40

“Ling, I think I just saw Todd,” said Connor, interrupting Dave’s surf monologue.

Ling turned to him, a frown on her face. “Todd?”

“Yes, Todd Logan,” Connor repeated, giving her a pointed look. “You remember, the Rollerblader.”

“So, the wave pulled me under. I thought I was gonna be fish food . . .” continued Dave, trying desperately to keep Ling’s attention. But she ignored his ramblings as the name’s full significance hit home.

“Where?” Ling demanded, her eyes sharp as she hunted the darkness.

“Over there, by the dancers.”

Ling craned her neck. “I can’t see him. Are you sure?”

“I didn’t see his face,” admitted Connor, “but I recognized his lion tattoo.”

Ling leaned over to Connor and whispered, “We can’t simply extract the girls from the party just because you saw a tattoo. It could just be a random tourist with a similar tattoo and we’d end up spoiling everyone’s night, on the basis of a suspicion.”

A memory surfaced in Connor’s mind of the mishap at the school dance last year with Alicia. In his haste to act and protect her, he’d inadvertently ruined her evening and nearly brought his first mission to an abrupt end.

But then he thought about all the times when his instincts had been spot-on, and he decided to trust them once again.

“It’s too much of a coincidence to ignore,” he insisted. “We can’t take the risk.”

“Okay,” relented Ling, getting to her feet. “Then we need to eyeball him first. Get confirmation.”

Dave looked up with a slightly forlorn expression. “Hey, Ling. Forget Todd. Think Dave!”

“In another life,” replied Ling over her shoulder as she and Connor strode toward the main party.

“Let’s split up,” Connor suggested, “but stay in comms.”

Ling nodded in agreement, and they both inserted their covert earpieces.

“Alpha One to Alpha Two. Comms check,” whispered Connor.

“I’m standing right next to you, idiot!” hissed Ling. “But I hear you loud and clear. Now you take left flank and I’ll take right.”

The two of them circled around the mass of people raving on the beach. The music was pumping, and in the flame-lit darkness the dancers became a tangle of bare arms and legs, faces shifting in and out of view, making it hard to identify anyone. But, as he worked his way through the party, Connor kept a visual lock on Emily and Chloe’s position.

“Have you spotted him yet?” came Ling’s voice in his ear.

“Negative,” replied Connor.

A pretty girl swayed to the music in front of him, trying to catch his eye. He smiled at her. At any other time, he’d leap at such an opportunity, but there were more important matters at stake right now. He edged past her, heading in the direction of the bar.

Above the music he suddenly heard Chloe’s voice shout, “CONNOR!”

He spun around, his heart in his mouth at the anticipated sight of her being dragged away into the darkness. But she was just bouncing up and down, waving for him to join her in a dance. Breathing once more, Connor pointed in the direction of the bathroom. Chloe gave him the thumbs-up in understanding and returned to her dancing. On the opposite side of the dancers, Ling continued with her surveillance sweep. She made eye contact with him.

“Any sign?” she asked.

Connor shook his head.

“Maybe you were mistaken.”

“No, I’m sure I saw—” At that moment, Connor noticed movement behind the palm-thatched snack bar, a figure lurking out of sight from all the other partygoers.

“I’ve spotted him,” he whispered. “Behind the snack bar.”

“Are you sure?” said Ling, altering course toward the building.

Using the palm trees for cover, Connor moved in for a definite confirmation. The man had his back to him. He couldn’t be certain. He crept to within a few feet of his target. Then he saw, in the reflected glow of an oil lamp, the tattoo.

“It’s Todd!” whispered Connor into his mic.

“Watch out,” cried Ling as the figure turned toward Connor’s voice. “He’s got a machete.”

A gleam of steel flashed in the lamplight, the vicious blade slicing through the air. Connor leaped aside as Ling ran up behind and launched into a flying side kick. Her foot struck the man’s back, sending him sprawling into the sand. Kicking away his machete, Connor grabbed his arm and twisted it into a lock. Ling seized the other arm, rotating it until the wrist threatened to snap.

“Ow! Help!” he cried, writhing on the ground in agony.

“Don’t struggle or I’ll break your wrist,” Ling hissed.

“What the hell is going on here?” shouted a gruff voice from behind. “Leave my employee alone!”

As the snack bar manager stormed over, Connor and Ling stared at the man they had pinned to the ground. Although tattooed and dark-haired, he was not Todd Logan. Only now, up close, could Connor see that the tattoo wasn’t a roaring lion. It was a tiger.