Dangerous Waters (22 page)

A hand on her shoulder wheeled Megan around and propelled her down the sloping, overgrown lawn to a ramshackle dock that reached out into the lake. The late-afternoon sun was just above the ridge and the lake glittered with blinding shards of light. A white cabin cruiser bobbed gently at its mooring on the end of the dock. A fishing pole was clamped in each corner of the stern. Megan looked frantically over her shoulder to find Mac just behind her, staggering to maintain his balance when Antonio shoved between his shoulder blades. The sound of their footsteps was hollow on the boards of the dock, a death knell.

Prodded onto the boat first, she looked back again. Hoping for comfort? She didn't get it. Instead, for one revealing moment, Mac's face gave away the terror she knew he felt for the deep water of the lake.

And then his teeth clenched tightly and his face was impassive again.

"Sit!" Rafael snapped, and Megan sagged onto the bench on one side of the stern. He sat beside her and shoved a gun into her side. It dug deeper as the cruiser swayed under Mac and Antonio's weight.

"You! Over here," Antonio said, and pushed Mac down on the other side of the cruiser. Behind him Saldivar stepped on board. The other two men, who Megan didn't know, remained on the dock. One pulled the plank back onto the dock and tossed the lines to Saldivar. The boat drifted slowly away.

"Now." Saldivar stood above Mac. "We will no doubt encounter other boats. If you make a move or say a word, the young woman will die. Do you understand?"

Through gritted teeth Mac said, "I understand, you son of a..."

Saldivar casually back-handed him. "You annoy me.”

"A few months ago, you were stupid enough to like me, remember?"

"No." This time the smile was eerily pleasant. "You were the stupid one. Men do not lie to Julio Saldivar."

"Actually, I kind of enjoyed it."

Another back-hand. Mac's head was rocked to one side. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. Desperate, Megan cried, "Please."

Saldivar raised a dark brow. "I apologize. For this scene, and for your inadvertent involvement in our quarrel. I assure you it will be over soon." He nodded at one of his men. "What are you waiting for?"

Antonio said, "Just your order, Mr. Saldivar."

"Then you have it." He strolled toward the cabin. "A beautiful evening for a cruise, don't you think?"

Megan drew deep breaths and looked at Mac, now stiff and silent across from her. "I'm sorry, Mac," she whispered.

He tried to smile, though the result was closer to a grimace. "Not your fault. I'm the one who's sorry."

"Shut up!" Antonio growled.

Mac shrugged and his smile faded, leaving only the pain as he looked at her. I love you, he wanted to say, but common sense kept him quiet. If they knew how he felt about her, it would only be another weapon.

The engine roared to life and the cruiser moved away from the dock, gathering speed as it reached deeper water. The wind whipped her unconfined hair across her face, and she looked back to see the long arcing wake they had left behind them. Other boats crisscrossed their path. Megan even recognized some. That flat red speedboat that leaped across the waves ahead was the pride and joy of a friend of Bill's; her brother had dated the girl skiing behind it. A houseboat anchored by a small rocky island belonged to Pam's boyfriend. Pam might even be on it now, if she'd switched to the day shift. What would she think if she saw Megan?

It was strange, the familiarity of her surroundings and her own sensation of invisibility. The world had somehow shrunk until she and Mac were all that was real. Everything else was just a little out of focus, like a memory she couldn't totally recall.

She turned her head and saw that Saldivar was in the cabin steering the boat. Beside him Antonio pointed ahead, and with a sick feeling of dread she realized where they were going.

It had all begun here, in this cove. The sun was half behind the ridge, a brilliant orange back-lighting to the lake that was plunging into shadow. Memory and reality became even more confused. This would be a re-creation of the crime she had prevented.

But this time, she felt sure, there would be two victims. Would they hit her on the head before they threw her in? she wondered. Shoot her? Would she have to watch Mac die first, or would they torment him by killing her first?

The sound of the engine changed, became lower, deeper, as they rounded the rocky point where she had dragged Mac out of the dark water. Antonio came out of the cabin and went to one of the fishing poles. Cursing under his breath, he fiddled with the reel and at last succeeded in letting out a line, unbaited.

