Death Echo

Lovich yawned into the phone. “Look, we’ve been pulling too many back-to-back shifts for games.”

“This isn’t a game. Is Janet home?” Amanar asked. “And the kids?”

“Yeah. What’s up with you?”

Amanar let out a long breath. “Good. Good. Throw some clothes in an overnight bag and meet me at the public dock. A seaplane will pick us up in half an hour.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, and you better not be.”

“Stan? What’s wrong? Is Susie okay? The kids?”

“They’re fine. And they’ll stay that way as long as we meet that plane in thirty minutes.”

“You’re not making sense,” Lovich said.

“Shurik Temuri, you remember him?”

“Hell, yes. I was never so glad to see the back of a dude as when he left for-”

“Shut up and listen,” Amanar shouted. “Listen good. The lives of our families depend on it!”

“What the-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Lovich took a harsh breath.

And shut up.

“I got a call,” Amanar said. “Don’t know who. He had an accent like Temuri’s. Told me the names of my wife, kids, your wife, your kids, our addresses, our individual schedules, where the kids get on the school bus, our license plates, every damn thing but what kind of toilet paper we use.”

Lovich made a rough sound.

“Then,” Amanar said, “he said that you and me had to be on that seaplane or he’d kill the kids in front of us, after he raped everyone.”

“Did…” Lovich’s voice dried up. He swallowed several times and tried again. “You believe him?”

“What choice is there? You think either of us can stand against weight like Temuri?”

“Shit,” Lovich said. Then he repeated it like a litany.

“I’ll pick you up in five.”

“Shit,” Lovich said.

Amanar punched out and started packing.

52

DAY FIVE

DISCOVERY HARBOR

8:58 A.M.

Mac and Emma rolled separate carts down the marina ramp and over sprawling dock fingers until they reached Blackbird. When the wind had begun to ease shortly after eight this morning, they had divided chores and gone different ways. She had picked up some quick supplies while he went to the chandlery on some mysterious captain’s errand.

Emma waited until she was certain they were alone before she asked, “Your cart looks like a fishing line factory threw up.”

Mac looked at the pale green, unruly mound of plastic netting that was trying to crawl out of his dock cart. “Close.”

“Anyone we know get hurt?” she asked drily.

“So far so good.”

“Mac, what the hell is in your cart?”

“Plan B,” he said. “Or maybe I just missed my yowie suit.”

“Your what?”

“You probably know it as a ghillie suit,” Mac said.

Emma wondered what a sniper’s camouflage outfit had to do with the mess in Mac’s cart.

“Partner,” she said, “you should know that I make chowder out of clams.”

“Mmmm, clam chowder” was all he said.

She ignored him and concentrated on loading supplies aboard Blackbird. She kept on pretending he didn’t exist until he reappeared in the cabin after stowing the explosion of net in one of the yacht’s many lockers. He took a last bite of something that smelled like a septic tank, then stuffed greasy fast food wrappers into the trash.

Buzzers told Emma that he was getting ready to fire up the big diesels. One engine turned over and began to purr. The second followed. The muscular throb of power vibrated through her in a wave of sensation she could get addicted to.

“Want anything more to eat than whatever it was you stuffed in here?” she asked, opening the trash drawer.

“You.”

“You had me last night, and then some. Dawn was…a whole new experience.”

“Same here. A woman like you gives a man a real appetite.”

“For grease?” she asked, dangling a food wrapper between two fingers.

“For more. And then more.”

Emma dropped the greasy paper and looked into Mac’s dark eyes. She knew that honesty was dangerous.

She pulled the trigger anyway. “You’re the only civilian I’ve ever been in bed with who knew what I was and what I was doing,” she said. “No lies, no games. Truly naked. Incredible.”

“Like sex without a party hat.”

She laughed briefly, almost sadly. “Never done that.”

“Neither have I.”

Silence stretched, a sensual tension that was as tempting as it was hazardous. They didn’t have time for what both of them wanted to try.

Dangerous sex.

She forced herself to turn away and check the engine temperatures. “Getting warm down there.”

Mac blinked. “You didn’t just say that.”

“Say what?” she asked absently, wondering why one engine warmed up a bit more quickly than the other.

He tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t involve getting naked. A cell phone rang, saving him from having to think.

“Mine,” she said, patting the pockets of her cargo pants.

“Yours,” he agreed huskily.

“Good morning, St. Kilda,” she said into the phone.

“What’s happening?” Faroe demanded.

“The wind is down to fourteen knots and supposed to continue dropping to five. Or ten, depending on your weather guesser.”

“Anything new?”

Emma doubted that Faroe wanted a roundup of who did what and with which and to whom last night. Much less how many times.

“We’re leaving Discovery Harbor,” she said. “Other than that, nothing new.”

Faroe cursed. “Wish they’d pull their finger out and get on with it. Our clock isn’t getting any longer.”

“We’re aware of that.”

And she wished she wasn’t. Wished she was Jill Normal getting up with Jack Normal for some Normal daily life.

No such luck. “We found out through back channels that Temuri crossed into Canada at Blaine, Washington,” Faroe said. “They lost him. Haven’t found him yet.”