Читать книгу Navajo Echoes - Cassie Miles - Страница 8

After his years as a bodyguard for celebrities, captains of industry and politicians, John was accustomed to finding himself in spectacular surroundings. Fancy-dress balls. The ski resorts in Aspen. Yachts the size of cruise ships. Custom-designed jets with full bedrooms.

He had trained himself to ignore the ambiance and concentrate on watching and listening for signs of trouble. With Lily at his side, he circled the lit swimming pool on the patio and descended a few stairs to the beach—a long stretch of white sand bordered by silver thatch palms, leafy shrubs and a profusion of exotic flowers that, even in the moonlight, were colorful.

Near the bar, dozens of tourists had gathered. Mostly couples, they danced to the lazy calypso beat. John should have been studying these people, some of whom might want him dead. He should have been looking for hidden weapons, furtive glances and other subtle signals of guilt. Instead, his gaze drifted toward the luminescent waves. The sea breeze kissed his skin, and the exhaustion he should have been experiencing faded away. The music of the steel drums and stringed instruments made him want to dance. He wanted to order a sweet rum drink with an umbrella from the bar in a tiki shack, to kick back and revel in this Caribbean night.

Beside him, Lily’s wispy blond hair framed her upturned face. She’d been angry at him before, but now her smile seemed friendly. Or maybe she was a good actress playing her part as his lover.

“I know we shouldn’t dance,” she said.

She was right. One of the keys to keeping visual surveillance was to avoid participating in distracting activities. They should be standing to the side and observing the crowd. But sometimes a man had to go with his instincts. “One dance won’t hurt.”

When he grasped her small hand and pulled her toward the other couples who were barefoot on the sand, she frowned. “Are you sure about this?”

“When is the next time I’m going to be on a Caribbean island with a beautiful woman?”

She slipped off her sandals, and he did the same. The sand was soft beneath his feet. It had been a long time since he’d been dancing and that had been in a country-western bar with boot heels stomping on a hardwood floor. This exotic calypso music was different, more sensual. He allowed the drum beat to resonate inside him, stirring his blood.

Lily’s movements were supple and graceful. A ripple started at her hips and rose through her torso and shoulders. Definitely sensual.

When the guitar player took over with a slow ballad, Lily drifted into John’s arms. Her upturned face in the glow of moonlight and tiki torches was ethereal. The face of an angel.

“One more dance?” she asked.

“At least one more.”

Her body molded against him. Despite the thirteen-inch difference in their heights, they fit together well. Her head rested below his shoulder. Her breasts rubbed against him. As they shuffled together in the sand, her thighs touched his, and he felt himself becoming aroused. Not the reaction he wanted, but he couldn’t help it. She was too enticing, too delicious.

He tried to concentrate on other things, mentally dissecting the music into individual numeric tones, trying to remember the names of the surrounding flora. Orchid. Hibiscus. Periwinkle.

But Lily was pressing more tightly against him. No matter how much he wanted to control himself, it wasn’t going to happen. He was erect and hard as stone.

Leaning back in his arms, she gave him a sly smile and lifted one eyebrow. She knew exactly what kind of effect her nearness was having on him. “Payback,” she said.

“For what?”

“Your little striptease in the honeymoon suite.”

But he hadn’t been trying to seduce her. All he wanted was to wash off the sea scum. So what was her message? If anybody was going to be sexually intimidating, it was her? “I don’t want to play this game.”

“Do I win?” she asked.

“Hell, no.”

“Game on.”

When the ballad ended, they separated. Trying to regain his composure, John scanned the crowd. A group of new arrivals seemed out of place. They were dressed in silk business suits instead of casual beach clothes, and they didn’t look like they’d come to party. The tallest was a heavyset black man with a goatee, clearly the leader. His gaze focused on John. When their eyes met, he didn’t look away.

Beside him, Lily was alert to the potential threat. In a whisper, she asked, “Do you recognize him?”

John leaned down, pretending to kiss her ear. “He sure as hell seems to know me.”

