Packing Heat (10 page)

“Cole?” she whispered, her voice husky, the question ending on a little moan as she stretched. “Are you up?”

“Yeah, I’m up.” In every way possible.

“What time is it?”

“Time to get moving.”

She sat up and stretched; she must have pulled her jeans off sometime during the night, and the sight of her in just a T-shirt and panties brought on the familiar rush of heat and need. He welcomed it this time because it blunted the frustration. “Great party last night,” she said, already wide awake and sounding chipper.

“I’m surprised you remember any of it. You had a lot to drink.”

“Did I?” She shrugged and went into the bathroom, oblivious to her lack of meaningful coverage and humming something that would have been played by a mariachi band.

“Why aren’t you hung over?” Cole wanted to know.

“I never get hung over,” she said, coming to the bathroom door and talking around her toothbrush. “I think it has something to do with burning off the alcohol. I tend to do a lot of dancing when I drink.”

“I remember,” Cole said. “You danced with a cop.”

That took some of the pep out of her attitude. She stopped brushing, went into the bathroom to spit, and came out, looking a little sick to her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” she said, which surprised the hell out of him. “I should have kept my head, no matter what.”

“You had to face something horrible,” Cole said, “but you’re going to have to toughen up if you want to get through this thing alive and bring your friend out with you.”

She looked like he’d slapped her, but he wouldn’t be doing either of them a favor by babying her. “You handed out the job assignments,” he reminded her. “I move the money; you handle the secret agent part of the program.”

Harmony crossed the room and got in his face. “I’ll handle my end of it.”

“You might want to put some pants on first.”

“It’s not pants I need.” And she went over to the table and pulled her shoulder and ankle holsters out of her duffel.

Before she could slip into the former, there was a knock on the door, then Juan shouted, “Hey, you lovebirds awake in there?”

Cole exchanged a look with Harmony, and she sped across the room. She was zipping her jeans when Cole opened the door. Juan came in and dropped a couple of bundles on the table, stopping when he got a load of the guns.

“I can explain—” Harmony began.

“I already did,” Cole said, adding, “I told him you’re a fed and you need my help with a case,” because she had a tendency to concoct stories if left to her own devices.

“I guess I owe you an apology, too,” Harmony said to Juan. “We should have been straight with you right from the start.”

“No sweat. Cole told me you were trying to keep me in the clear. I appreciate that.”

“Cole tells me there were cops here last night. Cleveland PD?”

“Just a couple buds of mine,” Juan said. “Not as big a deal as having a real live fed at my place.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you, but it’s need-to-know.”

“No skin off my nose. You’re going to keep Cole out of jail, right?”

Harmony met Juan’s gaze. “Do I hear a threat?”

Juan shrugged. “Just want you to know I got Cole’s back.”

“Cole’s not going to be in danger.” Harmony put her foot on one of the chairs and strapped on her ankle holster.

Juan nudged Cole with an elbow. “She gives the word
heat
a whole new meaning, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

“You two know I can hear you, right?”

They ignored her, Cole poking at one of the bundles on the table. “Going away presents?”

Juan grinned. “Just want you to be prepared, man. For anything. Including her coworkers, who are trampling civil rights on the next block.”

Also known as a house-to-house search, Cole interpreted. “And you thought it might have something to do with us.”

“I’m not the only one.”

Harmony was already packing. It didn’t take long, since her belongings consisted of two changes of clothing and a laptop. “You’re sure they’re FBI?” she asked Juan.

“I sent my oldest boy over there on his bike. He says there are roadblocks manned by the Cleveland PD, but the guys in charge are wearing cheap black suits and driving a black car, unmarked.”

Cole looked at Harmony. He didn’t have to ask the question.

“Somebody at the FBI didn’t get the word to lay off us,” she said.

“Call that Mike guy.”

“It’s too late for that. If they catch us, I’ll be detained, and you’ll go back to jail while they’re sorting it all out, and once they get you back in Lewisburg, it’s game over.”

Juan put into words what they were all thinking. “You guys have to vamoose, and you’re going on foot.”

“That’s the best way to avoid them anyway,” Harmony agreed, joining them at the table. “We’re going to stick out with all this luggage, though. Any ideas?”

“Head for the lake.”

Cole was already stuffing the parcels into Harmony’s duffel and shouldering it. “I’m sorry,” he said to Juan.

“No problem, man. Most of these assholes around here are bigger crooks than I ever was. Guy next door defrauds old dudes out of their life savings, you know? He calls it the stock market.” Juan held out a wad of cash.

“I can’t take that,” Cole said.

“Consider it royalties. Paid in full.”

Translation: Don’t come back.

Harmony reached over and took the cash. “Thanks,” she said to Juan, giving him a hug. “We really appreciate your hospitality, and I’m sorry if we caused you any trouble.”

Juan squeezed her ass. “I’m glad my wife didn’t see that,” he said. “Take care of her, Doc.”

Cole snorted. “There’s a pretty good chance she’ll get me killed.”

