Volcano (37 page)

Goose bumps shivered up and down her arms as Charlie crooned the words, even though he sang them jestingly. What would it be like loving a caveman like Charlie? With his prehistoric blue-collar attitudes, he'd expect his wife to stay home, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, popping popcorn while he watched football on TV. She'd grown so soft in the head, she could almost find that scenario attractive, as long as he wore his tux occasionally and took her dancing and sang to her like this.

The idea of losing her shape and control of her life to carry a man's baby had never appealed to her as it had to Beth, but she saw its temptation now. A man who loved her, who would take care of her and the baby when she couldn't handle everything herself, a man who would understand that she didn't cook and didn't want to...

“Shit.”

Charlie's expletive shattered her daydream with alarm as he halted their seductive glide in the shadows of the shrubbery, pulling her behind him as if to protect her from some unseen danger.

“What?” Penelope demanded from behind his back. “What is it?”

“We're about to either catch a thief, or one of Jacobsen's partners. Go inside and send someone to check on Emile. This guy's coming from the study.” He shoved her toward the patio door.

Penelope balked, looking over her shoulder in the direction Charlie watched. “What are you going to do?” She should know better than to ask. Cavemen didn't believe in explaining.

“Just do it.” He slipped into the shrubbery and was gone before she could reply.

Irritated by his high-handedness, but understanding his fear for Emile, Penelope avoided the crowded ballroom by crossing the grass to the study window and peering in. A desk lamp illuminated an ornate ormolu table covered in business papers, but she saw no one working over them. A movement near the floor caught her eye. Emile!

Holding his hand to his head, he struggled to sit up. Heart pumping, Penelope shoved at the casement. Before she could open it, Vivian appeared in the doorway and screamed. One of the FBI men hurried in right behind her.

Inside the ballroom, the orchestra crashed to a halt. Penelope glanced quickly from the rapidly filling study to the shrubbery where Charlie had disappeared. She figured Emile was in better hands than hers. Her priority was to keep an eye on Charlie. She hurried down the garden path.

She caught him hot-wiring a Porsche on the drive. “Who taught you that?” she asked as he got the engine started.

He frowned as she climbed in the passenger side. “Emile wouldn't give me the keys when I was a teenager, so I figured out how to do it myself. I told you to get inside the house.”

He eased the Porsche out of the line of cars, and without turning on the headlights, steered the car silently down the drive.

“You told me to check on Emile, and I did. Vivian and a ballroom full of people are with him. It looks as if someone hit him over the head, but he seems okay. I'm not much used to being part of the crowd, so I thought I'd stay where the action is.”

“I can believe that. I bet you had the lead in all your high school plays.” He gunned the accelerator as soon as they hit the open road.

Ahead of them, Penelope could see the lights of another car. He wouldn't explain and she wouldn't ask. She would just assume that was the man who had hit Emile out there. She shrugged at his accusation. “I played Hamlet to Beth's Ophelia, if that's what you're asking. We were both too tall to play opposite anyone but the basketball team, and they had better things to do than take drama.”

Charlie sniggered. “Bet they regretted that when they saw you two in tights. I suppose you'll always expect to be the star of the show.”

He had her so rattled, she almost understood the direction of his thoughts. The direction maybe, but not the intent. She cast him a sideways glance but he concentrated on the dark road ahead. He still hadn't turned on his lights.

“I don't ever expect to be the star of the show. Beth and I had just enough modeling experience to carry off the drama better than anyone else. But I don't believe in sitting around waiting for things to happen, or waiting for someone else to do things for me, if that's what you mean. I'd rather do them myself.”

Charlie wrapped both hands around the wheel as if he'd strangle it, but he nodded. “I can buy that. You'll never play second banana to a man.”

“Right.” Penelope crossed her arms firmly over her chest, realized she was wearing a low-cut evening gown, and grimaced. Maybe Charlie would be satisfied with trailing the suspect, and she wouldn't end up chasing through jungles in high heels. Maybe barracudas had wings. Charlie's choice of subject left her decidedly unsettled.

“I'm not used to that,” he informed her as he swung the sports car around a hairpin turn with breathtaking speed. “I'm used to being the one who makes the calls.”

“Well, you just go right ahead and make them.” Where the hell was he going with this? And where the hell was the car ahead of them going?

Charlie chuckled. “And you'll go ahead and do what you want. I'm not totally dumb.”

“As far as I can tell, you're a Neanderthal with brains,” she agreed.

“All right, I'll settle for that, just as long as you don't think Neanderthals live in a matriarchal society.” He swung the car up a gravel road and only slowed when the potholes had them bumping their heads into the car roof.

“Right now, I just think you're insane. Is this your means of distracting me so I won't ask where we're going?”

“I didn't know where we were going until now. This road is a dead end.” He slowed as they reached a slight rise.

“And you know where we're going now?” she asked as he eased the car into the shadows of what in the moonlight looked like palmettos.

“To the volcano.”

“Stay here,” Charlie whispered as he stopped the car and pulled the wires. He figured it was a pretty safe bet Penelope would follow his instructions rather than sink her heels into the mud around the pit of the volcano.

He ignored her glare as he slipped from the car. The other guy was driving some small foreign job that he apparently didn't mind risking by taking it beyond the gravel of the parking area. Charlie could think of a dozen better places for a secretive meeting, but he knew the island. An outsider wouldn't. A tourist attraction like the volcano might be an obvious choice.