As they danced closer to the well-dressed group, John overheard an introduction. The tall, barrel-chested man was the appointed governor of Cuerva, Ramon St. George.

Edgar had warned them about the governor’s possible involvement in smuggling and money-laundering through the offshore banks. He and his entourage of four—two who were obviously body-guards—seemed to be at this party to meet and greet, encouraging the tourist trade.

John approached the group. He introduced himself and Lily. “Cuerva is a beautiful island. We’re going to tell all our friends to come here.”

Ramon’s lips spread wide in a voracious smile. “John Pinto is an unusual name. May I ask your heritage?”

“I’m Navajo. I grew up on the reservation in Arizona.”

“An American Indian.” His accent was part British and part local, and he sounded thrilled, as though John had told him that he’d arrived from Mars. “Well, John Pinto, you might be the first Navajo to visit our little island. Do you still live in Arizona?”

“Denver,” John said.

“A grand coincidence,” Ramon said.

Lily dug her elbow into John’s ribs, reminding him that she didn’t believe in coincidence.

The governor continued, “We have another visitor from Denver. His name is Drew Kirshner.”

“Small world.” One in which a governor of a Caribbean island was linked with a businessman connected to the Russian mob in Denver. Why would Kirshner be here? Several possibilities presented themselves. All were negative.

Lily kept the conversation going. “We’d really like to try some of the local foods. Do you recommend any restaurants?”

He waggled a forefinger at her. “I cannot choose just one. The others would be insulted. But I can warn you that many of our dishes are very spicy.”

“I love hot food. And all these wonderful fruits. Mangos and guava.”

She played the role of innocent tourist to the hilt, leading the governor and his entourage through a litany of small talk, even soliciting a recipe for curried goat that was used by the governor’s housekeeper.

John wasn’t sure where she was headed with this chat until she slipped in a casual question. “I’d really like to know how to make that dish. May I stop by and talk with your housekeeper? If it’s not too much of an imposition.”

“I have a better idea,” Ramon said. “Tomorrow afternoon at four, I am hosting a cocktail party at the governor’s mansion, where many of our local specialties will be served as appetizers. I would be pleased to have you join us.”

“Thank you, Governor,” Lily said. “You’re so gracious. We’ll be there.”

After a few more words, they rejoined the throng of dancers on the sand. John leaned close to her ear. “Nice work on wrangling that invite.”

“Like Sun Tzu said—keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“You think the governor is an enemy?”

“He’s suspicious, especially since he knows Kirshner.”

John agreed. When Lily put her mind to the task, she had the makings of a damned good agent. Not that he intended to tell her so. She had plenty of ego without his compliments.

AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK, THE NIGHT was still warm, but Lily was glad that she’d purchased a couple of black sweatshirts to cover their colorful island clothes. They needed to be subtle and careful as they headed out for their midnight meeting with Robert Prescott.

As soon as they left the hotel, John pointed out the small, dark man who followed them at a consistent twenty-foot distance, stopping when they stopped and starting up again when they moved on. They meandered along the main road in town, crossing from one side of the street to the other. Most of the storefront shops were closed, but the restaurants and taverns were still open for the tourists. She paused to look in a window and turned her gaze toward the street behind them. For a moment, she thought they’d shaken their silent pursuer. But no. “He’s still there. Who sent him?”

“Your new best friend. The governor.”

“Because I wanted the recipe for curried goat?”

“You know why we’re being followed,” John said.

Because they might lead the way to Robert Prescott. In spite of the easygoing Caribbean atmosphere, she was aware of the long grasp of danger that reached all the way from Denver to Cuerva. Other agents at PPS had been threatened. They had lost one of their own.

The reappearance and return of Robert Prescott signaled the end game. The final solution. And someone wanted to stop them.

John checked his wristwatch. “We’re running out of time.”

“How far to Pirate Cove?”

“Three miles. We can follow the road that runs along the perimeter of the island and then cut down to the beach.”

“Why not start on the beach? We could swim.”

“Bad idea.”

