Banished Souls MC (23 page)

"What is it?" Lydia said.

"Well, that's odd." He looked at the phone, concerned. "There is no signal. But that's impossible."

"We both lost our signal? Huh," she said. "Maybe someone did shoot the satellite out of the sky after all."

Paul was not sharing the joke. He wasn't smiling. He looked worried.

Uh oh, Lydia thought, alarm bells starting to ring in her head.

"The only other way," Paul said, thinking out loud, "was if the signal was being purposely jammed." He looked up from the phone to her. His face serious. "Maybe we should just return to the boat and - ." He glanced out toward the bay, and froze. His eyes widened.

Lydia looked.

Through the leaves and branches of the over grown trees they could see the bay almost clearly. At the end of the dock sat their boat. But behind it was another ship. A large one. It looked like it had just arrived because men were jumping off of it and hurrying down the dock.

But there was one particular detail that had her immediate and full attention:

All the men were carrying guns.

Chapter 6

Oswald

Oswald was extremely pleased with himself, although he made an effort to hide that fact from his men. No need to give them reason to get sloppy.

Almost on schedule, they spotted Morgan's boat appearing on the horizon. This had given credence to Oswald's decision to pay the Tarangian Harbor Master almost double what he originally intended. That decision had paid off. With that information they knew exactly when Morgan would arrive.

And arrive he did.

Despite Reeka's murmuring protests, Oswald made sure no one moved from their position, or even started the engines, for fear that anything at all might raise Morgan's suspicions. Having your prey escape because someone was impatient would not be ideal. In fact, given his current crew of thugs, it would be quite fatal.

Once Morgan's boat had vanished into Yagenda's cove, he gave the signal. All pieces were now in play.

As they had approached the island and full speed, Oswald cycled through all their communications one final time. When everyone checked in, only then did he tell Kenneth to activate the electronics jammer.

The device was as ingenious as it was an annoyance. Not only would it kill any electronic signals, especially from satellites, it greatly limited his own communications with his men. Kenneth had attuned things so that, at the very least, they could use short range walkie talkies. But even then they would be almost unreliable.

No matter. Everyone knew the plan, and everyone was well versed on its contingencies if anything went awry. Not that it would. There was only a fat cat billionaire, and some Realtor to contend with. He expected things to go smoothly.

He found himself grinning as his ship pulled into the bay, presenting a full view of the resort. But his own eyes locked on Morgan's rental boat, firmly tied to its moors on the dock.

Perfect.

As Reeka pulled their own ship up behind Morgan's, the Filipino mercenary barked orders to the men who jostled along the ships railings to be the first on the docks; to be the first to nab Morgan.

Oswald had offered a bonus to whomever tagged the billionaire. Everyone were also very much aware that he was needed alive. So, special precautions had been taken.

They would hunt, but not kill. But if anyone got in their way, then that would be a problem easily solved.

With a thump, the ship hit the dock, and men leapt off with a shout, or cheer. Oswald could not blame them. This was an easy job, and stealth was no longer a necessity once they had made landfall.

"Secure the moorings," Oswald shouted. "Check their boat." It was all unnecessary, but he wanted to remind everyone who was in charge.

As men hurried about, most heading toward the resort, Oswald scanned the buildings. Morgan was here, somewhere. Perhaps hidden like an egg in an easter egg hunt.

A billion dollar egg.

His eyes settled on the massive resort building that dominated the hillside above the bay. He had study its layout, along with the entire complex the night before. There was little in the way of hiding places, if that was how Paul Morgan wanted to play it.

As Oswald descended from the bridge to the deck, one of his men approached.

"Their boat is clear. Nothing there."

"No phones, or devices?"

"No, sir."

"Okay. Check the fuel, and prepare the boat. We'll be taking it with us."

"Yes, sir," the man said, and hurried off to do as ordered.

Originally they were going to just leave the rental, but since they were pirates and kidnappers he figured why not. Even though soon enough he would be able to buy hundreds just like it, he enjoyed the idea of just taking it, because he could.

Oswald stepped of the deck and onto the dock, Reeka following behind. He could sense the shorter man's tension.

"How long do you think?" Reeka asked. It was his subtle way of needling at Oswald. Keep the boss on his toes.

Oswald made a show of thinking about the question, then said, "Twenty minutes, and Morgan will be secured, and we'll be pulling out to sea."

Reeka chortled. "Twenty minutes? Then twenty dollars says longer. Maybe much longer."

Oswald frowned, but agreed. "Fine. You're on."

Reeka grinned, then hurried off to supervise the men. He was always a glass half empty type of personality, but if Oswald was honest with himself, that was exactly why he liked having him around on jobs such as these. To keep Oswald on his toes. To try and expect the unexpected.

And in twenty minutes he would know if Reeka was right.

Chapter 7

Lydia

Both Lydia and Paul gaped down at the armed men now swarming up the dock, and vanishing into the small warren of the resort buildings.

One heartbeat. Then two.

Paul was the first to break out of his shock and said, "This would be a great time to tell me that those are security guards who work for the insurance company."

It took a moment longer for Lydia to respond. "Nope," she said, still staring at the scene below. "Not at all."

In the distance, she could see a pair of men now standing on the dock beside the new ship. Could it be the ones in charge? Who the hell were they?

There have only been a few instances in Lydia's life where she encountered mind numbing fear. Nearly all were the result of a near accident of some sort, like when she lost control of her car in a snow storm and skidded off the highway into a snow bank. Fortunately, she and Mary, who was with her at the time, were not hurt. But the whole thing terrified her right down to her very core.

This was a different type of fear, a more sinister cousin. This time, it was other people that were creating the sensation. She'd never felt anything like it. It looked like these men might be here to kill them.

She stood frozen on the spot. Her mind locked up. Oh, my God. I'm going to die! Her mind screamed at her.

