Death Echo

“But-”

“As the unforgettable Alara said, if we go in soft, we have a fallback position.”

“I don’t like it having you and Annalise here. If Alara is right, it’s too damn dangerous.”

“You think I like having Annalise here?” Grace looked at their sleeping child. “But liking it doesn’t matter.” She let out a long breath. “I believe in St. Kilda. So we do what we can do. If that goes to hell, we do something else.”

“Fast,” Faroe muttered.

And pray that fast was quick enough.

17

DAY TWO

ROSARIO

5:30 P.M.

Emma kept one eye on her watch and the other on Blackbird. It was still crawling with techs, but there were a lot less boxes waiting on the dock to be installed on the boat.

Damn it, Mac. Where are you?

She sensed he was out there, somewhere, watching as she was watching. But she couldn’t keep an eye on Blackbird and MacKenzie Durand at the same time.

I’ll be nearby.

She grimaced as she remembered his words. Yeah. Right. We have an appointment, big boy. You don’t know where or when.

Her cell phone rang. Faroe. She picked it up.

“He’s not here,” she said.

“But he kept his promise,” Faroe said. “He’s nearby. You can’t see him from where you are. I can. Come toward the second marina ramp. He’s talking with the lady in the shrimp shack. Which is a boat. When Captain Di of the No Shrimp is lucky, she sells fresh prawns off the back deck to locals who know how to find her. You’re going to buy some.”

“You’re telling me to leave Blackbird uncovered.”

“Grace can see into the marina from our motel room. Annalise is sleeping like the innocent she is. We’re covered.”

“See you at the shrimp shack.”

Emma disconnected, got out, locked the Jeep, and walked across the parking lot toward the second marina ramp. As she went down the ramp, she discovered that the “shrimp shack” was indeed a scow tied off just below the ramp. The idea of eating fresh, never-frozen, never-chemically altered shrimp made her stomach growl.

“I hope Captain Di was lucky,” Emma said, licking her lips as she walked up to Mac.

Mac watched her tongue and decided prawns were the least he could do for her.

Captain Di’s laugh was as big as she was. It echoed up the ramp. “Mac there has a hungry look about him.”

He smiled. “Nothing better than prawns. Well, almost nothing.” The woman laughed again, grabbed a small net, and headed for the live tanks at the stern of her boat. “How many pounds?”

“Coon-stripe or spot?” he asked.

“Spot.”

“Two pounds.” Mac looked at her. “I’ll cook aboard the Autonomy.”

“Make it four,” Emma said in a low voice. “I crave prawns after days of fast food. And there will be at least one more eating with us.”

“That explains why I’ve been feeling like I have crosshairs on the back of my neck,” Mac said, his voice equally soft. Then, in a carrying tone, “Make it a heavy four, Captain Di. The lady is hungry.”

The sound of Di’s laugh covered any noise Faroe might have made coming down the marina ramp. Mac turned around anyway, warned by the vibration of the dock beneath his feet.

Faroe nodded at him, but walked right past toward the Autonomy. Without hesitation he swung aboard Mac’s boat.

“He has his own boat,” Emma said softly.

“Looks like it.”

“Is your boat locked?”

“Would it make a difference?”

She almost smiled. “Probably not.”

She walked back on the dock until she was even with the stern of No Shrimp. Captain Di was weighing and wrapping prawns. Their bodies snapped and rustled against the clear plastic bag. Emma recognized the tails, but the whole animal was something she hadn’t seen alive. She paid for the prawns and walked back to Mac carrying dinner squirming in a plastic bag.

“Modern woman,” Captain Di said, nodding and pocketing the cash with approval.

“You have no idea,” Mac said.

Captain Di’s laughter followed them down the dock.

“Does that mean you’ll clean them?” Mac asked. “Or are we eating them Asian style?”

She raised her eyebrows in silent question.

“Whole,” Mac said.

“Forget it. I’ll help clean them.”

“Ever done it before?”

“No. Is it tricky?”

He glanced at her. “Basically, you just rip their little heads off.”

“I think my skill level is up to that.”

“How about your stomach?”

“Beats eating them whole.”

Mac was still trying not to laugh as he helped Emma aboard the Autonomy. When he opened the salon door, Faroe was sitting at the shadowed banquette, watching the readout on a palm-sized electronic device.

Nobody spoke until Mac closed the door.

“Boat’s clean,” Faroe said, coming to his feet. “So are both of you.” He held out his hand to Mac. “Joe Faroe. Sorry about the informality.”

Mac looked at Faroe, shook his hand, and said, “Usually I dump people over the side when they come aboard without permission.”

Faroe nodded. “It’s the same on my boat. The TAZ is my own private place.”

“TAZ?” Emma asked.

“As in Temporary Autonomous Zone,” Faroe said.

She looked at Mac. “I sense an area of agreement here.”

“Autonomy,” Faroe said. “Nice thing to have.”

“Or to think you have,” Mac said neutrally.

Faroe’s smile made him look younger, less like a man you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. His intense green eyes gleamed with humor. “Like she said, an area of agreement.”

“We’ll see.” Mac took the plastic bag from Emma. “Why don’t we clean these while your boss explains why I shouldn’t treat him like a big prawn?”

“Rip his head off?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He took her to the galley and emptied the prawns into the sink.

She looked at the seething, snapping mass, like Halloween with ebony eyes and countless orange bodies. “Now what?”