Amy Maxwell's 6th Sense (21 page)

My hands slip off the railing—maybe it’s not my lack of upper body strength, but the fact that both my hands and the railing are wet—and I splash down into the water below. Cursing myself, and certain that whoever is on deck surely heard me fall, I try again, this time wiping my palms on the side of the boat to dry them off. Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s a boat. And it’s wet. But I have been deprived of oxygen for at least a minute and a half and I am nervous and anxious and scared. Please let me know how
you
do under these circumstances.

After much grunting, panting, and burning biceps, I manage to pull myself up and sit on the railing. I look around, searching for my next step. I feel uncomfortable, like I did the time Joey took me rock climbing to that indoor rock wall place. I spent the entire time searching for the next place to put my hands.

Now there is no place for me to put my hands other than the side of the boat. I’m going to have to lift my one-hundred and twenty-five (okay, thirty-five) pound body up using nothing but my own upper body strength. Which I’ve already established that I am severely lacking in. And what’s more, once my head peeks over the side, there’s nothing to shield me from being seen by Danny and the rest of his goons. But if I stay here, I’ll have no idea what’s going on.

Is that such a bad thing, Amy? Right here, you’re out of harm’s way. That is, until one of them look over the side.

I don’t have time to contemplate my options because I hear a gun go off again. This time, the bullet whizzes overhead, dangerously close to where I am. As I gasp, I see an arm dangling over the side of the yacht. One that looks suspiciously like Roger’s. It’s got enough arm hair to braid.

The owner of the arm is flailing, apparently struggling with someone. Another arm is visible over the side and this one is attached to a gun. It is a stronger arm, ropelike muscles prominent as the owner of that arm clutches its gun and the hairy armed guy attempts to push the other guy’s arm out of the way.

My mind is made up. If I don’t climb over the side and try to help Roger get the gun away from his captor, he’s going to get shot and go overboard, making it much less messy for Danny and company. Why, that practically makes their job a cake walk.

With every ounce of strength that I can muster, I grab onto the side of the yacht and push my body upward until I am hovering a few inches over the edge, my arms locked at the elbows. I can see clearly over the side, the whole vast deck spread before me. Normally, I would be in awe of the yacht’s breath-taking splendor (there’s actually a swimming pool on the deck—who needs a swimming pool in the middle of the ocean anyway?), but I am more concerned with the scene that is unfolding before me. 

River is at the side of the yacht. He has both Mario and Jerry reclining on chaise lounge chairs, holding a gun in each hand, pointed at their heads.

Not more than six feet away from me, Jason has a man pinned to the side of the boat…
Roger
!

What the hell is he doing? He’s supposed to be saving Roger, not trying to shoot him!

I don’t even think—I throw myself over the side, landing on my feet (surprisingly). “Let go of him!” I scream as I run at Jason, the man I entrusted to protect my husband.

Caught completely off guard, Jason whirls around and pauses with his hand in mid-air. “Amy! What are you doing?”

“Protecting my husband!” I yell as I charge him and rip the gun out of my hand.

He stares at his empty hand, stunned. Then he lifts his head and yells.

“Amy! Give me back the gun!”

“No way!”

“Amy,” Jason says sternly, “I need the gun!”

“Why? So you can shoot my husband?” I wave the gun at Roger, who is completely blocked by Jason’s body.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and a chill rips through my body. If River has both Mario and Jerry, the only one left is Danny.
And he’s probably pointing a gun at your head right now, Amy. The only way to get out of this alive is to catch him off guard.

Taking a deep breath, I whirl around and fire the gun without even looking. Well, it’s hard to look because I have my eyes squeezed shut.

I hear the gun fire, followed by a scream. And a familiar voice saying, “Holy shit, Amy! You shot me!”

I open my eyes and hear Jason say smugly. “I’m not the one who shot your husband, Amy. You are.”

~Twenty-Three~

“Oh my God, Roger! I’m so sorry!” I run at him, still clutching the gun in my hand.

