In Too Deep (30 page)

"Will you at least agree to stay aboard the
Nemesis
while I search out Bouchard?"

"Gladly."

Michael still weighed the risk of trusting Henri to get her away safely. Goddamn it. He shouldn't have been such a stubborn, self-serving prick. He should've gotten rid of Tally from the start.

He stretched above her head and opened a narrow door in the teak paneling she hadn't noticed before, and removed an object. "Know how to use this?"

Tally stared at the big black gun, making no effort to take it. The weapon looked far too at home in Michael's big hand. She glanced from the gun to Michael and back again. "Not only do I not know how to use a gun, I
wouldn't
. I hate those things."

"Let's go topside. I want to show you how to use it. If Bouchard comes anywhere near you, point and shoot."

"Better show me how to pull the trigger with my eyes closed," Tally said with a grimace. "I don't think I can actually shoot anyone. Okay, maybe Arnaud. Unfortu—"

With a warning look, Michael clamped a hand across her mouth. She stared up at him wide-eyed, heart in her throat, as the lights flickered, then dimmed, then flickered again.

He brought a finger to his mouth for silence, then jabbed it toward the deck above their heads. "Someone's coming," he said on a mere breath. The lights flickered faster.

Tally listened. She couldn't hear a thing.

She'd never seen him move so fast. In seconds he had another gun in his hand, as well as other assorted weapons. She stared at him.

Who was this man?

Not the lazy sail bum she'd thought.

This Michael was cold-eyed and efficient as he checked his weapons. His eye narrowed, his jaw tightened. Tally decided if she were a bad guy she'd be running for the hills about now. He didn't so much as glance at her as he swiftly opened the same hidden locker, and removed a knife in its sheath, and strapped it to his ankle beneath his jeans.

He tucked another gun into the back of his waistband, under his loose shirt, and motioned with the one in his hand for her to go back into the bedroom. "Lock the door," he mouthed.

Tally darted into the stateroom, watching his stealthy progress across the galley for a second or two before she softly closed the door. And locked it.

Chapter Seventeen

«
^
»

Michael stood in the wheelhouse of the
Nemesis
. The sleek Italian lines of the hundred-foot Mangusta motor yacht looked familiar as she cut through the water on a fast approach starboard. Michael didn't need to see the name on the prow. They'd been refitting the
Beautiful Dreamer
the day he'd arrived on Paradise. She now sported a discreet gun deck, and four high-powered speedboats hanging from the lifeboat stations.

Because of his brother-in-law's electronic genius, the
Nemesis was
capable of outracing the twin-engine, 1,450 HP diesel engine of the motor yacht.
Just
. But
Beautiful Dreamer
was too close to make a clean getaway. And those gun turrets were a hefty deterrent.

Shit.

There was only one reason the other vessel wasn't opening fire.

The pulse generator detonator.

Arnaud would have searched for the device on the beach. Not finding it, he would have realized Tally had picked it up. And since Michael had Tally onboard with him, the bad guys wouldn't blow up the
Nemesis
. At least not until they had the detonator in hand. As long as he and Tally knew the location of the control device, they had a chance of staying alive.

Unknowingly, Tally had saved their asses.

Michael opened the door from the wheelhouse. Arms crossed, he waited for their arrival with forced casualness.

The
Beautiful Dreamer
was a sight to behold as she approached, her white paint gleaming in the sun. Michael had visited a friend on his Mangusta years ago, and now he tried to visualize the interior floor plan and deck configuration as he waited.

Two men efficiently sent over grappling hooks, pulling the two boats snugly side by side. The deck of the
Beautiful Dreamer
loomed several feet above the deck of the
Nemesis
.

A familiar, and welcome, feeling of calm anticipation filled Michael. The same sensation he'd always had when inserted on a mission and the shit was about to hit the fan. Damn, he'd missed it. He hefted the CAR-15 comfortably in his hand. Not making an aggressive show, but not bothering to hide it, either.

