Читать книгу Solving the Mysterious Stranger - Mallory Kane - Страница 8

Chapter Three

Amelia’s eyes grew huge and round. “No, please,” she whispered. “What can you possibly want with my father? He’s never hurt anyone in his life.”

“That’s true. He hasn’t,” Cole said, hardening his heart when he saw her shoulders slump in relief. “But that’s not the issue.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked, and one spilled down her cheek. “Then what is?” she cried. “Tell me something. If I knew what you wanted, I could give it to you.”

“You will. Now open the door.”

She hesitated, then reached for the knob.

“Hold it.” He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. “Turn off the alarm.”

She tried not to react, but her body language gave her away, and he could tell that she knew it.

“Don’t waste my time, Amelia. We both know the alarm is on.”

Two more tears slipped down her cheeks as she pressed on a rock to the left of the door. The “rock” slid aside, revealing a keypad.

Cole caught her hand. “If you do anything to alert anyone, I promise you it will be a deadly mistake. Do you understand?”

Her throat moved, and then she nodded.

It pained him to see her so defeated. Someday, once all this was over, he hoped he could tell her how brave she’d been today.

But right now, all of his concentration, all his strength, needed to be on the job at hand. It was his bad luck that the yacht-builder’s daughter was so damned attractive. And her bad luck that both their lives depended on him playing his part to perfection.

As she pressed a sequence of numbers, he committed the code to memory. An almost silent click sounded and she reached for the doorknob again.

He put his hand over hers and felt the fine trembling that told him she was barely holding herself together. “Who’s here?”

“My father. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Winston. That’s it.”

He squeezed her hand. “Who else?”

“S-sometimes a few of the guys will come up and play poker with Dad. But he’s been—under the weather the past couple of days.”

“His heart.”

“Please…no one knows about his heart condition. Not even Mrs. Winston. My father is a very proud man. He’s always been strong and smart. Always been able to do anything he set his mind to.”

“I’m afraid that’s about to change.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her knuckles against her mouth. After a few seconds she spoke. “Are you going to kill us?”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“If I’m going to die, don’t I deserve to know what I’m dying for?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” He let go of her hand. “Now, put on a happy face and go inside. Don’t forget I’m right behind you.”

As she turned the knob, she muttered a rude but apt description of him under her breath.

He agreed totally.

As she opened the door, he thought of something that had been niggling at the edge of his brain. “Wait a second. Is your dad’s heart condition affecting his work? Is that why this season’s yachts are throwbacks to past years?”

She turned, her expression carefully blank. “Why would you say that?”

“Because for the past three years I’ve been studying your dad’s designs. It’s pretty obvious.” He let his gaze drift down her body and back up. When he met her gaze, she looked away.

“It’s why you did that sexy photo shoot for this year’s calendar, isn’t it? To draw attention away from the yachts?”

Two spots of red in her cheeks told him he was right. “I don’t get it. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to underplay the calendar rather than make it the flashiest one in years?”

She lifted her chin. “Hopkins Yachts are never down-played. That would have given it away.”

They stepped into a stone foyer. Beyond, Cole saw a vast stretch of glass wall that looked out over Raven’s Cliff’s small harbor. In the center of the wall was a set of unsightly steel doors. The elevator.

That made sense now, too. Hopkins needed it to get up and down the cliff. It had been added after his heart attack.

Voices from the opposite side of the room stopped Cole. He slid his hand into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around his SIG-Sauer, hoping like hell he wouldn’t have to use it.

He took Amelia’s arm and pressed the barrel of the gun into her side. Startled, she jerked.

“Who’s that?” he whispered in her ear. “And where are they?”

“That’s Dad, but I don’t know who’s with him. His desk is to your right.”

“Okay. Follow my lead. If you lose your cool, it’s your dad who’ll pay.” He nudged her with the gun again.

She nodded and took a deep breath. With the gun barrel pressed against her side, he nudged her forward.

“Dad?”

“Amelia? Come here.”

Amelia frowned. Her father sounded worried. “Dad? Is something wrong?”