He is staring at me, mouth agape, foot gushing blood.
I shot him in the foot!
Thank God I only shot him in the foot! I’m so glad I never made it to the shooting range or I would have got him in the gut!

“What’d you do that for?” he asks in disbelief.

“I didn’t mean to!” I wail, tossing the gun on the deck. “I thought you were Danny!”

“Danny? Who’s Danny?” Roger asks as I practically throw myself at him. Roger peeks over my head at Jason. “Who’s Danny?”

“I don’t know,” Jason replies, “but could you kick the gun back to me so I can take care of this guy?”

I whirl around to see Jason struggling with
Danny
. Not Roger.
You thought Danny was Roger? They look nothing alike! What the hell is wrong with you, Amy? Plus, Danny has a watch! Roger never wears a watch—

“Amy! The gun!” Jason pants. “I need the gun!”

Oh yeah, the gun
.

I kick the gun that has landed on the other side of Roger toward Jason. He gratefully snatches it up with one arm, while managing to hold down Danny with the other. Within seconds, he has the gun pointed at Danny’s forehead. I let out a giant sigh of relief. Jason’s got it from here. He and River will get these guys to the police and the day will be saved—

“Amy, watch out!” Jason shouts, pointing at something behind my back.

I spin on my heel to find Roger frozen in place. And around his neck is the very broad and strong arm of the native from the hut. In Waynedell’s hand is a nice, sharp knife, which he has pressed up against Roger’s neck.

“Let me go or Waynedell will slit his throat,” Danny says menacingly.

Jason stares at Danny, as if he has forgotten he could speak English. Then, he turns his head and looks back at Roger and Waynedell, his mind frantically trying to decide. I can practically see the wheels spinning in his head.

“Jason,” I hiss. I can’t believe he is taking this long to decide. “Put the guy down or he’s gonna kill Roger.”

“Right,” Jason says as I see him lowering the gun onto the deck. Danny is immediately using the side of the yacht to pull himself to his feet. The gun is now lying on the ground.

Danny adjusts his shirt as if he has simply been windblown or something, not in a fight for his life. “Good. I could tell you were a reasonable guy—” he starts to say as he bends down to retrieve the gun that Jason has abandoned.

And that’s when Jason’s foot meets Danny’s nose, causing blood to explode all around him.

“What the—” Jerry stammers as Danny lets out a girlish scream.

“My nose!” he shrieks. “My beautiful nose!”

“Ah, that’s a bitch,” Jason says. “I guess your modeling career is over.” Without missing a beat, he snatches up the gun and shots Waynedell in the shoulder. Waynedell staggers backward, releasing his grip on Roger and dropping the knife at the same time. He places his hand on his shoulder and then pulls it away, staring in shock at the blood covering his palm. He gazes up at Jason, stunned. He leans against the side of the boat, mumbling incoherently in his language.

“I know, all right!” Danny screams out. “I’m sorry!” And then, realizing that Waynedell doesn’t understand him, he clucks away in the other man’s native tongue.

“You’re all gonna be sorry,” Jason says, jerking his head toward the knife as he trains the gun on Danny’s forehead. “Amy, get the knife.”

I stare at him blankly. “What am I gonna do with the knife?”

Exasperated with me, Jason growls through clenched teeth, “It doesn’t matter what you do with it. It’s what they can’t do with it if you have it. Get the knife.”

Oh, yeah. That makes sense.

I grab the knife and hold it out in front of me awkwardly. If I’m uncomfortable with guns, I’m ten times more uncomfortable with knives. When Waynedell had the knife pressed against Roger’s throat, I was reminded of when we were being held captive in the cabin by Walter, the dirty DEA agent and how he held a knife to Allie’s neck.

“Here, Amy,” Roger says hobbling over to me, dragging his lame appendage behind him. “I’ll take the knife.”

Insulted that he doesn’t think I can handle it, I cradle the knife against my chest. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.”

“No, I’ll take it. It’s okay,” Roger says as he tries to take the knife from my hand. “You don’t have to be a hero.”

