Chapter Twenty-Eight

Andrea peered around the corner, and a grin tugged at the edges of her mouth. Kenyon and a crew member were on the dock, carrying several suitcases away from the yacht. As long as Kenyon didn’t look behind him, she might be able to walk off the boat and sneak out of the marina undetected.

She slowly scanned the area, taking in every detail. This side of the dock’s ninety-degree corner, she would be concealed behind another boat. By then, Kenyon would be near the marina office and customs building, and the structures would interfere with his line of sight. Fantastic.

Wasting no time, and walking on tiptoes to make less noise, she rushed down the ramp. Her heart thumped as she clutched the purse to keep it from swinging and hurried along the docks. She tamped down an urge to run, knowing the sight of a woman sprinting would draw unwanted attention.

Kenyon was now out of sight. She had to reach the buildings and turn down the walkway toward town before he retraced his route and saw her. If the car was parked close by, she had three or four minutes at most.

Had anyone else seen her? Was the man with the gun watching?

She shook off that line of thought. Kenyon was probably a good diversion. If she and the yacht were under surveillance, the person watching would be focused on Kenyon and the luggage. No one would expect her to be behind him, dressed like a maid, and sneaking out to find a taxi.

Seconds ticked by. Her tennis shoes were silent on the dock boards. She cleared the gate at the marina entrance. A minute later, she ducked around the far side of the customs building. Success. She paused to catch her breath. Then remembering Elliott’s plea for her to hurry, she shot a furtive look over her shoulder and rushed off.

Andrea finished stuffing the maid’s uniform and dinner napkin into her purse, then changed her shoes. She checked Karli’s watch again. A minute later than last time she’d looked. “How much farther?” she asked the taxi driver.

He shrugged and glanced at her in the mirror. “One mile. Two miles.”

She chewed the inside of her lip. In this traffic, going a mile could take an eternity, and she didn’t want more time to think. The longer the trip took, the more heavily guilt weighed on her shoulders. She drummed her fingers on her thigh, telling herself she was almost there and would not second-guess her decision and turn back.

One traffic light. Two blocks of stores. Another traffic light. A left turn. Some shrubbery. A view of water. Finally, the driver pulled off the road and said, “This is it.”

Jumping from the car as soon as it stopped, she paid him and turned toward the dealership building. A sidewalk curved around toward the side facing the water. A small sign indicated that was where the main entrance was located. On a tall pole between the docks and building, both United States and Virgin Islands flags whipped in the breeze.

She followed the walk, seeing no one around. She hadn’t yet formulated a good approach to take with Elliott. He would know immediately she wasn’t Karli, and she’d have to give him some explanation as to why she was standing in for his cousin. Her part of the assignment might be over, but she didn’t have permission to tell him about the threats, and telling him the truth could mean she might never become accepted as a Ranger. A likely story would be that Karli had something she wanted to accomplish all on her own without anyone knowing Dillon was her brother. He had to know how big Dillon’s shadow was, and he’d probably understand his cousin’s desire to succeed on her own and gain a sense of self-worth. Hell, he was probably living in Dillon’s shadow, too.

With the problem of explaining her presence solved, she walked faster. The important issues right now were whether or not Elliott was responsible for the bug, and if not, whether he would cooperate and help her identify the person who was guilty.

As she approached the showroom door, she glanced through the plate-glass window. A sleek red speedboat reflected the light of the fluorescent tubes in the ceiling. It was a man’s boat, a symbol of the competition in the male world. Narrow and pointed. Like a skyscraper. She snorted to herself. Stand the boat upright, and it was a phallic symbol for immature men, perennial boys like her brothers. He who owns the longest boat or tallest building has the biggest penis.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Thinking like that was way too cynical. She really needed to adjust her outlook before she turned into a bitter man-hater.

Andrea glanced farther into the showroom. Behind the red boat, two tall men stood near a counter. Neither was Elliott. But the one on the right had a bright red birthmark on his left cheek.

