In the Enemy's Arms
Revving the powerful engine, he released the clutch and the bike shot forward. Zero to 150 in ten seconds, the manufacturer claimed, and he was pretty sure he’d just demonstrated it. He drove like a demon through four blocks of alleys, barely slowing before rocketing across the streets, then made a hard turn on the next cross street. It was a broad thoroughfare that didn’t see much traffic, at least when he’d been on it, but it was also a risky place to speed, with police and military installations strung along its length.
His destination was a short distance ahead: one right turn, then another, onto a jammed street that passed cruise ships, dive shops and hotels. Their speed diminished significantly—down to ten, maybe fifteen miles an hour, with all the cars, scooters and tourists. His nerves humming, he kept an eye on the traffic both ahead and behind until he passed under the pedestrian bridge. Just past it, he goosed the engine, cutting it too close crossing lanes in front of a ’70s-era VW Bug. He drove up the handicapped ramp, crossed the sidewalk and eased through an open gate.
A cinder-block wall sheltered them from the street. He nosed the bike in until the front wheel met the wall, then killed the engine and climbed off. He removed his helmet first, and he ran his fingers through his hair be fore grinning weakly. “Hell. This time I’m gonna kill Trent.” He had to lean against the wall—his legs were that wobbly—and needed a couple deep breaths to fill his lungs again.
Cate finally swung her leg over and eased to the ground. She was steadier than he, but why shouldn’t she be? She was an E.R. doctor. Life-and-death emergencies were part of her daily routine. Though not, he noted as her hands began to tremble, her own life or death. “Were those men police officers?”
“Doubtful. If it had been cops shooting at us, we never would have made it this far.” Fairly certain his legs would hold him, he pushed away from the wall and unlashed her suitcase. “You have a swimsuit in there?”
She blinked, the only indication of her surprise at the change of subject. “Of course. Why?”
“Because we need to blend in, and in this part of town, most women are in swimsuits.” He gestured broadly to make his point. “Put it on.”
Her eyes widened with good old-fashioned modesty. “Here?”
He grinned. That might be fun—Cate Calloway stripping on a public street—but it wasn’t gonna happen in his lifetime. “There are bathrooms down at the dive shop. Come on.”
Both a ramp and stairs led to the dive shop doors. Divers were gathered around the dock, checking their equipment, and the shop employees were in and out, wheeling air tanks, answering questions, giving advice before the afternoon dive boat headed out. He wished he had his own gear and could just join the crowd. Under the sea seemed the last place those men would look for them.
Of course, the doc couldn’t dive, but she wasn’t his responsibility. He’d be more than happy to pay whatever it cost to get her back to the airport and on the next flight out, or put her on a cruise ship for the remainder of her vacation. Anything to not have to deal with her. But not dealing with her had never been that easy.
Once inside the shop, he pointed out the bathroom, then approached the man at the counter. Mario glanced up, then did a double take. “I didn’t see your name down for this dive. How have you been?”
“Good, except I’m not diving this time. I’m here with a…friend who hasn’t discovered the joys of scuba yet.”
“She must be some…friend to keep you out of the water for long. Where is she? You got her hidden from the rest of us so we won’t try to steal her away?”
“Bathroom. Listen, I just picked her up at the airport and was wondering if I could leave her stuff here while we have lunch.”
Mario reached under the counter and produced a lock and a key. “Any empty basket you want.”
“Thanks. Hey, and a T-shirt, too.” Justin accepted the key, shrugged off his backpack, then pulled his shirt over his head, replacing it with the blue one Mario picked. Divers Do It Deeply, the slogan proclaimed above a picture of a smiling mermaid. After paying for it, he faced the dock. “You’ve got a good crowd.”
“Regulars. Louisiana. Argentina. The single divers’ group. You’ve probably gone out with all of them.”
He probably had, which made him turn his attention back inside. He didn’t want anyone besides the dive shop employees to recognize him. Keeping a low profile was something he’d had to learn, and he needed it now especially.
A couple of women came out of the bathroom wearing dive skins. They were solid women, in black Lycra that gave curves to their curves. Side by side, they completely blocked the view of the woman behind them until they angled off to the steps to the dock.
