Never Surrender (Task Force Eagle) (4 page)

Adrenaline surged. Rick didn’t wait to see what would
happen next.

Pistol in hand, he raced down the street.

Chapter 4

Juliana’s heart pounded and her throat tightened. She
twisted, trying to wrench from the man’s grasp. If only she could swing her
bag. “Let me go!”

He was barely taller than she and hefty, but more
lumpish than muscular. With a sharp pinch like oversized pliers, his hand
clamped tightly on her elbow. The other man was taller and stoop-shouldered,
with sunken eyes and a drooping moustache. Abruptly he glanced behind her. He
scowled and beckoned to his companion.

One minute Juliana was struggling to get free, and the
next her kidnappers leaped into their van and sped away.

Two strong, hard hands gripped her shoulders and
turned her. “Are you all right? Those bastards didn’t hurt you?” Ricardo Cruz
stared at her as if he could see inside for the answer to his question.

“I’m fine.” She stepped back. She panted with rasping
breaths and her knees shook. “They . . . just wanted to talk to me.”

Adjusting his jacket over his holstered pistol, Cruz
shot a skeptical glance heavenward. He pulled out his notepad and jotted
something.

The van’s license number maybe, but she wouldn’t give
him the satisfaction of asking. His running to her rescue and his strong hands
on her shoulders made her feel safe, no longer imperiled. Frowning, she glanced
away. She wouldn’t rely on this man or like him.

A few passing students smiled their way, apparently
taking them for quarrelling lovers. A car horn beeped once and then blared the
driver’s irritation at the delay. Ack, they still stood in the street and the
light had changed again. Extricating herself from Cruz, she hurried on. After
all, she did have places to go. And she didn’t want him to see how frightened
she was. She couldn’t stop trembling, and her stomach still churned like a
blender.

“Next you’re going to tell me those guys only wanted
directions to Freeport.” His long strides easily kept pace with hers. “That
they weren’t interested in your brother.”

Shaking her head, she slanted him a glance. “Did you
know them?”

“One. I’ve seen him before with Olívas. I couldn’t see
the face of the one who held you. Could you describe him? Or identify his
picture?”

Juliana huffed and shook her head as she picked up
speed. “He was behind me.”

Though the men’s cinnamon skin, shades darker than
Cruz’s burnished hue, could have belonged to any of several ethnic groups,
Droopy Mustache’s accent marked him as Hispanic. She suppressed a shudder at
the memory of his menacing tones.

Both fell silent while they dodged among a throng of
pedestrians. A young man wearing a shirt that proclaimed, “Save Our Finny
Friends,” jostled her.

Cruz grasped her arm and scowled at the kid.

She’d pull away but it’d cause another scene. His hand
was firm but gentle on her arm, warm and reassuring, dammit. She inhaled his
warm, masculine scent, fringed with mint. Beyond that sensual charm, his
protectiveness and apparent concern for her—and her foolish brother—tempted her
to like him, to trust him.

She
wanted
to trust him. But she shouldn’t.
Couldn’t.

Once beside her car, they stopped, but he maintained
his firm grip on her arm. “Are you going to tell me what the Mexicans wanted?”

She raised her chin. “They asked me about Jordan. I
told them I don’t know where he is, and he didn’t give me anything. That’s the
end of it.” If she repeated it enough, maybe she’d believe her own story.

“You’re more naïve than my baby sister if you believe
that. Those guys have been following you.” He held up his other hand to stay
her protest. His voice rose with frustration. “I saw the lie in your eyes
earlier when you denied it. These are dangerous men. You must believe me. They
want information and they’ll hurt you to get it.”

“I know nothing and have nothing they could want.” She
freed her arm and unlocked her car. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have
investigating
to do.” She tossed in her backpack and slid inside. Dammit, she fumbled the key
in the ignition. Finally the poor, overworked engine caught and she pulled away
from the curb.

Those men, at least someone in their van, had followed
her before on the way to the bank. This time they approached her in public
view.

What would they do next?

The memory of that vice-like grip was her answer. A
shudder swept through her.

