McCabe Page 10

  “Deal,” he said to Joe, but with his eyes on Rowena. He hoped to hell she could see him better than he could see her.

  Tossing his guns aside, he walked to the edge of the water. Joe set the detonation device down on the edge of the dock.

  “This won’t take long,” Joe assured Rowena. “A minute, two at most. And then our journey together will continue. I’ll advise you not to kick my tricky little box into the water. The results wouldn’t be good for your health.” He turned that perfect smile on McCabe as he approached on nimble feet. “This might hurt a little, McCabe.”

  As he watched, Joe’s hands came up, and McCabe figured his opponent was a master of understatement. This was going to hurt a whole lot.

  …

  Rowena envisioned a pissing contest with blood and more than a few broken body parts. At fiftyish, Joe Lee appeared fit and fast. At thirty-five and fit as well, McCabe had the added benefit of an extremely crafty brain.

  Joe took the first swing. He used his foot and a whip of a kick that missed McCabe’s face by less than an inch.

  Great. The guy really was an expert in martial arts. Within seconds, the two men had moved from the edge of the water across the sand and into the shelter of the trees. Rowena saw human shadows dancing between larger shadows, heard thuds, and a few yipping shouts from Joe.

  Careful not to touch the detonation device, she ran down three steps to the beach, went to her knees on the sand, then sat and carefully worked herself around until her bound wrists were in front of her.

  She swore she heard bones crunching in the distance. One of the two men grunted. Another thump followed and two more shrill cries by Joe.

  Pain or victory? She couldn’t tell. And where the hell had they gone? Despite the ties, she was able to snatch up one of McCabe’s guns. Sucking in an apprehensive breath, she ran in the direction of the sounds. Joe had buckled and locked the explosive to her right thigh. She had no idea if vibrations or excess motion might set it off.

  “Not going there,” she promised herself aloud.

  Where were they? And was that blood on the sand directly ahead of her?

  She couldn’t tell in the nearly nonexistent light. The sky to the west was a deep indigo with bands of clouds blocking both the moon—assuming it had risen—and the first evening stars.

  An oomph to her right gave her an idea of a direction. She ran toward it and finally caught sight of them. Joe swung another kick at McCabe, who ducked then surged up and caught Joe’s foot.

  They went down together into the brush and rolled away from her.

  She huffed out a breath, “You’re not helping me here, McCabe.”

  Joe attempted to flip McCabe onto his back, but McCabe reared back and used his foot on Joe’s face.

  Rowena couldn’t follow the swift moves. A strike, a hit, another punch, then they were back on their feet with Joe was using his fingers like knives.

  Cobra quick, he ducked and knocked McCabe’s legs out from under him. McCabe responded by buckling Joe’s knees from behind.

  Joe used his elbow. McCabe shouldered him back. He caught Joe square on the jaw with a punch and knocked him down. Before Joe could bring his foot up between McCabe’s legs, Rowena fired.

  The leg that would have risen dropped limply back to the ground.

  On his knees, McCabe swiped blood from the corner of his mouth and panted while Joe writhed in pain.

  Rowena wasn’t sure how she missed the motion, but suddenly, Joe had a fob in his hand.

  “McCabe!” she shouted.

  But he was out of reach, and damn it, Joe was smiling at her through bloody teeth.

  “Sometimes cheating is the only way,” he declared.

  Bullets rang out, one, two, from opposite directions. Rowena thought hers struck Joe in the forehead. McCabe’s got him in the throat.

  For an instant the clouds parted. A silvery moon appeared. Joe Lee’s mouth had time to registered an O of shock before his arm fell sideways and his eyes stopped moving.

  On his feet now, McCabe regarded him without expression.

  “Unfortunately,” he murmured to the dead man, “you’re right.”

  Chapter Eight

  They ate with Amanda and Beckett in Amanda’s glam Hollywood dining room under a glass roof, with stars twinkling and a lovely full moon beaming down on them. French toast and ham sautéed in orange sauce.