Reginald Hopkins was sitting behind his desk in his pajamas and a maroon lounging robe. On the other side of the desk, in a yellow leather chair, sat Ross Fancher, assembly manager for Hopkins Boatworks.

Oh, no. Ross had the notion that he and she were dating. She’d been out to dinner with him a couple of times, but she’d carefully kept their friendship from moving to the next level.

Still, she’d rather not announce in front of him that she was taking a stranger to her suite for the night.

“Amelia—” Ross started, glaring at the man with her.

“Dad,” she said quickly, hoping to cover the questions she was sure Ross was about to ask. “What are you doing up? Ross, I thought you’d know better than to keep Dad up so late. He’s had that flu bug. What’s going on?”

She shifted. Tension radiated from the stranger. She felt it across the distance that separated them. He’d taken the gun barrel away from her side, but she knew the weapon was in his pocket—and she knew he was capable of using it.

Ross stood. “Amelia—”

Amelia looked past him to her father. She put all the innocent pleading she could muster into her gaze. Her dad had always been a sucker for her big brown eyes. She prayed he’d understand her silent plea to get rid of Ross.

After a sharp look at her and the stranger, Reginald Hopkins cleared his throat. “Ross, why don’t you run along? I am tired. I’ll fill Amelia in on what’s happening.”

Ross glared over her head at the stranger. “Amelia, what’s going on here. Who in h—”

“Ross!”

Amelia knew that tone. Her dad wasn’t about to let Ross say another word.

Ross knew the tone, too. “Good night, Reg.’ Night Amelia.” Ross sidestepped them and headed for the elevator.

Amelia felt the stranger turn. He was watching Ross to make sure he left.

Once the nearly silent doors shut and the swish that announced the elevator’s descent whispered through the air, Amelia felt the stranger relax. It was fascinating how she could feel what he was feeling, even across the inches separating them.

“Amelia?” Her father’s voice was hoarse with exhaustion, but she knew him. He wouldn’t budge until he found out why she’d come in after midnight with a stranger in tow. She’d never done that before—nothing like it.

She turned. “Dad, what’s wrong?”

“Ross was telling me about the fleet of so-called pirate ships that docked at the harbor a little while ago. Apparently they sailed into the harbor like a scene from a movie. The pirates stormed the docks while the fireworks were going off. At first everybody thought it was part of the celebration. But they roughed up some people and apparently waved machine guns around. And now the mayor is missing.”

“Mayor Wells—missing?” What next? “Oh, no. What happened?”

“Nobody seems to know.” He looked at the man behind her. “Young man, who are you?”

Amelia turned. She’d like to hear the answer to that question herself.

“Mr. Hopkins, my name is Cole. I need some information from you.”

“My name is Cole doesn’t tell me anything. Who are you?” He shot the stranger a demanding glare. Without taking his eyes off him, he spoke to her.

“Amelia? Who is he?”

“She doesn’t know,” Cole said. “Is there anyone else in the house? Your housekeeper?”

Her dad’s dark brows lowered. “Mrs. Winston lives down the hill, near the boatyard.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Is she here?”

“No. She left around eleven.”

“Is that elevator accessible from below?”

“Yes. Until it’s turned off from up here. Mrs. Winston has a key. She locks it at night, unless we have a visitor, like tonight,” Amelia replied. “I’ll lock it now.”

“No.” Cole held up his hand. “Leave it alone.” Glancing at his watch, he figured Chien Fou was on his way here with the mayor. The plan was for Cole to have the Hopkinses’ house secured by 1:00 a.m. and to make sure the elevator was operational. It was after that now.

Amelia’s face turned pale. “You’re waiting for someone.”

Her gaze snapped to his pocket, where his weapon bulged, and understanding filled her eyes with new horror. “Oh, dear heavens, you’re one of those pirates.”

Cole winced inwardly at the horror and disgust in her expression. Just wait, he thought bitterly. You ain’t seen nothing yet.

“One of the pirates?” Hopkins repeated, his tone sharp. “Amelia, why did you bring him here?”

“She had no choice, sir,” Cole responded. “I kidnapped her.”

“My God, sugar, are you all right?”

Amelia stepped in front of her father. “Let my dad go to bed.” Her eyes blazed like amber in her pale face.

