Dangerous Depths (32 page)

“Stark and Dunn aren’t fools. Not a chance
you can get away with this.”

“Oh, I’m not too worried about Stark and
Dunn. Elections are only a week away. Once I’m in office, I’ll be
shaking things up in the police department. It will mean going
along or getting out.”

I glanced at Sylvia. She’d been practically
catatonic, observing it all from her chair in the corner. Carr’s
gun had skittered across the floor and lay at her feet. Now she
bent over and picked it up, examined it, and then pointed it at her
husband. Her expression said it all: she’d put up with this asshole
long enough.

“Sylvia, give me the gun, honey, before you
get hurt,” Freeman cooed. Reidman had moved from behind me and was
quietly making his way around for a clear shot at Sylvia.

It happened fast. I saw Freeman give Reidman
the nod. Sylvia saw it too. Understanding flashed across her face
just before the bullet struck.

I had little doubt about who would be
next.

I was out the front door before Sylvia hit
the floor and half way down the trail by the time they got out to
the porch.

“Get her!” Freeman yelled.

It was black in the trees, the path littered
with rocks and brush. Somehow I’d managed to stay on the trail and
was just about out of the trees when I caught my foot on a root and
went down hard, something sharp slashing into my knee. I ignored
the pain, stumbled to my feet, ran across the beach and down the
dock. If those keys weren’t still in the ignition, I’d be up shit
creek, trapped. I jumped into the boat and found them right where
Carr had left them. I had just released the line when I heard
Reidman stomping down the dock.

“Stop!” he shouted, raising the gun.

Right. I threw the boat into gear and was
away from the dock when he fired. When I looked back, I could see
him and Freeman clamoring into the other boat that had been tied up
to the dock.

I could tell by the sound of the engines that
they would have no trouble keeping up with me.

I headed out toward the tip of Virgin Gorda,
a barely visible lump on the dark horizon. The swells were high, at
least eight feet, with white caps breaking. I was taking them
straight on, the boat blasting through the water, sending spray
over the windshield and drenching me in salt water.

When I rounded the point and turned into the
channel toward Tortola, the ocean flattened out and the boat lifted
to plane over the surface, picking up speed.

I glanced behind me and damned if they
weren’t gaining on me fast, just yards off my stern. Reidman
emptied his gun at me, the bullets pinging into the back of the
boat. He was still too far to do any damage, but they’d be on top
of me in minutes. I presumed the break in gunfire meant he was
reloading. I turned the boat hard to the left, then back, hoping to
slow them in the wake I was creating. Engines whining, their boat
went blasting over one wave, then the next, flying through the air,
then slamming back on the water.

I was running close to shore when Reidman’s
aim got better. A bullet smashed the windshield six inches from my
head. The next couple hit the hull, and seconds later the engine
sputtered, then smoothed out again. I knew it was only a matter of
time before it quit.

I turned hard into shore. The last thing I
wanted was to be caught out here in the water. There would be no
escaping. At this distance, it was too hard to make out the
shoreline, but I knew I was at the western end of Virgin Gorda,
close to the Baths. This was a popular day anchorage for boaters.
The white expanse of beach ended where boulder formations towered
some three stories high into the water. I’d either end up either
smashing the boat into one of the rocks on my way in or I’d get
lucky and find the sand. Freeman had sped right past me when I’d
turned in and was now coming around. I could hear him cut back on
the throttle.

I peered into the blackness, trying to pick
out shapes. I’d had to reduce my speed. I barely missed a pile of
rocks just under the surface, apparent only by the disturbed water
that swirled around them. Then the dim white line of the beach took
shape, a small patch nestled among the granite monsters. I
maneuvered the boat in through the boulders. Once I had a clear
shot at the beach, I gunned it. The engine sputtered once, then
caught, and the boat blasted through the shallow water and scraped
the sandy bottom. I braced myself as it shot up onto the shore and
came to an abrupt halt on the beach.

