Undertow (34 page)

Run like hell
.

What about the cutting tool? Shit. No idea which car or where. Zane took off toward the tree line on the other side of the narrow strip of beach. Anticipating the slam of a bul et in his back as his legs pumped and his heart beat hard and fast.

Now beyond the dubious protection of parked cars, he was out in the open. He ran faster, head ducked down. A smal er target, or a bigger bul ·s -eye.

He cut across a wide expanse of emerald green lawn, stil mushy from an earlier watering.

He knew as soon as people started scattering in front of him that someone was hard on his heels. He heard the slam of soles against pavement and dug deeper for more speed. The paper flyer had dropped unnoticed, and the in -plain-sight Sig motivated people in his path to move the hel out of his way. Fast.

Zane veered to the right. There was a smal inlet on the leeward side of the island where locals moored their boats at Phil·s. The same marina they·d taken shelter in, what seemed a lifetime ago. The same place he·d original y planned to moor while he found the tool they needed³he was glad now that Young had insisted on a different marina. He·d swipe one of Phil·s rental boats if he had to.

Run
.
Run
.
Run
. Reach the
Decrepit,
Teal and the others, warn them that the bad guys were closing in. He wasn·t going to be able to warn anyone if he was dead. He hauled ass, groping in his pocket with his free hand for his phone to cal them to warn them, to cal the cops «

Shit. His phone wasn·t in his pocket. Dropped somewhere? He felt for Young·s gun. Stil there.

He zigged and zagged down paths hidden by shrubs, and courtyards being set up for later parties. He heard the running footsteps of his pursuers hot on his heels as they crossed the flagstone path. Several of them? Double shit.

He cut between the tennis courts, passed the tal trees shading one of the swimming pools.

Sweat ran down his face and stung his eyes. His manic breathing came more from fear than running for his life. Soon he was going to run out of places to duck. Taking a chance, he dodged down an al eyway, then between two delivery trucks. At the crunch of running steps on the gravel close by, he hopped up and braced his toes in the wheel wel s of the trucks, so they wouldn·t see his feet as they passed.

Gravel crunched as his pursuers ran by. Aft er several minutes Zane jumped down, then cautiously peered around the back of the truck. He couldn·t see the men, but he wanted more time to put some distance between them. Glancing around, he spotted a fenced-in area hiding trash cans at the back of one of the condo buildings. He dashed across the short distance and ducked inside.

Had he managed to elude them? It seemed unlikely, but Zane stayed where he was, straining his ears for the sound of footsteps, breathing, or the chambering of a bul et.
Don·t
be like the dumb blond chick in the movie who goes into the dark
basement to check
, he cautioned himself.
That·s always where the psycho killer
is lurking.

He waited for two interminable minutes, scanning his surroundings. Parking area for deliveries. A few trees. A lot of open space between him and the marina.

No choice. Zane braced himself and bolted from the protection of the fenced-in cans. The second he was clear, a shot rang out. The bul et passed so close that Zane heard it whiz by.

He squeezed off an answering shot. Then two more. Several people screamed, and half a dozen people scattered and kept on running. Fine by him.

Even though getting shot at had been like waiting for the other shoe to drop for the duration, Zane was almost surprised that they·d shoot where anyone could see them.

His legs and arms pumped as he weaved between trees and shrubs and jumped flower beds.

Another shot behind him made a muffled thud.
Silencer
. His pursuer was a hel of a lot closer.

Three hundred yards ahead was Sandy·s restaurant and cocktail lounge. A few stragglers from the breakfast crowd were stil lounging at the outdoor tables.

The three-piece group played their steel drums, and al was right with the restaurant patrons· worlds right now. Beyond the shack was the shimmering, twinkling blue of the water. The beach was packed. He shoved the Sig beside Young·s gun under his shirt and out of sight.

If he headed inland a bit, he·d bypass the clutter of beachgoers. Zane veered sharply left. He was even more exposed here, but he could also move faster.

A palm trunk a foot to the right exploded in a shower of splinters as a bul et chewed into it.

Christ, that was close. His lungs burned as his legs pumped. He heard the whine of the next bul et, braced for it, but it t oo passed him and hit a decorative lamp post with a loud, sharp
piiing
.

The guys were close, damn close.

