaze fixed on the sliver, the tiny sliver, of buttery sunlight slicing through the solid rock wall in front of her. Her heart pounded so hard, it hurt, and she was breathing as if she'd just run a one-minute mile. And damn it, she couldn't stop shivering.

  She concentrated on taking deep, even breaths. If she hyperventilated, she'd pass out.

  OhGodohGodohGod. Arnaud, the bastard, son of a bitch, turd, had knocked her out. She hoped he'd ended up with a hernia carrying her inside. By the time she'd come to, he'd tied her bound wrist
s to a metal handrail in the wall and left her sitting on the carved stone steps at the back of the cave.

  The step under her bottom was icy cold, and slimy with moss. The tide sent the wavelets lapping on a steady rise up the rough lava walls. The water she and the rat-faced bastard waded through had hit her mid-chest. It was deeper now.

  Breathe in. Deep. Fill lungs. Hold.

  Breathe out. Slowly. Empty lungs. Hold.

  Tally bent her head and tried to gnaw through the ropes around her wrists. The hemp was wet, and tasted like… rope, and didn't give an inch. The rough fibers cut her tender lips and sore mouth. Panic leaked into her breathing. She took a couple of deep, quivering breaths, then bent her head and got serious.

  If she didn't hurry, the water would keep rising. Her heart stuttered, then took up a frantic rhythm.

  She suddenly knew exactly what Michael's phobia felt like. As if with the dark she didn't have enough to contend with, now the very real fear of drowning reared its ugly head.

  "Reality check," her voice echoed creepily across the water. "Even if Michael is capable of getting to me in time, he's not going to be able to swim in here to rescue me." His fear of the water was going to keep him out.

  If there was a rescue to be made, she was going to have to do it herself. Dark or no dark. Deep, black water or not. If she wanted to see Michael again, she was going to have to figure out a way, and a quick way, to get the hell out of Dodge.

  The stairs behind her must go somewhere. Hopefully somewhere sunny and bright. And dry. And as soon as she could chew her way through this rope she'd be up there in a flash.

  But first things firs—

  BOOM!

  "You lying, fucking bastard! It was set to go off in an hour!" Church screamed, racing to the window to look out at the source of the noise.

  "That wasn't the main explosion," Michael informed him calmly. "The door to your storeroom is now closed. My insurance. You won't be getting any of your crap out of there before the big boom goes off in"—he checked his watch—"fifty-seven minutes."