  After McCabe diffused the bomb—a relatively simple procedure according to him—Rowena showered and traded the borrowed silk robe for a long bronze sheath dress that scooped low at the neck and back and clung in all the right places.

  McCabe, also showered and patched up where necessary, had changed to his usual jeans and a clean black tee. Beckett wore a rumpled blue shirt and pants. Amanda looked to be from another era in a lavish pink dressing gown with froth and frills and an “I kissed Dracula” button pinned cheerfully over her left breast.

  “Kissed my darling Christopher Lee on the mouth while he was in full vampire regalia,” she said proudly. “I felt wicked and wonderful.” When only Beckett smiled, she sighed. “You did what you had to do, Rowena. Kill or be killed. I’m sorry to be blunt, but the second is worse than the first.”

  “Only marginally.” Rowena toyed with her food. “I’ve never shot anyone dead before.”

  Across the table from her, McCabe nudged the syrup forward. “You still haven’t, Ro. Your shot came a split second after mine.”

  She thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll accept that, whether it’s true or not. Where’s Robbie?” she asked Beckett.

  “Resting.” He cut into a thick slice of french toast. “The idea of her son sending someone to kidnap you sickens her. Particularly since she’s not naive enough to believe the end result would have been a civilized chat between two people in the throes of relationship problems. Plus, in other circumstances, that man Joe Lee would have blown you as well as himself up rather than face her son’s wrath if he failed. It’s a heavy burden to carry.”

  “It’s not her burden,” McCabe pointed out.

  But Amanda shook her head. “You know it is. As his mother, the way James turned out is largely her responsibility. At least that’s how Robbie sees it. She’s not a stupid woman. Will you give your son good values?” she asked Rowena.

  “I’ll try to, yes.” Rowena glanced at McCabe. “When I have him back.”

  “I’ll make sure it happens, Ro. In the meantime.” He pulled out his cell phone, pressed a few buttons, and handed it to her.

  Dancer’s text was short and simple. It read: “Me and the kid,” followed by a double thumbs-up sign. He’d sent it forty minutes earlier.

  It helped. Enormously. Enough in fact that she managed to eat a piece of french toast and a slice of ham.

  She passed on Amanda’s golden sherry. Anything alcoholic tended to blur her thoughts, and she needed a clear head right now. Parker might be safe for the moment, but who knew how long he’d stay that way.

  Her meal finished, Amanda leaned forward, lit a cigarette, and propped her elbows on the table. “What’s next for you and Rowena, Ryan? I’d say there’s little doubt James has breached the pact the three of us made some years back by sending a martial arts expert to my island.”

  “Joe Lee,” McCabe corrected. “And James won’t see it as a breach since the violence didn’t directly involve him. He’ll say Joe made his own bad choices and disassociate himself from the outcome.”

  “You mean he’ll weasel out of owning his employee’s actions.” Rowena reached for her crystal water glass. “Why does that seem lower to me than if he’d come here himself armed and ready to kill us?”

  “Because you haven’t mastered the art of thinking like James Mockerie.” McCabe dangled the sherry glass between his fingers. “I have.”

  She offered him a sweet smile. “You managed to think like Joe as well. Lucky for me you have a very malleable mind.”

  “I do at that,” he agreed and took a long drink.


  Beckett patted his mouth with a linen napkin. “I have a question for you, Ryan. I hope you won’t think it’s out of line.” When all eyes turned to him, he asked simply, “Why are you still here? Not that I’m giving you the bum’s rush, but don’t you think he’ll try again? James, I mean. We all know the angrier he gets the more likely he is to go off half-cocked. Hell, he might set fire to the house in the hopes of smoking you out.”

  McCabe took another drink and set his glass down. “Oh, I don’t think we need to worry about that. Sending one of his people to the island to kidnap Rowena is a far cry from endangering Amanda’s life. Or Robbie’s.”

  “He murdered his own father, Ryan.”

  Amanda’s casual tone surprised Rowena a little. She spoke about James murdering his father in the same way most people would comment on swatting a mosquito. Were they all really so inured to James’s behavior that nothing he did shocked them? On the other hand…how in God’s name had she missed seeing the monster inside? And then there was McCabe. She’d obviously misjudged him as well. Apparently, reading people, especially men, was not her strong suit.