*****

Finally she had a lead.
Finny.
The name on the
T-shirt had clicked in her memory. Finny was Jordan’s friend on the Vinson
dragger. She ignored her nerves jumping like accounting numbers on a page at
midnight as she drove to Portland the next day.

The DEA had released Jordan’s apartment, and the
manager wanted her brother out. After packing Jordan’s sparse belongings, she
aimed her aged Sentra for the docks. She’d never gone to the headquarters
before, but had filled in at Vinson’s Portsmouth office. In front of her the
Portland Fish Pier buildings sprawled over several piers.

A turn onto Commercial Street put the docks on her
right, with ferries and commercial shipping jockeying for space amid
restaurants and sailmakers. Beyond the hubbub, a north wind fluttered white
petticoats on the verdigris surface of Casco Bay. On her left, locals and
tourists ducked in the quaint shops, brew pubs, and galleries of the Old Port.

She spotted her destination on the last wharf past the
Casco Bay Lines ferry terminal. Vinson Seafood, Shipping & Marina. Fishing
craft with derricks and netting bobbed on the waves beside the marina. On the
pavement by the boat storage building, two yachts bigger than three-story
houses awaited the season on tripod stands.

She eased into a parking slot near the old brick
building. The engine gave a little cough as it chugged to a halt. The car had
given her good service, considering Molly had purchased it second hand, but
soon she’d have to invest in new transportation.

If only she knew where her mother was so she could
share her concerns. Delete that. What a waste of time. Molly would refuse to
worry and insist Jordan was fine.

She checked the rearview and side mirrors. Twice
during her drive, a red sports car had appeared in her rearview mirror. No sign
of it now. But neither the drug gang nor the DEA would use such an obvious
vehicle.

Scooping up her purse, she slid out and locked up. The
calendar might say it was spring, but warm weather wouldn’t hit the Maine coast
anytime soon. She zipped her parka and smoothed her skirt before striding to
the building entrance.

Inside, a cavernous office stretched the length of the
building. In front was a reception counter and behind it a maze of workspaces
manned by people at computers.

A young woman in a Vinson logo polo shirt greeted her
at the reception desk. In a few moments she directed Juliana toward the rear of
the building and the office of Wesley Vinson.

Carpeted in a deep forest green pile, the office was
dominated by a venerable oak desk. A tenor voice came from the leather chair
facing a window. “No, they haven’t come in. Maybe sometime around noon.”

Not wanting to eavesdrop but uncertain about how to
make her presence known, she hovered around the door.

“Piece of cake,” the disembodied voice said. “I’ll
call you.”

“Hello, they sent me back here,” she called when she
heard a click.

“Ahoy there.” The chair swiveled to face her,
revealing a ruddy-cheeked, husky man. Fitting the receiver on the telephone
console, he rose and flashed a smile as wide and white as a seagull’s wing. “Sorry
I didn’t hear you come in.”

She went forward and introduced herself.

He took her hand in both of his big, smooth ones. “The
gods of my Viking ancestors have sent you to my rescue, Juliana Paris. My
solitary confinement authorizing bill payments was approaching mind-numbing
status. Rather be out on my boat.”

“I’m happy to save you, but I hope you’ll return the
favor.” He seemed personable, this fortyish blond, a casual Maine executive in
creased khakis and L.L. Bean boat shoes.

He ushered her to a club chair. Choosing an adjacent
one rather than his executive throne, he propped one leg on the other knee. “What
can I do for you?”

She drew a calming breath. “My brother works for you
sometimes, on the
Following Sea
.” She explained what had happened with
her brother and the DEA.

“DEA agents came here to see me about Jordan. I don’t
recall him personally, but my captain vouched for him. So you don’t think he’s
mixed up with these drug gangsters?”

“No, I don’t.” She shook her head emphatically. “But
more than that, I’m worried about him. I think he’s hiding from them, and I
want to find him first.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” He bent forward. “The gang and
all.”

Why did everyone have to remind her of the obvious? “He’s
my brother.”

“Then how can I help you?”

Here goes nothing.
“Jordan has a friend on
board the
Following Sea
, a guy named Finny. I thought Jordan might be
staying with him.”