Cole studied her. Her love and worry for her father radiated from her like heat. How would it feel to have someone care that much? To be that fiercely protective?

Cole thought about his own father. Maybe the old man had cared for him once—a long time ago, before his greed and self-indulgence had turned him into a traitor.

Shame washed over him, familiar, yet still raw. His father’s betrayal had changed Cole, and he knew it. When he’d graduated with a Ph. D. in Political Science, he’d felt as if he was on top of the world. He’d been looking forward to following in his dad’s footsteps.

Now, if he were honest with himself, and that didn’t happen often these days, he’d have to admit that during the three years he’d been working under deep cover, infiltrating the Global Freedom Front, he’d come to the conclusion that he didn’t really expect to get out of this assignment alive.

Only during the past two days had these other thoughts occurred to him. Only since he’d first seen Amelia and reflected on what he’d signed up to do had he wondered if he was as uninterested in life as he’d convinced himself he was.

Amelia’s chin went up and she turned toward the elevator. Her movement brought his thoughts back to the job at hand and he heard what she’d already heard—the quiet hum of the elevator’s motor.

His pulse thrummed as the door slid open.

Amelia shot him a look from over her shoulder. Her expression pierced him like a poisoned arrow. She backed up, her arms spread defensively.

She was making sure she was between the elevator door and her father.

Cole took his weapon out of his jacket pocket. He should be holding his hostages at gunpoint.

He steeled himself against the urge to copy Amelia’s actions—to put himself in front of her and her father as the leader of the notorious and deadly Global Freedom Front stepped out of the elevator.

Behind him stood his three most trusted guards, each carrying a MAC-10 machine pistol. Chien Fou’s hands were empty.

During the past three years, Cole had developed a deep knowledge and understanding of the man the world and his followers knew only as Chien Fou, or Mad Dog. He’d made it his business to understand the terrorist leader’s motivation—his passion. It was the only way he’d stayed alive this long.

The American, who had put himself in power as the leader of the deadliest terrorist group operating inside the United States, only cared about three things: the demise of the American government, the game of chess and himself.

“Amelia, Mr. Hopkins, this is Chien Fou.”

The name sent shock skittering along Amelia’s nerve endings. Chien Fou. She did her best to keep her expression neutral as the full truth of their situation dawned on her.

She, along with everyone else who listened to national news, knew Chien Fou’s name. She was looking at one of the most notorious terrorists on the planet, the leader of the infamous domestic fringe group, the Global Freedom Front. And she, her dad and the town of Raven’s Cliff were in his clutches.

No one had been able to identify him, but rumor had it that he was an American—a traitor to his country and the cause of freedom.

After the Global Freedom Front’s first attack, the media had plastered an artist’s sketch created from a witness’s description all over newspapers, TV and the Internet. The sketch had become as famous as the drawing of the Unabomber. It depicted a broad-faced man with a plaid scarf wrapped around his neck and a Fedora pulled down over his forehead. The shaded eyes in the sketch hinted at Asian features.

Tonight, he wasn’t wearing the scarf or the hat. The implication chilled her to the bone. The fact that this notorious terrorist was here without a disguise meant that he didn’t care if they could identify him. And there was only one reason he wouldn’t care.

He planned to kill them.

Amelia’s pulse kicked into high gear. Thoughts chased each other around in her brain until she was sure she was going crazy.

Terrorists had taken over Raven’s Cliff. The man the fortune-teller had told her to see with her heart, not her mind, was a traitor to his country. She, her father and everyone in Raven’s Cliff were going to die, and it was all her fault.

If she’d tried harder… If she hadn’t been so scared… If—

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to chase off the whirling thoughts. When she opened them, another shock awaited her.

Behind Chien Fou, Mayor Wells stumbled out of the elevator. His hands were cuffed in front of him and his face was pale and dripping with sweat.

Three armed men followed him. A fourth stayed in the elevator. As the door slid shut, two of the guards moved to opposite sides of the room. The third kept his gun barrel stuck in the mayor’s back.

Amelia retreated another step. She needed to get to her father, to make sure he was all right.

