Operation Zulu Redemption: Collateral Damage - Part 1 (19 page)

Growing up with an overprotective mother and an obsessive father, Keeley Shay could serve as a glow lamp with her fair complexion and auburn hair. As a classic Irish girl, she used to burn to a crisp, then the color would peel away and she’d once again have neon white legs.

Until she moved here.

Keeley lugged her gear down the pristine stretch of sandy beach to the dock. A burst of laughter drew her attention to the resort that anchored the north side of Little Cayman. Though she couldn’t see the tourists, their noise carried clearly.

Her Bobs plodded softly against the dock, the camo the only indication of her former life. Minus the sparkles. She glanced at her shoes, twitching her toes so the sun caught the sequins stitched across the canvas top, glinting.
“If you’d wanted a signal beacon, I’d have bought you one.”
Boone would’ve had her head for buying something so. . .girly.

Keeley’s smile faded. She missed him. Missed her friends. After tossing her gear into the dive boat, she lifted her iPhone from her pocket. Checked the e-mail account. Weird. Why hadn’t she replied yet? They had a deal. Reply ASAP then clear the message. Erase the trail.

“More rich kids to entertain today?”

Heart doing a jig, Keeley glanced over her shoulder. She squinted behind her Oakleys, the sun sparkling off the blue-green waters in the distance, and spotted the thick-chested form of her boat captain, Henri. “Corporate execs.”

Henri waved a hand, his almost-black skin satiny smooth in the bright sun. “Worse!” Feet sandaled and khakis cut off at the knees, he made his way onto the boat, chugging a container of water. “They all—‘Do this, man. I pay, you do it.’ ”

Keeley still smiled at the way he said
man
as “mahn.”
He was out of his element here as much as she was, and maybe that’s why they’d hit it off so well. “All I care,” Keeley said with a laugh as she checked one more time for a message, “is that they pay.”

“You and me both, Kendall-girl.”

For a second, she hated that she’d fooled this wonderful man, given him a lie for a name. Traded the truth of Keeley Shay for Kendall Shine, a moniker she’d desperately wanted to reflect. But Henri always made her smile and his laugh reminded her of voices she’d heard in New Orleans each year during spring break. She went below and changed into her dive suit. When she came topside, Henri started the engines. Mixed in the rumbling wake was a familiar sound that tugged her gaze upward.

“Hey, lookie there, Kendall-girl,” he said, stabbing a finger toward the sleek white plane descending. “More rich. Maybe we stay busy this week, eh?”

She grinned at him. It wasn’t uncommon for a Leer to show up here, but it wasn’t exactly normal either. Most aircraft were puddle jumpers going from one island to another. “Now you can do something for Dorinda?” She joined him at the wheelhouse and slapped his tattooed bicep. “Like buy her a ring.”

“Why? She already got more than she can wear!”

Keeley slapped him again.

“Alright, I hear you,” he said, laughing and protecting his arm.

“Promise me,” Keeley said as she lined up the suits and tanks for their gig and checked the oxygen levels. “If we get two more gigs this week—you buy her a ring.”

“What is this? Skull Island? You torturing me, Kendall-girl!”

“ ’Scuse me,” a voice called from the beach. “Are you with Little Dive Spot?”

Keeley shoved her hair from her face as she looked toward the sandy area. Three men stood there in almost matching shorts and tank tops. They seemed comfortable and casual. Well-tanned, well-muscled, and well. . .
everything perfect
.

So why had her spine shut down? Why did she want to reach for the weapon that wasn’t there?

“I got this, Kendall-girl,” Henri said as he hopped onto the dock. “You are with Tibbo Consolidated?”

“We are.” The dark-haired guy motioned to his buddy. “My friend here is a little scared of the water. We thought we could get him over that.”

The blond thumped his hand against his friend with a scowl but said nothing. The other man, also dark haired, remained unmoving.

“No worries, man,” Henri said as he motioned them onto the rig.

Something in her stomach curdled. Warned her to stay in the wheelhouse. Through the window, she watched as Henri showed the men below to change into the suits and gear up. She eased the boat from the dock and started out toward the favorite dive haunts, her nerves upended. They weren’t right. The men weren’t right.