She experienced a frisson of fear and stopped walking midstride. The witnesses had gotten it partly right, but the discoloration they’d described was not a bruise, but a birthmark. The man in front of her had shot at her in the marina parking lot.

A million tiny synapses fired in her brain, making myriad connections. Elliott was part owner of the provisioning company. The provisioning company would have contacts or associates in Miami. Elliott could easily smuggle a gun stolen in Miami or a live snake into the VI on the Stone private jet. Elliott had been the last person to fly on the Stone jet before the bomb was discovered.

One big gap remained. How did the death threat from Stone Industries labor leaders tie in with Elliott?

She’d ponder the question some other time. Her hand swung toward the weapon she usually had stashed at the back of her waist. She found only air, and her brain delivered the bad news. She was unarmed. Mitch had all her real weapons. All she had was the silver letter opener she’d stashed in her purse, pretty, but a sorry excuse for a Glock. So much for plan A. There would be no armed confrontation and capture.

Had the men seen her? Maybe she could slip away and call for backup. A plan B—strategic retreat and regroup, return with a weapon—was better than nothing. She did an about-face.

In her peripheral vision, she saw one of the men point, then they both dashed toward the door.

Too late for a casual retreat. She’d been made.

She quickened her pace and scanned the surrounding area. Was there any place she could duck out of sight? The landscaping bushes were low and sparse; they’d be useless for cover. She glanced over her shoulder. Even if she located a place to crouch and hide, the men were close enough to see her.

Time for plan C or D. She broke into an all-out run, or least the best imitation she could manage in Karli’s damn-them-to-hell skinny-as-nails three-inch heels.

The two men were out the door and on the sidewalk. “Don’t leave, Ms. Stone. We’ve been waiting.”

She called behind her. “Forgot something. Be right back.” A lame thing to say, but the first thing that popped into her mind.

Footfalls behind her told her the men were still coming, running as fast as or faster than she was. The sound of heavy breathing meant they were getting closer. A second later, a leathery hand grabbed her elbow and yanked her to an abrupt halt.

She turned and drew herself up into her best snob imitation, looking down her nose, and loading her voice with disdain. “How dare you touch me!”

The man not holding her pulled out a gun and pinned her with his predator’s eyes. “Thanks for coming, Ms. Stone.” He scanned the area in front and to the sides, and then gave her an overly saccharine smile. “Why don’t we go on in?”

For a nanosecond, she considered trying to kick the gun from his hand and make a run for it. But Birthmark Man had a firm grip on her arm, and her chances of overpowering two men, when one held the business end of a gun less than a foot away from her chest, were slim. Even the world’s fastest sprinter couldn’t outrun a bullet.

She pulled in a breath and made her chin tremble. Her best strategy right now might be to act meek and scared and hope they let down their guard. “Why do you have a gun?”

“The better to convince you with. When I point it between their eyes, people tend to see things my way.”

She said, “That’s despicable. You can’t go around threatening innocent citizens this way.”

Andrea feigned cooperation and let them half pull, half drag her back to the showroom door. Once they were all inside, the man with the gun threw the security bolt and flipped the little sign on the door to Closed.

Stalling, she said, “Who are you and what is the meaning of this? When Elliott Stone gets here in a minute, I’ll have you arrested.”

Birthmark Guy chuckled. “I don’t think you’re in a position to file charges. You’re going to be our guest for a while. Elliott has been delayed, so if you’ll step into the storeroom, please.” He motioned toward a door.

She decided to act more afraid of the gun, wet her lips, and clutched her purse. “You don’t need a gun. I’ll do as you say. Please, just don’t hurt me.”

If they simply wanted Karli dead, they could have already killed her. They must have some other plan. She decided to do what they ordered for now and wait for Elliott to show. If the second man had a gun handy, she didn’t have much choice anyway.

He motioned again. “Move.”