She resented the way he dismissed her suggestion without even considering it. “Why?”

“On the beach, there’s no cover. We’d be too obvious. And if somebody wanted to shoot us—”

“No way. If this guy intended to gun us down, he’s had plenty of opportunities.”

“Not really. I’ve kept to populated areas.”

“It’s a long walk.” She shuffled along beside him. After the freedom of dancing on the sand, her sandals felt like bricks strapped to her feet and the idea of another cross-island trek almost brought tears to her eyes.

He pointed to a colorfully painted bench beside a beige stucco wall. “Wait here.”

Splitting up seemed like a terrible plan, but she did as John ordered, sinking onto the bench, bending down to massage her calf and putting her ankle holster within easy reach.

John didn’t go far. He approached a young man sitting on a beat-up motor scooter. After a quick negotiation and an exchange of cash from John’s money belt, they had transportation.

“Did you rent this?” she asked.

“Bought it.”

His extravagance surprised her. “What about the expense account?”

“I’ll resell when we’re done. Maybe even turn a profit.”

She perched behind John on the scooter, which was only slightly larger than a moped and not much faster. Top speed was probably about thirty miles per hour, but it was better than walking.

On the scooter, they doubled back, passing the man who had been following them. He jogged after them. John whipped onto a side street, then took a couple more zigzags. Then, they were on an unlit two-lane asphalt road, bordered by thick vegetation on either side.

Despite the crowds in town, there were no cars out here. She held on to John’s waist for balance, but her gaze fastened on the road behind them. If the man who had been following them gave pursuit, her backside presented an obvious target. She saw no one. No headlights. No light at all except for the full moon. No sounds but the putt-putt of the scooter and the squawks of island parrots.

The entire island was only sixteen miles from end to end, and it didn’t take long to get to the far end, where John turned right onto a road that was little more than a bike path. At a rocky strip of beach, he stopped. “This must be it. Pirate Cove.”

“How are we doing for time?”

He checked his watch. “Six minutes to midnight.”

While John hid the scooter in the lush under-growth, she found a shadowed hiding place near the shore. She sat with her knees pulled up and her back leaning against the limestone.

She could see how Pirate Cove had gotten its name. Jagged rocks thrust into the sea, creating a natural barrier where smugglers could hide. Blackbeard and his crew of buccaneers might have rowed ashore to this very place and buried their treasure of gold doubloons.

John joined her and stretched his long legs out straight in front of him.

They sat quietly. Exhaustion rolled over her like waves from the sea, but her mind was still active. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.”

“About what?”

“You reminded me that I’m not a cop anymore.”

“Right.”

“That badge comes in handy,” she said. “If I were a cop, I wouldn’t have spent the past hour dodging through town, evading a tail. I’d arrest the creep and move on.”

“Simple,” he said.

And nothing about PPS was simple. “Our work is way more complicated than regular law enforcement. We don’t have the authority to lock up the bad guys. On the other hand, we’re not limited by a need for search warrants and chain-of-evidence procedure.”

“For someone like you, someone who acts on instinct, that ought to make a positive difference.”

She liked the freedom of thinking outside the box, but some of the things their job required bordered on being illegal. Like not reporting the plane crash. “It’s a little confusing.”

“How so?”

“Have you ever been asked to do something you thought was wrong? Like being a bodyguard for somebody who wasn’t a good person.”

“That’s happened,” he said. “But I didn’t think it was morally wrong. Even scumbags deserve protection.”

“How do you know you’re doing the right thing?”

When he turned toward her, the moonlight cast an intriguing shadow below his high cheekbones. “I trust in what I’m doing because I trust the vision of Robert Prescott, who founded PPS. He’s a good man. No matter what he asked me to do, I’d do it. Without questions.”

She’d heard so many stories about Robert Prescott, the former agent for the British secret service who was involved in dozens of international conspiracies. After he supposedly was killed in a fiery plane crash in Europe, the legends got bigger. Robert Prescott came off sounding like a combination of a superhero and James Bond. “You’ve been with him a long time. What’s he really like?”