Juan thumped his fist on his chest, then lifted it in Cole’s direction, first two fingers extended in a sort of loose peace sign. “Stay cool,” he said.

They all trooped outside and headed for the back of the yard. Juan opened a gate. Cole looked through it and saw a small wooded area, mixed oaks and pines. No feds.

He and Harmony threaded their way between the tree trunks, making no effort to stay quiet. It would have been impossible anyway, walking through dead leaves ankle deep. The trees began to thin out, and Cole stopped while they were still hidden, Harmony coming to stand beside him.

“Practically no cover,” he said, taking a good long look at what lay ahead of them.

They were back in a residential area, the houses set pretty far apart, as they’d been built a hundred years ago in an affluent area. The lots were landscaped, bushes and trees older than the houses, big enough for both him and Harmony to hide behind, but too far apart to be all that useful.

Off in the distance, a few streets ahead and between the houses, they could see the sun sparkling off water.

“I don’t see any activity,” Harmony said, clearly more focused on who was in the area rather than what. “If they’re going to search this block, it doesn’t look like they’ve made it here yet.”

“I say we stay hidden for a while, lay low, see what happens.”

“I think we should head for the lake, like Juan said. The longer we stay here the more likely we’ll get trapped.”

“I don’t like it,” Cole said. “It feels off.”

“Off.”

“I spent the last eight years breaking the law under the noses of federal prison guards.”

“Some of them were paid to look the other way.”

“And some of them weren’t,” Cole countered. “Ask any ex-con. You develop a feel for trouble. It’s too quiet for a weekday morning. Where are the people going to work? Why aren’t there any kids waiting for the school bus?”

“What do you suggest we do?”

“I’d suggest we wait for dark,” Cole said, “but it’s too far off. When they don’t find us, they’re bound to widen the search area.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Harmony said, and before he could stop her, she eased out of the trees and ran, almost silently, across the lawn to the back of the house directly ahead of them. When she got there she looked back, crooking a finger when she saw him still standing in the shadows of the pine trees.

Cole had no choice but to follow, heart thumping as he crossed the wide-open expanse of lawn. Even when he made it, his pulse was still kicking. But so was the adrenaline. He took Harmony by the hand and crept toward the street. When they got to the front of the house, Cole hesitated briefly before stepping into the open again. No skulking this time. He walked to the curb, hand in hand with Harmony, as if they were out for a morning stroll.

“See—”

“Stay where you are,” a bullhorn-enhanced voice said into the eerie stillness, “and keep your hands where we can see them.”

Harmony’s hand tightened in his, and when he looked into her eyes, he knew exactly what she was thinking, even before she shouted,
“Run.”

Cole clearly didn’t plan to spend a lot of time playing tag with guys who could make sure he never saw the outside of prison walls again. They hit the docks, and he took a sharp right, heading for a sleek little speedboat that looked like it could skate on a molecule-thin layer of water.

“Not that one,” Harmony yelled. She slowed, searching the place until she found what she wanted, then taking off again at full speed.

Footsteps pounded the dock right behind her, so either Cole had abandoned the speedboat or the feds had caught up.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Okay, so it was Cole, but Harmony didn’t waste any time acknowledging his presence. She didn’t even look over her shoulder; it would only slow her down, and she couldn’t afford that since she was already running out of steam. She dug deep, found one last burst of energy and poured it on, vaulting over the side of a big old cabin cruiser that was immaculately maintained but made entirely of wood.

Her toe caught on the brass railing and she sprawled onto the deck, the laptop slapping painfully against her back. Cole came on board right behind her. He hauled her to her feet and dragged her under the tarp covering the bridge. To the right was a control panel with a bunch of gauges and a captain’s wheel with a chair on a pedestal in front of it. To the left was another chair, and in between there was a door leading down to the galley and, presumably, sleeping quarters. The entire boat was made of varnished wood and brass fittings, battened down under clean white canvas.

“I don’t think they saw us,” he said, “but it’s just a matter of time before they go from boat to boat.”

Harmony was already on her knees by the control panel. The wind had been knocked out of her, and she had to take a few seconds to get her breath back.

Cole took it as uncertainty on her part. He had no faith in her abilities. “I hope you know how to hot-wire this thing,” he said. “I was a law-abiding citizen before I got arrested, and hot-wiring isn’t one of the skills I learned in the joint. If you want to know the best way to shank a guy, I can help with that.”

“It can’t be that different from a car. Just get this panel—
Jeez
,” Harmony shrieked, covering her head and barely diving out of the way when Cole slammed his foot through the thin wooden panel that covered the boat’s controls and gauges.

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding particularly apologetic.

“You’ll be sorry if those guys catch up to us.”

“Good point. Anything I can do to help?”

“Untie the boat.”

“You mean cast off?”

Harmony rolled her eyes. “Whatever you want to call it, Ahab.” She pulled a bundle of wiring out of the space where the panel had been. She quickly isolated the ignition wire, made a cut, stripped the ends, and sparked them together. The motor caught to life with a throaty roar. Unfortunately it also caught the attention of the federal agents.