"You," he said to Rafael. He jerked his head at the other pole. "Julio says to do the same. Just in case we're noticed." He laughed. "Who knows, maybe we'll catch something."

Antonio pointed the snub nose of a small black revolver at Mac's head while Rafael obediently released another line to stretch, silver and deceptively fragile, out behind them.

The other boats had been left behind, Megan realized. But for the mutter of their own engine, silence was folding around them along with the shadows of dusk. Silence that would become more profound yet, when Devil's Lake closed over her head.

Megan sat staring at the point, remembering the nightmare journey up to the road, her bleeding feet, the weight of a large man bearing her down. And all for nothing, she thought, for the first time really believing that there would be no rescue. That she would die here. That she might as well have given up that night.

She drew a ragged breath and tore her gaze back to Mac. He looked steadily back at her, and something in his gray eyes gave her new courage. He wasn't ready to die. Megan swallowed. Damn it, neither was she!

There must be something they could do. If Rafael was distracted for even a moment, she could dive overboard. Her hands were tied, but in front of her. She could stay under for nearly four minutes, and with a strong dolphin kick she would surface well away from the boat.

But that was as impossible as dying away would be. Mac couldn't swim, not well enough to save himself even if his hands hadn't been tied awkwardly behind his back. The path the cabin cruiser took kept them much farther from land than they had been that night. So if they couldn't swim to shore...

She might as well have walked into a wall.

There was no other option.

The engine coughed, its mutter became a faint grumble and the cruiser discernibly slowed. Oh, God, she thought, and swallowed to hold down the terror.

But then she heard another engine, higher pitched, and behind them a smaller boat turned into the cove, too. She could make out three men, and the fishing lines that trailed the boat. They were trolling, too, paying no attention to the big white cabin cruiser cutting a quieter path across the same cove.

Antonio swore viciously.

"We'll wait." Saldivar's voice silenced him. Megan turned her head to see him standing in the low door to the cabin. "What's the hurry? A delay…” He shrugged. "It won't make any difference. Our friend here will die the way he was meant to. Deep, deep in the lake."

"And Megan?" Mac asked coolly.

Saldivar held out his hands, as though to ask what he was expected to do, and smiled. That chilling smile sent a rush of undiluted fear through Megan. The pleasure in it was evil. He wasn't just a criminal making a business decision, as Mac had tried to paint him. He was crazy, a man who looked forward to tonight's task. Somehow he knew that Mac couldn't swim, and had chosen this death for him, despite the fact that other ways of killing him would have been far simpler.

Evil, she thought again, and hunched her shoulders against the goosebumps that chased up her arms.

Silence returned. The rock of the boat was deceptively peaceful as they moved slowly through the water with slack lines stretching behind them. Going just a little faster, the fishermen passed some distance away, following the curve of the cove. Don't leave! Megan wanted to scream, but as though he read her mind, Rafael shoved the barrel of his gun into her side so hard she struggled for the next breath.

Desperately, she looked again at Mac. He looked back at her so intensely, she almost forgot the pain in her side. He wanted something of her. But what? Megan tensed, waiting. Fear churned in her stomach.

The other boat had turned and started back, its path bringing it closer to theirs. Was he hoping it would be enough of a distraction? But for what? Three armed men against the two of them, both with their hands bound—what possible good would it do them to try anything? And then she guessed. He was hoping she would have a chance to escape. He knew she could, if only Rafael would take the gun away.

Megan shook her head, and Mac frowned fiercely. Had he jerked his head toward the approaching boat?

Antonio stood beside one of the poles to maintain the illusion. In the deepening dusk the faces of the fishermen were indistinct across the water.

The sound of a voice startled Megan. "Catch anything?" one of the men called.

"Nah," Antonio called back. "They're not biting tonight. We'll probably give up soon. You?"

"You don't want to give up." The fisherman gestured expansively. "We've caught a couple of good ones. And I'll tell you what, I got a hell of a bite back there." He waved again, toward the point. "Big son-of-a-bitch. If we have to stay here all night, I'm going to nail that one."

