Читать книгу Navajo Echoes - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 8

The motorbike careened wildly. John clenched the brake. He fought for control.

The headlights swerved toward them. This wasn’t an accident. The Hummer was coming right at them. The son of a bitch meant to run them over.

John swung hard right, finding a narrow pathway through the thick foliage. Low branches lashed his arms and shoulders. Lily’s arms tightened around his midsection. The front tire ricocheted over rocks and exposed tree roots.

With nowhere else to go, he had to stop and stop fast. It was a damn good thing that this was only a scooter instead of a heavy motorcycle that would crush them both. Maneuvering so he wouldn’t fall on top of Lily, he crashed sideways into a shrub, taking the impact on his thigh. He yanked her off the bike onto the ground beside him.

“Stay down,” he ordered as he drew the Glock from his ankle holster, positioned himself on one knee and took aim.

His vision faded. Edges blurred. The wavering shadows from branches and fronds in the moonlight became dim, murky shapes. He blinked hard. Not now, damn it. This was the worst possible time for his eyesight to fail.

The fronds and branches became indistinct. All he could see were the bright lights of the Hummer. It would have to be enough. He fired three times in rapid succession.

Beside him, he heard Lily moving around, probably with her own weapon drawn. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. “Get down,” he repeated.

“Like hell.”

From the direction of the road, he heard the slam of a car door.

“Go home,” came a yell. “Leave Cuerva now.”

John pointed his gun toward the voice and fired again. Shooting blind.

He heard the vehicle pulling away and sank back onto the ground. Eyes closed, he inhaled and exhaled with measured slowness, struggling to calm the tension in his body and to ignore the stabbing pain in his forehead.

His blindness was temporary—caused by an old head wound that had damaged his ocular nervous system. He should have expected it; these episodes were brought on by stress and exhaustion. He’d sure as hell had plenty of both today. Two crashes. One in a plane. Another on a scooter.

He felt Lily’s hand on his cheek and pulled away. He didn’t want her to know about his vision problem. Gruffly, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry about me. You don’t look so good.”

“Give me a sec.”

Her small hand touched his thigh and she made a tsk-tsk. “Your trousers are torn to shreds. Our clothing budget on this trip is going to be sky-high.”

Praying for light, he opened his eyes and saw nothing but shades of gray. He squinted through the opaque darkness. A while back, a doctor at the VA told him about an operation that might repair the nerve damage. But if it failed, there was a twenty percent change he’d go blind. John wasn’t a gambler.

He could deal with these infrequent episodes if he controlled the level of his tension. He had to fight the darkness.

“John?” Her slender fingers laced through his, and she squeezed. “John, you’re scaring me.”

“Nothing to worry about.” Shielding his eyes, he waited for the wiring inside his head to sort itself out. These spells passed quickly. Only a few moments. Just long enough to force him to take a medical discharge from the Marine Corps.

Looking up, he saw the shape of Lily’s face. He blinked slowly. Once. Twice. His vision began to clear. Her delicate features swam into focus. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

He wasn’t about to share his disability with her. Didn’t need her pity. “Let’s head back to the hotel.”

“Something’s wrong,” she said.

He pushed himself to his feet. His head was spinning but focus was coming back. He could see the trunks of palms and citrus trees. Thick, leafy ferns. Jagged rocks. The crumpled front wheel of the motorbike. There would be no resale on this equipment. “We’ll walk the rest of the way.”

It took all his concentration to plant one foot in front of the other as he lurched toward the road. He hadn’t had one of these episodes in over two years, had almost begun to believe that he was cured. No such luck.

Lily scampered beside him. “What if they come back?”

He doubted that would happen. “If they’d meant to kill us, we’d be dead by now. The Hummer was a warning. Leave Cuerva.”

“I got the message,” she said. “And I’ll bet I know who sent it. I saw the license plate. GOV 3. It’s got to be part of Governor Ramon St. George’s fleet.”

The governor wanted to scare them off his island? Was he working with Drew Kirshner? The threat to them had to be connected to Robert. But how?

On the road, he set a slow pace. Though he knew the moon was shining brightly, his vision hadn’t recovered enough to see details. The earth beneath his feet seemed to disappear into a dull, dark haze.

