Eye of the Storm (4 page)

She inched the screen open, and peered toward the garage. The window was still open, but the music had definitely gone quiet.

Oh God, if Martin was hurt.

Anger, hot and heavy, filled her chest, making it difficult to breathe. But she forced it aside, knowing there was no time for sentimentality. She had to draw the killer into the open. Then she could make certain that Martin was all right.

Glancing back at the kitchen, she reached for a mop. Not exactly the most innovative of ideas, but it just might work. Staying low, she positioned herself under the open window by the table, and then carefully raised the mop.

On a good day her hair probably didn't look as good, but hopefully the silhouette would do the trick. She counted one one hundred, two one hundred, and flinched as the mop splintered above her. Popping up before the shooter had time to regroup, she narrowed down possible trajectories, and then ducked back to the screen door.

The practical thing would be to head out the front door and never look back. But there was no way in hell she was leaving Martin. Swinging the door wide, she kept low, her eyes sweeping the area for signs of life.

A shadow detached itself from the garage wall, the pot of bougainvillea at her feet knocked over as a bullet whizzed past. She jumped back into the kitchen, running to the front door and then around the left side of the house. The covered patio would provide protection until the killer figured out where she was and changed positions.

What she needed to do was draw him out, away from the garage and Martin, then double back and hopefully gain access. She had one advantage in that she knew every inch of the property. And even if the assailant had studied the plat he wouldn't be as familiar with it as she was.

There was no question in her mind that he was gunning for her. Which meant that if she gave him the opening, he'd take it. All she had to do was be ready to move when he did.

She rounded the corner on a crouch and inched forward until she was situated just below the stone wall that lined the left side of the patio. The pool glistened turquoise in the dappled sunlight, the soothing sound of the waterfall totally at odds with the reality of the situation.

Taking a deep breath, Simone tightened her grip on the Sig and swung around the end of the patio firing. Three shots, all aimed away from the garage, and she rolled back around the corner as a spit of bullets stirred the dirt in the garden fronting the patio.

Bingo.

She held her position, waiting. If life were good, then the man would show himself. But she knew it was unlikely. If someone was after her after all these years, he had to know what he was doing. If nothing else, there was the fact that he'd found her.

She steeled herself for one last check of his position, and inched around the corner, this time staying low to the ground. Her instincts were in full force now, and she heard the hiss of the bullet, diving for cover while marking the trajectory, satisfied that she'd accomplished her objective.

Running full out now, she whipped back around the house, and down the right side, staying as close to the wall as her rosebushes allowed. Reaching the corner, she pivoted left, gun ready, and dashed across the open space toward the garage. A hail of bullets followed her footsteps, the sound of metal against concrete keeping her moving.

Inside the bay, she sprinted for the stairs, and was up them into the apartment in only seconds.

But she was too late.

Martin lay slumped in the corner.

Dear God, what had she done?

RACING ACROSS THE ROOM, Simone kept her gun aimed at the window as she knelt beside Martin, searching for a pulse.

"Martin? Can you hear me?"

There was silence for a moment, but a definite heartbeat, and then his eyes fluttered open, his expression a mixture of confusion and terror. "What's happening?" he whispered.

"You've been shot." She ran her hand over his shoulder and pectoral muscle until she located the wound.

"Is he still out there?" he mumbled, working to sit up, his pupils dilated with fear.

"I think so. But we can't go anywhere until I get you bandaged. So hold still." She pushed him back down and then grabbed a T-shirt off a chair, ripping several strips off the bottom. Quickly she tied it around his shoulder, effectively adding pressure to the wound. Not the best field dressing, but it would have to suffice. "Can you walk?"

"Dunno," he said, but tried to rise anyway, the result complete failure.

"Come on, Martin. I know this is scary but I can't get you out on my own. You've got to try and support some of your weight. All right?"

He nodded, shifted, and managed to stand, only leaning slightly against her. "Is he—is he still out there?" His words were slurred, which meant shock was imminent. She had to get him out of here now.

"Yes." She moved toward the door and the stairs, careful to keep her arm around him. "But he won't have made it back to the garage."

She wasn't entirely certain, but she was banking on the fact that their assailant would assume she'd stay by the window, effectively cutting him off from crossing the yard to the garage. Eventually, he'd figure out how to make his way to the back of the building, but hopefully by then they'd be out the back door and onto Reece's boat.

The house was situated at the end of an inlet of water, allowing for a boathouse and dock. Reece's pride and joy was his ocean-rigged sports cruiser. Rechristened Antigua in honor of the island where they'd spent their honeymoon, it was the one thing he'd insisted on keeping in the divorce settlement. The only reason it was still here was that he'd been unable to find the right berth elsewhere.

