The Chilling Deception (12 page)

“I don’t know,” Springer muttered. “It was like Washburn took orders from Cassidy, instead of vice versa. It was Cassidy who told Washburn when to go look at the island, for example. It was as if Washburn was supposed to make his schedule bend to fit Cassidy’s or something.”

“That island you said Washburn was interested in buying.” Guinevere glanced at Zac, who said nothing. His eyes were intent on Springer’s face.

“Yeah. I heard him say it was the same size as some place called Raton.”

“Raton?” Guinevere gave the word the Spanish pronunciation. “The same size as Raton Island?”

“I guess. Damned if I know. Cassidy wasn’t what you’d call real communicative with me. He always treated me like I was Washburn’s secretary, not his personal assistant. Like I was shit. I argued with him about his attitude yesterday. I was sick of it.”

She smiled wryly. “What else made you think Cassidy was crazy?”

“I don’t know. You met him. It was like he wasn’t quite real or something.” He paused and then added bitterly, “Maybe women like that sort of thing.”

“Only in movies,” she assured him, thinking of Catherine Vandyke’s instinctive preference for the quieter man she had married. “Women tend to find men like Cassidy . . .” She hunted for the right word. “Incomplete. Empty in some way.” She was aware of Zac’s glance of surprise, but she ignored it. “Did he ever tell you anything else about this island?”

Springer shook his head. “No, but I heard Washburn complain once about Cassidy being hung up on the subject. Said he was obsessed with it. Kept talking about how easily a man would die on an island here in winter. Look, are you two finished? I’ve got a ferry to catch.”

“No you don’t.” Zac said, glancing at his watch. As if to confirm his words the whistle sounded as the ferry began moving slowly away from the dock. “You’re stuck here for another hour or so.”

“So are we,” Guinevere pointed out worriedly.

“Not quite. We’ve got transportation.”

“Are we going to charter a plane?”

“Not to go to that island Washburn was interested in buying. For that we’ll use the boat Cassidy left behind. Come on, Springer, we’re going to find some charts, and you’re going to show me exactly where that island is.”

Springer started to protest but changed his mind. He fell into step beside Zac, apparently surrendering to the inevitable. Guinevere hastened to follow.

Twenty minutes later Guinevere stood in the boathouse watching Zac. He was doing something intricate to the cruiser’s ignition system. Springer was drinking coffee next door in the small café and muttering to himself about the heretofore unknown aspects of big business. Guinevere wondered if he’d go to the police as soon as he saw Zac start the boat. Zac didn’t seem to care.

“I didn’t know you could hot-wire a boat,” Guinevere observed.

“An ignition system is an ignition system.” The words were muffled as Zac continued to concentrate on his task.

“Is there no end to your talents?”

“This kind of talent isn’t exactly the sort I was hoping to practice when I established Free Enterprise Security.”

“I know. You wanted class, polish, sophistication. You wanted to be a consultant.”

Whatever Zac said in response was lost in the cough of the engine as it sprang to life. He ducked out from the cabin and stepped onto the dock. She watched as he slid open the metal door that opened onto the water. The sky was still overcast but the rain hadn’t started.

“I hope this isn’t going to be a waste of time,” Guinevere muttered as she got aboard the cruiser.

“We haven’t got anyplace else to start looking. If the island proves a dead end we’ll call in the cops. The hard part is going to be convincing them that Cassidy really has kidnapped Vandyke. We’re not even a hundred percent positive ourselves.” Zac took the wheel of the small cruiser and eased the boat out of its water-based garage. No one on shore paid any attention as he swung the bow around and headed away from the marina.

“What I don’t understand is why Cassidy came back to terrorize his ex-partner after all this time,” Guinevere said, pitching her voice above the roar of the engine as Zac opened the throttle.

“It’s the time factor that makes me think this isn’t going to be a simple kidnap-for-ransom deal. I have a hunch Cassidy isn’t motivated by money, although I guess it’s a possibility.”

“Revenge? Because of Catherine?”

“Maybe. I have a feeling there’s more to it than that, though.”

“That’s because you’re a man. You don’t want to admit a woman could drive a man to spend more than a decade plotting revenge,” Guinevere declared with conviction. She held her wildly whipping hair out of her face.

Zac glanced at her, his eyes unreadable. “The idea is a little bizarre, but not totally inconceivable.”

