UNDERCOVER TWIN (5 page)

But not today. Today he was more concerned with the clock in the dashboard.

He had less than thirty-two hours to figure out how to save Lily and Heather without getting himself or anyone else killed.

Chapter Five

Heather had assumed Nick was exaggerating when he’d described the rough atmosphere of the Key West bar called Skeleton’s Misery. But it was just as seedy as he’d said it would be. Still, it’s not like she was alone, defenseless. Mark Watkins, the undercover DEA agent assigned to work with her, was sitting beside her. And Rickloff had backup outside somewhere, ready to come to the rescue at the slightest hint of trouble. But even with Mark and backup nearby, a shiver of apprehension still lanced down Heather’s spine—because this was definitely
not
a typical bar, and Nick had definitely
not
exaggerated.

She avoided eye contact with the men around them, men who looked like Satan’s personal biker gang, draped in black leather and silver chains, and covered with tattoos of snakes, dragons and naked women. She’d glimpsed knives peeking out from beneath some of their jackets. Big knives that made the pocketknife she usually carried around for emergencies—the one she’d had to ditch to board the airplane—look like a harmless toy. And she was fairly certain she’d glimpsed guns beneath some of their jackets, too.

Everyone in the bar seemed to be taking turns staring at her and Mark with open hostility and suspicion while the two of them sat at one of the high-top tables, sipping their beers. She was the only woman in the bar. And from what she could tell, she and Mark were the only “nonregulars.” It was as if they’d intruded into someone’s home without an invitation, or into a drug dealer’s lair where his minions were planning their next big score.

Mark pretended to be absorbed in the football game on one of the TVs suspended from the ceiling. At least, Heather hoped he was pretending.

A large duffel bag sat at their feet, with four bricks of cocaine concealed inside. She didn’t want to think about what might happen to her and Mark if Satan’s bikers realized what was in that bag. She imagined there would be a violent frenzy, like a group of man-eating sharks scenting blood in the water.

“It’s nine-fifteen, Mark,” she whispered. “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

“Don’t use my real name.” Mark’s reminder was said in a quiet voice Heather had to strain to hear over the loud TVs and music.

“Look, honey.” He pointed to the football game and spoke louder as if for the benefit of those around them. “We’re in the red zone. We might pull this one out after all.”

Heather rolled her eyes. It was Tuesday night. She and every football fan in America knew that any football game on tonight was either a highlight reel or a replay of an old game. The TV above the bar was tuned to ESPN Classic, which was replaying a Tampa Bay Bucs game Heather had seen firsthand last season in Raymond James Stadium. She’d heard the cannons boom to celebrate the score that clinched the game. Obviously Mark wasn’t a football fan or he’d have known that. Her respect for him plummeted and she shook her head.

Another half hour passed. Angry mutterings started around them. The bartender gave her and Mark pointed looks as if to warn them their presence wouldn’t be tolerated much longer.

Heather risked another glance around the room. She didn’t know what Gonzalez looked like, but
he
knew what
she
looked like. If he was in the crowd, surely he’d have spotted her by now and would have approached her table. The note he’d left at her apartment had been clear about the time—nine o’clock. Well, nine o’clock had come and gone over forty-five minutes ago. What did it mean that no one had shown up to make the trade? What did that mean for Lily?

She jumped at the feel of a hand on top of hers.

Mark was leaning over, his mouth next to her ear. “I don’t like the looks of the guys who just came in. Let’s get out of here.”

He didn’t like
their
looks? Was it possible for someone to be scarier-looking than the men already in this place? Heather started to turn, but Mark put his arm around her shoulder.

“Don’t look at them. Let’s go.” He pitched some tip money on the table and stood.

Heather clutched the edge of her bar stool. “But we can’t leave. Lily—”

“We’ll figure it out later. We’ve got to go. Now. Trust me.”

Trust me.
The last person who’d told her that was Nick. Had she been wrong not to trust him? Had she made a mistake that had just cost her sister her life?

She took a deep breath, trying to stave off the panic that was threatening to consume her.