“He has the qualities I respect. A sense of honor. Courage. Loyalty. He loves his wife, Evangeline, with all his heart.”

And yet, he’d stayed away for two years. There must have been compelling reasons. Soon Lily would know. Soon she would meet the legend himself. Excitement stirred her senses. Here she was on a Caribbean island in a place called Pirate’s Cove, waiting for a former MI6 agent. Life didn’t get more exotic than this.

John checked his wristwatch. “He’s late.”

“Edgar said we should wait only an hour.”

She hoped they hadn’t come all this way to find a dead end. In spite of her sweatshirt, a shiver went through her.

“Cold?” John asked.

“A bit.”

“Lean against me.” He slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “I’ll keep you warm.”

“I’m fine.” Right now she had the advantage in their game of sexual one-upsmanship, and she wanted to keep it that way. Shrugging off his arm, she repeated, “Just fine.”

“I’m not coming on to you, Lily.”

The hell he wasn’t. “Of course not.”

“Think of me as a big brother.”

“Can’t do it. I was an only child.”

“That explains a lot.”

He folded his arms across his chest and stared out to sea. As always, his attitude was calm, controlled and absolutely maddening.

She peered around his shoulder. “What does my being an only child have to do with anything?”

“No siblings,” he said. “You never had to learn to compromise.”

“Oh, please.” She got along well with other people. “Spare me the cut-rate psychology. Both my parents were doctors, and I was sent to a shrink at the first sign of rebellion.”

“And how did that work out?” he asked drily.

“What are you hinting at?”

“You’re still a rebel.”

“Maybe so,” she admitted. Definitely so. The more people told her that she shouldn’t do something, the more she wanted to give it a whirl. “I like to go my own way. What’s the point in following the predictable path of college and career, marriage and kids?”

“Security.”

He answered so quickly that she knew this was an issue he had considered. Doing what was expected. Being like everybody else. And yet that description didn’t fit John at all. For one thing, he was thirty-seven and not settled down with wife and kids. “Have you ever been married?”

He gave a quick shake of his head. “You?”

“No.” She hadn’t even lost her virginity yet—a detail she didn’t intend to share with him.

“How did you end up at PPS?” he asked.

“Long story.”

He grinned. “You don’t seem to mind telling long stories.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide. What you see is what you get.”

“We’ve got an hour to kill,” he said. “Tell me all about yourself.”

“I stepped off the predictable path when I dropped out of college in Ann Arbor.”

She told him about backpacking through Europe, working as a waitress when she could and picking up the languages.

After seeing injustice on a global scale, she’d felt the need for order. That was when she’d moved to Denver and entered the police academy. “Then I joined PPS. It feels like this is where I belong. I love the people in the office. Former FBI agents like Evangeline and Melissa. Jack Sanders was an Army Ranger. Cameron Morgan, the cowboy.” Her gaze bounced into his eyes. “Then, of course, there’s you.”

“What about me?” he asked suspiciously.

“You’re very secretive. The strong, silent type. All I know about you is your work. You’re an electronics genius and an expert in security systems.”

“I like detail work.”

No surprise there. He was a master of precision and planning. “Tell me about growing up. Did you have a big family? Were you good in school?”

John checked his wristwatch again. “We’ve waited an hour. Robert isn’t coming tonight.”

How typical of John to divert the subject as soon as it shifted to him. She followed him across the sand to the bushes where he’d hidden their transportation. Climbing onto the back of the motor scooter, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her cheek against John’s broad back.

In a moment, they were back on the road, headed back to the hotel. She snuggled closer. Hanging on tightly wasn’t really necessary; they were only going about twenty-five miles an hour. But she liked holding him. Her attraction to John was far from sisterly fondness. He was much too sexy to ever be thought of as a brother.

She heard him curse, sat up straighter and peeked around his shoulder. Headlights. A big vehicle. A Hummer. And he was coming right at them.

As the motor scooter skidded off the narrow road, she heard herself scream.