In the Enemy's Arms. Marilyn Pappano
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movement in his peripheral vision, then a gunshot cracked in the heavy air. The bullet passed between them, exploding into a cinder block across the alley, and every muscle in Justin’s body cramped.
Revving the powerful engine, he released the clutch and the bike shot forward. Zero to 150 in ten seconds, the manufacturer claimed, and he was pretty sure he’d just demonstrated it. He drove like a demon through four blocks of alleys, barely slowing before rocketing across the streets, then made a hard turn on the next cross street. It was a broad thoroughfare that didn’t see much traffic, at least when he’d been on it, but it was also a risky place to speed, with police and military installations strung along its length.
His destination was a short distance ahead: one right turn, then another, onto a jammed street that passed cruise ships, dive shops and hotels. Their speed diminished significantly—down to ten, maybe fifteen miles an hour, with all the cars, scooters and tourists. His nerves humming, he kept an eye on the traffic both ahead and behind until he passed under the pedestrian bridge. Just past it, he goosed the engine, cutting it too close crossing lanes in front of a ’70s-era VW Bug. He drove up the handicapped ramp, crossed the sidewalk and eased through an open gate.
A cinder-block wall sheltered them from the street. He nosed the bike in until the front wheel met the wall, then killed the engine and climbed off. He removed his helmet first, and he ran his fingers through his hair be fore grinning weakly. “Hell. This time I’m gonna kill Trent.” He had to lean against the wall—his legs were that wobbly—and needed a couple deep breaths to fill his lungs again.
Cate finally swung her leg over and eased to the ground. She was steadier than he, but why shouldn’t she be? She was an E.R. doctor. Life-and-death emergencies were part of her daily routine. Though not, he noted as her hands began to tremble, her own life or death. “Were those men police officers?”
“Doubtful. If it had been cops shooting at us, we never would have made it this far.” Fairly certain his legs would hold him, he pushed away from the wall and unlashed her suitcase. “You have a swimsuit in there?”
She blinked, the only indication of her surprise at the change of subject. “Of course. Why?”
“Because we need to blend in, and in this part of town, most women are in swimsuits.” He gestured broadly to make his point. “Put it on.”
Her eyes widened with good old-fashioned modesty. “Here?”
He grinned. That might be fun—Cate Calloway stripping on a public street—but it wasn’t gonna happen in his lifetime. “There are bathrooms down at the dive shop. Come on.”
Both a ramp and stairs led to the dive shop doors. Divers were gathered around the dock, checking their equipment, and the shop employees were in and out, wheeling air tanks, answering questions, giving advice before the afternoon dive boat headed out. He wished he had his own gear and could just join the crowd. Under the sea seemed the last place those men would look for them.
Of course, the doc couldn’t dive, but she wasn’t his responsibility. He’d be more than happy to pay whatever it cost to get her back to the airport and on the next flight out, or put her on a cruise ship for the remainder of her vacation. Anything to not have to deal with her. But not dealing with her had never been that easy.
Once inside the shop, he pointed out the bathroom, then approached the man at the counter. Mario glanced up, then did a double take. “I didn’t see your name down for this dive. How have you been?”
“Good, except I’m not diving this time. I’m here with a…friend who hasn’t discovered the joys of scuba yet.”
“She must be some…friend to keep you out of the water for long. Where is she? You got her hidden from the rest of us so we won’t try to steal her away?”
“Bathroom. Listen, I just picked her up at the airport and was wondering if I could leave her stuff here while we have lunch.”
Mario reached under the counter and produced a lock and a key. “Any empty basket you want.”
“Thanks. Hey, and a T-shirt, too.” Justin accepted the key, shrugged off his backpack, then pulled his shirt over his head, replacing it with the blue one Mario picked. Divers Do It Deeply, the slogan proclaimed above a picture of a smiling mermaid. After paying for it, he faced the dock. “You’ve got a good crowd.”
“Regulars. Louisiana. Argentina. The single divers’ group. You’ve probably gone out with all of them.”
He probably had, which made him turn his attention back inside. He didn’t want anyone besides the dive shop employees to recognize him. Keeping a low profile was something he’d had to learn, and he needed it now especially.
A couple of women came out of the bathroom wearing dive skins. They were solid women, in black Lycra that gave curves to their curves. Side by side, they completely blocked the view of the woman behind them until they angled off to the steps to the dock.
She was slender, shapely, nice breasts, well-defined biceps, flat middle. Her shirt was white, sheer cotton, unbuttoned to reveal a bikini top in the vivid colors of a vintage Hawaiian shirt: red, blue, purple, slashes of orange and yellow. A squishy straw hat covered her head, its floppy brim concealing her face, but there was nothing much hidden by her blue shorts—short being the important word. The faded denim clung to her hips and butt and left plenty of leg exposed, all the way down to a pair of flip-flops and painted red toenails. On an island filled with sexy women, she was one to make people look twice.
And she was headed to him.
Good God, it was Cate, looking less like a doctor than he’d ever seen her, and he’d known her long before she became one. She stopped beside him, one hand clenched around the handle of the suitcase she’d been pulling behind, and waited silently.
Mario gave a low whistle and grinned. “She might keep you out of the deep water, amigo, but be careful you don’t wind up in hot water.”
Justin’s answering smile was more of a bared-teeth grimace. He was already in hot water. He just hoped Cate didn’t make it boil.
Chapter 2
Cate protested leaving her suitcase in the locked wire basket at the dive shop. She didn’t care if people stowed thousands of dollars’ worth of gear there on a daily basis. The items in that bag were all she had on the island with her. The stethoscope tucked into her medical bag in the suitcase was the best for picking up subtle heart sounds; it had been a med school graduation gift from her parents, and she wasn’t sure she could even hear anymore on lesser models. She didn’t wear much makeup, but what she wore would cost an arm and a leg to replace, and her favorite well-broken-in sneakers were in there, too. So was her Kindle, and the sunblock that would keep her from self-combusting under the tropical sun.
“You can’t go around dragging a suitcase without drawing attention,” Justin said. He secured the lock, then hung the key on its cord over his neck and slid it under his shirt. “Have you eaten? I haven’t eaten. Let’s get some lunch. And a drink. Or three.”
Scowling, Cate watched him saunter away before jogging to catch up. She grabbed his arm, slowing him enough to ease around in front of him and block his way at the base of the stairs. “Have you forgotten? Trent and Susanna have gone missing, La Casa is abandoned and someone shot at us!”
That one was still giving her palpitations at odd moments. She’d treated more than her share of gunshot wounds, but never, ever had she imagined that she could come that close to being the target of one herself. She’d felt the bullet pass her face, had felt the spray of dust as it bit into the concrete wall.
Justin was stubbornness in human form. “They’re not missing. They’re taking a break. They’re relaxing somewhere, sleeping off a big lunch, and now I need a big lunch. If you want to fast until they get back, feel free. You can keep me company while I eat.” Stepping around her, he started up the steep flight of stairs that led to the pedestrian bridge.
“Lazy, spoiled, self-centered,”