Mark tugged the strap for the duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbed her hand, hauling her toward the door.

The moment they were outside, reality slammed into Heather like a physical thing, twisting inside her chest, threatening to make her double over and freeze like a terrified rabbit. She had to lock her emotions away. She couldn’t give up yet. There was still a chance she could save Lily.
There had to be.

Mark pressed his hand at the small of her back, urging her to move.

“There are four of them,” he whispered a minute later. “And they’re definitely following us.”

“What about our backup?”

“They should be here any second. I said the code word into my transmitter. They know we need help. That’s why we went outside, so Rickloff’s men can grab the guys behind us without having to fight every man in that bar. We’ll be fine.”

Since his fingers were currently digging painfully into her back as he propelled her along, she wasn’t so sure that
he
believed everything was fine.

He led her down the sidewalk back toward their motel, which was little more than a collection of cottages a block off the water, with a pool out back and a stage where live bands played every night. Although the sun had set hours ago, the moon was full and bright, guiding their way.

The knot in Heather’s shoulders began to ease when the sign for their motel came into view. It wasn’t far now, four, maybe five blocks. Unfortunately, the businesses in this section were dark and closed up for the night. Apparently the tourists didn’t venture this far down except in the daytime. What had Rickloff been thinking to put them in such an isolated area? Had he realized what he was doing when he’d chosen their motel?

Again Nick’s warnings flitted through her mind. He’d seemed unimpressed when he realized Rickloff was from Miami. Was this why? Did he fear that Rickloff would make mistakes because he wasn’t familiar enough with the Keys? That sounded like a no-brainer to her, but she’d assumed Rickloff would have had good intel on the area. Looks like she’d put her faith in the wrong people after all. Once she got back to the motel she was going to demand to speak to Rickloff.

“Cross to the other side,” Mark’s urgent whisper sounded in her ear.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her across the street to the other sidewalk.

“Don’t look back,” he whispered. “Keep walking.”

The worry in his voice sent a sinking feeling through her stomach. He wasn’t even trying to pretend anymore that he wasn’t concerned.

He suddenly smiled and leaned down as if to say something suggestive in her ear, and casually glanced over his shoulder. He uttered a foul curse.

“Rickloff,” he growled into the parrot pin transmitter attached to his shirt, “get some backup over here, now.”

He’d called Rickloff by name, something he’d repeatedly warned
her
not to do. And he hadn’t used any code words.

They were in deep trouble.

Heather bitterly wished the DEA had allowed her to bring her own gun. She didn’t like having to rely on someone else to protect her. And Mark was hopelessly outnumbered if the men behind them all had guns.

Three blocks to go. The registration booth for the motel was dark and deserted, but the lazy tune of “Margaritaville” piped out into the night from the live stage behind the collection of cottages.

Footsteps sounded behind them. So close!

They weren’t going to make it to the motel.

“What are we going to do?” she cried out.

Mark’s gaze darted to the left and right of the street, as if he was still expecting someone to come to their aid. But the backup Rickloff had promised at the first hint of trouble was nowhere to be seen.

“Mark?” Heather tried not to let her panic show, but his name still came out as a high-pitched squeak.

“When I say go,” he said, “I want you to make a run for the motel. Run straight to the back by the pool where all the people should be, right up on the stage with the band if you have to. Tell someone to call the police. You got that?”

“But what about you? What are you going to do?”

“Stall them. Go, Heather, run!” He shoved her forward, dropped the duffel bag and whirled around to face their pursuers.

Heather took off running. Shouts sounded behind her. She didn’t dare look back. She pumped her legs as fast as she could, whimpering when she heard the sound of a single pair of footsteps pounding behind her, getting closer and closer every second.

A shot rang out.

She let out a startled yelp. Was that Mark’s gun or someone else’s?

Tires squealed. Headlights flashed. A car barreled up the street in her direction. She hesitated. The motel was still too far away. She turned around. A man was charging toward her. She screamed and sprinted to the car, praying the driver wasn’t working for Gonzalez, and that he wasn’t friends with the man trying to catch her.