Annoyed, I snap back, “Neither do you.” I step backward with the knife, tripping over Jason, and stabbing the side of the boat in the process.

Shaking, I withdraw my hand from the knife handle.
Jesus, Amy! You could have stabbed yourself! Or Jason! Or Roger! Isn’t shooting your husband enough drama for one day!

“Give me that,” Jason says, shaking his head with disgust. He yanks the knife out of the wood and puts it in the pocket of his cargo shorts. Then, he waves his gun menacingly at Danny, who is still poking at his nose, alternately whimpering and sniveling. “Go sit over there with your buddies,” Jason instructs.

Danny stands to his full height of about five foot two inches and pulls at the tail of his shirt. “I will not. You can’t make me.”

Jason’s eyes widen and he is taken aback by Danny’s audacity. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I will not,” Danny repeats.

Clearly becoming agitated, Jason points to the gun at Danny. “I’m the one with the weapon and I say you go sit over there.”

Danny crosses his arms defiantly over his chest. “Make me.” He is clearly goading Jason and Jason is falling for it.

“I make you every day in the toilet bowl, you little shit,” Jason says. I can’t help but chuckle a little from the fact that Jason has resorted to third grade boy humor and wonder if he’s been hanging out with Colt. However, my thoughts and the volatile banter are suddenly interrupted by the sound of helicopter blades whirling overhead.

“What the hell?” I stammer as I stare up at the sky. If this is some island helicopter tour, they’re in for more entertainment than they bargained for. I grip the side of the yacht—I feel like I might blow clear off the deck and into the water from the wind that the helicopter is kicking up.

Jason grins from ear to ear as he gazes up at the sky. He waves and then shouts something to Danny.

“What?” Danny screams. He obviously hasn’t heard what Jason said either.

“I said,” Jason screams while cupping a hand around his mouth, “here’s your ride boys! The FBI sent you a personal helicopter!”

Stunned, I shield my eyes from the sand blowing everywhere. The helicopter is indeed landing, practically on top of the hut that held me and Roger last night. On the ground, I can see Dennis waving his arm, the dog excitedly jumping and barking.

“What’s going on, Jason?” I scream over the chopper’s blades. “How did the FBI get here?”

At the same time, River calls out, “Hey, Jason! What the hell, man?” Obviously River hasn’t been privy to the situation either.

Jason practically beams as he shouts, “It’s the FBI’s case. These guys are part of that identity theft ring we were talking about.”

“Identity theft ring? They have identity theft rings?” Roger asks. I turn around to find him sinking into a lounge chair by the pool. His foot is still bleeding. I glance around to find a stack of pool towels. Grabbing one, I rush to his side and apply pressure to the wound. He smiles at me gratefully.

“Yup,” Jason explains as the helicopter lands and armed men stream out of it. A jeep with the Bahama’s seal on the side of the door appears seemingly out of nowhere and pulls up next to the hut. Three heavily armed men climb out. They meet the FBI agents and they all head toward the yacht. Meanwhile, Jason is still explaining.

“These guys have been stealing the passports of children on vacation. Most people assume they misplaced the passport or their kid lost it and they end up having trouble getting back out of the country. But the parents never think that their kid’s identity could be stolen. Then they do all sorts of nefarious things using the kids’ names. Hardly anyone ever checks their kid’s credit scores because they don’t even think the kid has a credit history. That’s how these guys get away with it.”

I stare open mouthed at Danny and the gang.
How low can you sink? Ruining kids’ credit and stealing their identities?

Mario and Jerry look contrite, but Danny appears rather smug. I bet it was his idea.

Four FBI agents swarm the deck of the yacht, guns drawn. The one with salt and pepper hair and bulging biceps addresses Jason directly.

“You Collins?” he asks.

Jason nods. “Yeah.”

“Who do we got?”

“These two,” he jerks his head toward Mario and Jerry, “this guy,” he indicates Danny, “and that one over there,” he finishes by waving his gun toward Waynedell.

