Mac smiled grimly. “Even if I looked like Peter Pan, Harrow likely has my file memorized. He hasn’t gotten so high on the food chain at the tender age of forty-one by being stupid.”
“Good thinking. Which means I don’t have to convince you that a Langley suit is as dangerous as a sack of live grenades with loose pins.”
“You don’t miss your old work much, do you?”
“Do you?” she retorted.
“Not since I met a certain smart-mouthed brunette.”
She shot him a look, saw that he meant it-and more-and smiled. “Same goes.”
The man in the wind jacket was tracking them through binoculars. Harrow came over, took the binoculars, and scanned the little dinghy.
Emma waved.
“Busted,” she said to Mac.
She sped up and swiftly approached the public dock. Following Mac’s instructions, she eased way back on the power, turned the wheel, and shifted into neutral for the landing. The dinghy slid in broadside, losing forward momentum just before meeting the dock.
Emma managed not to look surprised, but she knew she’d just had a serious bout of beginner’s luck.
He winked at her. Then he swung up onto the aged planks with an ease that told the waiting men Mac’s file hadn’t lied-he would stand toe-to-toe in any fight they offered. If anyone had really studied his file, the men also would know that Mac was too smart to go looking for a brawl.
Mac tied the dinghy’s bowline and held one of the side straps against the dock so that Emma could simply step up from the dinghy’s gunwale onto the weathered wood planks.
Tim Harrow vaulted down from the yacht and strode toward them. The man in the wind jacket followed about ten feet to the rear, on Harrow’s left. The other two waited thirty feet back along the dock. The man in the Zodiac stayed put.
He agreed with their assessment.
Mac didn’t fancy the odds of taking on the shadow’s Uzi with only a rigging knife as a weapon. Even without the gun, the man moved like the highly trained fighter he was. The other men were equally light on their feet.
Equally deadly.
Even Harrow moved well. For a desk flyer, he kept himself fit. He had put on a blue wool blazer before leaving the boat, but hadn’t fastened it. The gun in his shoulder harness flashed in and out of view. As he approached, Mac saw the telltale crease in his smooth hair that indicated he was wearing a nearly invisible com unit.
“You’re late,” Harrow said to Emma.
“Chasing electrons eats time,” she said.
“If you don’t believe us, ask your tech specialist,” Mac offered. Harrow gave him a sweeping look, then concentrated on Emma. “Our locator says you’re still in Discovery Harbor, Campbell River.”
“Your locator is. We aren’t.”
Harrow’s blue eyes narrowed. “One of your problems, Cross, is that you’ve never been as funny as you think you are.”
“Could be your sense of humor,” Mac said.
Harrow shot him a cold look. “Your problem, MacKenzie, is that you don’t have a sense of humor at all.”
“Yeah, I never learned to laugh at the sight of blood and flying body parts.”
“Where is
“Why do you care?” she asked.
“Don’t fuck with me.”
“No worries,” she drawled. “I don’t like sloppy seconds.”
Color blazed along Harrow’s high cheekbones.
Mac discovered his sense of humor. He laughed out loud. Then he bent and brushed a lover’s kiss along Emma’s neck.
“Ease up, babe,” he said too softly to be overheard. “He’s going to stroke out on us.”
“I’ll savor the possibility.”
“You still don’t get it, do you, Cross?” Harrow said with icy calm. “No matter how you swing that sexy ass, at the end of the day I’m still boss. You aren’t.”
“You missed the part where you tell her that she’s in trouble and all you want to do is help,” Mac said.
Harrow shot him a surprised look.
“I took Advanced Interrogation 101,” Mac said. “The first rule is that it’s never your cock on the line. Just the opposition’s. Otherwise you lose control of the interrogation.”
Harrow took a slow breath and nodded curtly. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”
“Won’t work,” Emma said. “He graduated Divide and Conquer at the head of his class.”
“You always were too-” Harrow began.
“Quick for you,” she finished. She looked at Mac. “Tim and I have radically different views of the world and the people in it.”
“Talk to me,” Mac said.
“That’s just one of the many things I love about you,” she said. “You listen. Tim, however, is ‘on’ all the time, a handsome icon of the modern warrior diplomat, with skills and instincts that are both smooth and honed. We dated for a time, were engaged for two weeks. Then I walked in and found him polishing his desk with an associate’s naked ass.” She shrugged. “We got un-engaged real quick.”
“No harm, no foul?” Mac asked, cutting across Harrow’s attempt to talk.
“Pretty much. I was mad for, oh, half an hour. Then I was relieved.”
“So Harrow is a walking, talking nation,” Mac said. “He doesn’t have friends, he has interests.”
Emma laughed with delight. “Nailed it. And him.”
“If you’re finished with the lame comedy routine,” Harrow said, “we’ll go aboard the
“No,” Mac and Emma said as one.
“This fly ain’t strolling into no spidery parlor,” she added.
“We could be overheard out here,” Harrow said impatiently.
“If you’re worried about somebody lurking on that little islet over there with a parabolic microphone, forget it,” Mac said. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “The sound of the cascade trumps any listening device.”
Harrow put his fists on his hips, bringing the shoulder harness into full display as he got in Mac’s face.
The shadow wearing a wind jacket and an Uzi drifted closer.
“Listen, ass clown,” Harrow said, “I don’t have time for this. I don’t even have time to beat the truth out of you.”
“Good job you brought a team,” Emma said. “Mac would mop the dock with you and you know it.”
“Think of the splinters,” Mac said, shaking his head.
“Mmm, I am.”
“Before you do a grenade imitation,” Mac said to Harrow, “understand that we’re not going anywhere with you and you’re not going anywhere with us. And the dude in the dive suit isn’t going to plant any cute device on the dinghy, or we’re going to whistle up a seaplane to fly us out of here and leave you with your thumb up your ass and your balls swinging in the breeze. Are you hearing me?”
Harrow glanced reflexively toward the Zodiac. He could just make out the black hood of the diver who had slipped into the water. With a muffled curse, Harrow pulled a hair-thin mic out from behind his ear.
“Abort dive,” he said in a clipped voice.
A disembodied voice replied, “Say again.”
“Abort.”
Emma watched as the diver came up out of the water and rolled back into the Zodiac with a casual display of strength and coordination.