“What?” She frowned up at him, trying to understand his meaning.

“Forget it. In one way you’re right. I’m inclined to believe there’s more than a woman involved. Mostly because I don’t see Cassidy ever letting a woman—any woman—get under his skin to that extent.”

Guinevere’s eyes widened in reluctant appreciation of his insight. “I think you’re right. He’s not the type to get that involved with any one woman. He hasn’t got it in him to be faithful, let alone fall in love. That’s what I meant when I told Springer that men like Cassidy seem somehow incomplete. It’s as if something important got left out when they were put together.”

She was silent for a moment, the thought striking her that she was finding herself increasingly attracted to Zac precisely because he was complete. He was solid in some indefinable way, as if there were a deep, substantial core in him. He was centered in a way Cassidy never would be. She knew it with a sure feminine instinct that she didn’t bother to analyze.

“Zac?”

“Yeah?” He was watching the horizon, searching for the island.

She took a deep breath. “What do you think we’ll find on that island? Vandyke’s body?”

“I hope not. Dead men don’t pay off their expensive consultants.”

“Zac, please.”

Zac shrugged, his mouth twisting wryly. “I don’t know what we’ll find. One thing’s for sure, though. If that Cessna is anchored offshore, you’re not going ashore with me.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Indignantly she glared at him. “Sit in the boat and wait?”

“You should have brought along some knitting.”

“Oh yeah? And what about you?”

“I should have brought along a gun,” Zac said unhappily.

In the end they didn’t have to worry about what each had not thought to bring. Zac circled the tiny islet that appeared on the chart as the dot Toby Springer had marked. There was no sign of a Cessna. There was no sign of anything or anyone, in fact. Guinevere glanced around worriedly as Zac eased the small cruiser into a tiny cove and as close to shore as possible. He shut down the engine.

“Do you think this is the right place?”

“It’s as good a possibility as we’ve got. Does it look like the chunk of rock Springer pointed out to you during the tour you took?” Zac was wrestling with the postage-stamp-size inflatable raft he had found in the back of the cruiser.

“Sort of.” Guinevere tried to recall the details of the small island that had been pointed out to her. “I think I remember this little cove. Other than that, it’s hard to say.” The islet was shrouded in a dense growth of windswept fir. It was impossible to see more than a few feet beyond the rocky shoreline.

“This cove is about the only place anyone could come ashore.” Zac tossed the raft over the side. “Actually, we’re close enough to wade onto the beach, but the water is so damn cold.”

“I’d rather ride,” Guinevere declared vehemently as she scrambled carefully into the raft. The new Nikes she was wearing would be soaked if she’d tried to wade ashore.

“Hold still.”

“I’m trying!” She braced her palms against the sides of the small landing craft. “You’re too heavy for this thing, that’s the problem.”

“All I ever get are complaints,” Zac muttered, cautiously getting into the boat and picking up the paddle.

Guinevere shut up, instantly assailed by guilt. She didn’t say another word as Zac paddled them to shore. She felt even more guilty when he jumped out to pull the raft all the way up out of the water so she wouldn’t have to get her feet wet. His own sturdy wing tips got splashed.

“It’s cold,” she whispered, folding her arms across her chest, and immediately wished she’d kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want Zac to think she was complaining again. But he didn’t seem to have heard her. He was systematically walking the tree-lined beach. When he paused to study some object near a boulder she hurried forward.

“What is it?” she asked, watching him bend down to retrieve the small item. “Oh my God, it’s a Vandyke Development Company pen.” Her eyes flew to Zac’s. “Vandyke must have dropped it.”

“No wonder. Someone was really using some muscle to drag him through that underbrush.” Zac nodded toward a scraggly jumble of shrubs.

Guinevere froze. “He was being dragged?”

“That’s what it looks like. You stay here. I’m going to have a look.” Without waiting to see if she intended to follow orders, Zac started into the trees.

Guinevere counted to five and then went after him. Her progress wasn’t exactly silent and he must have known she was behind him, but Zac chose to say nothing. He seemed completely intent on following the signs on the ground.

Ten minutes later he emerged into a small clearing somewhere near the center of the island, and Guinevere nearly plowed into him before she saw what had brought him to such an abrupt halt. Edward Vandyke lay in a huddled heap on the ground. He seemed to be unconscious. Blood seeped through the makeshift bandage he had apparently tried to wrap around his left knee.