Screw being subtle carrying a weapon. He whipped it out again and turned to squeeze off three shots in quick succession. These guys had no fear of th e cops showing up, and frankly, Zane would welcome their appearance any time soon. He might have a lot of explaining to do, but it sure as shit would save some time.

Without an audience, they were closing in. What the hel did they want? Zane didn·t have the Alphachip « But did the bad guys know that? Did they think he·d met with Young so he could pass it off? They must·ve searched the dead guy, found no chip, and presumed Zane stil had it on him. Being the confrontational guy that he was, Zane was sorely t empted to stop and hold out his hands and tel them he didn·t have the damned thing. Except they·d shoot first and ask questions second.

Zane heard voices before he saw the couple sauntering down the path to the beach. Shit.

He felt the sharp burn as the next bul et creased his arm and had to stagger to prevent fal ing flat on his face. It didn·t hurt, but he instantly felt warm blood pour down his arm. No time to look. Clamping his hand over the wound, he kept running.

The couple coming down the path toward him were Phil and his girlfriend. Zane thought fast. ´Bad guy on my ass. Throw me your keys. I have to get out to the
Decrepit
!µ He didn·t shout, but Phil got it. Digging into his front pocket, he tossed Zane the keys to h is boat without question.

As he passed, Zane slapped the Sig into Phil·s hand. Phil had been a Ranger back in the day, and didn·t hesitate in the handoff. He got it when Zane yel ed, Ćover me! Stay down. Cal cops³µ

Zane was out of earshot and yanking Young·s gun from his waistband as he heard Phil shooting behind him.
Good man.

Phil·s marina was just ahead. Too many damned people for so early in the morning. As he ran, Zane scanned the slips for his friend·s yel ow -and-white Sea Ray Sport. ´Down! Stay down,µ he yel ed. Seeing the boat, Zane jumped over a bunch of fish buckets, waving his arms like a lunatic as he raced down the wharf.

´Bad guys! Guns! Out of my way. Stay down.µ There wasn·t anything else he could do. For now, the guys weren·t shooting, but they could open fire any moment.

A young guy and a kid, maybe ten years old, sat, legs dangling in the water near Phil·s boat, they each held a fishing pole. When the young father looked up and saw Zane, the blood pouring down his arm, a gun drawn, a nd people scattering, he grabbed his kid and jumped into the water. Smart move.

Zane untied the boat at warp speed and started the engines. The little powerboat tore out of the marina, skimming over the water, bouncing on the waves as if they·d been cast in cement. Each jolt shot a wave of pain up his arm. A glance back showed the curious gathering on the dock. No sign of the gunmen.

Zane knew they wouldn·t get their hands on any of the crafts in the cove. The bad guys were going to have to go back the way they·d come, giving Zane at least twenty minutes to reach the
Decrepit
and haul ass out of there.

Fuck the explosive device. People were more important. And if these assholes had chased him through crowds of witnesses, and were wil ing to shoot in publi c, they wanted that chip bad.

Fine. They were welcome to it.

He stood at the wheel, the cold spray reviving him, washing the sweat off his face.

Adrenaline was starting to leak out of his system, and
now
his arm hurt like hel .

Fortunately, it was only a superficial wound and despite the blood that had run down his arm, the bleeding had in fact stopped.

The little boat was going as fast as Zane could make her run. A quick glance behind showed no one had fol owed him. Yet. He saw the
Decrepit
up ahead with a profound sense of relief.

Everything was quiet. Thank God.

Now that he had a moment to
think
, he considered his options. Screw them.

He didn·t want either of his boats to be blown to hel . He might h ave time to get
Decrepit
clear. But not his prize wreck. To do that, he·d have to find their damned chip. Without a cutting tool « Somehow.

He·d dive from the Sea Ray and insist that Ryan take Teal and the
Decrepit
into port. He could handle this shit bet ter if he knew everyone³Teal³was safe and out of harm·s way.

He didn·t give a flying fuck if she refused to go or not. She·d go. As long as she was somewhere where he didn·t have to worry himself insane for her safety.

They·d done as he·d asked and stayed indoors. Teal would be down in the engine room. The
Slow Dancer
was stil anchored nearby, music blaring across the water.

