She kept flailing her arms and gasping for air. “Help!”
He locked one arm around her middle to free his other arm. The boat was closer than the shore by now, but neither would be an option until she stopped fighting him. “Calm down or we’ll drown.”
She was gulping for air and squeezing out terror-filled shrieks that died in a mouthful of water. “I…can’t… swim.”
Oh, hell. “I can…if you don’t fight me.” He was kicking his legs so hard to keep them afloat his muscles burned.
She stopped moving, all except the deep, wheezing breaths.
Carlos glanced around, hoping Lee could deal with Baby Face and watch both their backs at the same time. The informant shook so hard against him, he expected hysterics any moment. He didn’t know what her story was…yet, but he had to keep her alive long enough to find out.
“Take it easy,” he said, this time in a calmer voice. “I’ll get you to the boat.”
“Who…” She breathed hard a couple times. “Are…you?”
“Do what I say and you won’t get hurt.”
She stiffened at that, then seemed to realize she’d slowed their progress and relaxed some.
He pulled her along as he swam until they reached the boat. She leaped to grab the side as if this runabout were the only life raft in a raging sea.
He’d heard this was a shallow lake. How deep could it be here? Six feet?
But if she thought the water was a deep lagoon, he wasn’t telling her any different.
Carlos put his hands around her waist and moved his lips close to her ear before lifting her. “When I get you in this boat, do not make any sudden moves. Don’t try to run away or put the boat in gear or I’ll throw you back overboard. Do you understand?”
She nodded. Her knuckles were turning bone white from her death grip on the boat rail.
Threatening to put her back in the water wouldn’t help calm her down, but it might prevent her from doing something really stupid like trying to use the oar on him.
He kept his voice calm. “When I give you a push, roll into the boat.”
Another silent nod.
He lifted her and she lunged into the boat, legs kicking to the point he had to duck or lose his head. As soon as more of her was in than out, he hoisted himself up and over the side.
She huddled in a ball at the back. Cap gone, her hair hung in wet clumps.
“Come up here where I can see you.” He motioned toward the passenger seat with his hand.
No movement.
“Now.”
She raised belligerent eyes wild with fear.
Carlos shoved a handful of soaked hair off his face. She was still freaked-out. He’d have to go get her. He never let anyone sit behind him, definitely not a felon.
He moved to reach for her, but she held up a hand to stop him, the action almost regal and elegant in spite of the soaked trench coat and sneakers. She pushed up and teetered her way to sit in the plastic passenger seat, her wide eyes never leaving him.
Fair enough. He wasn’t taking his eyes off her either. He sat on the top edge of the driver’s seat and shifted the outboard motor into forward, cruising back to the dock. Cold air seeped through his wet clothes. He glanced at her huddled form shivering against the chill and thought about the blanket in the trunk of his car. She should be okay until then.
When they reached the wooden planks, he cut the outboard motor, tied up the boat, and jumped out, offering her a hand.
That she refused.
She grabbed her backpack and computer bag, then climbed out, careful not to get too close to him.
“Let’s go.” He waited for her to move forward.
“What will you do with me?” She had a lush French voice, laced with a sophistication that carried a soft British accent. But those exotic blue eyes and high cheekbones were decidedly French.
“Haven’t decided that yet.”
“You murdered a-”
“He’s not dead,” he said before she could accuse him of murdering Baby Face. “Takes a lot more to kill him than a bullet in the shoulder.” Carlos pointed the way he wanted her to go and she finally started moving.
She trembled with each step.
Carlos had to clamp down on the urge to comfort her. She’d been leaving with Baby Face Jones, a known electronics felon who made his living by online pirating and financial scams.
Had Baby Face come to kidnap her or was she cutting a deal with him?
She’d appeared to be leaving voluntarily.
Baby Face was a genius when it came to electronics, but Carlos doubted even Baby Face could have found the informant without aid from someone with deep pockets. Someone who could give him access to megacomputers equal to The Monster, BAD’s computer supersystem Joe swore was unmatched anywhere else in the intelligence field. Just one of many questions Baby Face was going to answer once Carlos and Lee took him into headquarters.
Was this woman really the infamous Mirage?
Had the entire intelligence world been overlooking something obvious Baby Face had stumbled on?
Hard to accept that possibility, which meant he’d had help.
When Carlos rounded the house, Lee was nowhere to be found. What the hell was he doing?
Carlos directed the woman to keep moving a step ahead of him toward where Baby Face lay on the ground. There was no sign of Lee or anything stuffed on Baby Face’s shoulder to stop the blood flow.
She reached Baby Face first and backed up, whispering, “Mon Dieu.”
Carlos stepped up ahead of her. Baby Face bled profusely from a sliced throat.
Something had gone very bad.
She inched away, making noises that normally preceded gut puking.
He didn’t have time for her to be sick. In fact, Carlos would bet they were lucky to even be alive and that Lee had not fared as well. Whoever grabbed Lee might not have realized Carlos had been around the backside of the house chasing this woman into the lake.
The thought of Lee dead sucked, but if Carlos stopped to think about the waste of a young life, two more would be snuffed out next.
He grabbed the front of his captive’s wet jacket, spinning her terror-rimmed eyes to his, then spoke low. “Listen up. We’ve got to go. Whoever killed him might come back.”
Shock blanched her face even whiter before her eyes sharpened to two angry slits. “You mean your buddy didn’t do this?”
“No, he’s probably dead, too.”
That stunned her. “Who would kill both of them?”
“We can talk or try to get out of here alive.” When that registered on her face, he asked, “You got keys to that Jeep?”
“I’m not helping you.” She whispered the words, underlining you at the end with a slur.
“Oh, yes, you are unless you want to end up with your throat slit…or worse.”
That struck a nerve. She shook like a wet dog and took another step back. White showed all around the iris of her eyes, the perfect picture of a terrified woman.
If tears followed, hysterics wouldn’t be far behind.
Merde! He had no time for that or to calm her down. Carlos grabbed the lapels of her coat, pulling her so close he could see tears hanging on her silky eyelashes. “You can either hand over the keys or I’ll strip-search you right here.” He hated to use that threat, but it did the trick.
She didn’t cry.
The mean look she gave him would force a rabid dog to back down. She shoved her hand into the pocket of her coat and produced a small ring with two keys. One was for an automotive ignition and the other looked like a house key.
