Devil Dead (3 page)

“You don't know how ‘Unchained Melody' goes? By the Righteous Brothers? Good God, Claire, you ever listened to a radio in your life?”

“I don't have time to sit around and listen to the radio. All that noise keeps me from thinking about my cases.” Nope, she wasn't particularly romantic, she admitted it. But he was, sometimes anyway, and did it rather well actually. Just so he didn't go overboard and embarrass her, it usually turned out pretty cool.

Black just grinned, and then he sang a couple of verses to her, very low, and he actually didn't sound too bad. Corny as hell, true, but not too bad.

Claire shook her head, laughing at him. “I dunno, Black. That sounds pretty damn sappy. Like we live eight thousand miles apart, and I hate you.”

At that, Black stopped singing, his smile fading, his dimples disappearing, and he became very solemn, very fast. He continued with the words but now he just said them, his eyes holding hers, and in a way that sobered her expression, too.

They just stared at each other, Claire completely blindsided by his abrupt change in mood.

“Tell me you aren't going to back out of the wedding, Claire.”

Claire hadn't been expecting that, either. But she had shown some reticence about getting married in the past, so she could understand his question. But she wasn't dragging her feet now, not anymore. “No way am I ever gonna back out of the wedding. Absolutely not. And that's a promise.”

Black smiled. “Well, okay, then. Why don't you come over here and show me how much you love me?”

His light mood returned, and he pulled her in against his chest. Claire was certainly okay with that, so she slid her arms around his neck and found his mouth, enjoying the intimacy as much as he did. Now things were settled, and she felt happy. Happy and relieved. Black seemed pleased with their future now, too, and there would be no more worrying about what lay ahead for them. Good or bad, the die was cast. So she lay there in his arms, enjoying their closeness, his tender touch, the way he could make her feel, and gradually let go of all thoughts except for him.

Unfortunately, however, their little moment of mutual ecstasy did not last long. The insistent buzz of a boat's motor broke into the crashing of waves, a sound that was highly unusual around their isolated island. Claire immediately pulled away from Black and sat up and searched the shining sea, slightly alarmed, that vital self-protective instinct shooting alive, the one she had learned not to ignore, and learned the hard way, from many past, and yes, horrible experiences. Living nightmares followed her around like her shadow on a summer afternoon, so better safe than sorry had been her motto for a long time now. She finally spotted a big black boat that was headed straight at them and at a very high rate of speed. Which, of course, did not bode well for them now, or in the past, or in the future, or ever actually.

“That's probably just Edward, coming over to cook dinner,” Black told her, reaching for her again, not worried in the least. But then again, he hadn't been recently beaten up by a crazy man with a hammer, either.

“No, it's not. It's got a much bigger and more powerful motor than Edward's does. I can tell the difference in the way it sounds.”

Not once since they'd arrived on Motu Teta had another boat approached their cove, so Black also now sat up and took notice. Silently, they watched the speeding craft gain on the far end of their pier. After a moment, Black was apparently concerned enough to pick up a pair of high-powered binoculars off the table beside him.

“So who is that, Black? Friends of yours, maybe?”

“Don't think so. Only a few people even know we're out here. But those guys are definitely coming here to see us.”

Black stood up, shielding his eyes from the dazzling fire and orange brilliance of the setting sun, one that was painting quite a glorious, Leonardo da Vinci–ish backdrop behind the boat. “You stay here. I'm going to walk out there and see what they want. It's probably nothing. Maybe the real estate people need my signature to renew the lease, something like that. Wait here. I'll take care of it.”

Claire leaned back against the cushions and watched him stride off barefoot down the dock, still wearing his black swim trunks. She had on the blue and red one-piece swimsuit that she had bought for herself when they landed in Papeete, one she deemed more suitable for scuba diving and windsurfing and spear fishing than the yellow string bikini Black had gotten her. Skimpy bikinis were not exactly appropriate for company. Especially unknown company who happened to be driving straight at them, full speed ahead and with no invitation. She picked up her Glock 19 from the table beside her and pulled it out of the leather holster.