  “Think chameleon, Ro.”

  She snapped her gaze up to McCabe. He was watching her intently, had been, she suspected, throughout the meal. Damn his perceptiveness. She’d be hard pressed to conceal much of anything from him.

  Emotions first, she decided. If she didn’t allow herself to feel anything for him, beyond gratitude, he’d have nothing to perceive. It might be a doable thing—if she happened to discover a Vulcan or two among her ancestors.

  Shaking free of those thoughts, Rowena returned to Amanda’s comment. James had murdered his own father. With a glance at the darkened palm trees beyond the dining room, she tapped a finger against her glass.

  “There’s no reason to think Amanda and Robbie will be immune to James’s wrath, McCabe. I have no idea how much he knows about what I did before I left him. And remember, the only thing that will actually matter in the end is that I did leave him.”

  “And took his child with you,” Amanda reminded her.

  “His child, a valuable painting, his favorite pair of jeans.” Robbie sailed in wearing a cobalt blue sweep of pants and a long fluid blouse. “The key point is you took. Absconded with something that belonged to him without his permission.”

  “Parker doesn’t belong to him,” Rowena maintained calmly. “I feel fairly confident that James wouldn’t be awarded custody of our son, even for weekends and holidays.”

  Amanda raised a canny brow. “That would depend on the fear factor of the judge involved, don’t you think? James has a habit of purchasing people. Those who can’t be bought can often be obtained in other ways. Fear factor,” she repeated.

  Crossing to the liquor cabinet, Robbie picked up a decanter and sniffed the contents.

  “It’s whiskey,” McCabe told her.

  She smiled. “Delightful. Have a glass with me?”

  McCabe shook his head. “Not tonight. I’m flying.”

  “You are? We are?” Caught off guard, Rowena frowned at him. However, as warned, he gave no clear indication as to what he was thinking. About anything. “Not that I don’t believe it would be safer for everyone here if we left, but do we have a destination in mind?”

  “I’m torn between the West Coast and Washington, DC.”

  Robbie poured two fingers of whiskey. “What’s in DC beside my empty office chair?”

  “Other chairs. Other people.”

  Turning, she raised her glass. “You’re convinced James has a person on the inside, aren’t you?”

  “I think he has people in several places, but I’ve got my eye on a certain individual at the FBI. Do you know a man named Martin Hood?”

  Robbie swirled her drink. “I’m not sure. Possibly. Is he a computer geek?”

  “We’re all computer geeks.” Beckett cocked his head. “I think I know who you mean, though. A sort of eager beaver, Barney Fife type. Fortyish, balding. And, yeah, he’d probably shoot his own foot if he carried a loaded weapon for any length of time. He’s a paper pusher mostly. Digs into suspect corporate books.”

  McCabe nodded. “James has corporate books.”

  “All well-cooked, I’m sure.” Robbie laughed and took a sip. “How could a bone digger like Martin Hood be of use to James?”

  “Depends what he knows. Who he knows. And if he knows where to look for what James wants.”

  Rowena thought Beckett looked uncomfortable in his chair all of a sudden. “I could… Do you want me to run a check on him when we get back? In as much as I can, I mean?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt.” McCabe sat back. He seemed perfectly comfortable. Watchful as ten cats but relaxed enough to deepen Rowena’s curiosity.

  While the others chatted, Amanda leaned toward her, chin cupped, expression canny. “I often feel half a step off the pace around these three. I can’t explain why. You look as if you’re in the same state. You’re not connected to any government agency, are you?”

  “Only occasionally, and very loosely. My last job was working for an aerospace company with offices in France, England, Oregon, Tokyo, and Hong Kong. I traveled a lot.”

  “Building spaceships?”

  “I wish, but no. I’m an IT specialist. I love computers, and they love me. My grandmother wanted me to be a nurse. That’s what she was. She said a good RN can work anywhere. She was living proof of that.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “Colorado. I loved it there, but I always knew there was a great big world out there that I wanted to see.”