Nothing was good enough for his baby.

Well, he could have it—as soon as she and Martin managed to get it out to sea and away from whoever the hell was trying to gun them down.

Martin's head jerked and he slumped against her shoulder. "Martin?" She slapped his cheeks and was rewarded with a groan. "You've got to stay with me. We're going to try and get to the boat."

He sucked in a ragged breath and righted himself. "I can make it." He swayed slightly but held his ground; she tightened her arm around him, careful to keep her right arm free. Martin's eyes widened as he noticed the gun for the first time. "You know how to use that?"

"Yeah. I do." Something in her tone either placated him or frightened him into complete silence. Either way she hadn't time for further explanation. "Come on. Let's go." They headed for the stairs, moving slower than she would have liked, but finally reaching the landing. Struggling to keep her balance, she supported him as they moved sideways down the stairs.

The bottom landing was their most vulnerable spot. At that point, they'd be visible from practically the entire backyard.

She stopped on the next to last step. "I need you to concentrate." She spoke slowly, waiting until she was certain he'd heard and understood. "We're going to need to run past the doorway and into the other bay." The garage's second door was closed, and if they could make it there, that should provide the cover they needed to duck out the back and into the boathouse.

"I'll give it my best." Martin's voice was weak, but there was determination reflected in his eyes.

"All right. I'll count three and we'll go."

Martin nodded, his gaze trained on the shadowy back wall and the boathouse door.

"One...two...
three
..." They shot off the step and headed for the safety of the opposite side of the garage. The report from the assailant's gun echoed through the building, signaling that he was too close for comfort. Simone pushed Martin forward and pivoted to get off a shot, turning then to sprint after her brother-in-law.

They moved together again, her arm around him as they headed across the remaining distance to the boat house door. Yanking it open, she shoved Martin through, turned to fire again and then ducked after him, slamming the door to the sound of bullets spattering against metal.

Score one for fireproof doors.

After hitting the switch to open the boathouse doors, she helped Martin on board the gently rocking cruiser, and then climbed the ladder to the pilot's chair and turned the key in the ignition. Thank God Reece always left it engaged. They'd fought over it numerous times, but if she ever saw him again, she swore she'd retract all the nagging.

She turned to check on Martin, surprised that he'd followed her. "Shouldn't be alone," he said, then collapsed on a bench next to the pilot's chair. She wasn't sure what he thought he was going to do, but she admired his gumption, especially considering he got motion sick just looking in the bathtub.

Still, she wished he'd gone below, out of range. But it was too late to argue. She pushed the throttle, sending the boat out into the channel. Steering the boat by touch, she turned to look behind her, scanning the shoreline for signs of movement.

An answering bullet lodged in one of the aft armchairs, sending it slamming across the deck.

"Get down, Martin," she barked, relieved when he obeyed by sliding off the bench onto the deck floor. "Keep watch behind us."

She turned her attention back to the canal in front of them, increasing speed slightly. The farther she got from the shore, the more likely it was that they would be out of range of the intruder's gun. In less than fifty yards they'd reach the main channel, and from there she'd head for the open water of Laguna Madre.

Reece's family had a cottage in Port Aransas, about half an hour's drive from Corpus. It was closer by water, and she figured if she could make it there, she'd be able to get Martin some help and regroup before heading for the rendezvous.

But first she had to clear the canal.

It was narrow and shallow on the edges, which meant she had to make her way cautiously. Grounding out now would mean certain death, so she focused on the buoys, keeping the cruiser to the middle of the channel.

A noise behind her sent a shard of alarm piercing through her, and she twisted to look over her shoulder, her worst fears confirmed as a smaller boat rounded the bend, closing the distance.

"He's coming in fast," Martin said, his eyes glued to the boat on their tail.

Built for speed in open water, the cruiser was more unwieldy in confined areas like the canal. However, the jet boat behind was giving her little choice. She had to make a run for it.

Pushing the throttle forward, she felt the cruiser lurch as it picked up speed. It cut cleanly through the water, keeping the smaller boat from getting any closer. She'd be able to maintain the speed until the very end, when she'd have to slow to make the turn into the bay. If she was lucky, she'd catch him off guard, unprepared for the banking curve, and ground him.

If not, she'd at least have the chance to reach the shipping channel and from there, open water. Then she could open the engines and the cruiser should be able to outdistance the jet boat.

