Kate Jones Thriller Series Vol. 2 Page 2

  Panic set in and frightened and confused people headed for the exits, only to be shoved back by men with guns. Cole worked the crowd, trying to calm folks, but there were too many of them.

  I leaned back against the wall, feeling helpless.

  A single gunshot filled the air and the room fell silent. A commanding voice floated over the prerecorded warning system.

  “Quiet!”

  The voice sounded familiar. I peered through the opening in the curtain. Everyone had turned toward one of the exits. A space had formed around a man with a forty-five in one hand, pointed in the air.

  Larry.

  Bringing a small walkie-talkie to his lips with his free hand he said something into the mouthpiece over the repeated warnings on the loudspeakers. The prerecorded voice abruptly stopped. The nagging feeling I knew him from somewhere continued to hammer at my brain.

  Then it clicked.

  I stopped breathing as the realization hit me. Things moved in slow motion as old memories flooded in.

  Frank Lanzarotti. I mentally kicked myself for not recognizing him sooner. He'd had work done to his face and changed his hair color, but the eyes and his physique were essentially the same. What the hell was he doing here?

  And, more importantly, had he recognized me? It had been over ten years since I left Mexico.

  The cold sweat on my forehead told me he probably had. I would have to be even more careful now. I wondered if he kept in contact with Vincent Anaya. If not, then that might explain why he hadn't been more interested in me. Frank didn't have a bone to pick. Anaya did.

  “I'm looking for Gabriel de la Vega.” Frank pointed his gun at a woman nearby wearing gold lamé and a blonde wig. Harv stood rigidly by her side. She took one look at the barrel of the gun, her eyes rolled back in her head and her knees buckled. Harv caught her before she hit the floor.

  Frank moved toward the stage and the crowd dropped away, clearing a path for him. He glanced toward the curtain and I shrank back, hoping the fabric hadn't moved.

  He turned to face the crowd. “Where is Gabriel de la Vega?”

  “I am he.”

  People scuttled to one side as Gabe moved front and center. I scanned the crowd and located Cole and Marcela standing a few feet behind him. I exhaled, not realizing I'd been holding my breath.

  Frank nodded and motioned with his gun at one of his men.

  “Tie him and gag him.” He glanced at Marcela. “Her, too. And be careful; they are not to be damaged in any way.” Frank and the first man I'd seen earlier walked near the curtain. I strained to hear their conversation.

  “Go and find the tall blonde American woman. Keep her alive. She's valuable,” Frank muttered. The man nodded and left.

  If I'd been under any illusion he hadn't recognized me, I wasn't now.

  Frank turned back to the crowd.

  “If everyone will remain calm, this will all be over soon and you may go back to enjoying your vacation. But,” Frank paused for dramatic effect, “if anyone decides to be a hero, they will be shot.” By the look on most people's faces, I doubted he'd have any takers. I located Cole in the crowd again, eyes riveted on Frank, fists clenched, his knuckles bone white in the warm disco light.

  I knew that look. Cole had a plan.

  Stepping back from the curtain, I tried to figure out a way to divert their attention, give Cole some leeway to do whatever it was he planned to do.

  A woman's scream came from somewhere on the other side of the club. I rushed to the curtain and looked through. Harv was on his knees with his back to one of the gunmen, a machinegun pressed to the back of his head. My heart leapt to my throat. Not Harv.

  “What the hell is going on?” Frank demanded as he strode over to the two.

  The gunman kept his weapon trained on Harv. “The guy came up behind me and tried to take my gun,” he said, his voice a growl.

  Harv's face hardened. “Almost got it, too.”

  I held my breath, hoping Frank didn't strike him.

  Frank considered Harv for a moment, then said, “Get off your knees. Good try, old man.”

  With effort, Harv rose to his feet. His steely-eyed gaze surprised me. Harv didn't strike me as anything but a sweet older man whose sons had sent him on a cruise to help him move on from his wife's death. I wondered if I'd misjudged him.