She was slender, shapely, nice breasts, well-defined biceps, flat middle. Her shirt was white, sheer cotton, unbuttoned to reveal a bikini top in the vivid colors of a vintage Hawaiian shirt: red, blue, purple, slashes of orange and yellow. A squishy straw hat covered her head, its floppy brim concealing her face, but there was nothing much hidden by her blue shorts—short being the important word. The faded denim clung to her hips and butt and left plenty of leg exposed, all the way down to a pair of flip-flops and painted red toenails. On an island filled with sexy women, she was one to make people look twice.
And she was headed to him.
Good God, it was Cate, looking less like a doctor than he’d ever seen her, and he’d known her long before she became one. She stopped beside him, one hand clenched around the handle of the suitcase she’d been pulling behind, and waited silently.
Mario gave a low whistle and grinned. “She might keep you out of the deep water, amigo, but be careful you don’t wind up in hot water.”
Justin’s answering smile was more of a bared-teeth grimace. He was already in hot water. He just hoped Cate didn’t make it boil.
Chapter 2
Cate protested leaving her suitcase in the locked wire basket at the dive shop. She didn’t care if people stowed thousands of dollars’ worth of gear there on a daily basis. The items in that bag were all she had on the island with her. The stethoscope tucked into her medical bag in the suitcase was the best for picking up subtle heart sounds; it had been a med school graduation gift from her parents, and she wasn’t sure she could even hear anymore on lesser models. She didn’t wear much makeup, but what she wore would cost an arm and a leg to replace, and her favorite well-broken-in sneakers were in there, too. So was her Kindle, and the sunblock that would keep her from self-combusting under the tropical sun.
“You can’t go around dragging a suitcase without drawing attention,” Justin said. He secured the lock, then hung the key on its cord over his neck and slid it under his shirt. “Have you eaten? I haven’t eaten. Let’s get some lunch. And a drink. Or three.”
Scowling, Cate watched him saunter away before jogging to catch up. She grabbed his arm, slowing him enough to ease around in front of him and block his way at the base of the stairs. “Have you forgotten? Trent and Susanna have gone missing, La Casa is abandoned and someone shot at us!”
That one was still giving her palpitations at odd moments. She’d treated more than her share of gunshot wounds, but never, ever had she imagined that she could come that close to being the target of one herself. She’d felt the bullet pass her face, had felt the spray of dust as it bit into the concrete wall.
Justin was stubbornness in human form. “They’re not missing. They’re taking a break. They’re relaxing somewhere, sleeping off a big lunch, and now I need a big lunch. If you want to fast until they get back, feel free. You can keep me company while I eat.” Stepping around her, he started up the steep flight of stairs that led to the pedestrian bridge.
“Lazy, spoiled, self-centered,” she mumbled, staying a few steps behind him.
They reached the bridge, and she broke off muttering. Ahead of them was a hotel, the grass lush-green, palm trees and flowers everywhere, the swimming pool glittering brightly next to a thatch-roofed restaurant. Behind them was the water, dotted with boats, the most amazing blue-green hue she’d ever seen. With the warm sun, the gentle breezes, the rustle of palm fronds and that incredible water, it was…
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Justin’s voice was low and coming from right behind her, resonant, as it usually was, with self-satisfaction. But in this case, she couldn’t hold it against him. “The mainland’s over there. See those buildings? That’s Playa del Carmen.” He pointed, his forearm resting on her shoulder, bringing with it the mixed fragrances of sunshine and cologne. He smelled as expensive as he looked and, touristy T-shirt aside, he did look expensive.
And handsome, all golds and tans and browns, like some sort of tropical sun god.
She squeezed her eyes shut, chastising herself, blaming him. She wasn’t a foolish romantic. She preferred substance over form. She’d had her heart broken once before by a man so exactly like him they could be twins, and she’d learned her lesson. She wouldn’t repeat the past.
Besides, she didn’t even like the man, nor he her, and she was taking a self-imposed break from any kind of relationship, even with men she did like.
“This isn’t your first trip to Cozumel, is it?”
