Harper’s gaze remained fixed on the boat, her heart throbbing. They’d found the yacht, but what had happened to Michael and Pia? She didn’t see anyone aboard the vessel. Had they been murdered for the money the valuable yacht would bring? She shoved the grim thought out of her head. Her brother was alive somewhere and being held for ransom. Chase had said it was still a possibility.
Putting the cruiser into Four-Wheel Drive, Dawson drove farther down the muddy trail until they were completely hidden from view. He cut the engine and stepped out of the vehicle. At the same time, so did Chase.
Silently, the men walked around to the back of the cruiser and opened the tailgate to the cargo area. They both started unzipping gear bags and pulling out clothes and equipment.
When the men began to peel off their shirts and jeans, Harper looked away. By the time she looked back, both men were dressed in camo pants and T-shirts. Chase’s olive drab T-shirt outlined the muscles across his chest and abdomen, and stretched around his amazing biceps. He’d strapped one of Dawson’s long-bladed knives to his thigh, and a second pistol hung from a belt around his waist.
He looked like a man she had never seen before. Tall, hard-edged, hard-bodied and determined. He hadn’t shaved since they’d left Aruba, and the dark gold beard along his jaw now joined the rough stubble on his cheeks, making him appear rugged and dangerous. He looked like a man who could handle whatever he faced, exactly the right man for the job ahead of him.
It was exactly the wrong time for her to feel a shot of lust.
Kil Dawson closed the hatch while Chase walked around and opened her door. “You need to stay here,” he said. “You’ve got a gun. If you get in trouble, fire off a shot. We won’t be far away.”
Harper just nodded. She didn’t demand to go with them this time. She was smart enough to know when she was an asset and when she was a liability. The men clearly knew what they were doing. If they got into trouble, she didn’t want them handicapped by feeling they had to protect her.
She watched them disappear into the jungle. She took the Ruger out of her bag and laid it on the seat beside her. She had told them she knew how to shoot, but she had conveniently forgotten to mention she had fired a pistol on only one occasion. She grimaced at the small white lie. She’d only had a single lesson from one of the villagers and hadn’t picked up a weapon since.
Harper studied the gun on the seat, remembering the handsome young Ecuadorean who had spent the afternoon showing her how to handle the pistol, showing her the safety features, telling her that a pistol should always be treated as if it were loaded.
She picked up the Ruger and wrapped her hands around the grip, lifted it and aimed down the barrel, remembering how to brace herself against the recoil. Then she set the gun down and sat back to wait, her gaze on the spot where the men had disappeared.
The boat dock floated in the water on the west side of the cove at the edge of a dense tropical jungle. Tall kapoks grew next to palm trees, some willowy and elegant, others short and stout, and a profusion of banana plants. The jungle grew right down to the water. Which meant the men could stay out of sight, moving through cover till they reached the yacht.
If the boat was as empty as it appeared, the most Harper could hope for was finding something that would prove Michael and Pia were still alive, something that might provide a clue as to where they’d been taken.
Harper kept her eyes on the spot where the men had disappeared, and said a silent prayer for all of them.
Moving quietly through the lush, wet tropical landscape, Chase caught the movement of Kil’s raised hand, signaling to split up and circle, come at the boat from two different angles.
Gripping the Beretta, he moved off to the left, deeper into the jungle, placing each step carefully, making as little noise as possible. He didn’t want to run into a guard posted to protect the boat or, if someone was aboard, give them any kind of warning they were coming. So far, he hadn’t seen a soul.
There was probably no need for a guard. Chase figured whoever had stolen the yacht and brought it to this location was probably well-known in the area. They were dealing with tough, ruthless men, the sort that the locals would be afraid to challenge.
He reached the edge of the jungle where it spilled onto the white-sand beach, and saw the sailboat bobbing placidly alongside the dock. There was no sign of anyone aboard. Farther down the beach, Kil stepped out of the leafy foliage and Chase followed his lead, both of them moving toward the boat with cautious, determined strides.
Kil went ahead of him, the AK-47 across his chest as he stepped onto the deck. Chase covered him, stepping onto the boat behind him.
Kil signaled he was going below, and Chase took up a position in front of the open hatch, out of sight. Nothing moved in the jungle. The village in the distance remained quiet, just a couple of people on the street, no one going into or out of the restaurant or cantina. It was late afternoon, hot and humid, time for a siesta.
“Clear,” Kil called up to him. “Nobody here. Come on down.”
Chase ducked through the hatch and descended the ladder to the main salon. “What have we got?”
“Traces of blood on the floor in the master cabin, a smudge of red on the sheets, some on the built-in dressers. Looks like he fought, maybe they both did. But I don’t think they were killed on the boat.”
“That’s something, I guess.”
“Could have killed them once they were at sea and dumped their bodies overboard.”
Chase wasn’t ready to believe it. “Michael was a first-class sailor. They could have used his skills to help them get here.”
Kil nodded. Chase was already beginning to fall into sync with him, beginning to know how he thought. They were both ex-military. There was a certain rhythm, an unspoken link between men who had endured the same training, learned to work together to form a cohesive team.
But Chase had been military police while Kil, like Brandon, had been a Special Forces soldier, the most highly trained men in the army. Chase had no problem letting him take the lead.
“For the moment we’ll assume they’re still alive,” Kil said. “Let’s look around, see if we can find something that’ll tell us where they might have been taken.”
Kil took the sleeping quarters while Chase headed for the galley. He searched the counter, the tiny sink full of dirty dishes, the floor, anyplace that might hold a clue. He found what he was looking for in one of the cupboards—a coffee mug with a message written in lipstick.