Claire had learned a long time ago that she would be wise to always anticipate trouble, no matter how unlikely it was, and therefore kept her weapons never far from hand. Even out in the middle of nowhere, in the vast reaches of the South Pacific. Within minutes, the boat had slowed and pulled up to the end of the pier pilings where Black was waiting. Claire stood up, too, still holding her weapon down beside her leg. After her last case, she had vowed never to be taken captive again, not by anybody. She would never again take chances, not now, not any time in the future. She had learned her lesson. Bad guys were very bad. Evil was very evil. Dead was very forever.

The two guys in the boat threw docking lines to Black, and he caught them and looped them around the pilings. Both of the men on the boat had on plain white ball caps and white T-shirts and white pants and white sneakers. Veritable male angels, they looked like. They climbed out and started talking to Black with a lot of expansive gesturing. Bad thing was, they both suddenly pulled out their own semiautomatic weapons and trained them on Black's bare chest. Never known to be stupid, Black raised his hands and then was quickly forced down onto his knees. By that point, Claire was running down the pier toward them, her own weapon held two-handed and pointed squarely at the lead man's chest.

“Drop your weapons!” she cried out over the wind and surf. “Put them down! Now!”

The two assailants glanced over at her and didn't seem to be shaking in their boots. Both kept their guns beaded on Black's heart, apparently considering him the greater danger. Wrong.

Closer now, she found that the two men were smaller than Black, which didn't mean much since he was six feet four and probably around two hundred twenty or thirty pounds, mostly hard muscle. On the other hand, both guys were wiry of build and tough looking. Neither was particularly muscular or intimidating and didn't seem worried about the loaded gun she held pointed at them. That was a very big mistake on their part.

“I will kill one of you before you get a shot off,” she called out calmly. “Put the guns down. I am not kidding. I will shoot you.”

Then the smaller man swiveled his weapon to her. The other one kept his handgun beaded on Black. “Throw your gun in the water, sister. Now!” he ordered her in a harsh voice.

Sister?
What was he? A two-bit Al Capone? At that point, however, Claire decided that Black's lead assailant had assaulted people before, probably frequently, too, and starting from around age eight up. He knew what he was doing. He wasn't Polynesian, not judging by the short-cropped red hair and matching goatee and Caucasian features and Australian accent. The other guy was white-blond and clean shaven with steely dark eyes and looked just as deadly. So, question was, who had she and Black pissed off in Australia? Okay, at least the Australians hadn't shot them down on sight. That was one good sign, among a plethora of rather bad signs.

“Get serious,” she told him, and meant it. “I will shoot you dead, trust me. I won't hesitate. I stopped hesitating a long time ago.”

“Wait, now, just wait a minute, all of you,” Black said, always the calm and collected one when confronted by armed hooligans. Yep, he was as composed and steady and clear thinking, as usual. None of those things applied to her, of course. But he was a famous shrink, and all, and he knew how to defuse dangerous situations. Herself? She usually defused them with a well-aimed bullet, or two. Something Black usually frowned upon. He probably wouldn't this time, though, since his chest was the one with the bull's eye on it.

A peace lover at heart, Black was still busy placating. “How about we all take a deep breath here? Nobody needs to shoot anybody. Who are you guys? What do you want from us? Is this a robbery? Hey, take whatever you want. We aren't going to stop you.”

Well, speak for yourself, Black
, Claire thought.

“Our orders are to bring you out to the yacht. The boss said you're both dangerous. So call the bitch off or she's the one who's gonna end up dead.”

Bitch, was it? Well, that was certainly uncalled for. In fact, it was downright tacky.
“I rather doubt that, mate. But either way, I'll have time to blow your head off.” Strangely, now Claire felt very calm. Maybe Black's composure had finally worn off on her. Felt good, like old times. She had a gun in her hand and it was pointed at a bad guy. Yep, she was ready to get back to work, all right. Her finger was itching to pull the trigger a couple of times, maybe more.

