Going Overboard (14 page)

arranged for you to take Carly there while she recovers. I hope you'll consider Paradise Cay as your own.”

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Odd Carly seemed to think the same thing.”

He was being maneuvered McKay knew, and he didn't like it one damned bit. “I'll have to check with Washington.”

“No need. Everything's been cleared. Strings, remember? I didn't become governor-general without knowing when to cash in old debts.”

“I'll check, just the same.”

“As you wish. Meanwhile, Daphne and I are staying in a secure location in Bridgetown. I'll speak to St. John about a new protection team for my daughter. Now I'd better go rescue Carly from Daphne before exhaustion sets in.”

“You should be proud of Daphne. She doesn't scare easily. She's also got great aim with a champagne bottle.”

“I am extremely proud of her.” Overhead the tall trunks of bamboo creaked in the wind. “Of both of them. I'll leave Carly in your hands. God help you if you let anyone hurt her again.” And then he was gone, the bamboo fronds waving delicately behind him.

“Things are heating up.” Izzy's voice was tinny but otherwise clear through the secure cell phone he had provided McKay before they had left the ship.

“Damned right. What story are you using to explain your unexpected absence from the ship?”

Izzy gave a racking cough. “Some kind of terrible bronchitis. I'm really laid low. I'll probably be sick for a week.”

“Just in time to join the cruise ship on its return swing,” McKay said dryly

“No doubt of it. In fact, my illness is entirely at your disposal, chief.” Izzy's voice tightened. “How's Carly?”

“Healthy enough to be arguing again. Brandon

arranged for us to stay at his brother's estate here on Barbados while she recovers. We leave tomorrow.”

“Fast work.”

“The man knows how to pull strings with the best of them.” McKay paced the deserted corridor, his voice low. “Brandon mentioned a Russian interested in port development in Santa Marina. Nikolai Vronski—what else do we have on him?”

“He's been involved in dozens of speculative joint ventures in Southeast Asia. He's successful, but not well liked. Seems he wants things done only one way.”

“His,” McKay concluded dryly. “Still, it's not a crime to be arrogant and egotistical. What about the driver of the bus that stalled so conveniently?”

“I tapped into the local police computers, and according to their investigation, he was not a resident of Barbados, just a fill-in driver for the day. The police checked his address and found it was an abandoned warehouse. Here's the interesting thing: One of the other drivers noticed he had a wallet full of crisp U.S. hundreds.”

McKay watched the door to Carly's room. “Nice money for driving a bus. I'd enjoy a chat with our friend.”

“Don't hold your breath. The Barbados police haven't found him yet. He could be in Miami or Munich by now. He had enough juice to get just about anywhere.”

“Keep at it, Izzy.”

“Russian tanks couldn't keep me away. If the situation starts heading south, I know a secondary location on the island. The house belongs to an old friend from my Thailand days, someone you can trust without question. Keep it in mind.”

“I will. It's always nice to have a Plan B. Meanwhile, I want notice of anything unusual in the hospital or on the grounds.”

“I'm on it. Brandon gave me a contact in security who's keeping me briefed.”

“Right now I don't trust anyone. We rely on firsthand information only, understood?”

“That's a roger. Anything else?”

The conversation with Daphne's father continued to nag at McKay. “See what you can dig up on the Russian, Vronski. Brandon seemed worried, as if he wanted the deal to be solid but he had his doubts.”

“Too good to be true, maybe?”

“Something like that. Dig deep.” McKay fingered the welts at his neck. “Let's find out why Comrade Vronski isn't winning any popularity contests around the world.”

“Will do. Expect a call at 1800 hours. Meanwhile, keep your powder dry.”

“That and everything else,” McKay muttered.

T
wenty-four hours crept past. Carly watched the ceiling and stared at her unpolished fingernails.

By the time Dr. Harris gave approval for her to leave, she was fully dressed and ready to go out of her mind.

“Is the equipment squared away?” she asked Hank, who had come to see her off.

“All done, boss. The sum total of damage to the equipment was one camera and one tripod.”

“Thank heavens for that.”

“Yeah, pretty strange. All those valuable electronics, and those creeps didn't steal a thing.”

“I doubt they're big in the brains department, Hank. That explains why they're bushwhacking tourists rather than running legitimate businesses in Bridgetown.”

“I still think it's odd.” Hank took the bag Carly was fussing with, zipped it expertly, and stowed it at the foot of the bed. “So what's next?”

“I'll phone you from Paradise Cay over the weekend after I work through a few ideas.”

“Don't rush on my account.” The cameraman stretched lazily. “I plan to be hard at work sampling rum punches by the pool for the next twenty-four hours. You should forget about work for a few days, too. Concentrate on getting well.” He beamed at her. “Maybe have a fling—avoiding those stitches, of course. I can imagine a dozen ways to spend the time off. Not one of them involves
a light meter.” His brow rose. “Unless it's used very creatively.”

“I'm going to rest and then I'm going to work,” Carly said firmly. “Romance isn't anywhere in the picture.”

“Whatever you say.” Hank glanced at his watch. “Almost noon.”

Carly stared at him suspiciously. “Expecting someone?”

“McKay. He told me to—”

The door opened, and McKay strode in as if he owned the hospital, looking tall, lean, and dangerous in black jeans and a black jacket. He scanned the room, saw Carly reach for her bag, and picked it up without a word.

“I can carry my own things, thank you.”

“We can argue feminist theory some other time.”

Carly swallowed her protest. Her side was hurting and she wanted to leave before she was tempted to sink back onto the bed. “I have to say goodbye to Daphne and Uncle Nigel.”

“No need. They're going to meet us at Paradise Cay.”

“Time to hit the road, boss.” Hank rolled a wheelchair over from the door. Balloons decorated the back, and a huge floppy bear sat on the seat. “All yours.”

