Death Echo

“After you.”

“What do you want?”

“Why are you following me?” he countered.

Emma sighed. She’d guessed he wouldn’t make it easy. That didn’t mean she liked being right.

The server appeared and said, “Coffee.”

It was a take-it-or-leave-it kind of offer.

Emma looked at the server. She had the same dark, expressionless face and bad hair that the hostess did, plus all the welcome of a No Parking sign.

“Coffee,” Emma said.

The server started to leave.

“Coffee and menus,” Mac said.

The woman walked off without a word.

“Are they always this friendly or is it a special effort?” Emma asked.

“They’re tribe. They won’t be fired.”

Emma glanced at her watch. The time she could safely ignore Blackbird was ticking away. Since Mac kept pushing the ball into her court, she’d take it and ram it down his coy throat.

“My boss would like to hire you,” she said.

“The boss with more money than sense?”

“Have you ever heard of St. Kilda Consulting?” she asked calmly.

Mac frowned and searched through his memory. “Civilian. Private. International. Kidnap security.”

“Among other things.”

“What do they want me to do?”

Emma looked at Mac’s clear dark eyes and wondered why she kept thinking he was laughing at her.

“You’ll have to ask Joe Faroe,” she said.

“What do you do for him?”

“You can ask him that, too.”

“I’m asking you,” Mac said.

“Do you know if or when Blackbird is leaving port?”

“No.”

“Can you find out?” she pressed.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Then she closed her eyes and took a better grip on her temper. She knew how to recruit someone.

This wasn’t the way.

“Sorry,” she said. “Perhaps I should-” She stopped abruptly.

The server showed up with coffee, splashed it into their cups, and dropped two menus on the far side of the table.

Emma picked up the coffee, sipped, and grimaced. “Colder than the hostess. Pass the sugar, please.”

Mac’s smile was the warmest thing in the casino.

She enjoyed the vision, then smiled herself.

“If you’re interested in making some honest money,” she said, “I’ll put you in touch with Joe Faroe. Whatever St. Kilda wants from you will be legal in whatever country you do it in.” So far, anyway. “They don’t play politics, they’ve been honest with me, and they pay on time.”

“Do they work for the good guys or just anyone who pays?”

“Find me some good guys and I’ll let you know,” she said. Then she met Mac’s dark eyes. “They’re more trustworthy than the government.”

“Faint praise.”

“In this world, that’s as good as it gets.”

His expression changed. “I left that world.”

She laughed, as much at herself as at him. “Sorry, babe. It’s the only world there is.”

“If you can’t tell me what you’re doing for St. Kilda, I’m not interested in talking to Joe Faroe.”

Emma decided quickly. As long as her existing cover got the job done, she’d stay with it. “Missing yachts.”

“Piracy?”

“Not yet. Just yachts that are made in Asia and ‘fall off the ship’ before they get here.”

“They go through Vladivostok?”

Though Emma’s expression didn’t change, Mac sensed that she had come to a point.

“How did you know?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Anything that transits through the FSU is fair game for the local strongmen. Think of it as paying a toll.”

“The insurance company is tired of that game.”

“What can I do about it?” he asked. “I’m not in Vladivostok.”

“A year ago, a black-hulled, forty-one-foot boat-the exact twin of Blackbird- disappeared in transit from Asia.”

“It happens,” Mac said.

“Somehow only the multimillion-dollar yachts fall off in transit.”

“Shock and awe.”

“We’ve been watching Blackbird since Singapore,” Emma said, ignoring his sarcasm. “We want to keep on watching it until-” She stopped abruptly.

The server strolled up. “You ready to order?”

“Hamburger and fries,” Mac said without looking away from Emma. “Salad with blue cheese.”

“The same,” Emma said. It wouldn’t be the first cold hamburger and fries she’d eaten.

“There’s a fish special,” the server said.

“I smelled it first thing,” Mac said. “I’ll stick with the cow.”

“Whatever. You want beer?”

Idly Emma wondered if they served the beer as warm as the coffee was cold.

“Coffee’s fine,” he said.

“Same here,” Emma said.

The server turned and walked off in sneakers so old they fit like slippers. No socks.

When they were alone again, Emma said, “-Blackbird is delivered to its owner. Then the insurance company is off the hook.”

The continuation of a previous conversation didn’t throw Mac.

She hadn’t expected it to.

“What if the owner isn’t in Rosario?” Mac asked.

“I’ll need a captain and a boat to follow Blackbird until the owner appears and signs off.”

“A thousand a day, plus fuel.”

“Tell it to Faroe.” She held out her cell phone. “Punch two.”

Using his index finger, Mac nudged the phone away. “I don’t work for anyone I haven’t had face time with.”

“You’re going to love Faroe. He feels the same way.”

“When do I see him?”

“Tomorrow, unless he gets lucky and gets here sooner.”

“Here?”

Emma looked around the casino. “Right here? Doubt it. Probably at his motel in Rosario.”

“Which one?”

“You’ll know when I do.”

There must have been a replicator in the kitchen, because the server appeared with two plates of food and two small bowls of salad. She dumped them on the table. French fries leaped onto the cloudy surface. The salad was too heavy with dressing to scatter.