The agent nods and says, “We’ll take it from here. Thank you for your tip.” He nods at the other agents and they each grab one of the gang members, the Bahama police team just looking on. Within minutes, they have them loaded onto the helicopter. The agent who spoke with Jason jumps down and dashes over to him.

“You’ve got to vacate the yacht now. It’s seized property.”

Jason nods and follows the agent off the yacht. However, Roger is still sitting on the lounge chair, moaning and holding his foot. He’s not going to be so easy to get on the ground. River stays by my side as we stare at Roger.

“Can you walk?” I ask him.

“I think so,” Roger moans. “I’m so weak from losing blood.”

I roll my eyes and sigh. “Can you help me?” I ask River.

“Absolutely,” he replies and immediately crouches to Roger’s side, draping Roger’s arm over the back of his neck and hoisting him effortlessly to his feet.

“Oww, oww, owww,” Roger continues to complain as he limps of the boat in River’s care. I follow behind watching the helicopter rise into the air. The sound of silence reverberates in our ears as the helicopter is soon out of sight. None of us say a word until we reach Jason and Dennis.

River is still confused. “How did they know? I asked you if you wanted to call your contact and you said—”

Jason grins and points to Dennis. “Meet Gary. My FBI contact.”

River recoils as Gary offers his hand. “You can’t be Gary,” River stammers. “You’re a homeless guy who lives on his boat.”

Jason sighs and shakes his head. “You have to excuse my cousin,” he says to Gary. “He can be a little naïve. But he’s learning.”

“I’m not naïve!” River shouts. “The guy lives on his boat.”

“I don’t really,” Gary explains, sounding a lot more confidant and less confused than he had an hour ago in the woods. Or jungle. Or whatever it is. “I’ve been undercover for about three months trying to crack this case. I’ve had my eye on those guys, but they haven’t done anything shady.” He points to me. “Until I saw her talking to them in the alley yesterday. And then they threw her in the boat and I knew something was up. I called Jason and we zipped over here—”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupt. “Jason told me he’s the one who saw me being kidnapped. That’s not true?”

Jason shakes his head. “I didn’t want to blow Gary’s cover and tell you that he saw you being captured and called me.”

Roger scratches his head. “Why would he call you? Why not just call the police directly?”

“Things are complex with the police. Interpol needs to get involved and even though I alerted the FBI, I knew it might be awhile before they got there. I had to act immediately. Since I had seen Amy here with Jason, I figured she was friend or colleague of his. He said he had a cop with him…”

“That’s me,” River said proudly.

“Oh, yeah. He said River, but I wasn’t sure if it was a guy’s name or a girl’s name.” River looks indignant and Gary shrugs. “Seriously, honest mistake. But when he introduced me on the boat, I knew you had to be the cop.”

“Wait a minute,” Roger interrupts. “When did you see him with Amy?”

I’m pretty sure both Jason and I turn crimson. “On the beach,” Jason stammers at the same time I answer, “At the bar.”

Roger glances back and forth between us, glowering slightly. Then he sways and River yelps, “Get him a chair.”

Both Jason and I look around helplessly. There are of course, no chairs.

“Lower him to the ground,” Gary instructs, and River slowly crouches down with Roger. And practically drops him.

“Thanks,” Roger mutters.

“Wait. If we can’t use the yacht and all the FBI guys left with the helicopter and the police are gone with the Jeep, how are we getting back to the mainland?” I ask. “And with Roger hurt? Should we call for a medivac or something?”

Gary rips the shoe off of Roger’s foot. Roger screams. “I’m an EMT,” Gary tells me. He stares at Roger’s foot for a moment as Roger continues to whimper. “Superficial wound. All it did was graze the skin. He’s okay, but we’ll take him to the hospital to get bandaged up and a tetanus shot.”

“Yeah, but how are we going to get there?” I ask again.

Gary grins and point to the dinky little boat docked on the other side of the lagoon. “That right there is how.”