And there was a timely reminder of the man Justin Seavers was. “You know it isn’t. Trent and I came here on our honeymoon. We stayed at a hotel down there—” she pointed to the right “—all the way at the tip of the island, and he had a fling with not one but two women who worked there. I’m sure he told you all about it when we got home.”
For an instant, she thought she saw regret on his face, but his features shuttered so quickly, she was sure she must have been mistaken. He shifted away, then began walking again. She felt vaguely…guilty as she followed him.
On the opposite side of the bridge, a few steps led to the pool area, then a few steps more into the restaurant. It was open to the air, few walls, with an uncovered patio that held a scattering of tables. Justin headed in that direction, choosing a seat where he faced the ocean and the street.
“They’ve got great burgers here,” he said, his voice level as the waiter brought chips, salsa and menus.
“I didn’t come to Cozumel to eat a hamburger.” She didn’t realize how snippy she sounded until he replied.
“No, you came to find an outlet for that relentless dogooder side of yours, to show people that you’re more compassionate than they are and—” he accepted a bottle of water from the waiter and twisted the cap off before raising it in a toast “—to spend some quality time with your ex-husband.”
Cate didn’t know whether to be insulted, dumbfounded or amused as he swigged the water. She did have a do-gooder side. She wasn’t nearly as giving as Susanna, but she donated her time and expertise when she could. She wasn’t trying to put on a display of compassion. Most people back home in Copper Lake, Georgia, didn’t have a clue about her volunteer activities, and she certainly didn’t care whether strangers in another country were impressed with her. As for the last…
The sound that finally escaped was as much snort as laughter. “I gave up on quality time—any time—with Trent about five years before the divorce. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s in love with Susanna. In case you hadn’t noticed, he hasn’t been in love with me for years, if he ever was.”
She’d thought he was, once upon a time. He’d thought he was. But Justin never had.
Uncomfortably, she drank some water while studying the menu. Everything sounded so good, including the hamburger he’d recommended, but by the time the waiter returned, she’d settled on seviche. Shrimp, fish and conch cooked by way of chemical reaction—there was a dish she couldn’t find at home in Copper Lake.
Silence settled over the table after the waiter took their orders. She snacked on the chips and chunky salsa and watched the birds searching for treats on the patio. Justin watched the traffic on the street. To anyone who bothered to notice them, they probably looked like just another pair of tourists instead of two people who’d known each other thirteen years and had run out of civil things to say about ten minutes after they’d met.
Thirteen years. A long time. She’d been a sophomore at the University of Georgia at Athens. Justin and Trent had been juniors, despite the lack of attention they’d paid to their classes. College had been a four-year vacation for them, paid for by their families, with the only expectation that they earn a degree—not necessarily one they would use.
Expectations for after college had been slim, too. While Cate had studied her butt off in medical school, Trent had traveled—skiing in Colorado, cruising the Mediterranean, diving around the world—and Justin had gone with him. Her third and fourth years she’d spent days in clinical rotations and nights in the med school library, cramming data about each monthly specialty into her weary brain, and they’d gone mountain climbing in Nepal and surfing in Australia. Trent had barely made it back from China for her graduation, literally walking in the door of her apartment as she and her parents were walking out.
She was basking in self-pity, she realized, and that wasn’t her style. So what if she’d begun her medical career with a grand total of $342,769 in debt? Who cared if they’d been out seeing the world while she’d worked so hard? She was a doctor. The only thing she’d ever wanted to do in her life.
Besides, Trent had paid off that debt as a divorce gift.
Yes, other husbands gave their wives wedding and anniversary gifts. Hers had rewarded her for putting up with him as long as she had.
“What did GayAnne tell you?”
Her gaze shifted to Justin, leaned back in his chair, wearing sunglasses that had come from nowhere. The backpack, she realized. He hadn’t left it locked up at the dive shop with her suitcase. “Nothing. Just that everyone was gone and she was leaving, too. Where are they?”
His only response was a shrug so lazy, so arrogant, that she wanted to smack him. She curled her fingers around the water bottle to make it harder to reach across the table and do just that. “Knock it off, Justin. The volunteers have fled. The girls are gone. The local employees are gone. Susanna and Trent are gone. You know damn well they wouldn’t just take off on a whim. La Casa is too important to Susanna, and she’s too important to Trent. Something has happened, and you at least have an idea what or Trent wouldn’t have told me to call you.”