"Well, good luck," Antonio said. "Maybe we will stick around for a while."

His back was half turned to Mac, but one hand rested under his unzipped jacket, where she knew he wore a gun in the shoulder holster. But how likely was it that some vacationing fishermen would notice? And so what if they did? Even if later someone figured out what had happened, did she care? She wanted to live, not be avenged!

Mac hadn't turned his head even for an instant. His relentless gaze was still dark and intense on her. Megan licked dry lips and pleaded with her eyes for an answer. What did he expect her to dot

Or... Was he trying to tell her something? Were those fishermen the innocent vacationers they seemed? Her mind raced as she considered the possibility. Mac hadn't been as interested in them as be should have been. But what could they do? It was unlikely Saldivar would let them come any closer than they already were. Could they shoot accurately enough from a moving boat to make a rescue remotely possible?

And then the moment came when the boat was closest to theirs. Mac hadn't even turned his head, though he must hear the engine behind him. He shifted slightly on the bench, leaned forward a fraction. She saw the tension glittering in his eyes, stretched tight in muscles that were bunched for action. Megan spared a quick glance at Antonio and Rafael, but both were watching the fishermen.

The other boat was in her line of sight, directly behind Mac. She, too, waited, knew something would happen.

"Hey!" one of the fishermen called. He stood precariously in the boat and gestured excitedly. "Hey, you've caught one!"

Antonio turned fully away from Mac to look at his pole.

"No, your other line," the fishermen said.

The hooks were unbaited, but Rafael stood to look anyway. For this one moment, the gun was no longer pointed at her.

Mac yelled, "Jump!"

Megan started to rise to her feet, but Rafael was already swinging back toward her. It was as though time had slowed, and though she moved as quickly as she could, her feet felt as if they were stuck in glue. In the next instant, Mac threw himself at her in a desperate tackle. His shoulder caught her in the stomach and she was flung backward over the low gunwale.

She had barely time to snatch a breath before she hit the water and then was borne down by Mac's weight.

One rational thought cut across her fear: Mac couldn't swim. He must be panicking with his hands still tied behind him, with the water pressing down on them.

She opened her eyes, but they were already so far beneath the surface that the light was murky. She grabbed for Mac, felt her way up his body to his hair and curled her fingers in it, then kicked to slow their descent. If Mac struggled...

But he didn't. He was so still, so limp... Could he have hit his head somehow as they fell overboard? Had Rafael had time to get a shot off?

Her own lungs were straining, and frantically she gave powerful scissor kicks, aiming for the gray light she could dimly see above. She'd lost all sense of direction. If she surfaced too close to the boat... But she needed a breath too desperately to do anything but fight to reach the air above.

When her head broke the surface she gasped in a breath as she rolled Mac onto her hip so that his face, too, was above the water. His chest expanded as he sucked in air, but she had no time for relief. Gunshots were popping like a Fourth of July celebration and she turned her head to see the cabin cruiser behind her, not fifty feet away. She didn't dare take time to find out whether they had been spotted, whether the shots were aimed at them.

"Take a breath!" she cried, and dove, praying that Mac's lungs could hold out as long as her own.

This time she swam away, back toward the point. She stayed just under the surface, her fingers maintaining their death grip in Mac's hair. He floated behind her, as relaxed as a child without grown-up fears. The trust he expressed without words awed her, as did his iron willpower. Any normal human being would be thrashing in terror.

Megan arched her back and took them to the surface again. When their heads bobbed up, she shook the water off and looked back. The fading sunset was beyond the two boats, which drifted well away. The men on board were dark silhouettes as they crouched, then rose to shoot. It was like a pantomime, not quite real. On the cruiser, one of the dark forms—Saldivar?—suddenly toppled backward over the gunwale. His guttural cry traveled hoarsely across the water. Gunfire still echoed, a nightmarish backdrop.

She realized that her hands had relaxed their grip and that Mac labored to tread water beside her. She could barely make out his face.

In the next instant the cabin cruiser exploded in a burst of orange fury. A clap like thunder hurt her ears, and flames leaped for die darkening sky.