The shore was deserted at this time of night;
the vendors’ stalls, usually overflowing with sarongs and T-shirts,
were empty skeletal shapes. I jumped out of the boat and ran
straight for the boulders. O’Brien and I had climbed through these
rocks many times. The sandy trail wound its way among the boulders,
through watery caverns, past caves, and up steep rock faces,
eventually coming out the other side to one of the most spectacular
little coves on the entire island.

I knew there were plenty of places in the
rocks to hide. I heard the boat circling, Freeman and Reidman
talking. Then they motored in slowly and cut the engines.

I left my shoes under a bush at the entrance
to the trail, just obvious enough so that they’d see them. I wanted
to make sure they knew I’d come in this way. I crouched low and
crept spiderlike between the two huge boulders that leaned into one
another, forming a triangle opening at the bottom and marking the
way into the boulder field.

Once through, a narrow trail between the
towering rock walls led to a cavernous room. Though I couldn’t see
the watery pools inside, I could hear the water rushing into them
from the sea just beyond. A ladder that had been installed for
hikers went up to the top of a boulder and then down the other
side.

I could hear Reidman and Freeman out on the
beach. They were shining their lights into the boulders. Every once
in a while a beam bounced across a rock wall. Then Freeman spotted
my shoes.

“She’s gone into the boulders on the main
trail. She won’t be hard to find.”

I knew I’d have a much better chance at them
one at a time. They were both armed. If I could take one down
quickly, I’d be evening the odds. But how the hell was I going to
separate them?

“You go around and come in from the other end
of the trail,” Freeman said. “I’ll go in the front.”

That was easy. I’d go for Freeman first. He
would be within a couple of feet in a matter of minutes, and he’d
be the easiest to take. He was out of shape—too many high calorie
fund-raisers.

I climbed the ladder and eased my way along a
narrow ledge above the room, back pressed against the rock wall,
fingers feeling their way along the granite surface. I knew there
was a crevice big enough to hide in maybe ten feet away. I’d
noticed it every time I hiked though, thinking about what a perfect
nook it would be from which to observe the cavern and not be seen.
I never thought I’d really end up climbing into it. I had to assume
that Freeman knew it was there too. I wouldn’t be able to give him
enough time to think about it.

I saw his light shining down the narrow
passageway. Christ, I needed to find that hole before he walked
into the room. Otherwise I’d be a sitting duck, standing on that
ledge in full view. Finally my fingers came to the opening. I eased
back into the dark just as Freeman stepped into the cavern.

He scanned the interior, his light skipping
over the rock walls. Stray beams crossed the opening where I hid.
Then he moved toward the pools and searched around rocky edges. I
waited.

He started along the walls, shining the light
in every possible crevice big enough to hide me. He was moving so
damned slow. Finally, he stopped right below me.

I scurried out to the ledge, took a second to
aim, and jumped. I came down right on top of Freeman and we tumbled
to the floor. His light flew out of his hands and the gun went off,
the bullet ricocheting off rock. He used his weight to roll on top
of me with the gun still held tight. But Freeman was completely out
of his league. He wasn’t familiar with the ungentlemanly rules of
engagement. I jammed my fingers in his eyes, and at the same time
brought my knee up into his groin. He yelled and rolled off me. He
was trying to scramble to his feet, the gun now dangling from his
hand, when I grabbed the flashlight and smashed it into his skull.
I knew by the sound that he’d be out for a while.

It wouldn’t be that easy with Reidman. He
would have heard the shot, and when Freeman didn’t return his call,
he’d know what the situation was. He’d be coming my way.

I grabbed Freeman’s gun and ejected the clip.
Only three rounds. I searched his pockets. Nothing. What the hell
was he thinking, coming in after me without more ammunition?

I stood for a moment trying to figure out
what my next move should be. I knew it was a mistake to head out of
the protection of the boulders and back to the open beach. The boat
I’d run up onto the sand wasn’t going anywhere. And Reidman
wouldn’t have made the mistake of leaving the keys in their boat
this time.