  Frank nodded at his gunman, who raised the butt of his weapon, aiming it at the back of Harv's head.

  A disturbance broke out at the back of the club. People drew apart as Cole pushed through the crowd. He held one of the gunmen in a chokehold with a nine millimeter to his head.

  “Drop it. Now.” Cole's command echoed through the nightclub.

  Frank turned, his eyes glittering. Then he smiled. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and turned in time to see the gunman behind Harv raise his weapon and fire. At the same time, Harv threw himself at the man, knocking the gun to the side. The bullets missed Cole but not the man he held in front of him.

  Two of Frank's other men trained their weapons on Cole from across the room. Realizing he was out-gunned, Cole dropped the nine and the dead man followed.

  An adrenaline fueled, white-hot rage mixed with several shades of panic erupted from somewhere deep inside me. Without thinking, I launched myself through the curtains and off the stage, landed on top of Frank and knocked us both to the floor. The gun flew out of his hand and skittered away, coming to rest at the feet of one of the other goons.

  Frank reacted like a coiled snake and whatever advantage I'd had abruptly disappeared as he writhed out from under me, flipped me onto my back and pinned me to the floor with his knees.

  Cold recognition spread across his thin, perfectly tanned face. He reminded me of a member of the weasel family, although generally I don't like to be unkind to weasels.

  “Just the person I wanted to see.” Frank yelled for his man to throw his pistol to him. He caught it and pointed it toward Gabe and Marcela. “Get them in the boat. I can handle this one.” Gabe's brown eyes grew large as the gunman jammed the barrel of his gun into his back, forcing him to move past us. Marcela kept her gaze trained on the floor as she followed quietly. Another of Frank's men took up position next to us, gun pointed at my head.

  Frank glanced over to where Cole had been standing. I followed his gaze and was relieved to see he was no longer there.

  “Where the hell is he?” Frank shouted. The gunmen looked at each other, the cold realization that they'd let Cole escape in the fracas dawning on their faces. When Frank received no response, his face flushed red. “Find him, now.” His voice dripped menace. Two of the gunmen leaped into action and began to search the crowd while the ones remaining trained their weapons on the rest of the passengers.

  Frank turned back to me, a cruel smile on his face.

  “Well. If it isn't my old friend Kate. I never thought I'd see you again. Not after what you did to Anaya.” He was close enough that my eyes watered from his aftershave. “It appears Fate has dealt me a full house. Not only will I deliver Gabriel de la Vega, expert on sixteenth century shipwrecks to Vincent Anaya, but as the piéce de résistance, I'll be able to hand over an old thorn in his side.” Frank cocked his head. “Where've you been all these years?”

  “Far away from people like you.” I spit out the words.

  “Now, now, is that any way to treat an old amigo?” Frank shook his head and smiled. “You never recognized me. I suppose that means the surgery was a success.” He studied my face for a minute. “I knew you the moment you stepped on board. You don't look any older. I wonder what Anaya will do with you?”

  I ignored the question and swiveled my head, straining to see if they'd found Cole. The two gunmen looking for him weren't visible.

  Frank followed my gaze and his expression hardened. “You should be more worried about yourself.” He climbed off and jerked me upright as his man grabbed my hands and slid a zip tie around my wrists, cinching it tight. Frank produced a roll of duct tape and tore
off a piece, amusement evident on his face. “I always wanted to do this,” he said, and slapped it over my mouth.

  He grabbed me roughly by the arm and pushed me up the ramp to the exit. I didn't blame the other passengers for falling back. I wouldn't want to get in Frank's way, either. He shoved me down the hall in front of him, his gunman following close behind.

  My brain whirled. How the hell did I get into this, and, more importantly, how could I get out? I strained my neck, trying to find Cole, but saw only a crowd of strangers held at gunpoint. I hoped the gunmen hadn't received instructions to mow them all down as they left. If Frank got his orders from Vincent Anaya, there'd be no survivors. I didn't think Frank would be quite so cold blooded, but I'd been wrong before.

