Navajo Echoes. Cassie Miles
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long stories.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide. What you see is what you get.”
“We’ve got an hour to kill,” he said. “Tell me all about yourself.”
“I stepped off the predictable path when I dropped out of college in Ann Arbor.”
She told him about backpacking through Europe, working as a waitress when she could and picking up the languages.
After seeing injustice on a global scale, she’d felt the need for order. That was when she’d moved to Denver and entered the police academy. “Then I joined PPS. It feels like this is where I belong. I love the people in the office. Former FBI agents like Evangeline and Melissa. Jack Sanders was an Army Ranger. Cameron Morgan, the cowboy.” Her gaze bounced into his eyes. “Then, of course, there’s you.”
“What about me?” he asked suspiciously.
“You’re very secretive. The strong, silent type. All I know about you is your work. You’re an electronics genius and an expert in security systems.”
“I like detail work.”
No surprise there. He was a master of precision and planning. “Tell me about growing up. Did you have a big family? Were you good in school?”
John checked his wristwatch again. “We’ve waited an hour. Robert isn’t coming tonight.”
How typical of John to divert the subject as soon as it shifted to him. She followed him across the sand to the bushes where he’d hidden their transportation. Climbing onto the back of the motor scooter, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her cheek against John’s broad back.
In a moment, they were back on the road, headed back to the hotel. She snuggled closer. Hanging on tightly wasn’t really necessary; they were only going about twenty-five miles an hour. But she liked holding him. Her attraction to John was far from sisterly fondness. He was much too sexy to ever be thought of as a brother.
She heard him curse, sat up straighter and peeked around his shoulder. Headlights. A big vehicle. A Hummer. And he was coming right at them.
As the motor scooter skidded off the narrow road, she heard herself scream.
Chapter Four
The motorbike careened wildly. John clenched the brake. He fought for control.
The headlights swerved toward them. This wasn’t an accident. The Hummer was coming right at them. The son of a bitch meant to run them over.
John swung hard right, finding a narrow pathway through the thick foliage. Low branches lashed his arms and shoulders. Lily’s arms tightened around his midsection. The front tire ricocheted over rocks and exposed tree roots.
With nowhere else to go, he had to stop and stop fast. It was a damn good thing that this was only a scooter instead of a heavy motorcycle that would crush them both. Maneuvering so he wouldn’t fall on top of Lily, he crashed sideways into a shrub, taking the impact on his thigh. He yanked her off the bike onto the ground beside him.
“Stay down,” he ordered as he drew the Glock from his ankle holster, positioned himself on one knee and took aim.
His vision faded. Edges blurred. The wavering shadows from branches and fronds in the moonlight became dim, murky shapes. He blinked hard. Not now, damn it. This was the worst possible time for his eyesight to fail.
The fronds and branches became indistinct. All he could see were the bright lights of the Hummer. It would have to be enough. He fired three times in rapid succession.
Beside him, he heard Lily moving around, probably with her own weapon drawn. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. “Get down,” he repeated.
“Like hell.”
From the direction of the road, he heard the slam of a car door.
“Go home,” came a yell. “Leave Cuerva now.”
John pointed his gun toward the voice and fired again. Shooting blind.
He heard the vehicle pulling away and sank back onto the ground. Eyes closed, he inhaled and exhaled with measured slowness, struggling to calm the tension in his body and to ignore the stabbing pain in his forehead.
His blindness was temporary—caused by an old head wound that had damaged his ocular nervous system. He should have expected it; these episodes were brought on by stress and exhaustion. He’d sure as hell had plenty of both today. Two crashes. One in a plane. Another on a scooter.
He felt Lily’s hand on his cheek and pulled away. He didn’t want her to know about his vision problem. Gruffly, he asked, “Are you okay?”
“Don’t worry about me. You don’t look so good.”
“Give me a sec.”
Her small hand touched his thigh and she made a tsk-tsk. “Your trousers are torn to shreds. Our clothing budget on this trip is going to be sky-high.”
Praying for light, he opened his eyes and saw nothing but shades of gray. He squinted through the opaque darkness. A while back, a doctor at the VA told him about an operation that might repair the nerve damage. But if it failed, there was a twenty percent change he’d go blind. John wasn’t a gambler.
He could deal with these infrequent episodes if he controlled the level of his tension. He had to fight the darkness.
“John?” Her slender fingers laced through his, and she squeezed. “John, you’re scaring me.”
“Nothing to worry about.” Shielding his eyes, he waited for the wiring inside his head to sort itself out. These spells passed quickly. Only a few moments. Just long enough to force him to take a medical discharge from the Marine Corps.
Looking up, he saw the shape of Lily’s face. He blinked slowly. Once. Twice. His vision began to clear. Her delicate features swam into focus. “Are you hurt?” she asked.
He wasn’t about to share his disability with her. Didn’t need her pity. “Let’s head back to the hotel.”
“Something’s wrong,” she said.
He pushed himself to his feet. His head was spinning but focus was coming back. He could see the trunks of palms and citrus trees. Thick, leafy ferns. Jagged rocks. The crumpled front wheel of the motorbike. There would be no resale on this equipment. “We’ll walk the rest of the way.”
It took all his concentration to plant one foot in front of the other as he lurched toward the road. He hadn’t had one of these episodes in over two years, had almost begun to believe that he was cured. No such luck.
Lily scampered beside him. “What if they come back?”
He doubted that would happen. “If they’d meant to kill us, we’d be dead by now. The Hummer was a warning. Leave Cuerva.”
“I got the message,” she said. “And I’ll bet I know who sent it. I saw the license plate. GOV 3. It’s got to be part of Governor Ramon St. George’s fleet.”
The governor wanted to scare them off his island? Was he working with Drew Kirshner? The threat to them had to be connected to Robert. But how?
On the road, he set a slow pace. Though he knew the moon was shining brightly, his vision hadn’t recovered enough to see details. The earth beneath his feet seemed to disappear into a dull, dark haze.
It was only about a mile to town, and Lily talked the whole way. Mostly about how they could get even with the governor. Casually, she took his arm, and he was silently grateful for her guidance. Damn it, this was all wrong. He should be the one protecting her. Not the other way around.
By the time they got to the well-lit hotel, he had better clarity and only stumbled once on the stairs leading up to the entrance.
In their room, he collapsed on the red-curtained