If this was a thief, what could he have wanted from Emile's study? It made no sense for Jacobsen to hire anyone to steal from a man who was already on his side. Even if Jacobsen had discovered the FBI's involvement, why would he hire someone to hurt Emile? St. Lucia was outside the FBI's jurisdiction. Since Jacobsen was an American citizen, and they already had agents here investigating the Russians, the FBI had been willing to stretch their involvement, but Jacobsen wouldn't know that. Did someone else? Who?

Charlie knew he had little chance of walking through the parking lot without being heard. But if the thief was as much a stranger to the island as Jacobsen, he wouldn't be familiar with the sounds of the forest. Maybe he'd think Charlie's rustling through the underbrush was a jungle cat. He'd terrify the shit out of the bastard.

Having spent eight of his more adventurous years on the island, Charlie didn't hesitate to walk under the shadows of the trees. He could hear voices ahead. A little eavesdropping might be advantageous.

“Did you get the seal?” a rough voice whispered with a decidedly American twang.

Charlie didn't hear the reply, but a grunt of satisfaction followed the sound of a snap opening.

“I don't know why you have to be so damned secretive about this. You Russians suspect everyone. We don't have KGB over here. We could have met in a decent restaurant and no one would have noticed or cared,” the voice grumbled.

That wasn't Jacobsen. Charlie had met the man only a couple of times, but he would have recognized the polished voice. Besides, he'd just seen Jacobsen at the party. He couldn't have arrived here ahead of him.

A heavily accented voice murmured something Charlie couldn't catch.

“You guys are gonna have to start learning to do things the American way. That machine gun shit will only get you canned. With this seal, we make it all right and tight and no one can touch us. We're a legitimate business, remember? With your cash and our connections, we can own half the Caribbean. No more Moscow winters for you.”

Emile must have been keeping the corporate seal to one of his companies in his office. It should have been locked in his safe, unless he'd been using it for something this evening. Charlie just couldn't figure out how a seal would solve anyone's problems.

“Yeah, Smith and his right-hand man are a nuisance,” the American replied to the Russian's heavily accented English, “but I think we've got him beat now. With Jacobsen's signature and this seal, we can probably get an easy billion out of the Foundation and leave old Emile holding the bag. Smith might hate the old man, but he won't let his mother and sister go down the drain with him. He'll have to sell to get that kind of cash.”

Well, thank you very much. Not totally grasping all the ramifications of the plan but easily figuring out his place in it, Charlie rose from his crouch as the Russian muttered something quarrelsome. The Russian must be pretty damned sure of himself to argue with an arrogant ass like this guy. Charlie only wished he'd called for backup so he could catch both of them. He'd have to settle for the ass with the seal.

Gunfire erupted the instant Charlie stepped from the trees.

Oh, hell. He should have figured the Russian was packing firearms.

Grabbing the American by the throat, using him as a shield, Charlie rolled to the ground. His first thought was for Penelope. He didn't dare hope she'd know how to hot-wire the car and get the hell out of here.

Puffs of dust spat up around him as gunfire erupted again. The ass screamed in panic.

“Don't shoot! You'll hit me!”

Charlie jerked back on his captive's jaw. His opponent was a tall man, but soft. He screamed in agony and terror.

“Give me the seal, you bastard.”

“I haven't got it. I swear, I haven't got it. Dmitri kept it,” the man babbled.

Charlie could hear footsteps crashing through the underbrush and figured Dmitri was well on his way to safety. Cursing, he jerked at the asshole's jaw again. “I don't believe you.”

“Charlie! Charlie, are you all right?”

Penelope. Groaning, Charlie slammed his fist into a square jaw. His captive slumped into unconsciousness, and hastily Charlie patted him down until he located the heavy seal.

“Charlie!” She sounded nearly hysterical. “Answer me!”

Her concern would have tickled him at another time, but not now. He wanted her out of here. “I'm fine. Don't come any closer. The volcano's right here. Don't leave the damned boardwalk.” Fear laced his words, making them sharper than he'd intended.

The moonlight provided enough illumination over the stinking morass of the volcano to reveal Penelope's slender silhouette cautiously approaching. The boardwalk ended yards away from where he was concealed by the shrubbery. He didn't like her exposed like that. He couldn't be absolutely sure if the Dmitri thug had left the area yet.

The man on the ground groaned. So, he wasn't as soft as he seemed. Charlie jerked his victim's arms behind his back. “I need something to tie him with. Any ideas?”

“Your cummerbund?” she suggested dryly, from a safe distance.

Oh, hell, he'd wrecked the tux for certain. He'd had to rent this one in Castries. It was the only one they'd had in his size.

The instant he let go, the man on the ground rolled over, swung a kick at Charlie, and stumbled to his feet.

“Penny, run!” Charlie shouted, shifting to tackle position. His bad knee crumpled under him, and he missed.

“Give back the seal,” a guttural voice demanded from behind him.

Oh, triple shit. Ignoring the pain shooting through his leg, Charlie crouched amid the ferns and assessed the situation. The Russian with the gun must be behind him in the trees. The American nursing his bruised jaw stood in the moonlight at the volcano's edge, holding his hand out. Somewhere just beyond the curve of the volcano, on the safety of the walkway, stood Penelope, holding her breath, Charlie suspected.

He hadn't been brought up to let the bad guys win. He still had his quarterback's passing arm. If the seal landed in one of the molten pits of the volcano, so be it. Emile could get another one.

Flinging the heavy metal object in his hand as far and wide over the American's head as he could, Charlie used his good leg to shove himself into a crouching tackle. To his astonishment, beyond his opponent's shoulder, the red of Penelope's elegant gown leapt high in the air, seeming to float for a moment on the breeze. The shimmering silver arcing through the moonlight landed in her hand, and she broke into a run as soon as her feet touched ground.

Damn, but she should have played football.