  We moved toward the bow of the ship and took a left, then made our way to the place where I'd seen the smaller boat. Frank indicated I should go over the railing and climb down the ladder. I held up my zip tied hands and Frank shook his head.

  Shrugging, I swung a leg over the side and grabbed onto the metal rungs of the ladder, then brought my other leg over. Everything moved. The bigger ship dipped with the waves, and the ladder slid side to side as I attempted to stay connected. My body swung the opposite way it should have as I tried to stabilize.

  With a grunt, Frank reached over and clipped the zip tie apart. That made things easier. I took a couple of steps down and looked at the man ready to grab me once I made it to the deck. I needed to do something, now.

  So I jumped.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE WATER CLOSED over my head and I kicked for all I was worth. I'd just missed slamming into the smaller boat. No bullets hissed through the water in my direction, which was a good thing, since a gunshot wound would probably act as a dinner bell for any sharks in the neighborhood.

  I surfaced a few yards away, encased in darkness. The duct tape came off with a painful rip, the sting amplified by the salt water. Excited voices echoed across the expanse. One of the cruise ship's large searchlights blinked on and arced in my direction, aggressively scanning the waves. It closed in on me and I dove.

  I came up for air farther away and felt a semblance of safety in the distance between me and the boats.

  Now what?

  The thought took me by surprise. What should I do now that I'd escaped? How would this solve anything? I had no idea how close to shore I might be. Not only that, but I didn't have a clue which direction the ship was headed. How far did I have to swim to reach land? Frank would probably leave someone on board the cruise ship as a plant to contact him when I resurfaced, so sneaking back on board wasn't an option.

  While I swam in place I realized my dress didn't do much for the floatation department. As I considered peeling it off, I became aware of all that watery space below me. The thought of creatures floating beneath me in the dark had me catching my breath. Ever since I was a little girl, swimming in a lake or the ocean has held a morbid fascination for me. If I couldn't see the bottom, then I knew some kind of sea monster would rise up, its gaping maw ready to swallow me whole.

  This was worse. There were probably sharks. Lots of them.

  I realize sharks don't usually attack without some kind of provocation. Dressed in a black wetsuit to resemble one of their favorite snacks, say, or have an open wound, and you increased the odds. I'd also heard a person should avoid wearing the color yellow, or, as some divers called it, 'Yum-yum Yellow'. In other words, crack for sharks. All that information is fine and dandy when you're sitting in a chair in your living room watching Shark Week on the Discovery channel. This, however, held the visceral terror of the unknown.

  While I weighed the pros and cons of bobbing in the deep against returning to the boat and that particular unknown, I felt a slight disturbance near my leg.

  In full panic mode, I struck out toward the ship, terror bubbling up in my throat. A small, high-pitched cry escaped my lips.

  My God, I thought, I am such a candy ass. A man's voice called out and the ship's searchlight swung around and caught me in its beam. People yelled from the deck of the smaller boat, followed by the unmistakable rumble of a jet ski. The next thing I knew, I'd been lifted out of the water and whisked back to the boat.

  ***

  THE DOOR BANGED open and one of Frank's henchmen shoved me into the boat's narrow forepeak, then slammed the door shut. Gabe stood from where he’d been sitting on a stuffed canvas bag on the floor, narrowly missing the one bare light attached to the overhead.

  “Kate—what are you doing here? They said you had escaped.”

  “I tried, but it didn't work out.” No one needed to know why I hadn't gotten away. I was already second guessing my decision to give myself up.

  “At least you tried.” Marcela emerged from the deep shadows of the small room and looked directly at Gabe, the sarcasm thick in her voice. She didn't appear to be any worse for wear. Her blood-red dress had remained in one piece and she still wore the ridiculously high stilettos.

  Gabe gave her a dark look. “I didn't want to make any trouble. They were looking for me. Although,” he frowned, shaking his head, “I don't understand why.”