Chapter Nine

Vandyke opened pain-glazed eyes as Guinevere and Zac knelt beside him. His face was drawn, the grim brackets around his mouth nearly white as he held onto consciousness. Guinevere saw the wariness in him as well as the confusion. Gently she touched his shoulder.

“It’s all right, Mr. Vandyke. We’ve got a boat. We’ll have you back to civilization in no time.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Zac shrug out of his black wool jacket.

“Help me get this around him. It looks like he took fairly good care of the leg before he passed out. The main thing we’ve got to worry about is exposure. It’s so damn cold.” Zac eased an arm under the wounded man’s shoulders, lifting him so that Guinevere could tug the wool jacket into place.

Vandyke groaned but struggled to help them. “How did you know . . . ?” His voice was weak, his words a little slurred.

“We didn’t.” Zac was succinct, his attention on Vandyke’s wounded knee. “Just followed some hunches. Uncooperative clients sometimes wind up in this sort of situation.”

“Zac! For heaven’s sake, this is no time to lecture him.” Guinevere shot Zac a furious rebuking glance, which he totally ignored. He was adjusting the makeshift bandage. It seemed to have been fashioned out of a handkerchief and the hem of Vandyke’s white button-down shirt.

“He’s right.” Vandyke inhaled sharply as Zac did something to the wounded knee. “Should have explained.”

“You can do the explaining later.” Zac stood up. “Right now the main priority is to get you to a hospital. How long have you been lying here?”

“I don’t know. Seems like forever. What time is it?”

“Nearly two o’clock.”

“It was sometime around ten when he forced me to board the plane. He was waiting for me when I came out of the hotel. By the time I saw him it was too late—he had a gun in my ribs.” Vandyke winced as Zac started to lift him to his feet. “Shit, that hurts.”

“I’m not surprised.” Zac braced him. “I assume there was something symbolic about the left knee?”

Guinevere moved forward to support Vandyke on the other side. She felt the trembling in Vandyke’s arm and her concern increased. He was shivering from what was probably a combination of shock, pain, and cold. Not a good combination.

“Cassidy’s left knee is bad too,” she said, remembering the limp. She realized what Zac was implying. “Is that why he shot you there?”

Vandyke groaned, his head sagging weakly. “Said he wanted me to see how it was. Wanted everything to be just the way it had been for him. The bastard. I think he’s crazy. Certifiably.”

“That’s what your wife thinks too,” Guinevere said calmly as she and Zac maneuvered Vandyke toward the trees.

Mention of his wife brought Vandyke’s head up for a moment. “Catherine? You talked to Catherine?”

“This morning. She called the hotel while Zac and I were standing around the lobby trying to put it all together. She helped us confirm that Cassidy was Gannon. We thought for a while it might be Washburn. Cassidy��or Gannon, or whatever his name is—is carrying DEA identification, by the way.”

“DEA?” Vandyke made an obvious effort to concentrate. “Oh, yes. Drug Enforcement Administration. What a joke. I can see where that would appeal to his sense of humor.”

Guinevere was about to ask him what he meant when a faint sound in the distance caught her ear. Even before she could properly identify it, her instinct warned her it was the drone of an aircraft engine. Frantically she looked past Vandyke and met Zac’s eyes.

“Damn.” Zac started to ease Vandyke back down to the ground.

“What?” Vandyke lifted his head with great effort, his gaze bleary as he tried to focus on his rescuers. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a plane coming,” Guinevere explained softly, her eyes on Zac as they settled Vandyke in a sitting position against the trunk of a scraggly fir.

Vandyke understood at once. “Gannon?”

“I don’t know yet. Until we can be sure we’ll stay here in the cover of the trees. Christ, Gwen. Did you have to wear that red trench coat? You’ll stand out like a sore thumb.”

“Sorry I’m not appropriately dressed. The invitation didn’t say black tie.”

“Take it off until that plane’s gone.”

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, your professional manner lacks finesse.” She unbuttoned the coat and scrunched it into a tight ball, which she then pushed behind the reclining Vandyke. Instantly she became even more aware of the chill air.

“It’s Gannon,” Vandyke whispered, closing his eyes wearily as he leaned back against the tree. “He must have found out you were looking for me.”