Another long swig of water, another lazy shrug. “Maybe he’s trying to set us up together.”
Cate sat back. The idea was ludicrous. As if Trent would wish her on his best friend, or vice versa. As if she would willingly stay five minutes in the room with Justin if she wasn’t forced to. She didn’t like him at all, but she liked him best when he was on another continent, and Trent was well aware of that.
She loaded her voice with scorn. “Come on, Justin. Tell me what the hell is going on so I can—”
His cell phone rang, and he raised one hand impe riously to stop her while he answered it. Rude, obnoxious, self-centered. She fumed as the waiter approached and set a plate in front of each of them. Immediately her stomach growled, overriding her annoyance. It had been a long time since breakfast, and she needed to refuel in order to deal with her present company.
The seviche looked incredible; the hamburger Justin had ordered smelled even more so. She dug in, closing her eyes briefly at the first mild, sweet, spicy, limey flavors, silencing the low mmm of satisfaction that hummed through her. If she’d been with her last serious boyfriend, AJ Decker—the cop who’d gone and fallen in love with his ex-partner while Cate wasn’t looking— she would have immediately picked up another forkful and insisted he taste it. She didn’t offer Justin anything.
Silence followed his hello for a moment, then his mouth tightened. The muscles in his fingers holding the phone contracted, too. He didn’t look pleased.
Fear niggled in her belly, but it didn’t slow her eating. She wasn’t one of those people whose appetite came and went based on their emotions. Maybe it had to do with the pace of working in the E.R.; maybe it was a leftover from the frenetic medical school years, but when it was time to eat, she ate. She could do salvage work on a kid’s leg dangling by a shred after a bicycle–pickup truck run-in, then go to the break room, wash up and eat a substantial meal of spaghetti and meatballs.
Besides, this call that displeased Justin could be about any number of things other than Trent and Susanna. Someone could have dinged his Ferrari back home in Alabama. A banking mistake could have temporarily delayed a payout from one of his multiple trust funds into his checking account. The housekeeper could have forgotten to vacuum backward out of his living room so she didn’t leave footsteps behind.
Best friend or not, Trent was only a small part of the universe that revolved around Justin.
And she didn’t register in that universe at all, except as a very minor nuisance. She’d learned that years ago and would never forget.
Bracing the phone between his ear and shoulder, Justin picked up the knife and cut the burger in half, then fished off the lettuce from one half. The call hadn’t started off good: the caller ID screen had shown the number as unavailable. He rarely took those sorts of calls; with his money, his family and his reputation, there were way more people trying to contact him than he wanted to talk to. Under the circumstances, though…
The caller was a man, his voice heavily accented but easy to understand. I saw you at La Casa para Nuestras Hijas, Mr. Seavers. I was warned you might be in the vicinity.
Justin hadn’t recognized any of the men in the black sedan, but why would he? He didn’t generally hang out with thugs…though apparently he’d been somewhat friendly with men who hired thugs. How was it that he’d never heard even a hint of gossip about the seamier side of Joseph and Lucas Wallace’s activities back in the States?
Because they hired discreet thugs, he thought grimly.
“What was in the backpack you took from La Casa?”
The man’s question echoed in his head, and he worked to sound careless, more to impress Cate than the caller. He wanted rid of her, and the only way to do that was make her believe that everything was okay with Trent and Susanna. “Just stuff I need. You know, some thing to read, a change of clothes—things that don’t fit in my pockets.”
“You mean, things you took from La Casa. Things that don’t belong to you. I want them.”
Justin glanced at Cate and locked gazes with her. She was eating as if she didn’t have a care in the world, but she was also watching him shrewdly. So far, she’d believed pretty much nothing that he’d told her, and this conversation was definitely going to make her doubt him even more and make her that much more of a problem. Sliding his chair back, he left the table and walked to the low wall that separated patio from driveway. There he couldn’t smell the tantalizing burger or the seviche for the sweet heavy fragrance of yellow flowers that vined the wall.