  “How can you be so naïve?” Marcela's voice came out in a hiss. Gabe looked genuinely confused. She scoffed. “You're so immersed in your research that you fail to notice what is happening around you.”

  “They're after something you have.” I rubbed my temples. “Frank mentioned your expertise on sixteenth century shipwrecks, so I'm going to take a wild guess there's one filled with treasure lurking somewhere around these parts.”

  Gabriel closed his eyes and groaned. “Of course. The Espiritu Santo. It was lost at sea in the late 1500s. I have a theory about its location, but—” He glanced at Marcela who studied her shoes with acute interest. “—only a handful of people know this. I have not yet made my research public. Marcela?”

  Marcela looked defiant. “Well, of course, I have spoken of it to only a few others. Not anyone like him.” She motioned with her head toward the door, apparently indicating Frank.

  Gabe sighed. “Marcela, I have told you countless times that this information should never be given to just anyone. It is too much of a temptation. I don't even know if there is any treasure.”

  Marcela looked as if she wanted to say something, but the sound of a key scraping the lock on the other side of the door stopped her. It swung open and Frank Lanzarotti stepped inside the narrow space, ducking to avoid hitting his head.

  “We're leaving. Have a seat.” Frank indicated the canvas bags lying on the floor on either side of the v-shaped room, each packed with thick rope. Distaste evident on her face, Marcela sat gingerly on one, Gabe and I took the other.

  “You kids be good in here. It's going to be a bumpy ride.” He leaned toward me, smiling, and chucked me on the chin. “I'm just so tickled you decided to join us, Kate.” His laugh bounced eerily off the hull as he stepped into the passageway and shut the door behind him. The click of a padlock told us we were in for the long haul.

  Water dripped from my wet hair onto Gabe's pant leg. I slid over a couple of inches.

  “This is a new look for you,” he said, a smile growing on his lips. Marcela rolled her eyes and looked away.

  I glanced down at the clingy material. “Good thing it isn't cold.”

  ***

  FRANK HAD BEEN right about the bumpy ride. By the feel of things, he had the throttle wide open. We hit every wave hard, jarring my head into my spine.

  “Where do you think he is taking us?” Marcela asked.

  “I think we're about to be the guests of an old friend of mine,” I replied.

  Marcela frowned as she looked from Gabe to me. “Who is this person?”

  Unsure how much I should say, I weighed my options. I wanted to be as straight as possible about who we were dealing with, but didn't want to alarm them. I decided to keep things brief.

  “Let's just say he's not someone you'd want to share a cocktail with.”

  “And?” Ga
be asked.

  “He used to be the head of a large drug cartel out of Central America. I'm not sure if he's still active. It's been a long time since I've seen him.” Not long enough, in my book.

  “How do you know this?” Gabe asked.

  We hit a particularly large wave and I braced myself, hands to the side and back to the wall, feet flat against the floor. The bouncing hull reminded me of one of those old bull riding machines that used to be so popular in country western bars.

  “It's not important. What you do need to know is he's one of the most cunning people I've ever met. He'll draw you in and act like he's on your side. But you can't believe it, not for a minute. The man has no morals and certainly no conscience. Rumor has it he learned to do business from some of the most ruthless people in the world.”

  “The cartel?”

  “Wall Street.”

  We hit another big wave and Marcela dropped her head, eyes partially closed.

  “Marcela. Who did you happen to mention Gabe's sunken treasure theory to, other than Larry? His real name, by the way, is Frank.”

  Marcela's head snapped up. “I already told you. I did not tell your Frank.” She glared sullenly at Gabe. “I told no one on the ship.”

  I remembered our dinner conversation the evening before and doubted her story. She seemed to have a hard time keeping things to herself after a glass or two of wine. About to say something, I thought better of it—she looked like hell.

  “Are you feeling all right?” I asked.

  Marcela shook her head. A groan escaped her lips as one perfectly manicured hand went to her stomach, the other to cover her mouth.