I’d have to wing it. A lot depended on
Reidman. He would expect me to be between him and Freeman or else
making my way out onto the beach and to the boat. I needed to find
a way to get behind him. I headed into the dark interior of the
boulder field in the direction I figured Reidman would be coming.
He’d have his flashlight on and his finger on the trigger. This
time, though, I had a weapon. Three bullets were better than an
empty clip.

I was feeling my way up a boulder when I
heard him coming up the other side. I slid back down and darted
onto a side trail as he jumped off the rock and planted his feet in
the sand. He stood there listening and shining his flashlight down
the trail. I waited in the dark. Something with sharp pointy claws
crawled over my foot, hopefully just a crab. I resisted the urge to
shake the damned thing off. Finally Reidman moved past and started
down the trail.

I followed, my bare feet silent in the sand,
but some instinct made him turn, his light hitting me right in the
eyes.

“Hold it, Reidman,” I warned when he saw me.
I had my gun aimed at his head. He stood for a second, smirking and
flicked off the light. Instantly things went black. Shots echoed,
one catching me just below the elbow. Searing pain streaked into my
wrist. I ignored it and shot back, aiming for the gun flashes. I
heard him moan then run down the trail.

“Shit,” I muttered. “Stupid move,
Sampson.”

I turned on the flashlight I’d grabbed off
Freeman and walked up the trail to where Reidman had stood. His
light lay in the sand, a patch of which was saturated in red. So
we’d both been hit.

The bullet had gone right through my arm and
blood dripped off my numb fingertips. From the puddle in the sand
though, I could tell that Reidman was in worse shape. I tore a
strip of fabric from the bottom of my tank top and wrapped it
around my forearm, using one hand and my teeth to tighten it in
place.

Then I cut my light and followed the trail, a
sandy band of white barely illuminated by a rising moon in the
direction Reidman had headed. If I was lucky he’d decided to give
the whole thing up, go back to the boat, hightail it out of there,
and nurse his wounds. But I knew I was dreaming. Reidman wasn’t the
type.

More than likely he would be waiting for me
along the path just as I had waited for him. He was injured and no
longer had a light but I had to assume he had more ammunition than
I did, because I had only one bullet left. I’d fired two at him in
the dark.

I moved ahead, placing each foot silently in
front of the other in the soft sand, every sense alert for the
unexpected—a pair of hands coming at me out of the dark, a bullet
crashing into my chest.

I stopped and bent to examine the trail in
the moonlight. If Reidman had stepped off the path into a side
shoot, I’d be able to track him. I could see the deep indentations
in the wet sand, distinct from all the others. Reidman had on the
cowboy boots he was so fond of wearing. I was sure that no
self-respecting tourist or islander had been wandering around the
Baths in cowboy boots in the past week. He was still on the trail,
heading back toward the entrance.

I heard scraping on the rocks ahead. I kept
going and seconds later reached the boulder that he had apparently
just scaled. Even in the dark, I could see splotches of blood on
the rocks. I touched it—sticky and wet.

I scurried up the side of the angled rock and
stopped just before the top. I knew that the wall of boulders
stretched out before me along the trail, one towering right next to
the one I was perched on. Too damned many place to hide. Again I
waited, listening, crouching on the boulder, working to ignore the
throbbing in my arm and the blood that was seeping from under the
makeshift bandage. I was scared shitless, heart pounding against my
rib cage. I knew it was going to be him or me. His only hope of
salvaging his future was to kill me.

Hell, maybe the best thing to do was go hide
somewhere in the rocks until daylight and the ensuing tourist
influx. Trouble was, I wanted this guy and I wanted him now. I
crept up the remaining two feet to the top of the boulder and
peered over.

I heard the distinct sound of the trigger
click right before the bullet hit the rock near my left ear and
ricocheted into the dark. I tumbled down the other side of the
boulder, landed, and rolled as another bullet thunked into the sand
where I had just lain.

Reidman kept firing in rapid succession.
Finally, the inevitable occurred. He kept pulling the trigger,
unwilling to accept the fact that his gun was empty. Clearly,
Reidman had crossed over the edge of reason into the confusion of
absolute fury. It was his undoing. He hurled the gun at me in the
dark, then launched himself off the rock.