Harmony heard a shout, Cole came racing back to the wheel, and put the boat in motion. She tried to stand up, but he wasn’t worried about the surrounding watercraft or the dock, scraping and banging his way out of the slip and keeping her from finding her equilibrium. She wrapped her arms around him, it was that or eat the deck again.

He caught her and set her back on her feet. “You have a problem with balance.”

“You drive like an old lady with cataracts,” Harmony shot back, letting go of Cole to take hold of the back of the captain’s chair with one hand and the brass railing with the other.

They lumbered out of the marina, motor chugging and smoking, adhering to the no Wake signs. As if they had a choice.

“Shit,” Cole said, clearly on the same wavelength, “this thing couldn’t make a wake in a hurricane, and it has a draft like a hippo. I had a nice little cigarette boat all picked out. Why the hell didn’t you follow me?”

“This boat isn’t as fast, but it’s what we need,” Harmony said. “Trust me.”

Cole shot her a look, not amused. He pushed the throttle up, the engines got louder, the back of the boat bit into the water, and the front nosed up in the air.

“This is more like it,” Cole shouted. He pointed the boat out into Lake Erie and pushed it to maximum speed.

He looked like he was having a lot of fun, considering the circumstances. Harmony really hated to bring him down, but he got so cranky when she kept things from him. So she tapped him on the shoulder and pointed behind them, where a sleek powerboat was clearing the marina and coming up to full speed. There wasn’t much to the speedboat, just seats and horsepower—and two guys in black suits and dark glasses. Not your typical boaters out for a pleasure cruise on the lake. Of course, they got their jollies by arresting escaped felons and rogue FBI agents, so pleasure was a relative term in their case.

“Let me drive,” she yelled, nudging Cole aside.

He didn’t move, his eyes on the speedboat. “I’m still waiting to hear why you picked this old wooden monstrosity.”

“Get out of my way, and I’ll show you.”

If he’d wanted to push the issue, Cole could have kept control of the boat. But after his customary moment of deliberation, he moved aside.

Harmony got behind the wheel, immediately taking it into a big, wide left turn. As she came around at a right angle to the speedboat she whipped the wheel around, putting the cabin cruiser into a tight hairpin turn the boat hadn’t been designed to make. It wallowed, heeling hard onto its side and slowing drastically, almost capsizing before it righted itself, all forward momentum lost. Cole went down, sliding on his ass on the spray-slick deck until he came up hard against the opposite side of the boat.

“Having trouble with your balance?” Harmony asked sweetly.

“You drive like a maniac,” he shouted, climbing to his feet. “You almost foundered the boat.”

“I wanted them to think I did,” she said, waiting while the feds slowed and assessed the situation, waiting while they punched their boat back up to full speed and came straight for them.

“The Coast Guard has a post in Cleveland,” she continued, one hand on the wheel, the other on the throttle. “These agents won’t want to bring them in unless there’s no other choice. We need to take these guys out before they can radio back for help.”

“Jesus,” Cole said, his hands on the top of his head like he was afraid his skull might explode.

“I’m not going to kill them.” She pushed the throttle up as far as it would go, shouting over the roar of the engine. “I’m just making sure they have a nice, long swim.”

“What if they can’t swim?”

“I’d expect you to be happy at the prospect of two less federal agents in the world.” She steered straight for the smaller boat.

The agents kept on coming, until they realized she’d turned the tables on them. They tried to steer off, but it was too late. They dove for cover over opposite sides of the speedboat, making it to safety seconds before she crashed the big wooden boat into their play toy. Fiberglass shattered, engine parts smoked and gurgled their way underwater, the two feds yelled and shook their fists. Harmony kept going, taking the boat out of firing range.

She steered around them in a big circle until she and Cole were heading west again, keeping the boat to an unremarkable speed.

Cole was staring at the two federal heads bobbing off in the distance. “You—” he said. “They—” He threw his hands up in the air and stomped to the opposite railing, turning around to shake a finger at her.

“Speechless,” she said with a grin. “The icing on the cake.” Cole scowled at her, arms crossed. “I’m waiting to hear how you justify this one.”

“First of all, I can’t believe there are four FBI agents that inept, so those guys have to be the same two agents who came after us at Lewisburg.” No experienced agents would have fallen for the foundering boat trick, or stuck around long enough to be run over. “They haven’t learned any new skills since the last time, either.”

“And?”

“And we have at least two hours before they make it to shore,” she said, “and probably another hour while they deliberate over whether or not to bring in the Coast Guard. By the time they make up their minds, they won’t know where we are. That’s another reason I chose this boat. The new models have built-in GPS and locator beacons, but they won’t be able to track this one. The bad news is we don’t have that much fuel. The owner was probably getting ready to winterize, and he let it run low.”

“Oh, good,” Cole said, “I was really worried we might actually get away with this.”