It was only about a mile to town, and Lily talked the whole way. Mostly about how they could get even with the governor. Casually, she took his arm, and he was silently grateful for her guidance. Damn it, this was all wrong. He should be the one protecting her. Not the other way around.

By the time they got to the well-lit hotel, he had better clarity and only stumbled once on the stairs leading up to the entrance.

In their room, he collapsed on the red-curtained bed and closed his eyes. What he really needed was a solid eight hours of sleep. But that wasn’t likely to happen.

The mattress bounced as Lily joined him on the bed. Though she was quiet, he could feel her eyes on him, asking silent questions that he had no intention of answering. Never before had his temporary blindness interfered with his duties at PPS and it felt like hell, like he was helpless.

Her touch on his arm was as gentle as a nurse. He remembered the weeks after he was wounded. Lying on a hard bed in a military hospital with his head wrapped in bandages, he was completely blind. Not knowing if he would ever see again.

He knew lots of guys who were worse off than he was. Other men in his platoon had died. But he wasn’t thinking about them. Despairing, he sank deep into an abyss of self-pity. He couldn’t stand the helplessness. John always took care of others. His family. His friends. He wasn’t meant to be disabled.

“John?” Her sweetness irritated him. He’d rather hear her bitching about something. “What happened to you when we crashed?”

“The plane or the bike?”

“You know what I’m talking about. I’ve seen you on the firing range. You’re an ace marksman. Tonight, your shots went wild.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were,” she said emphatically. “I held my own fire because I wasn’t sure what you were trying to do.”

“No point in gunning for a Hummer,” he bluffed. “I was trying to scare them off.”

“I don’t believe you.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “You can tell me what’s wrong. I’m your partner.”

Logically, she was correct. His disability might put her life in danger, and she deserved to know. But he didn’t want to admit to his problem. Especially not here in this hotel room, which was probably bugged.

He sat up on the bed and opened his eyes. The valentine room swam into dull focus. It might help if he had his glasses. He was pretty sure they were in the carry-on bag he’d managed to save in the crash.

Leaving her on the bed, he went to the dresser, where they’d spread the miscellaneous items from their carry-on bags to dry out. The few clothes they’d saved were drying in the bathroom. He found his wire-frame glasses, wiped them off and put them on. His vision was better, but still not great.

Mindful of probable bugs in the room, he turned on the television and went out on the balcony, seeking privacy.

Lily hopped off the bed and joined him. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“You don’t need to know everything about me.”

“Please, John. You can trust me.”

He saw the vestiges of concern in her frown. She was still worried about him. Damn it. He didn’t need a nursemaid. And he sure as hell didn’t need to waste any more time feeling sorry for himself. He focused on the business at hand. “We need more information on Ramon St. George and the guy from Denver. Drew Kirshner.”

“And how do we get this intel?” she asked. “We lost the computer.”

“And the secure phone line,” he said. “There’s no way to contact Evangeline at PPS.”

“How about through the local cops?” she suggested.

“The governor’s men tried to run us down with a Hummer. I don’t think the Cuerva police are going to roll out the welcome mat.”

“We’re on our own,” she said. “It’s just you and me. Stuck on a remote Caribbean island where somebody’s trying to kill us.”

Though John loved his gadgetry and computers, there was something freeing about having to rely on old-fashioned logic and deductive reasoning. “Let’s look at the facts.”

“Two assaults,” she said. “The sabotaged plane. And the Hummer.”

“The methods are very different. The plane crash was sneaky, arranged by an unseen individual who probably wanted to kill us. The Hummer was an in-your-face threat, but they only delivered a warning.”

She drew the conclusion. “Two different factions are after us. The governor and somebody else.”

“Correct.” He appreciated her quick comprehension. “But there is a similarity in both attacks.”

“Motive,” she said.

“Both the governor and the unknown saboteur want the same thing: to keep us away from Robert Prescott. He’s got information or evidence that would harm both of them.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“I don’t know. Evangeline might have a clue.”

“Call her,” Lily said. “Just use the hotel phone?”