As she signed her name for the last time, it was very clear to her that she was signing her death warrant. Michael was hurt. He wasn’t going to be able to carry out his part of the plan, and she’d botched her part…What was left but for both of them to die?
All she could hope for at this stage was to stop Michael’s pain. If she simply went along with everything Ed said, there was a chance they would be merciful. What a thing to wish for.
“CHRIST, MIKEY, I DON’T want to do this. You know that. You’re my brother, for God’s sake.”
“Then put the gun down.”
“I can’t.” Charlie wiped his nose with the side of his arm. “He’ll kill me.”
“He” was Jazz, standing in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, his big teeth shining as he smiled like a child on Christmas morning.
“He’ll kill you anyway, you idiot.”
“No, no. You don’t understand. I brought them this deal. I’m just clearing my debt.”
“You know too much, Charlie. They can’t let you walk away. What if you decide to blackmail them later?”
“Are you crazy? It’s Ed Martini. No one double-crosses Martini.”
Michael took one step toward his brother. “That’s ’cause no one lives long enough. There’s no way you’re getting off this boat, Charlie. Not onto dry land.”
“Shut up. You think you know so much. You didn’t even know I could get into your safe, huh? You didn’t know I watched you that night when I was sick. You thought I was sleeping, but I wasn’t. I was behind the door and I watched you type in the numbers.”
“That was pretty slick, there, Charlie. You sure had me fooled.”
“Yeah, I know. You think I’m an idiot, but I’m not. I thought of this whole plan all by myself.”
“Dad would be so proud.”
Charlie lifted the gun and waved it at Michael’s face. “You don’t talk about him. He trusted you. You were supposed to take care of me-and look what you did. You’re the reason I got to pull this trigger. It’s not my fault.”
Michael felt so incredibly tired and he hurt so goddamn much that he almost wanted Charlie to pull the trigger. Only there was someone much more important he had to think about. Besides, he didn’t want to give Jazz the satisfaction. “Charlie, put down the gun. I’ll get you out of this. Alive.”
Jazz laughed, but Charlie didn’t see the humor. “You fucking liar. You just want to be with your rich girlfriend. Well, screw you!”
“It’s not about her, Charlie. It’s about Dad. About the promise I made him. I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want them to hurt you.”
“I’m the one with the gun.”
“You are, but Charlie,” he said, his voice growing calm and quiet, “you’ve never been very good in this kind of situation.”
“See? There you go again.” He stepped closer and pushed the barrel of the gun into Michael’s chest. “I am not an idiot!” he screamed, sending spittle and fear into Michael’s face.
“Oh, Charlie,” Michael whispered. “I don’t know why it had to be so hard for you.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, buddy.”
“It’s too late now.”
“I know, but I’m sorry anyway.”
Charlie looked down at the gun, and Michael spun half a step back, then knocked Charlie’s feet from underneath him. He grabbed the gun, turning it sideways, and as Charlie fell, Michael put a bullet right into Jazz’s chest.
Charlie looked up at him with shock and hurt in his eyes. Michael pointed the weapon at his brother. “I’m sorry,” he said again, but this time it was to his father. He fired once more.
“I’M SORRY, MS. BAXTER, there’s one more thing we need to complete before we can let you go.”
“That’s okay,” she said, trying not to panic. She looked at Ed and willed him to understand this wasn’t her fault.
“What’s the hang-up?” he asked.
“In order to transfer this amount of money, Ms. Baxter and you need to fill out statements that will go on record here. As a cooperating member of the international community, we have to have a signed statement that the money will not be used in money-laundering schemes or for any purpose that could be construed as terrorism or supporting known terrorists.”
“Sure,” Ed said. “We’ll sign whatever you like.”
“Excellent.” He put the papers down in front of them, but Tate noticed there was a slight bulge under hers, toward the bottom. She looked up to find Mr. Granger staring at her. He glanced pointedly at the paper.
She moved the top sheet aside and saw a note in faint script. Are you in trouble?
She wanted so badly to say yes. She looked at him again, smiled as earnestly as she knew how and shook her head.
He nodded. She signed. It was over. At least this part. She still had to make it back to the boat. To find Michael, to help him, no matter what condition he was in. Just thinking about his hands made her sick. What was she going to do if they’d done worse?
AT THE LAST SECOND he moved the gun. The bullet hit inches from Charlie’s head.
Michael couldn’t stop to figure out why he’d done it. He just had to make sure Charlie didn’t call out to Danny or the other one. He dropped to his knees right next to his brother and pulled back his left arm. When Charlie hoisted himself up into the right position, Michael hit him in the temple.
Charlie went down hard. It probably was a good thing Michael’s right hand was out of commission. There had been no kidding around with that punch. It was meant to silence. Sometimes it happened that the silence went on forever. He didn’t think Charlie was dead and he wasn’t going to check. Not right now.
He rose once more and looked at Charlie’s gun. It was a Sig Sauer P-226, a gun Michael particularly liked. He had to use his teeth to check the magazine, which was full. He locked the mag back in the gun.
Jazz had fallen in the doorway, and by the time Michael got to him, he must have bled out-if the shot hadn’t killed him on impact. Michael had wanted to do him slowly, to make him suffer, but he’d take what he could get. He stepped over the scumbag and went on the prowl.
He wasn’t sure how long Ed would keep Tate in the bank, but he wanted everything completed when they returned. Maybe he could take his time with Ed. It would be good to let him know what happened to men who messed with Michael Caulfield’s lady. On the other hand, Tate didn’t need to have any more trauma in her life. Especially not from him.
No one was in the saloon. But there was someone in the wheelhouse. He was on the radio, and Michael figured he’d better get to him double time. It was the cabin boy, the kid Charlie had lied about. Michael got all the way across the saloon before he turned. The dude had a muscleman’s build and a bullfrog’s face. He seemed damned surprised to find Michael pointing a gun his way and made a foolish attempt to retrieve his own weapon from his underarm holster.
He fell across the seat, then tumbled to the deck. Michael picked up bullfrog’s Walther PPK, but he preferred the Sig. He pulled the magazine out of the Walther and tossed it behind the saloon couch. The gun went into a fake potted plant.
Once he had the Sig in his hand again Michael went looking for Danny. The boat was anchored far from any neighboring vessels. There were people out there, but none of them would have heard the silenced gunshots. He doubted they would hear anything more than innocuous pops if he took a dozen shots off the port bow. It didn’t matter. No one was coming to the rescue. It was all on him.
He headed down below. To his right was the galley, and he knew someone was inside from the whistling. “Alouette.” He doubted it was Danny. Probably the cook, which sounded innocent enough until you thought about who he cooked for. No one on this boat was without a weapon-that much Michael knew. The cook, despite his ability to make a very excellent salmon steak, wasn’t gonna make it.