“You think we’d fall for that?” Coral shouted back.
“Your sister’s got a lot of money that belongs to me,” Nicolazzo said. “Much as I would enjoy killing you both, I wouldn’t pay millions of dollars for the pleasure.”
“ ‘Kill the sister,’ ” Coral said. “I heard you three times.”
“Clearly the situation has changed.”
“Yeah,” Coral said, “it’s changed because I’ve got a gun. How about
The boat lurched before she could get the rest of her thought out. Tricia felt the engines turn on belowdeck and over the side she saw the water churning as they got underway.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Coral said.
The men on the other side of the deck seemed confused as well, judging by the argument being carried out in yelled Italian. Tricia glanced up, over the side, toward the horizon. “Look!”
She pointed.
There was another boat in sight, headed their way, bouncing in the spray as it chewed up the distance between them. Nicolazzo’s boat was trying to get away, it seemed, powering in the same direction but more ponderously, a wildebeest being chased down by a cheetah.
A red light mounted on the other boat’s fly bridge went on and began spinning. A harsh voice amplified through a bullhorn said,
Nicolazzo’s yacht was gaining speed, grinding angrily through the waves. Off in the distance, through the early morning haze, Tricia thought she could just make out the outline of the coast. They were making headway. But the police boat was making more, growing larger and louder—a siren went on, to go with the flashing light—and pulling up alongside them.
Nicolazzo’s men ran to the railing, Tricia and Coral forgotten, and began shooting down over the side. More sounds of gunfire came up from below, and one of Nicolazzo’s men fell backwards, clutching his throat.
The ships kept racing, jostling each other for position, the big yacht pulling away in one direction, then the other, only to find itself headed off by the more nimble boat. Finally, Tricia felt the engines cut out and they slowed to a dead stop with the police boat out of sight on the far side of the pilot house. Nicolazzo and his men ran down that way; once they were past, Tricia and Coral followed.
By the time they arrived, O’Malley and two uniformed cops were standing on the deck alongside a half dozen federal agents, thick flak jackets protecting their torsos, steel helmets covering their heads. The feds had machine guns cradled at the ready in their arms and Nicolazzo’s men had their hands up, guns littering the deck at their feet.
Tricia dropped her gun. When one of the feds looked Coral’s way, Tricia nudged her with an elbow and Coral reluctantly released hers as well.
Two of the feds cleared an opening at the rail and Special Agent Houghton Brooks, Jr. climbed up through it. He wasn’t wearing any armor or protective gear, just the gray suit he’d had on in the interrogation room. But he walked blithely into the middle of this deadly crowd as if he’d been taking a stroll down Fifth Avenue.
He located Nicolazzo and marched up to him.
“Salvatore Nicolazzo,” he said, “you are under arrest.”
Nicolazzo chuckled, looked at the men on either side of him. “You can’t arrest me here. You can’t even be on board my ship. We are in international waters. You have no jurisdiction here.”
“You were,” Brooks said, “in international waters. Until about five minutes ago. You’re in U.S. waters now, mister.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Nicolazzo said calmly. “Check the instruments. I assure you my captain knows perfectly well where international waters begin and end.”
Tricia tried to see through the window of the pilot house, but the glare from the morning sun prevented it.
“Very well, let’s check the instruments,” Brooks said. He strode up to the door to the pilot house and swung it open. A man trussed hand and foot rolled out. He’d apparently been leaned up against the door. This was the captain, Tricia presumed, judging by the nautical cap on his head. A gag of some sort prevented him from making more than soft mewling sounds as he squirmed about.
Past him, inside the pilot house, Charley stood at the ship’s wheel, his hands gripping it tightly at the two and ten o’clock positions. His taped finger stuck out accusingly.
“What have you done?” Nicolazzo said.
Brooks checked the instruments, nodded. “U.S. waters. I assure you, Mr. Nicolazzo, we wouldn’t have come after you otherwise. The Bureau always operates by the rules.” And to Charley: “It’s just as well that it took us a little while to pinpoint Miss Heverstadt’s signal underwater. That gave you enough time to steer the ship here. Your government is grateful to you, mister...?”
Charley looked at Tricia.
“Stephenson,” she said.
“Borden,” he said.
The man the glazier had sent over was kneeling in the corridor, fine brush in hand, carefully painting gold letters onto the new pane in the door:
“I might ask him to change that,” Charley said. “Borden, I mean.”
“Why?” Tricia asked.
“Now that the feds are keeping an eye on me, it feels like maybe it’s time for a fresh start,” Charley said. “Anyway, too many people who know me by that name would like to do me harm.”
“Or you owe them money,” Erin said.
“That, too.”
“So what’ll you change it to?” Tricia said.
“Why?” Charley said. “You think you might have a personal stake in the matter some day?”
She found herself blushing again, damn it. “Anything’s possible,” she said.
He kissed the side of her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll pick something that sounds similar to Borden. Keep it easy to remember.”
“Gordon?” Erin said. “Arden?”
“Something like that.”
He opened the door to the chateau. Four faces turned their way. “That’s okay, don’t get up, girls. I just wanted to let you know I’m back.”
“You ever hear of knocking?” Annabelle said. She had nothing on but a towel—wrapped turban-style around her head.
“What, and miss seeing you like that? Never.” He pulled the door shut and they went on to Madame Helga’s at the end of the hall.
“What happened to you?” Billy Hoffman said as they entered, gesturing toward Charley’s black eye and taped-up finger.
“Long story,” Charley said. “Let us use your office, will you?”
“Of course.”
They went inside.
Charley handed the phone over to Tricia, who sat behind Billy’s desk. How long had it been since she’d walked through that door for the first time? Since she’d seen Hoffman sitting right here and Robbie Monge staring at