Brakes screeched. The sleek red convertible with its top down rocked to a halt beside her.

“Get in.”

Heather gasped at the sound of that deep, familiar voice.

Nick Morgan.

He wasn’t looking at her. He was holding a gun and appeared to be aiming it at the man behind her. Heather jumped over the passenger door and plopped down onto the seat. She glanced back in time to see the man who was chasing her dive into some bushes on the side of the road.

Nick shoved his gun in the middle console and hit the accelerator. The car leaped forward.

Heather grabbed the armrest to keep from sliding across the leather seat. “There was an agent with me. He’s over—”

“I know. Get down.”

Remembering condition number two, she immediately turned around and slid off the seat onto the floorboard, or at least as much as she could, folding herself into the tiny space between the dashboard and the seat.

Nick grinned, apparently thinking it was amusing to see her slide down onto the floor. The crazy man was actually having fun.

The car lurched and skidded sideways. Someone lunged over the top of the door on Heather’s side of the car and fell into the backseat. Heather had just enough time to realize it was Mark before Nick punched the accelerator again. Someone shouted from a few feet away. Another man cursed. The deep boom of a powerful gun filled the air. Heather jerked in surprise. The crunch and crackle of safety glass told her the shot had punched a hole in the windshield, but the rest of the glass held together.

Nick grabbed his gun, shaking his head and mumbling something about how Rafe was going to kill him. He fired two quick shots and shoved his gun into the console again. The tires screeched as he wheeled the car around in the middle of the narrow street, facing back in the direction he’d come from. The engine roared and the car rocketed forward, flying down the two-lane road into the night.

Heather couldn’t move. She was too stunned by what had happened, frozen in place. She stayed curled up, half on the seat and half on the floor, clutching the armrest and console to keep from sliding around.

Nick continued his reckless pace, twisting and turning down side roads. The few houses they passed dropped away until there was nothing but dark trees whipping by.

Mark pulled himself into a sitting position, hooking an arm around the back of the passenger seat in front of him to brace himself, but still no one said anything, as if they were all too shell-shocked from what had just happened, or in Nick’s case, too focused on getting away.

Heather caught glimpses of the ocean sparkling in the moonlight through the groves of trees on the side of the road. Nick finally slowed down and turned the car. Heather risked a quick peek and saw he was driving them up a long, sloping driveway. He pressed a button on the sun visor. Moments later he pulled into a garage and pressed the button again. The garage door slowly lowered, cocooning them inside.

After Nick cut the engine, for the space of several heartbeats, no one moved. Nick stared straight ahead as if deep in thought. Finally, he looked down at Heather. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, slowly unfolding herself from her painfully tight position. She turned around and plopped down on the seat. “Why are you here? How did you know we needed help? Where are we?”

He scrubbed his face and rolled his shoulders as if to relieve some stiffness. “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice sounding bland.

Heather’s face flushed hot as she realized how ungrateful she must have sounded. “Thank you. I mean it. Really, thank you, thank you, thank you. You saved our lives back there.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up with amusement. “One thank-you would have been sufficient.”

Mark leaned in between the bucket seats and wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “You took your own sweet time getting there, Southern boy. They managed to get my gun and were going in for the kill. Cut it that close again and I’ll kick your sorry butt all the way back to that alligator swamp you call home.”

Nick stared at him in the rearview mirror. “No spoon-fed Yankee momma’s boy is going to kick anything of mine.”

Heather glanced back and forth between them. They obviously knew each other, but she couldn’t tell if they were teasing or about to slug each other. “Um, guys, are we okay here? What’s going on?”

“What’s going on,” Nick said, shoving his car door open, “is that Rickloff’s backup never showed. Which probably means there never
was
any backup.”

Mark hopped over the side of the car and dusted off his shorts. “I hate to admit you were right, but you were. You saved our bacon back there.”

Heather was still sitting in her seat, trying to follow their bizarre conversation, when Nick rounded the car to the passenger side, leaned over and scooped her up in his arms.