“I can walk,” Carly said stiffly.

“Relax and enjoy it.” McKay pushed her gently into the chair, then set the bear on her lap. “You two look good together.” He moved behind the chair and nodded at Hank. “I'll handle the hard case from here.”

“Sure.” The veteran cameraman studied McKay in silence, then nodded. “Take care of her. If anyone can, it's you. I'm on call if you need me.”

To Carly's amazement, he gave a crisp salute, turned sharply, and marched from the room. She thought he muttered “semper fi” as the door closed.

“What did Hank mean?”

They were threading through heavy Bridgetown

traffic. McKay was savoring the hair-trigger responsiveness of Nigel Brandon's vintage Triumph and trying not to notice Carly staring at him. “You mean the salute?” He swept neatly past a smoke-belching truck. “It was a mistake. He took me for a Marine.”

“Because of the semper fi thing.” Carly tilted her head “Are you?”

“I am not, nor have I ever been, a member of the illustrious United States Marine Corps,” McKay said dryly.

“There must have been some reason he said that.”

“Maybe it was his idea of a joke.”

“No way,” Carly said thoughtfully. “Hank was a Marine. He considers it some sacred brotherhood thing. He'd never joke about it.”

McKay shrugged. “Beats me.”

Carly studied him some more, and he felt the force of her deliberation. “I still can't believe Uncle Nigel let you drive his Triumph. This car is his pride and joy. He never lets anyone near it, even Daphne.” Carly frowned as they shot past a stalled bus, then maneuvered deftly around an old man on a bicycle. “I suppose he was right to let you drive. Your reflexes are amazing.” She stiffened as McKay cut past a delivery van with inches to spare. “Where did you learn that?”

“Here and there.”

She made an irritated sound. “Sure. Right. Why do I even bother to ask, when I know you won't tell me a thing?”

“There's nothing to tell.”

Ahead, offices and apartment buildings gave way to bright shingle houses with flower-covered steps.

McKay looked across at her, smiling faintly. “Tell me about you instead.”

Carly sniffed. “I'm not falling for that trick again.
You
, this time. Answers, McKay.”

“I'm boring. You're not.” The road forked, and he feathered past a mud-spattered silver Audi. “You're an adopted member of one of the most important families in

the Caribbean, but you choose your own path and work until you drop. That interests me.”

“Because you enjoy masochism?”

“No,” he said frankly. “Because I enjoy you.” The road snaked uphill, curving past quiet beaches. “Tell me about the Brandons. It can't have been all pleasure being relocated to paradise.”

Carly sighed. “I came to the island at a bad time. Daphne and her father took me in and treated me as if I were family, with no questions asked.” She looked down, watching waves race onto the beach. “A few months later I became a legal part of their family, and I can never repay them for giving me a place to belong at a time when I desperately needed one.”

“I doubt they consider it a debt to be repaid.” McKay glanced back as the Audi pulled off the road and stopped under a tree. “Obviously you and Daphne have stayed close.”

“Stop steering the conversation. We were supposed to focus on you. I warned you I would ferret out every detail of your murky, misspent youth.”

“Murky?”

“Definitely. Come on, McKay. Let's have it.”

He stared at the twisting road. “My first fifteen years were spent in Wyoming. After that I left to see the world. I signed on to a freighter and worked my way through every time zone and back again. Nothing murky about it.”

“A good experience?”

“Absolutely. I grew up on that freighter.”

“Didn't your parents want to keep you close to home?”

“They were smart enough to let me go. I was pretty wild back then.” He grinned remembering fast cars, faster women. “A dusty little mountain town couldn't hold me.”

“So what do you do now?”

“I've still got some land in Wyoming. And I've got my

nautical-design work.” It wasn't too huge a lie. Equipment research and modification happened to be one of his specialties.

McKay slowed for a curve and saw the Audi reappear in his rearview mirror. He bit back a curse, feeling little hairs rise along the back of his neck. “How about something to drink?”

He didn't wait for her answer, turning off at a roadside stand stacked high with coconuts, mangoes, and a dozen kinds of exotic fruit.

“You keep watching the mirror.”

“That makes me a good driver.”

Carly sat very still. “That makes you someone who's worried.”

McKay swung out of the car, one eye on the road. The Audi was nowhere to be seen as he ordered two lime-mango coolers from an old woman with leathery skin and a high-voltage smile. He carried Carly her drink and finished his while standing where he could see the road in both directions.

“Is he there?”

“Who?”

“The silver Audi who's been following us since the last fork in the road,” Carly said tensely. “I'm a photographer. I see things, remember?”

“Must be a coincidence.”

“You saw him, too. I think that's why you turned off.”

McKay slid into the driver's seat and revved the motor to a smooth purr, then headed uphill. The Audi was nowhere in sight when he passed the wooden sign with a painted seabird, which Brandon had told him marked the turn for Paradise Cay.

“Almost there.” Towering trees closed in around them, filtering the sun to a rich green haze. “Brandon said the house is about a mile ahead. Have you visited before?”

Carly shook her head. “I've heard it has a location to die for, with ocean views in three directions.”

All McKay cared about was whether it was well protected in four directions.

They climbed through cool green shadows that offered only brief glimpses of the ocean below. At the top of the hill, he glanced back through the trees toward the main road.

He caught a flash of silver as the Audi slowed, crawling past the turnoff behind them.

Carly turned in her seat. “So much for coincidence. What do they want?”

“I have no idea, but it probably has nothing to do with us. This is a small island and that was a public road.”

“Nice try, McKay. Did you get the license number?”

After a moment he nodded.

“We'd better tell Uncle Nigel. Maybe it's one of his people.”

Or maybe not
, McKay thought.