“Springer?” Guinevere looked at Zac questioningly as she, too, huddled back under the branches of the tree.

“Possibly, but I doubt it. I think Springer was just a pawn. More likely Washburn. He might have been left behind to keep an eye on things. We assumed he’d gone back to the mainland but we didn’t have time to make certain. He could have been watching Springer, or watching the boathouse.”

The plane came into view, its floats clearly visible as the craft banked to circle the island.

“He’ll see the boat.” Guinevere thought of the little cruiser anchored just offshore. “Maybe he’ll assume the game is over and decide to get out of here.”

Vandyke moved his head in a weary negative. “The guy’s wild. Over the edge. He wants his revenge and he’s not likely to let it slip through his fingers now that he’s this close.”

“I think Vandyke’s right. Cassidy’s not going to give up now. The only question is whether he’ll land and come ashore like a one-man assault team or go back for reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements?” Guinevere asked, startled.

“Washburn.” Zac glanced at Vandyke. “Was Washburn with him when Cassidy brought you here?”

“No. Haven’t seen Washburn since this morning.”

The plane made a low pass over the center of the tiny island, so low that Guinevere could see the figures in the cockpit. “Well, he’s with him now,” she whispered as she stared after the craft.

“Thank God for these trees. He doesn’t dare get too low.” Zac paused as the plane made another sweep around the island. “By now he’s seen the cruiser and he knows you’re not in that clearing,” he said calmly to Vandyke. “My guess is he’ll come ashore, but you know him better than I do. What do you think?”

“I think you’re right. He knows I’m out of commission and he probably knows Miss Jones is the only person you brought with you. As far as Gannon is concerned she doesn’t count. He’ll only be dealing with one real opponent. No offense, Miss Jones, but I don’t think he’s likely to take you too seriously.”

“No one takes secretaries seriously. One of these days the business world is going to regret it.”

“Plot the revolution later, Gwen. We’ve got to make some plans.”

“Such as?”

“You and I are going back to that cove. It’s the only place Cassidy can land and come ashore.” Even as Zac spoke the drone of the engine overhead altered purposefully. Zac looked up, but the plane was out of sight beyond the trees. “He’s going to bring the Cessna down now. Let’s go.”

Hastily Guinevere made certain Zac’s coat was secure around Vandyke, who appeared to be about to drift back into unconsciousness. Then she rose to follow Zac back through the trees. In the distance she could hear the last roar of the aircraft engine.

“What’s he doing?”

“Taking the risk of beaching it.”

“Beaching it?”

“Running the plane as close to shore as possible,” Zac explained absently as he made his way through the trees. “It’s a risk because that beach is rocky and he could puncture the floats. But I imagine Cassidy is in something of a risk-taking mood right now. I guess I should start calling him Gannon.” He halted abruptly.

“Now what?” Guinevere kept her voice low. She was beginning to feel the chill through her wool sweater, and she knew Zac must be feeling it too.

“Over there behind that outcropping.” Zac took her arm and pushed her in the direction he’d indicated.

Guinevere found herself amid a jumble of boulders that looked as if they had been tossed aside by a giant hand sometime when the little islet was being formed. Scraggly bushes clung to the rocks, defying the elements. The trees grew right up to the edge of the pile.

“Stay down,” Zac whispered as he urged her into the protection of the rocks.

“What are you going to do?”

“Have a look.” He released her and cautiously made his way up the broken jagged heap.

Guinevere watched, hardly breathing, as Zac climbed. He moved with a coordinated strength that seemed somehow out of place with his button-down collar and wing tip shoes. He didn’t look very much like a sober IRS-fearing businessman right now.

Once before, at the culmination of the StarrTech case, she had seen Zac metamorphose from a conventional, deliberate, practical businessman into a hunter, and it had left her feeling as if she really didn’t know him as well as she sometimes thought she did. That hint of something she couldn’t comprehend was another of the elements that had kept her vaguely wary of the growing attraction between them. Perhaps it was impossible for a woman to ever completely know a man, she thought as she watched Zac disappear around a craggy chunk of rock.

Guinevere sat huddling, arms wrapped around herself, and waited for Zac to return. There was no sound in the distance. She shivered, wondering what Cassidy was doing—no, what
Gannon
was doing. When Zac eventually slipped back down the wall of rock she started violently. She hadn’t even heard him. Her wide eyes flew to his.

