Death Echo

Amanar and Lovich exchanged a long look before Amanar gave in, turned away, and asked the question whose answer neither cousin would like.

“What do you want?” he asked Temuri.

“A captain for my Blackbird. You have until tomorrow at dawn.”

Neither Lovich nor Amanar asked what would happen if they failed Temuri. They really didn’t want to know.

23

DAY THREE

ROSARIO

10:45 A.M.

Taras Demidov swallowed the last of three hamburgers, squeezed the final drops in the tenth packet of ketchup over a pile of fries, and took a sip of the surprisingly awful coffee. No amount of sugar smothered the bitterness.

But it did take the smell inside the van off his tongue.

Eating fries, Demidov listened through his ear bug while the two cousins continued arguing over possible replacements for the Indian who had been taken out of the game. Demidov didn’t bother to sort out the voices. Only the topic mattered to him.

“And I tell you, your wife’s nephew isn’t up to a boat that size.”

“Stupid shit deserves to die. He knocked up his own cousin.”

“Second cousin.”

“Still a cousin. I say we use Durand.”

“Too risky.”

“Who’d miss him? No family, no friends except maybe Tommy, not even a regular hump in town.”

“Tommy was stupid. Durand isn’t.”

“If Durand’s so smart, why ain’t he rich?”

Demidov laughed soundlessly as he stood and walked the few steps to the slops bucket. The cousins came from families that had lived in America so long they had absorbed the culture whether or not they wished to.

“Temuri wants Blackbird out of here by tomorrow at dawn, no later. None of the other captains we use are available right now. You want to drive that boat yourself?”

“Fine. Whatever. If no one else can take the job by this afternoon, I’ll call Durand. Temuri won’t like it. He didn’t take to Durand.”

“So let Temuri drive the boat.”

“He’d make us drive it. Better we get Durand. He doesn’t have kids.”

“You don’t know anyone’s going to die.”

“You want to bet your life on it?”

Listening to the cousins wrangle, Demidov shook off the last drops and zipped up. It was time to message his boss and make him smile.

Blackbird wouldn’t be going anywhere today.

24

DAY THREE

ROSARIO

12:35 P.M.

If I tie any more ropes-lines-to this cleat,” Emma said, wiping sweat off her forehead, “I’m going to yank it out of the dock and put it where your sun don’t shine.”

Mac hid his smile by reaching into the grocery bag and pulling out a chocolate bar. “Truce?”

“You have a sandwich to go with that?”

“And chips.”

“Truce.” She jerked the line tight, leaving two neat, secure figure-eights of line lying on the cleat. “Is it always this hot in October?”

“No,” he said. “It won’t last. You want to take a turn at the computer?”

She looked at him blankly. “Did something, um, new come in?”

“I’m talking about the other computer. You know, chart-plotting and navigation and-”

“No, thanks. Knock yourself out.”

She stretched her back muscles. Handling fat lines and big fenders-always at strange angles that increased the stress of leverage on her body-used more strength than she would have guessed.

“After lunch, then,” he said.

She looked at his expression and knew she was going to learn more about boat handling than she’d ever wanted to. At least Faroe and his magic electronic machine had been by before dawn, assuring them that Autonomy was still without bugs. They could talk freely, if carefully.

“Sure,” she said, concealing a sigh. “Can’t wait.”

Mac took her hand, drew her close, and nuzzled her neck. “You’ve got to learn enough so that if I’m out of commission you’ll be able to do whatever has to be done. Both our lives could depend on it.”

“I hear you.” She bit his ear. “Now feed me.”

“Tongue sandwich?”

She laughed, hugged him hard for anybody who might be watching, and was tempted to take him up on his offer.

So she did.

He tasted fine, coffee and salt air and man. A lot of man, covering her from lips to knees, settling in for a good long kiss. She told herself she wanted to pull away, then gave up lying and returned as good as she got. Everywhere she touched him he was hot, way too hot. From the feel of the erection pressing against her stomach, he felt the same way about her.

Hot.

Slowly, very slowly, they separated.

“Whew,” she said against his lips. “That should have melted anyone’s binoculars.”

“Sure set my jeans on fire.”

“I noticed.” She smiled. “I’d show you how much I appreciate it, but we’d get arrested.”

Her stomach growled.

He laughed and shook his head. “Lunch? Normal kind?”

“Lunch,” she agreed. “Boring kind.”

Emma followed Mac inside, grabbed the local newspaper out of the grocery bag and sat at the banquette.

It was that or grab Mac right where his jeans fit so well.

Down, girl. Think work. Work. WORK.

She skimmed the headlines while he unwrapped sandwiches and took out bottles of iced tea. Nothing new on the rez fire. Not that she expected anything. Once the feds got involved, usually chatty sources took a vow of silence.

St. Kilda hadn’t been a whole lot of help in the information department either. Reams of Alara’s background briefings had appeared on Emma’s computer along with conclusions that varied from bureau-babble to useless. A lot of words wasted when two words would do it: We’re trying.