His voice flat, he said, “Nothing in my pack belongs to you, either. What have you done with Trent and Susanna?”
“Mr. Calloway and Ms. Hunter are fine, for the moment. But that won’t last if my employers don’t recover the property Ms. Hunter took.”
That damn flash drive. Susanna hadn’t stolen the files contained on it entirely on her own. Justin had met her in the stairwell at the Wallaces’ office building, taken the drive and disappeared while she returned to the offices for a meeting with Lucas.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Justin lied. “Maybe your boss just misplaced whatever he’s missing, because I’m pretty sure Susanna would never take anything that wasn’t hers. She’s such a goody-goody.”
“We’ve searched her, Mr. Calloway and La Casa. That leaves you. Any time Ms. Hunter has problems, she turns to you, and we know you were on the island that day.”
Sensing movement behind him, Justin shifted. He half expected Cate, eavesdropping, but instead it was a tiny clubfooted bird, hopping around in search of tidbits. Cate still sat at the table, still eating, still watching him. Keeping her in his peripheral vision, he turned his gaze to the street, where one ancient VW Bug after another chugged past.
“What is it your boss thinks is missing? Susanna’s taste is too good to pilfer any of that tacky art in the reception area, though I admit her purses are big enough to hide a piece. Or was it maybe something smaller? Did they leave a few grand in cash lying around that day? Or did it have sentimental value, like the gold lighter presented to Great-Grandfather Lucifer by President What’s-His-Name a hundred years ago?”
His attitude was pissing off the man. It showed in the tightening of his voice. “Records,” he said precisely. “She took records, and we want them back. Give them to us, and your friends will be released unharmed. Continue to hide the records, and they will pay the price. Call the authorities in your country or mine, and they will pay the price. Stand in our way, and you will pay the price. Do you know how my employers dealt with the last person who stole from them? Take a look at the photograph I just sent you.”
Frowning, Justin watched the photo download, then his stomach heaved. It was difficult to say if the body lying on the sand was male or female, young or old. All he could say for sure was that he or she had spent some time in the ocean, the main course for a feeding frenzy among its residents. Please, God, after drowning first.
“By the way, Mr. Seavers, everything I’ve just told you applies to Dr. Calloway, as well.”
“She doesn’t know—” He broke off his automatic denial. Damn! They’d been watching for her, too. The Wallaces must have known she was due back for one of her medical clinics. Whether they believed she knew anything was a moot point. She was here, and she’d been at La Casa. As far as the Wallaces were concerned, that meant she was involved. He could try putting her on an airplane back to Georgia or a cruise ship to nowhere, but she wouldn’t be safe. As long as the Wallaces thought their business was in danger, so was Cate. He was stuck with her.
“Dr. Calloway doesn’t have a clue about anything that happens outside her emergency room. Healthy, uninjured people don’t interest her.”
“Then if you both follow my instructions, her stay on the island should be quite uneventful. Now, do you know where the records are?”
Justin hesitated. If he lied and said no, the bastard wouldn’t believe him. If he lied and said he had them, they’d want to set up an exchange, and he doubted seriously that the Wallaces intended to let any of them walk away from this. The fact that the man wasn’t worried about any copies of the documents they might have made indicated that.
So he told a close version of the truth. “Not exactly. I’ve got some ideas.”
“I suggest you start looking. I’ll be in touch again soon. Oh, and Mr. Seavers—when you have the documents, don’t bother making any copies. Keep your phone charged and nearby.”
As the call ended, Justin stared across the street, where a cruise ship was making its way slowly to port. The Wallaces wanted the files back but weren’t worried about copies. Why?
True, the files were encrypted, but Garcia, one of his buddies in Mississippi, was working on that. She’d hacked into far better programs than any the Wallaces’ tech guy could even conceive of.
So they wanted the information badly enough to kidnap Trent and Susanna—and to threaten Justin and Cate—but they didn’t care about copies because the information was fluid. Names and locations could be changed. Move the people around and set their own hackers to erasing their existence…
Footsteps alerted him to Cate’s movement in time to keep her voice from startling him. “Was that about Trent and Susanna?”