The speedboat slewed sideways, almost tipping him out as he did a wheelie, a rooster -tail spray of water shooting up behind him. The gunwale smashed into the side of
Decrepit
·s dive platform with a crunch of fiberglass, making Zane wince as he jumped onto the platform. He didn·t bother tying her up; he owed Phil a new boat anyway. He leapt up the ladder and charged across the deck, heading for the salon. His mind raced a mile a minute.

They could make faster time in one of the tied-up powerboats, but God³he real y, real y wanted to get
Decrepit
somewhere safe. He·d have to move fast. Get the hel out of here before those guys tailed him.

Head north, Zane decided. Out to sea, away from any of the nearby islands.

´Teal!µ He shoved open the door to the salon, then stopped dead in his tracks.

A middle-aged man with steel gray hair, horn-rimmed glasses, white slacks, and a col ared pink golf shirt, sat in Zane·s favorite chair. He was flipping through
Decrepit
·s log book.

Zane had a bad feeling. A
really
bad feeling. His day had just gone from bad to worse.

´Who the hel are you?µ He reached behind him for Young·s gun.

Úh-uh-ah. I wouldn·t do that if I were you, Mr. Cutter.µ The man spoke in a wel -

modulated voice with a faint European accent Zane couldn·t place. As he lowered the log book, he revealed the large black gun in his left hand. ´Place your weapon on the counter if you please.µ

Í
don·t
plea³µ

The man pul ed the trigger, making a fucking enormous hole in the lovingly restored wood counter a foot from Zane·s right knee. He placed the gun on a bar stool, raising his hands to show he was no longer armed.

Every drop of moisture in his body had evaporated as he realized that no one else appeared to be around.
Teal?
Ben? Ryan? Nausea rose to the back of his throat as he suddenly became aware of a god-awful smel . His thoughts raced around his brain like a bar racuda chasing a shiny silver lure. There were other possibilities than the gruesome ones flashing through his mind like scenes from a slasher movie.
Teal « Please God «

Í repeat, who the fuck are you? And where are my people?µ

´My name is not important, Mr. Cutter. You have something I want. Once you·ve retrieved it for me, I·l be on my way.µ

Í had people on board when I left,µ Zane snarled, not bothering to acknowledge the man·s demands. ´Where the fuck are they?µ

´Behind the counter there. Check for yourself. But please hurry. We have business to conduct that is time sensitive.µ

Zane barely heard him as he raced down the length of the counter separating the gal ey from the main room. He rounded the breakfast bar and stopped in his tracks. The first thing he saw was Smiley with his head blown away. Zane gagged.

Sprawled facedown beside him was Davis. Obviously dead as wel . Zane shifted his attention to the group sprawled against the cabinets under the sink.

Ryan, Ben, and Saul were tied up with the heavy twine from one of the kitchen drawers. Al three men looked battered and bloody, their hands and feet securely tied. They were slumped against each other.
Unconscious
, he prayed. Please don·t let them be³

He crouched beside Ben, feeling for a pulse. They were al alive. Quickly, before the other man saw what he was doing, he dug his Swiss Army Knife out of his pocket, sliding it between Ryan·s limp hands. Slowly, he rose to his feet.

´Where·s the woman?µ The possibilities were too hideous to contemplate.

Áh, the spitfire. She·s enjoying my hospitality on board the
Slow Dance
while you and I have our little chat.µ

The relief Zane felt was overwhelming. Teal was alive. He glanced out the window at the gleaming white yacht across the water. The
Slow Dance
. Not a party fucking boat at al . ´Did you touch her? Harm her in any way?µ

Śhe·s sipping a cold drink with al those lovely young ladies I hired straight off the beach.

Pretty lures. Too bad your girlfriend was on board to distract you.µ

´You knew where the plane was al along.µ

Índeed. There was supposed to be a handoff just after the storm hit. The flight was delayed.

The plane crashed. Very inconvenient.µ

´Yeah. For me too.µ Did the guy know that the Alphachip had a freaking shelf lif e? Ńow what?µ He·d kil ed two men, three if you counted Young, and beat the crap out of Ryan, Ben, and Saul. What was to say Teal wasn·t lying hurt, or worse, on the yacht? Shit, what a clusterfuck.

Ćome and sit down.
Now,
Mr. Cutter.µ