She gave a small whimper for effect and moved.

After she stepped into the storeroom, Birthmark grabbed her purse, riffled though it, and removed Karli’s cell phone. He slipped out the SIM card, dropped it on the floor, and crushed it beneath his heel. Obviously finding nothing else of interest in the purse, he tossed it and the useless cell phone parts on the floor.

“Make yourself comfy.” The men stepped out, and a lock clicked in the door.

Andrea huffed out her breath and sat on a cardboard carton. Well, this had certainly not worked out the way she’d planned. Her big gesture of defiance was supposed to show Mitch she was smart, not prove beyond a doubt that she was stupid.

She thought of all the times as a little kid when she’d tried to fight back against her brothers, flailing her arms in a useless frenzy while Damian easily held her away with one hand on her forehead. And she felt just as ridiculous. She should have waited to talk to Mitch before leaving the boat. She should have trusted him to be fair. When was she going to get over the lesson of distrust she learned in her childhood? She lived and worked in a world where trusting the wrong person could cost someone their life. But trusting no one was just as dangerous. When the hell was she going to learn not to judge the world by her family? When the hell was she going to grow up?

She sighed. Now would be a good time.

She couldn’t control her brothers’ behavior then or now, but she could control how she acted in response. If she got out of this building alive, she would make an effort to be less wary and not prejudge every man she met. Especially Mitch.

But first, she had to be as tough as she’d always wanted to be and get out of here alive.

…

Mitch reached for his phone. Not on his belt. He must have left it in Andrea’s cabin.

He went to her cabin and knocked on the door. She didn’t answer, and he knocked again. Silence. The tiny hairs on his nape prickled. Something was wrong.

He opened the door and went in. “Andrea?”

Still silence. He scanned the area. Her backpack and a partially packed suitcase were open on the bed. His phone sat on the table. When he picked it up, he saw the little envelope icon: two new messages.

The first message was from a lab tech. The fingerprint on the bug had been identified as belonging to Elliott Stone.

The second message made his blood run cold. Andrea had left the yacht alone and gone to talk to Elliott.

The voice inside his head screaming, No. This time has to be different, he turned and rushed from Karli’s cabin, barking into his radio, “Kenyon, Gregory, have either of you seen Andrea?”

He got two negatives in reply.

“She’s gone. Left the boat. Out in the open, alone. We need to find her before our perp gets her in his crosshairs.”

His phone rang. Was she checking in? He slammed the phone to his ear.

“Andrea? Where the hell are you?”

“Dillon Stone here, Mr. Weaver.” Mitch opened his mouth to cut him off, but froze when Dillon said, “I’ve just had a very strange phone call from my cousin Elliott. I believe Andrea is in some kind of danger.”

His pulse accelerated to breakneck speed. “What kind of danger?”

“I’m not sure. But he said Karli was at the dealership and I should get there right away.”

Tension coiled in Mitch’s gut. His brain raced to formulate a plan. “Are you here on the yacht?”

“No, I’m in my car. I’m heading there now to see what I can do.”

“Please don’t do that, sir. Leave this to us.”

He’d spoken too late: the silence on the line told him the connection was dead.

At least he now knew where she’d gone. Mitch switched back to Andrea’s phone message and checked the time stamp. She’d left the message forty-two minutes ago. The dealership was only a few miles away. She would have had to leave the boat, find a taxi, and sit through the ride. He pictured the traffic in town. Probably snarled. The trip would take her at least twenty minutes.

She had a big head start, and the twenty-plus minutes since she would have arrived at the dealership was a lifetime when a bullet could travel at a thousand feet a second. He took small comfort from the fact that Elliott’s message implied she was alive when he made the call. She was in danger. A shiver raced up his spine, and danger, danger, danger echoed in his soul. Could he get to her before something horrible happened?

He gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t let himself imagine her hurt or dead. He had to believe he’d get to the dealership and find her alive.