Zac hunkered down beside her, his expression hard and infinitely remote. That sense of something unknowable in him was stronger than ever, Guinevere realized bleakly. Yet it was that very quality that might save her life today. She didn’t have any illusions about what Gannon might be capable of doing. The man was not just slightly alien, he was crazy.

“He’s ashore,” Zac murmured bluntly.

Guinevere tensed. “Where?”

“He’s circling around on the far side.” Zac nodded in the direction behind her. “Probably going to work his way back to the clearing where he left Vandyke.”

“Washburn?”

“Still in the plane. My guess is he doesn’t like this any better than the rest of us. Probably starting to realize he’s let Gannon push him into a somewhat awkward situation. I think he’ll stay where he is and let Hopalong get the glory. Hell, Gannon prefers a one-man show.”

Guinevere bit her lip. “Cassidy—I mean, Gannon’s armed?”

Zac shrugged one shoulder. “You ever see a cowboy in the movies who wasn’t?”

“Zac, what are we going to do? This is a small island. Sooner or later he’ll find Vandyke, and then us.”

“The trick will be to find Gannon first then, won’t it? Gwen, I want you to stay here. If Washburn does come ashore, he’ll probably head in the same direction as Gannon. Frankly, I don’t think he will come ashore. You’ll be reasonably safe as long as you stay out of sight.”

“What about you?” But she already knew the answer to that. Zac was going after Gannon. Guinevere put an urgent hand on his shoulder. “Be careful, Zac. Please. I . . .” She broke off, trying for a fleeting smile. “Remember the image.”

He surprised her with a quick, wholly unexpected grin. “I’ll try not to get it any more tarnished than it already is. Stay put, honey.”

Zac slipped away from the jumble of boulders, praying they would protect Guinevere. He felt decidedly naked without any sort of weapon. But damn it, he was supposed to be a real businessman these days. He was supposed to spend his time worrying about deductions, contracts, the prime rate—and how to talk Guinevere Jones into bed. He
wanted
to spend his time that way. He just knew he was cut out for it. He was a natural-born independent businessman.

When he’d started Free Enterprise Security he’d had no intention of taking jobs that wound up like this. He’d planned to be an expensive consultant, for crying out loud. A respectable, highly paid, report-writing consultant. How in hell did he come to find himself trapped on a postage-stamp-size island with a crazy man who shot people in the leg and left them to die of exposure? The next time Guinevere tried to throw a little business his way he would throw it right back at her.

Of course then he’d have to figure out a way of keeping Gwen from letting her overly empathic nature get her into trouble all by herself. All things considered, Zac decided, he’d rather be here than sitting at home in Seattle wondering what Gwen was doing. Hell of a choice.

He eased into place behind Cassidy-Gannon, who was prowling through the trees with an expert’s skill. The problem in dealing with Gannon was, part of him—the dangerous part—was real, not some phony actor’s pose. And Zac sensed his quarry wouldn’t hesitate to use the revolver he held in his hand.

There was no way to rush him, not yet. Zac could keep him in sight easily enough, but he didn’t see any possibility of moving in on Gannon. The man was too alert and too dangerous.

The breeze off the water was starting to pick up now, turning into a storm-bearing wind. The rain would follow soon. The sound was welcome cover for Zac’s movements, but he began to worry in earnest about the effects of the cold on his client and on Guinevere. Vandyke was already sliding into shock, and without her coat Guinevere was going to be very chilled very soon. For now the adrenaline roaring through his own veins seemed to mask the direct effects of the cold, but Zac realized that was only a temporary effect. Only Gannon looked reasonably comfortable. The dashingly distressed leather flight jacket was no doubt good insulation.

Gannon was working his way around the island in a slow circle. Zac followed warily, wondering how long it would be before his quarry cut inland. The chief goal of this whole exercise as far as Gannon was concerned was to kill Vandyke. Sooner or later Gannon was going to want to know what had happened to his victim. If he was crazy enough, he might risk heading for the clearing before he’d taken care of any possible opposition. And if Gannon was convinced that Zac probably wasn’t armed, he was likely to make his move fairly soon.

Zac waited with the patience that came naturally to him at times like this. He had that much on his side, he realized. He had hunted this kind of game before.