Michael recognized the seven men on deck. All local island guys. Honor among thieves. They were heavily armed with MP5s, and stood like cats at a rat hole waiting for him to make a move. They'd have a long wait. He'd played in ball games much rougher than this.

"What's up, guys?"

"Mr. Bouchard wants to talk to you," Palaki said, not meeting his eye.

And Michael wanted to talk to him. With his fists. "Yeah?" he said casually. "Well, here I am. He can talk to me anytime."

He kept his back to the wall of the wheelhouse. The odds were the shits, but he'd been in worse situations and lived to tell the tale. The only difference was that
this
time he had a distinct blind side. He angled his head for the best visibility.

He could get off several rounds, and kill a few of them, but by then he'd be a sieve. They wouldn't kill him until they had the info they wanted, but they didn't have to give him a great quality of life until then, either. Under normal circumstances he'd take his chances. But right now there was too much at stake.

Because once they got through with him… there was nothing to keep them from going after Tally.

"Where is he?" Michael asked, not lowering his weapon.

Feilo, who also refused to meet his eye, gestured to the other boat. A slithery chill went through him. He'd rather face a dozen blazing guns than cross the few feet separating the two vessels.

"Fine. Tell him I'll put the coffee on, he's welcome anytime."

Palaki waved his weapon. "He say you come. Now."

A quick glance up showed the muzzles of half a dozen weapons pointed at his head.

Stalemate.

Michael considered his options. At least if he went aboard the other boat he'd be able to keep Bouchard in his sights. And away from Tally. He strode across the deck.

Feilo and another man dropped a lightweight ladder, climbed down, then stepped across, clambering over the railing of the
Nemesis
. Michael obligingly handed them his CAR. And raised his arms when told. They searched his body for more weapons, and while they'd stripped him of the gun in the small of his back, they didn't go down far enough to discover the knife sheathed on his left ankle.

"Where's Tally?" Feilo asked.

Michael shrugged, one leg over the teak rail. Jesus, the few feet separating the vessels looked a million miles wide, and the lapping water in the valley between the hulls beckoned. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"

Michael blocked spatial distance and took the leap to the rung ladder. It clattered against the Fiberglas hull of the
Beautiful Dreamer
. Michael hung there, over the hypnotic lure of the water a dozen feet below. He hauled himself up the cold metal rungs, then tossed a leg over the railing and landed on the deck of the other vessel, bathed in an icy sweat, but on two feet.
Hoo-yah
.

He didn't see the guy on his left, who delivered the hard blow to his head. By then, it was too late.

Tally strained to hear what was going on up on deck. She couldn't hear a damned thing. Where was Michael?

She held the large black gun in her hand. He hadn't had time to show her how to use it. Although the operation seemed basic—point and pull the trigger—Tally was pretty sure there must be more to it than that. On the other hand, if it were much more complicated, every redneck in the United States wouldn't have a gun rack on his truck.

Without moving her hand, she tried to see if the gun had a safety catch on it. It didn't appear to, but then, damn it, she had no idea
what
a safety catch
looked
like. Even if she figured it out, she wouldn't know if Michael had it ready to shoot, or if she'd have to… Tally groaned. If nothing else, the thing looked big and scary.

The
Nemesis
rocked, and she froze, staring at the locked door. She cocked her head as she heard the soft susurrus of voices.

Her heart sped up.
Arnaud
. It had to be Arnaud who'd come aboard. The bastard.

Thank God Michael had taken a gun with him. Arnaud was a bully, but she bet he would back off considerably if faced with another man carrying a weapon.

A few seconds later she heard several sets of footsteps on the deck overhead, then those same heavy treads running down the stairs. Heart in her throat, Tally stood, lifting the gun in both hands and pointing directly at the door. It would probably look more effective if she could stop shaking. On the other hand, what man wanted to take a chance with a clearly nervous woman aiming a loaded weapon at him?

The footsteps crossed the salon. The handle on the cabin door rattled. "Tally? Are you in there?" The handle jiggled.

She didn't recognize the man's voice. An islander by the sound of him, and someone who knew her.