Concentrating on timing the turn, she tightened her hand on the throttle, the sound of the jet boat's engines taunting her from behind. They'd come too far to lose now. She shot another look behind her, trying to make out the driver's face, but he was too far away, and there was nothing distinguishing about the man except the green baseball cap on his head.

A pro—no doubt about it.

But she wasn't exactly a lightweight herself, and she'd be damned if she'd let the bastard catch her.

As the bend loomed in front of them at almost a right angle, Simone held her breath, waiting for the last second to decelerate. She felt the boat fishtail as she slowed to make the turn, the shimmy sending things flying across the deck.

"Grab on to something," she yelled at Martin. "It's going to be choppy."

She pulled the wheel to the left, holding it with all her strength, the boat keeling to the port side, righting as she straightened it out. She waited a beat, then opened the throttle, feeling the surge of the engine beneath her.

Risking a look behind her, she saw Martin hanging on to the railing, his face white, his eyes still glued to the jet boat as it too rounded the curve, the rear of the vessel skidding up onto the bank. Just for a moment she thought she'd beaten him, but the momentum of the boat's forward motion pulled it back into the water, right behind her.

She'd managed to make the open channel leading to the bay, but she still had an escort.

"He's closing in again," Martin yelled above the engine noise.

She glanced at the radio but dismissed the idea of calling for help. Even with the dire nature of the situation, she was better equipped to handle it herself. And quite frankly, until she understood exactly what was going on, she didn't dare risk exposing herself to the authorities.

Best to head for the island and lose this son of a bitch somewhere along the way.

She headed toward the shipping lane, well aware that under normal circumstances leisure craft were restricted from using it. Nothing about this situation was normal, however, and any advantage she could gain was all for the better. The deeper channel might give her an edge as her boat was designed for the ocean.

The jet boat was not.

Even better, she could see a barge off in the distance making its way across the bay toward the port. If she could close the gap between them, then there was a chance she could use the slow-moving ship to her advantage.

Moving closer to the barge, Simone swerved across the channel, whipping around two buoys in the process. The boat behind her, unprepared for her motion, slowed visibly as the driver reacted to the sudden change in direction and the buoys in the way.

The maneuver gave her an idea as she sped toward the barge, now no more than a hundred yards away. If she could time it right, she could cut in front of the barge just before it crossed the channel, blocking the jet boat and allowing her the precious seconds she needed to secure her escape.

Timing was everything and she concentrated on the rhythm of the cruiser and the slow, steady progress of the barge. The barge signaled its approach, and then gave a second bellow in warning as she tore forward, close enough now to see the red rust streaks staining the black metal hull.

"What the hell?" Martin's voice was ripped away in the wind, but she could see the question in his eyes.

"It's our only chance."

The barge signaled again, a crewman waving frantically from the bridge. Ignoring his apparent panic, she gripped the wheel and swerved left, gunning the cruiser's engine to full capacity.

The boat surged past the barge, so close she could have reached out to touch the prow. Urging the cruiser onward, she let out a sigh as she slipped past, the enormous ship filling the horizon behind her.

She'd escaped on a whistle and a prayer.

The thought made her smile, the archaic saying bubbling up from somewhere in her past. A foster parent maybe. Hard to say. But just at the moment it fit her mood perfectly.

Resisting the urge to let out a whoop, she glanced over at her brother-in-law, who was still staring openmouthed at the ship behind them.

"Oh my God," Martin mouthed, his face ashen but his eyes triumphant.

Simone headed into the sun-kissed waves of the bay, the barge behind her growing smaller and smaller as it meandered across the channel.

She'd won this round.

But she had no doubt at all that there'd be another.

Whoever had found her would be back. It was only a matter of time.

*****

"YOU HAVE FOUND HER?" Isabella Ramirez whispered into the phone, warily eyeing the door. If Manuel caught her, there would be hell to pay. And here in Managua, even the walls had eyes.

"For only a moment, and then I lost her," Carlos said.

"Can you do nothing right? I risked everything to get you a name, and now," she spat the last word, "now you have nothing?"

"I am doing the best that I can," her brother said. "It is not my fault that the woman got away from me."

"She was our best chance at discovering the truth." Isabella blew out a breath, fighting her fury.

"I know. But I will find another lead."

"And how will you obtain this lead?"

"I have my sources." Her brother, as always, was enigmatic, choosing only to share with her what he wanted. "I have not lived in America all this time and gained nothing."

"But it was I who gave you the information you needed."

"
Si
, you gave me a start. But my contacts, they are giving me the additional help I need. It was regrettable that there were complications before."

"What kind of complications?" Isabella worked to contain her impatience.