But what was wrong?

She couldn’t put her finger on it, but somehow, they felt familiar.

Before they got too far, she checked her phone one last time. Unfortunately, she’d already lost the signal. Tossing her phone on the chair beside her, she bit back a curse. Curled her hands around the wheel. Told herself to calm down.

“I do not trust them,” Henri said as he came into the wheelhouse.

Keeley said nothing. Focused on steering away from the island, navigating around the populated areas. On what she’d do if these men were trouble.

The familiar racking of a slide snapped her around. She widened her eyes when she saw the gun in Henri’s hand. “What are you doing with that?”

“Take precautions, Kendall-girl.” Ferocity laced Henri’s expression. “I protect me and mine.” He bobbed his head, those tied-back dreadlocks swaying.

“Do you even know how to use that?”

He laughed. “Kendall-girl, you know me now. You didn’t know me then.”

Whatever
then
was, he wouldn’t tell her. And she wouldn’t push his imposed anonymity. Just as he wouldn’t impose on hers.

“You feel it, too?” She nodded toward the area where the men were changing.

“How can you not?” he asked as she cut the engine.

The silence proved deafening. As if announcing the end. Their end.

Needing to shake that thought pushed Keeley toward the open sea air. As she moved, a shadow loomed behind Henri.

Keeley reacted with instinct. She elbowed Henri out of the way. Saw the knife coming. She caught the wrist. Yanked, using the attacker’s momentum against him. When he came forward, she shoved the heel of her hand up against his nose.

Crack!

The man stumbled back, blood spurting from his face as he dropped to the deck.

Keeley spun toward Henri, who stood wide eyed. “Go!”

He sputtered, then shook himself out of the daze. “How. . .we. . .call for help!”

“No time. They won’t make it.” She manhandled Henri, turning him from the wheelhouse. “We have to take care of the others.”

“How do you know to do this, Kendall-girl?”

“Just go!” Over the
whoosh
of her own pulse, she couldn’t hear his reply. But he moved. That’s all she cared about now—that and getting off this boat alive!

Henri stumbled.

Did the man not know how to—

He went to all fours. Collapsed, facedown on the deck. A dark stain exploded across his back.

Catching Henri by the collar and dragging him backward, Keeley threw herself against the corner of the wheelhouse, searching for the shooter at the bow of the boat. Had to be at the bow or they’d have struck her, too. She peeked around.

Wood splintered, stinging her cheek.

She ducked. Glanced back. Nothing back there except—dive equipment.

As an idea gripped her, she verified the tanks were still where she’d stowed them. If she could. . .

Creak.

She whipped around.

A fist rammed into her face.

Knocked her back. Her vision blurred. Her ears rang! She stumbled, caught her balance as the man rushed forward. She readied herself. When he struck out again, she bent, once more turning the attacker’s momentum against him. He fumbled over her. She shifted. Sliced the side of her hand into his solar plexus. Waited to hear that gasp. Then shoved as hard as she could, sending him over the side.

As she pivoted, looking for the third man, she felt something warm trickling down her side. She checked the spot, stunned to see she’d been shot.
When did that happen?

She clamped a hand over the spot, searching for the last guy.

A silenced Glock 17 slid into her view, followed by the final assailant. Firm grip. Tactical precision.
How did they find me?

The man leered. “Game’s up, little girl.”

Oh God. . .help me.
Even as she said the words, she realized the ringing in her ears wasn’t ringing. It was a siren.

The man realized it, too. He shifted his gaze toward the roar of a speedboat. Whoever was coming, she didn’t know. But she
did
know one thing—she wasn’t dying on this boat!

She hooked the guy’s knee. Jerked it out from under him.

He went down into a squat but swung the gun at her.

Fire exploded through her abdomen.

Just as quickly, the man jerked and stumbled backward. Jerked again.

Keeley couldn’t move, the sudden gush of blood pooling around her. She felt cold. Crazy cold for the sun that shone in her eyes.

Thud!