  “And did you?”

  “I’ve seen Europe and a little bit of North Africa. South America. And Australia. The last two were during my Bohemian days, before I met McCabe.”

  The old woman tipped her head, blowing a stream of smoke at the ceiling. “What drew you to James?”

  Now there was a question. Rowena considered for a long moment. “I guess I like chameleons,” she said finally. “He seemed to have many facets, most of them intriguing and mysterious. He could charm very well, and I suppose at that point in my life, I was susceptible. He has qualities that are eerily similar to certain aspects of McCabe’s personality.”

  “And you say Ryan left without warning.”

  “Without anything, Amanda. A cold, ‘You bore me. Piss off,’ would have been easier to take than no explanation at all. I’m a closure kind of person. I require it in all things. Don’t always get it, obviously, but I’m really good at learning lessons.”

  “Meaning Ryan has his work cut out for him.”

  “Meaning he shouldn’t bother at all. I want to ensure Parker’s safety. Beyond that, McCabe and I have nothing in common. Beyond a physical reaction to each other, that is. We’re a bit like fire and gasoline together.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?” Rowena couldn’t help that her response emerged on a laugh.

  Amanda waved her away. “Ryan’s as hot as a dozen fiery furnaces, and just about as bad. Intrigue and mystery are his second and third names. You can add sly and underhanded when the occasion warrants. But he isn’t cruel, and he wouldn’t hurt anyone without a damn fine reason. I don’t believe he’ll even hurt James in the end. Although you can be sure James will hurt him if the opportunity arises. He blames Ryan for the scars he bears.”

  Now here was something neither man had ever talked about. Not to her at any rate.

  “What happened to James, Amanda? Do you know the details?”

  Amanda glanced at McCabe, still immersed in conversation with Beckett. “They were fifteen years old. Just at that recklessly adventurous age, James wanted to try riding his daddy’s motorcycle. His daddy called the thing a crotch rocket. James got hold of the keys and off the two of them went. James was in the driver’s seat of course, because, well, because Ryan was adventurous but he wasn’t stupid. He padded up and wore his bike helmet. They got to the street, a truck came careening around the corner, and bam! They collided. Now James
, he said Ryan startled him by reaching around him and trying to get to the brake. Ryan said he was only trying to jerk the handle to the left. Cop said they’d have missed the truck if Ryan had been successful. But James knocked Ryan aside and he fell off the bike.

  “Ryan landed on someone’s front lawn. James landed under the front of the truck. Cocky asshole driving was more worried about his truck than he was about the kids. It was Ryan who limped to the closest house and asked the woman inside to call for help. I’m going to say that’s the last thing Ryan and James ever did together. James became obsessed with hating Ryan. There was much more to it than the scarring, of course. But it was the accident that brought the anger already building inside him out.”

  Her voice trailed away on a wistful note. Rowena took the hand she extended and squeezed it. “Life can really suck, can’t it?”

  “It has its moments,” Amanda agreed. Her eyes sharpened slightly behind her thick lenses. “Do you have any siblings, Rowena? Any lifelong friends?”

  Rowena smiled. “I’d say my computer, but that would make me sound like a geek.”

  “And on that note…” McCabe startled her by setting his hands on her shoulders from behind. “It’s time we left.” He bent lower until only she could hear him. “James’s private jet landed in Miami forty minutes ago. Don’t worry,” he said when she swung around. “You know he doesn’t like small planes. He’ll come to Laurel Key by boat.”

  “You hope.”

  “Landing strip’s occupied, Ro. No one can set down here. James isn’t suicidal. Are you packed?”

  “I just have to change.”

  Robbie smiled at her across the table. “Change is good. Sorry to eavesdrop. I usually have better manners.”

  “It’s the whiskey,” Beckett told her. “And the evening’s been less than pleasant in some respects. What about the, er, body, Ryan?”

  “Someone will be here first thing tomorrow. I’ve dealt with it as much as I can for now.”