“Now, Maddy and I go get the girls,” Bran said, just as the sound of an outboard engine sputtered to life. Fuckheads One and Two were on their way to nowhere fast. “You still got that flare handy?”
Mason reached into his pocket to remove the flare stick.
“Good.” Bran dipped his chin. “If Alex is still out there, it’s time to bring her in.”
Mason was overcome by the urge to run up to the parapets and fire off the flare, but he managed to keep his cool. They had a plan to make. “If she is still out there, you think we should load everyone up on the catamaran and sail back to Wayfarer Island?” He’d seen just about all he’d wanted to see of Garden Key and Fort Jefferson, thanks.
“Not sure that’s a good idea.” A concerned line sliced between Bran’s eyebrows. “Bum Knee kept calling this ajob. Which means this wasn’t their brainiac scheme but someone else’s. They won’t be able to call that someone else with their coms down. But the thought that there are others involved makes my asshole pinch. Being out on the open ocean when we aren’t sure who else might be skulking about…” He trailed off.
“Ya-huh.” Mason nodded. “Better to be inside a fuckin’ fort should whoever hired them get tired of waiting on their call and decide to come investigate.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Bran agreed. “Hopefully the marine radio on the catamaran will be able to reach Wayfarer Island. If so, we’ll have LT make a satphone call to the Coast Guard on Key West and tell ’em to get their asses here ASAP.” Before Mason could raise the issue of the wrench that might get thrown into that plan, Bran addressed it himself. “Sure, whoever those asswipes are working for might hear our call over the marine channels, but so what? Again, we’ll have the high ground, we’ll be inside a fort, and we’re not lacking in weapons. I think the odds are in our favor should anyone attempt to make landfall here on Garden Key.”
“Agreed,” Mason said. “And if Alexisn’tout there, then hopefully she’s well on her way back home and the end result will be the same. A satphone call back to Key West and Coast Guard to the rescue.”
“You got it,paisano.” Bran dipped his chin.
But there was one last hitch. And even though the flare stick was burning a hole in Mason’s hand, he forced calm and asked the final question. “What if the marine radio isn’t strong enough to reach home?”
“Then we stay holed up in the fort until the fast ferry or a floatplane arrives tomorrow.”
“Right.” Mason nodded. And then he couldn’t stand it a second longer. He turned and ran for the nearest casemate and the stairs that led up to the top of the parapets. As his legs chewed up the distance, his fisted heart seemed to pound out a name in Morse code against his ribs.
Alex…
She was the thorn in his side. The bane of his existence. But he hoped she hadn’t set sail for Wayfarer Island. Because everything that was anything inside him desperately needed to see her and make sure she was okay.
* * *
8:17 p.m.…
“It’s takin’ too long,” Gene insisted.
For the last hour, he had been trying to pace a hole through the deck of the yacht, and it was starting to drive Tony in-fucking-sane. The fact that he was on his third cocktail should’ve meant the sharp edges of his nerves were smoothed over by top-shelf scotch, but to his dismay, they were not. He was so wired it was a wonder he wasn’t shooting sparks from his ass.
And Gene wasn’t helping, damnit!
“Sit down, Gene,” he snarled, not hiding the impatience in his voice.
“Screw you, Tony,” Gene snapped, whipping off his Stetson to run his shaky fingers through his thinning hair. The ocean breeze blowing across the back of the motor yacht caught the sweaty strands and lifted them in hunks. “I don’t take orders. And I’m tellin’ you, it’s takin’ too goddamn long. Somethin’ is wrong. You get on that satellite phone, call upyour guys”—when Gene stressed those two words, Tony squeezed his highball glass so hard it was a miracle he didn’t shatter it—“and get a situation report right now.”
“I’m not going to do that, Gene,” he said as calmly as he could.
“The hell you say!” Gene thundered, his blood pressure boiling so hot and fast that his face flushed ruddy in the overhead light, his eyes going bloodshot in an instant. “In case you’ve forgotten,Anthony, we’re partners in this. And she’s my fuckin’—”
“I won’t call them.” Tony cut him off and waited to see if that vein snaking up the center of Gene’s forehead would blow. It pulsed frantically for a couple of seconds, but seemed to hold. “We need to stick to the plan. And the plan is I wait for them to call me. I won’t disturb them before then. Who knows what they’re dealing with? They could have run into some kind of issue.”
All the blood drained from Gene’s face as he stopped pacing to glare at Tony. “Like what?” he demanded. “What possible issue could a group of highly trained, armed men run into on a remote island filled with nothin’ but three teenage girls, one woman, and a guy who decided to make a career out of huggin’ trees?”
“If I knew the answer to that,” Tony told him, feeling the vein in hisownforehead pulse menacingly, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we? Now sit down, Gene. I’m sure everything is fine and the phone will be ringing any minute to tell us they’ve got them. Then they’ll sail Maddy and the girls out to international waters and call in the ransom, just like we planned. The ball will be rolling into our court.”
“I don’t know…” Gene shook his head.
Tony glanced over his shoulder at the man who covertly poked his head around the door leading into the cabin. Gene thought he was just another one of Tony’sguys, brought onboard to help pilot the little yacht.And that was true. That waspartof his job description. Theotherpart of his job description was that he would help Tony implement Plan B, should the need arise.
The man lifted an inquiring brow and Tony subtly shook his head.Not yet. Let’s give it a little more time.
* * *