“Finny, huh?” Vinson smoothed his dark gold hair. “Name
doesn’t ring any bells. I’ll check the employee files. With a fishing fleet and
the marina, we have dozens of employees. Since my old man turned the reins
over, I’ve been trying to build the company.”

The marina had new-looking buildings. “Nice marina.
That must do a good business.”

“Diversifying is my plan. Not much profit in North
Atlantic fishing these days.”

When he moved to the computer and started punching
keys, she all but wept with gratitude. Here was the first person to help her,
to grant her the credibility to do this her way. “I really appreciate this, Mr.
Vinson.”

“It’s Wes.” His grin banished the rest of her nerves.

“Wes,” she repeated with a smile. “You’ll find me in
that list too. Temps-R-Us has sent me to your Portsmouth office a few times.”

He winked. “It’s my loss I never dropped in when you
were there. Maybe I’ll have them send you here next time.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Wes’s light-hearted flirting didn’t
annoy her the way Cruz’s magnetic sensuality did.

Vinson trailed a finger down the screen. “No Finny in
the list. Nothing that even resembles it.”

“Can you sort them differently? Maybe it’s a first
name?”

A few more screen flickers yielded a name and address.
“Maybe this one. Finnegan Farnham. In Saco. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to give you
the address.” He jotted it down.

Her pulse did a jig. “This is my first real lead.”

“Whoa, it may be a bum lead. Farnham’s not in port.”
By his eyes, crinkles fanned out in commiseration. “He shipped out a few days
ago on the
Sea Worthy
. Won’t return until the first or second week in
April. I’d try to radio, but Old Sparky’s too low-tech. The boat’s probably too
far out for me to rouse her from here.”

“Thank you. You helped. More than you know.”

Vinson walked her outside into the cool spring
sunshine and pointed out an approaching green fishing boat, derricks and nets
making it look top-heavy. “That’s the seiner I’m waiting for, the
Sea Jaunty
.
Coming in with a good load of herring. It’s a smaller boat than the one your
brother usually crews on, only about eighty feet.” He scratched his head. “If
you can stick around town awhile, I’ll take you to lunch.”

Lunch in the Old Port with Wes Vinson would be more
elegant than hers downtown with Rick Cruz. If she hadn’t already eaten, she’d
enjoy a meal with him. He didn’t get under her skin like a certain other man. “I’d
love to, but I have to get back to Portsmouth.”

Before she rolled out of the parking lot, Vinson waved
her to a halt. “I just had a thought. The
Sea Worthy
will sail into
Rockland and Belfast off and on to sell their catch. If you still want to talk
to Farnham, I could leave a message for him to call you.” His lips curved. “Then
maybe I could call you too.”

“I’d appreciate that.” After reciting her cell number
and promising to go out with him, she drove away. In the meantime, she could
check out Finny’s place.

*****

Wes Vinson watched Juliana’s small car disappear down
Commercial before he went inside. Back in his office, he closed the door and
pulled out his cell phone.

When the call was answered, he said, “What did you
find?”

“Nothing helpful. My men tell me the Paris
chica
just left your office. She is looking for her
idiota
of a brother?”

“She doesn’t know where he is but she knows something.
We don’t have much time. The Feds are moving in. They searched the kid’s
apartment.”

“Perhaps she needs a scare.”

The smile in the other man’s voice chilled Wes Vinson.
“What are you planning?”

But he was talking to dead air.

*****

An hour later, Juliana slumped in her car seat. The
neighbors in Finny’s apartment building had seen no one in his apartment since
Saturday—the sailing date of the
Sea Worthy
. It’d been worth a try. On a
sigh, she headed south on the interstate. She still had the old girlfriend to
find. For a distraction, she turned up the radio and sang along with Adele.

Until she spotted the red sports car behind her.

*****

Rick steered back into the slow lane. Damn, why hadn’t
he used a government sedan instead of driving his Corvette? Juliana spotted him
this time, and she might have earlier. Both charm and stealth failed him. Hell
of an Invisible Man.

And he wanted a cigarette. Bad. He popped a mint into
his mouth.