“Right.” She slid into the car and turned the key. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
He stepped back so she could pull the convertible out of the parking space. As the red glow of the car’s taillights disappeared into the night, he said aloud, “Count on it.”
He’d be keeping an eye on the pretty detective for as long as she was on the island.
And he hoped that wasn’t going to be very long. He really didn’t want the distraction. Forming any sort of attachment wasn’t part of Jason’s game plan. Work and women didn’t mix. Even ones as pretty and spirited as Angie Carlucci.
Angie entered the darkened cottage and paused to listen before turning on the lights. Her internal warning system stayed quiet. No discernible threat waited in the shadows. Still, she kept her hand on the weapon at her waist as she flipped on the light, locked the door and searched the premises, to assure herself all was as she’d left it.
She let out a relieved breath.
Going to the kitchen to fix herself a tuna sandwich, she scoffed at her own silly paranoia. The armed men on the boat had rattled her more than she’d expected or cared to admit. For several heart-throbbing moments she’d been afraid. Only the silent prayers she’d sent heavenward had allowed her to keep her composure.
Fear was not something that could be allowed. Fear could mean death. Hers or others’.
But Jason had hardly seemed unnerved by the boat of armed men.
Except when he was barking orders at her to stand down. He’d sounded exactly like her academy instructors. What was up with that?
Ex-military? That would explain how nonplussed he’d been. And how autocratic.
At first she’d chafed against the obvious he-man tactic he’d employed by pulling her behind him as if she were some damsel in distress. Okay, maybe a bit of distress, but still—
If those men had wanted them dead, Jason’s body would hardly have been an effective defense. Though in retrospect, she realized he’d been trying to protect her, not as a fragile flower but rather to shield her identity from the men on the boat.
So they wouldn’t come after her because of what she’d seen? She shuddered at the thought.
She hadn’t expected gallantry from a total stranger, but there it was. Tenderness welled up. The man might be a bit irritating, but he’d shown a streak of honor she couldn’t deny. Definitely military material. And good-looking. Very good-looking. Muscular but not overly. Strong, capable hands. And a slow, killer smile that knocked the wind out of her lungs.
Forcing Jason from her thoughts, she took her food out to the back deck. A gust of wind threatened to rip the plate from her hand. She tightened her grip and stared out at the ocean to the spot where she’d seen the black bag go into the water. She burned with curiosity and the need to prove to Chief Decker and Jason that what she’d seen was worth investigating.
What if those men who’d chased them away hadn’t been able to find the bag? It could still be at the bottom of the ocean.
Angie sure could use a boat of her own. And scuba gear. She’d have to wait until morning to rent either one. But would she be early enough to get out on the ocean before Chief Decker? Doubtful.
She sliced a look to her left where there was a storage door underneath the cottage’s eaves. Maybe her aunt had something she could use.
Setting her plate on the small round table beside the Adirondack chair, she tried the knob. Locked.
She ran inside for the keys Aunt Teresa had sent her. There were two keys. One fit the front and back doors. The other had to open the storage closet.
Sure enough, the key slid easily into the lock. With the door open, she felt around the inside wall until she found a light switch. Score.
A single-person sit-on-top kayak was fastened to the wall by bungee cords. Several shelves lined the wall filled with beach gear.
The kayak wasn’t ideal. She’d only ever kayaked down the Charles River, which was a far cry from the agitated water of the ocean. But she wasn’t going to let a little thing like inexperience stop her.
She held a paddle in one hand and snorkel gear in the other and made a decision. As soon as the sun rose she’d paddle out. Obviously, she wouldn’t be able to go very deep with a snorkel but she wasn’t planning on dredging the bag up. She’d leave that to Decker and his men. All she wanted to do was confirm what she’d seen.
She’d show Mr. Jason Bodewell that a Carlucci never gave up on an investigation.
Beneath a sky streaked with gold and safety-cone orange, Jason eased the Regina Lee away from the dock. He searched the horizon for the impending tropical storm predicted on the news. Other than the wind gusting over the Gulf water, he didn’t see any signs. But that didn’t mean one wasn’t brewing. Sometimes they came on fast and left a trail of destruction in their wake. But not yet.
Once clear of the marina, he sped toward the apex of the coordinates he’d memorized last night, while keeping a sharp eye out for any unwanted attention. Especially a boat full of armed men.
He doubted he’d find anything at the bottom of the ocean; the men in the boat wouldn’t have left anything of value behind. But one never knew.
And it gave him something to do. He was so tired of waiting. Waiting for Picard to slip up and show his hand. Chatter through the intricate intel channels monitored by both ICE—U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement—and ATF—Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives—solidified the belief that Picard was on Loribel Island.
Posing as a charter-boat captain allowed Jason to explore the coastline all the way around the island. He had narrowed down three possible places Picard could be working from, since the arms dealer would need ocean access. All were being monitored by satellite surveillance. Which hadn’t yielded much so far.
But now that Jason had identified the man from last night as Hector Ramirez, a name linked with Picard in Interpol files, Jason was sure it would only be a matter of time before he found Ramirez again. Jason prayed the man would lead him to Picard.
Up ahead, a small craft, maybe a kayak, bobbed in the waves. Jason slowed the Regina Lee, his gaze sweeping the area. About fifty yards from the kayak, a dark head popped up, breaking through the waves. Water spurted out of a snorkel.
Jason stared as disbelief and frustration built in his chest. There was no mistaking the face staring at him from behind a clear mask.
“Women,” he muttered, making the word sound like an epithet.
Putting down anchor helped calm his ire. Moving to the side of the boat, he called out, “What are you doing?”
With graceful, broad strokes, Angie swam closer. She had on a short-sleeved black dive suit similar to his own. When she reached the Regina Lee, she lifted the mask to rest on her forehead and blinked up at him. “Enjoying the water. You?”
His mouth quirked. “The same.”
She smiled, clearly not believing him any more than he believed her. “Did you see anything