Her gaze met the ginger guy's blue eyes and held as steady as steady could be. She infused utter and complete hatred in hers, just so he'd know. After ten seconds or so, Crocodile Dundee's gaze wavered first, but only slightly. Maybe he didn't want a bloodbath after all. Maybe he was fond of his head and wanted it to remain intact. Maybe he was sorry about calling her a bitch. Probably not that, though.

“Who the hell do you work for?” Black said, beginning to sound a tad impatient himself. “What do you want with us?”

“Jonas Quinn sent us here. He wants to talk to you.”

Claire shifted her eyes just slightly and gauged Black's reaction. At the name, he appeared to relax, and visibly, too. She did not.

Black said, “Jonas is here in Tahiti?”

They both pronounced the man's name as Yonas, with a Y. Who did that? Eastern Europeans, maybe? But apparently, and most likely, this Jonas was one of Black's secret pals/ex-military buddies.
Well, good deal, Black knows the bad guys. Couldn't hurt in an armed standoff. Maybe they wouldn't be getting blood all over the pier after all. That kind of cleanup would probably blow to hell Black's super big security deposit
, Claire thought. “Who the hell is Jonas Quinn?” she said, not particularly patient, either, especially when three guns were still ratcheted and deeply involved in the discussion.

“He's an old friend of Jacques's,” Black told her, not taking his eyes off the men.

Oh, God, so this had something to do with Jacques? But of course, it did. Jacques Montenegro was Black's older brother, a brother who just happened to be a Mafioso way down yonder in New Orleans. Nobody but Claire and a select few knew about their kinship. That's the way Black wanted it, of course, because he wasn't involved with the underworld and never had been. Any inkling of such involvement would ruin his life and thriving career. So mum it was. Nevertheless, Jacques was still a criminal of sorts, and Claire did not like Black's close association with him, but maybe it wasn't so bad at the moment, with two of his thug friends holding them at gunpoint.

“Put the gun down, Claire. I know Jonas. He's okay. He's not going to hurt us.”

“Sorry, but those two guns pointed at us make me think maybe you might be mistaken about that.”

“We'll go with you,” Black told their ersatz and rather rude guests. “Put down the guns, or Jonas won't be happy.”

Claire frowned.
Au contraire
, Black. She wasn't gonna be happy, either. “Sorry, but I'm not going anywhere with these guys. Guess it's their big loaded weapons that give me pause.”

The two Mr. Clean impersonators considered Black some more, and then looked at her weapon, then at each other, and then finally they lowered and sheathed their guns.

Claire let out a relieved breath. “Okay, that's better. But don't think I'm lowering my weapon until you leave this pier with both of us nice and safe, and still in one piece.”

“I know Jonas, Claire,” Black repeated calmly, now looking at her. “He's okay. He means us no harm.”

“Could've fooled me. Hey, I know, I'll believe that when I see it.”

“She's a cop,” Black said to the twin Aussie henchmen, as if that explained her miff. “She won't shoot you unless you make a move on us.”

They didn't look convinced. They didn't look like they liked her much. And vice versa, to be sure. Black and his less-than-savory friends. Claire was gonna have a serious sit-down with him.

“Are you sure about this, Black? You know, stepping down into this boat with two armed gunmen and letting them take us to God knows where. Something about that seems less than cautious. Maybe we could invite this Jonas guy here for dinner instead. You know, arm ourselves and then feed him a nice dinner with our guns beaded on his forehead.”

Black walked over to Claire and spoke softly next to her ear. “It's okay, I swear. I know him very well. He's like family to me. We'll be safe enough. I'm just curious what he wants and how the hell he even knew we were out here. This isn't like him at all.”

Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat—and lots of people, too. That was her motto. “Okay, if you say so. But I'm telling you right now. I'm not giving up my weapon. Don't even think about it. I don't trust these two guys. That one called me a bitch.”

Stupid One, and his also armed friend, Stupid Two, just stood there, no longer trying to act tough. Apparently, they had been trained not to shoot friends of their employer, just point guns at them and threaten them with death. They climbed back into the boat and waited without saying a word, guns back in their holsters, their expressions pretty much indicating REM sleep.