“Cole, why aren’t the prisoners tied up?” Chien Fou smiled at Cole.

Amelia had never seen anything more sinister, more chilling, than Chien Fou’s smile.

“There was a visitor here when I got here, Leader.”

Amelia was shocked by the obsequious tone in Cole’s voice. He wasn’t the type to bow to another. As she’d thought before, he was the captain—not the crew.

“Who?” Chien Fou snapped.

Cole looked at Amelia, his sharp eyes signaling a warning.

“Ross Fancher,” she said.

“Yes?”

How did everything the terrorist leader said sound like a threat? She lifted her chin and gave him a steady look.

For some reason, he found that amusing. He chuckled. “What is Ross Fancher to you or your father?”

“He’s assembly-line manager. He supervises the building of the boats. He just left a few minutes ago.”

“Assembly-line manager. Interesting. Then it is fortunate that his injury has not proven fatal.”

Alarm streaked through her like lightning. “Injury? Is he all right? We need to call a doctor.”

Before she knew it the guard on the south side of the room was at her side, pushing the long barrel of his gun into her flesh just beneath her breast. He was shorter than her, and already heaving with exertion. His breath smelled like stale tobacco and beer.

“I can assure you that your friend will be all right. In fact, he will be helpful to us in carrying out our plan,” Chien Fou said. “I suggest that you stay calm, Miss Hopkins.”

“Stay calm?” She flinched as the gun barrel sank more deeply into her flesh. “You’ve taken us hostage. You’ve hurt people. Forgive me if I’m finding it a little hard to stay calm right now.”

“Then we’ll have to find a way to help you.”

“Leader.” Cole spoke calmly. “Maybe we should get settled for the night. There’s not much of it left, and we’ve got some hard work ahead of us.”

“Always the level head, Cole.” Chien Fou nodded. “Abel, you—”

Wood scraped against wood. Before Amelia could react, her father said, “Don’t move.” He stood behind his desk, his face pale, his expression a mixture of fear and determination. He gripped a semiautomatic pistol in his unsteady hands.

“Dad, no!”

Suddenly three deadly looking machine pistols were aimed at her dad’s chest.

At the same time, Cole vaulted toward her father. He grabbed the gun and wrenched it away. Her dad gasped for breath. Cole pushed him down into his chair.

Her dad’s arrhythmia medicine. Cole still had it, and it was way past time for his bedtime dose.

“Please.” She let all her fear and worry show in her voice. “My father is just getting over the flu,” she said. “He needs his anti-flu medication. And he needs to rest.”

Chien Fou gestured to the guard whose gun barrel was back in Amelia’s side. “Get his medicine. Bring it to me.”

No. Just what she hoped wouldn’t happen. If Chien Fou saw her dad’s prescription bottle, he’d know he had a heart condition. She knew with intuitive certainty that the terrorist leader would have no patience with infirmity. She glanced desperately at Cole.

Cole’s gaze slipped past her as he dug into his pocket. “Here it is. I took it when I took her cell phone.” He held it up between thumb and forefinger.

For a second Chien Fou hesitated and a frown creased his forehead. Then he nodded. “Good. You hold on to it. If he needs it, give him one—just one.”

“He needs it now,” Amelia insisted.

“Yes, Leader.” Cole shook a tablet into his palm and handed it to her dad, who picked up a water glass sitting on his desk and quickly downed the pill.

“Now, if there are no more illnesses to treat…” Chien Fou rubbed his hands together. “We need arrangements for the night. I’m ready to retire. Where shall we all sleep?”

“There are—” Amelia’s throat fluttered with apprehension “—seven bedrooms. My father’s suite is there.” She nodded at a door beyond his office. “My rooms are on the opposite wall, beyond the stairs. There is another master suite upstairs, plus two smaller bedrooms. And a small room with its own bath behind the kitchen.”

“Abel, you take the mayor and Mr. Hopkins to his suite. Handcuff Hopkins. Search the suite to be sure Mr. Hopkins has no more weapons. It would be regrettable if we had to use force to convince him not to play the hero.”

Amelia stiffened. “Dad, please. Just do what they say.”