A shape burst over the side rail. After a few meaty grunts, someone scrabbled up to her side. “Keeley!”

Hearing her real name, she blinked and looked up into the gray eyes she’d known and loved. “Boone. . .”

Pain exploded through her side. She grabbed the spot with a guttural scream. Covered it with her hands, surprised to find Boone’s there.

“Hold on, Keeley. Help is coming.” He worked quickly. Sternly. Fiercely. It’s what she’d loved about him all those years ago. Even as the light began to fade—why was it fading? Had clouds come? She didn’t recall a storm warning—she was just glad he was here. She’d be fine now.

“How you doing, Keeley?” Boone demanded, his tone gruff. In charge. Just like the drill sergeant he’d been.

“My shoes,” she mumbled.

She went limp. Felt. . .nothing. Her eyes drifted.

“Keeley! Talk to me!”

She blinked. “Shoes. . .” A cocoon of warmth and comfort surrounded her. Boone was close, his breath skidding over her cheek. “Sparkly.” She tried to smile. “My. . .shoes. . .sparkle.”

Stars of shattered glass.
Glittering under a red moon.

Grief pushed Annie down, her shoulders hunched against the memories. Eyes closed to the nightmare that revived itself every year.
Every day.
She gripped the balcony and fought back the swell of emotions. The memories.

Lifting the lighter, she dragged her gaze from the glass-like lake to the six candles lined up on the rail. Annie flicked the striker wheel and aimed the flame at the first wick, remembering. “They. . .”

Then the second. “. . .never. . .”

And third. “. . .existed. . .”

Choking on emotion made her hand tremble as she lit the fourth. “. . .yet. . .” She mustered her strength as the fifth wick caught. “. . .aren’t. . .” The flames danced and popped against the wind. “. . .forgotten.” Light flared in front of her.

She brushed away a tear that escaped and set aside the lighter. Fighting more tears, she raised her gaze to the sky. To the clouds sliding in and out of the light of the fingernail moon. Screams mingled with the smell of burning flesh.

Annie stumbled back, gripping her forehead. Instinct tried to block the flood of sensory information. She straightened. “No. I
will
remember,” she said through gritted teeth. Palms on the banister, she braced herself, preparing for the mental storm coming.

A door thudded closed somewhere nearby.

Annie blinked away the tears, pulled herself straight as a cool wind teased her hair from her shoulders. Drawing in a breath, she hauled up strength she hadn’t planned to use today. She blew out a long, slow breath.

“Hey, Sandwich Girl.”

At the sound of that voice, warmth ballooned through her. Sam.

Be strong. Be strong.
He had X-ray eyes. Able to see straight through her. Right into her soul. She curled her finger around the water glass. “Calamari.” Keeping her back to him gave her time to scrape together the fragments of her mental acuity. Finally she turned, lifting the glass to her lips. “You lost?” She pointed toward the cottage beside hers. “That’s your place.”

“Not lost.” Sam held up a lawn chair. “Thought you could use a chair up here.”

Annie couldn’t help but smile. Ever since he’d moved in two years ago, he’d looked out for her. Six weeks ago, a storm moved through, destroying the cheap lawn chair she’d set up on the deck. Working at the Green Dot kept her bills paid and groceries in the fridge but afforded no extra for frivolity. Like new lawn chairs. Thing of it was, Sam somehow knew her financial situation. Whether his sister told him or he was just that good—yes, entirely possible—he also tried to protect her pride. “You didn’t have to do that.”

His thick shoulders bunched up, making his neck all but disappear.

“And you brought two.”

As if he hadn’t noticed before, Sam separated the two chairs and looked at them. “Huh. So I did.” He shrugged, flinging that charming smile at her. “That’s what happens when they have those BOGO sales. Be a shame to waste them”—he glanced up—“on such a beautiful night.”

Why’d he come
tonight
? This was the night she spent remembering, honoring. . . . Chewing the edge of her lower lip, she watched as he set up the chairs and eased into one with a contented sigh. Crazy the way the night seemed calmer just with his presence.

But this is the Night of OZ.