It was Paul who managed to snap her out of it. "We should go. Now." He had firmly, but gently, put a hand on her shoulder and was now guiding her toward the balcony doors. She moved, but almost as if she were in a trance, pushed along by the will of someone else. Her own will locked away in a tiny room in the back of her mind, safe.

"I... I don't..." she stammered for no reason. What was she trying to say?

"It's okay," Paul said, and his tone seemed to convey that he meant it. "Let's head out the back. Quickly." And with that, he kept pushing her along toward the huge stairs.

She found herself turning her head to stare at him. Why couldn't she think?

Guns. Men with guns.

As they crested the stairs and began their descent, Paul slipped his hand off her shoulder to take a grip of her arm at the elbow. His focus was entirely on the stairwell, but he looked incredibly serene.

For her benefit? He was being cool so as to keep her calm?

What a nice guy, she thought, then frowned. Given the circumstances she needed to think of other, more urgent matters.

Paul stopped them almost immediately upon descending the stairs. He crouched down, so as to look through the banister, and down into the foyer below.

"We should hurry - ," she began to say, then stopped as she heard them. Voices. Right outside.

From Paul's vantage point he was peering directly at the open doorway below. He was making a huge effort not to be seen, as Lydia could see only a sliver of sunlight from the door on one side of his face.

The voices again. This time louder. Much louder.

Then, the hard slapping of shoes on the tiled floor below. A huge shadow bounced against the one wall across from her.

Someone was inside.

Paul's eyes widened fractionally as he looked at who was there. Without looking directly at Lydia he placed a finger against his lips. Quiet.

As if she needed to be reminded. Then again, given her state of mind, maybe she did. Her senses were that of a base animal, who wondered into a cave only to have a predator arrive to block the entrance.

More slapping of shoes. Someone else arrived, more shadows. This time voices spoke to each other, loud and echoey in the cavernous foyer.

Men, speaking in a language she didn't understand. But their meaning was clear, and urgent. They were looking for something.

Or someone.

Paul now eased back from the banister, and when satisfied he was not spotted looked at Lydia. He nodded his head, indicating they should go back up.

Again, he guided her by the arm. But now her mind seemed to be returning to her. Thoughts rushed in that had previously been held at bay by fear. Why was this happening? What did they want? What were they going to do?

They reentered the second floor hallway, but this time, instead of the balcony, Paul moved them down the west wing hallway at a hurried pace. They weren't running, the noise would carry, but the two of them were certainly hustling along.

"Where are we going?" Lydia managed to whisper after a few moments. Paul's eyes bounced from hotel room door to door.

"A place to hide," he said. His tone was very casual, without tension. As if this sort of conversation was an everyday occurrence. "They will have to search each room. So if he get far enough away, it may buy us some time." He kept passing each closed door, not pausing at any of them.

"Buy us time for what?" she asked hopefully.

He spared a moment to glance at her. Arching a brow he said matter of factly, "To run away."

Lydia almost laughed. Oh, God. Was she getting hysterical? No, just caught up in the moment, and almost bewildered by his serene presence.

Paul craned his neck, looking further down the hall. "There." He pointed.

At the end of the hall was the fire escape door. Lydia thought she had never seen something so welcome.

"Come on," Paul whispered, but as he did, there was a shout from behind them.

Without stopping, they both looked behind them.

No one was racing after them, guns blazing, thankfully. But from this angle Lydia could see shadows playing along the top of the foyer wall. Someone was on the stairs. They would see them any second.

Lydia and Paul came up on the fire escape door, only to see yet another chain wrapped around its push handles, with yet another padlock.

Without slowing, Paul steered them toward the final door on the right. It had a faded sign on it that read 'House Keeping'.

He pressed them up against the door and turned the knob. It wasn't locked. Then he pushed it open an inch. It was silent. Then, with another shout behind them, he opened the door a little wider and they both slipped inside.

As Paul quietly closed the door behind them, Lydia took in their new surroundings. It was nothing more than a very tiny utility closet. There had been some wooden shelving, but most had been removed, or was piled up in one corner. There was an empty light socket above them in the high ceiling amongst a canopy of spiderwebs.

There was other discarded junk pushed up against the walls. Along the top of one wall was a thin window, just above eye level. One glance told her that neither she or Paul would ever fit through it.

There was nothing here of use. Nothing that could save them.

Her eyes completed their circuitous route of the little room, and then settled them on Paul.

He was breathing a little heavy, a slight sheen of perspiration on his forehead. But he did not looked panicked in the least.

And he was looking at her.

"Are you okay?" He whispered.

His concern, despite their terrifying circumstances touched her, and for the smallest of moments she felt tears welling up.

"I think so, yeah. Thanks for asking." Her hushed tone had a slight hitch in it.

Do not cry, girl. If that brought the men with guns down on them now then that would truly suck.

Paul's expression of concern eased and he stepped closer to her. Not that he had far to go. He gently held her shoulders.

"We are going to be fine. Trust me." He said. And for whatever reason, she did no doubt it. What was it about this guy, anyway?

She suddenly realized her heart was pounding up in her throat. Was that from fear, or from something else?

"Did you see it?" he asked.

"See what?" she said, genuinely dumbfounded by the question.

"The padlock on the door."

"Oh. Yes, I did."

"Think you can find the key that opens it?"

Her heart ramped up its assault on her chest cavity. Unlocking that padlock would get them out of here. They wouldn't be trapped. The thought made her almost giddy.

"I think so, if its marked." She realized she still had her day bagged clutched to her side. She hadn't given it a single thought since seeing the men on the pier. Relieved, she reached in and pulled out the large key ring.

Unbidden, the keys clinked loudly in her hand.

And at that very moment, from directly outside their door, a voice shouted.