“I’d be a whole lot more cooperative if I knew what’s going on here.”

“Dad—”

The guard named Abel produced a pair of handcuffs and quickly cuffed her dad, then dragged the mayor over next to him.

“Cole,” Chien Fou said, “I want you out here, keeping an eye on everything.”

“Ha,” the guard at Amelia’s side shouted. “That means I get to spend the night guarding the beautiful girl.” He touched her hair with one hand. “We will have fun, eh?”

Amelia recoiled.

Cole didn’t move, although every muscle in his body tensed in response to Habib’s implication. He had to protect Amelia.

“Leader,” Cole said, working to keep the desperation out of his voice. “I got us into the house. You know I have not asked for favors. But do I not deserve the woman? She is well-versed in her father’s business. She will be an asset to our cause. We cannot afford to have her damaged.” He shot Habib a glare. “And we all know how enthusiastic Habib is.”

Amelia turned her haunted honey-colored eyes to his. Her abject terror made his chest ache. She didn’t consider him any better than Habib, and he couldn’t blame her.

Maybe once they were alone, he could prove to her that he didn’t mean her any harm. If he could convince Chien Fou to let him guard her, and if the terrorist leader wasn’t in one of his perverse moods.

Chien Fou’s coal-black eyes studied Amelia, and a chill slithered down Cole’s spine. He’d never seen Chien Fou express any interest in a woman. It hadn’t occurred to him that the man might want Amelia for himself.

Cole shifted cautiously onto the balls of his feet. He still held his SIG. If Chien Fou allowed Habib to have her, or took her for himself, Cole would have to stop him.

There were some things he wouldn’t do—not even if it meant his three years under cover infiltrating the Global Freedom Front would be wasted.

Not even if it meant his death.

Your two worlds are about to collide and your young woman may be crushed in the collision.

The fortune-teller’s words echoed in his ears and a faint memory of spice and roses tickled his nostrils. He shook off the distracting sense that the woman was nearby.

Chien Fou met Cole’s gaze and for an instant, their wills locked in a silent battle.

Cole slipped his finger into the trigger guard on his SIG.

Then Chien Fou smiled. “Take her, Cole. You’ve earned the right.”

He had to force himself not to slump in relief. He heard a shaky sigh from Amelia and a curse from Habib.

“You sons of bitches!” Hopkins blurted, yanking away from Abel. “Keep your filthy hands off my daughter!”

Abel backhanded the older man with his fist.

He fell.

“Dad!” Amelia lunged forward. Cole had to grab her by the waist to stop her from throwing herself at Abel.

“Stop it—” he hissed, pinning her to his side with one arm. “Leader. We can’t afford to have Hopkins injured.”

“Abel. Mr. Hopkins is understandably upset,” Chien Fou said evenly. “We are guests in his home. If you do not remember how to accept hospitality, I can call another guard and send you back to the ships.”

Chien Fou’s voice was soft and amicable, his words reasonable, but Abel turned a sickly shade of green. “Yes, Leader.” He reached out to help Hopkins up. “Pardon, sir, I apologize for lifting my hand to you.”

“Now, since we all understand our roles here, please escort the mayor and Mr. Hopkins to his suite for the night.”

“I’m not budging,” Hopkins insisted, gingerly touching his jaw where the skin was turning dark red, “until you give me an explanation for this. Why have you invaded my house?”

“Mr. Hopkins, of course. Let me apologize. You don’t know who I am, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, Chien Fou went on. “I am called Chien Fou, and my organization, the Global Freedom Front, is destroying the economic stranglehold the United States has on the rest of the world.”

“You’re nothing but a filthy terrorist.” Hopkins coughed.

Chien Fou laughed. “Ah, but, sir, one country’s terrorist is another country’s liberator.”

“So what do you want with me and my family?”

“With your help, we will transform a fleet of your yachts into floating bombs.”

“Floating—” Amelia choked out.

“Floating bombs?” Hopkins repeated. “What in the devil’s name are you talking about?”

“We will blow up a fleet of oil tankers off the East Coast. In doing so we will accomplish what no one else has ever done. Using your luxury yachts as weapons, we will destroy the U.S. economy.”