Friend or foe?

The handle rattled again.

One man said to the other in Tahitian, "She's in there."

Silence.

The gun wavered in her hands. Who knew a gun was so heavy? Tally raised it a couple of inches, and braced the back of her legs against the built-in bed behind her.

A loud crash indicated they'd hit the teak door with something heavy.

Tally stared at the huge crack they'd made in the door.

"Kick it again," came the order in Tahitian. "Hurry."

"Michael?" Tally yelled. Just in case he was with them out there. She didn't want to shoot him by mistake.

"He's not here," the man said in English. "Come out. Mr. Bouchard wants you."

Mr. Bouchard's
had
me, Tally thought furiously. "I like it just fine right here. Tell him to go to hell."

Another kick to the door. The crack lengthened.

Tally checked to make sure the gun was still pointed more or less level. She closed her eyes reflexively as she pulled the trigger, then screamed with surprise at the loud retort, and the impact of the recoil. She fell onto her butt on the mattress behind her with a thump, and the automatic fired several more shots, up the door and then into the ceiling.

Annie Oakley she was not. Her ears rang, her hands were numb, and her heart was doing triple-axels. She opened her eyes in time to see two guys breaking through what was left of the door. Her satisfaction at seeing one of them clutching his bleeding arm was short-lived as they charged her. They didn't have far to go.

Two-fisted, she raised the gun.

Michael was gone.

Arnaud would kill her if he got his hands on her again.

Tally pulled the trigger.

She heard a loud thud as one man hit the floor.

Oh. My God. She'd shot someone. She couldn't think about it.

Run like hell.

Where?

No idea.

Bleeding copiously from his arm, the first guy she'd shot jerked her off her feet before she could get by him. He plucked the gun from her numb fingers, then frog-marched her over the remains of the door, through the salon, and up the stairs. Lucky howled as they passed, then hissed and cried, and ran in circles around the guy's feet.

The man lifted his foot.

"Kick that cat," Tally told him, "and I'll rip your heart out through your nose!"

He pushed her up the stairs ahead of him, then slammed the door on the yowling cat.

Through the windows of the wheelhouse Tally saw a huge white boat looming above the decks of the
Nemesis
.

"Where's Michael?" she demanded, squinting as she was shoved outside into the brilliant sunshine.

"He and Mr. Bouchard are waiting for you."

That's what Tally was afraid of. "And?" she asked.

"Mr. Bouchard invited you to come aboard."

"And I'm politely declining. Go and tell him so."

"Tally, there you are," a nasal voice shouted.

She turned to the source, then glanced up. Arnaud looked down at her from several feet above the deck from where she stood. His hair and clothing were immaculate as always, but his nose was swollen to three times its normal size, and had already turned black and blue.

That made her feel better. She smiled sweetly. "Aw. Did I break your poor nose?"

"Bring her up," Arnaud instructed the bleeding flunky beside her. His blond head disappeared from view.

Tally estimated the distance she'd have to run to get away from this guy. Too far. The distance to the island? Too far. The chances of getting shot in the back while she did something that stupid? Good to excellent. "How am I supposed to get over there?"

He indicated the ladder. It looked spindly, and way too flimsy.

"I don't think it'll hold me," she said.

"Go."

She went.

As soon as Tally's head cleared the railing on the other boat, she saw not only Arnaud but Leli'a as well.
Oh, joy
.

"Thank you for joining us," Arnaud said civilly, as though he hadn't attempted to murder her a couple of hours ago. He and Leli'a sat at an umbrella-shaded table on deck having, of all things, lunch.

Michael lay on the floor nearby. He wasn't moving, and she couldn't see his face. Was he alive?

Her heart hitched. She forced herself to look away. Behind her, the man who'd accompanied her lifted the ladder to the deck.

She strolled over to the table and pulled out a chair. "Now why doesn't it surprise me you two are in bed together?"

Arnaud nodded to a hovering servant, and the man poured Tally a glass of juice. She ignored it.

"Where is the detonator?" Arnaud demanded.