Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) (23 page)

He steered the launch back the way he’d come, toward
Dragon Harbor. The craft barely bounced as it skimmed the swells.

Jake was staring aft. Just like a man, ogling the
horsepower—twin Mercury two hundreds. But no, he was looking at something else.
On the deck beneath the engines lay diving gear—a scuba tank and a wetsuit. Her
eyes widened as she met his grim gaze. His head shake of warning was barely
perceptible. He withdrew his pistol from the small of his back and concealed it
beneath the blanket.

Was Pascal truly involved? He’d moved to the peninsula
a couple of years ago. Jeez, he was a harbormaster. Maybe their suspicion was
only paranoia. But as the saying went, it’s not paranoia when they’re really
after you. Her heart gave a thump trying to leap out of her chest. She bit her
lower lip and wished Jake could sit beside her instead of miles away.

As they neared the harbor entrance, she saw other
boats heading out. A couple of sailboats dodged the wake of a speedboat. When
Pascal passed the lighthouse, he didn’t slow. Instead of steering around Dragon
Rocks and into the harbor, he slapped the throttle forward and continued down
the peninsula.

“Where are you taking us?” she demanded, half out of
her seat. Jake raised a hand in caution but she ignored him. She wanted an
answer.

Pascal set the wheel and turned. The hand in his
jacket pocket came out with a pistol. He pointed its black barrel at her.

She emitted an involuntary squeak and began to scoot
farther aft.

“You bastard!” Jake dumped the blanket, pointed his
pistol at Pascal’s chest.

The older man jerked the wheel, slewing Jake off
balance. Pascal yanked Lani to him, jammed his pistol under her jaw. She swung
her elbow but he deflected the blow. “Stay put, Wescott. Toss the pistol
overboard or she’ll pay for your stupidity.”

Jake subsided as he seemed to weigh his options. His
mouth a taut line, he complied. The engine muffled the pistol’s splash. “What
the fuck is this about? Who do you work for, Pascal? Or is it Hector Vargas aka
Hector Johnson?”

The other man’s jaw didn’t drop but his eyebrows shot
up nearly to his cap brim. “So you checked on me. Vargas it is. You’ll find out
the rest soon enough. For all the good it’ll do you.” He barked a laugh with no
humor.

He jerked Lani around and made her take the wheel. The
warning—at the point of his lethal pistol—to steer where he said brooked no
transgression, no slips.

The barrel tip bit painfully into her flesh where he
jabbed it against her neck. Her insides cartwheeled.
Vargas.
She couldn’t
get her mind around Pascal as Vargas. Not only the arsonist, but the smuggling
gang intended to kill them. Somehow it all tied together. A bubble rose in her
throat that nearly choked off her breath. But no. She needed logic, needed to
think. Bide her time.

Jake was poised to attack, his grip on the seat so
tense his knuckles were white. When they reached wherever Pascal—no, Vargas—was
taking them, maybe they would have a chance.

Chapter 25

Jake seethed, every fiber vibrating with adrenaline.
But as long as Hector Vargas held that semiautomatic on Lani, all he could do
was wait.

Fifteen minutes of high speed across the bay took them
to a familiar landing—the crumbling dock at Lani’s farmhouse. Vargas couldn’t
tie up there. He’d have to change his plans, whatever the hell they were.

But the harbormaster took the wheel, pulled back on
the throttle and beached the launch, as he’d done on the Mobcap. He forced Lani
to jump out, then followed, keeping the pistol trained on her and one eye on
Jake.

Jake’s pulse jolted, his heart knocking against his
sternum, as he shed his life vest and tossed it next to Lani’s. When Vargas
ordered him to jump out and tie the boat to a low-hanging tree, he had no
choice but to comply.

“Be sure you tie up proper, now, gringo Fed,” he
ordered with a nasty cackle. “We wouldn’t want the town launch to drift away.”

The beach, accessible only at low tide, lay several
feet down from the dock and grassy shore level. Lani climbed the steep bank
first, followed by their captor and Jake.

When Vargas slipped on a loose stone, Jake grabbed his
gun arm, but the other man was stronger than he looked. He backhanded Jake with
the gun. The blow to his jaw sent him to his knees. Through the agony shooting
sparks inside his skull, he heard Lani cry out his name.

When he shook away the fog, he looked up to see Vargas
and Lani on the grass above him. The Mexican aimed the pistol at Jake and his
free hand gripped her upper arm. Painfully, if her pinched expression was any
indication. Fear shadowed her eyes, but he saw defiance in the set of her jaw.
Good
for you, Lani. Hang on.

“Don’t try anything again,” Vargas said.

Still reeling from the receding pain, Jake worked his
jaw. Skin broken. Nothing else. He’d live. The metallic taste of blood where he’d
bit his cheek would focus him. Remind him to cool his temper so he didn’t tip
his hand. Or show emotion. This bastard would make Lani pay and Jake wouldn’t
allow that.

Vargas forced Jake to walk ahead of him and Lani
through the white pines. A muscle in Jake’s back twitched as if he could feel
the pistol jabbed between his shoulder blades.

The green scent of fresh-cut grass filled his
nostrils. Lani’d told him a lawn service was coming to mow the lawn and the
field. If someone was there, they had a chance. He didn’t want to endanger
anyone but even the sight of a truck might put Vargas at a disadvantage. He’d
have to back off with a witness present.

But when they reached the grassy path through the
field, he saw only the finished mowing, no one on a tractor. Now what?

And at the farmhouse, what he saw in the driveway
stopped him in his tracks. He whirled on his captor. “What the hell? How did my
Cherokee get here?”

Vargas didn’t answer, only raised the gun higher. “Keep
moving.”

Lani’s eyes were owl wide. He could almost smell the
fear emanating from her. Her eyes seemed to plead with him not to rile their
captor. He tried to reassure her silently but he had no plan other than to
watch for an opening.

Hector Vargas ordered him to open the kitchen door. Jake
immediately saw why they needed no key. Broken window. He had a pretty good
idea who they’d find inside. The man with the money. The man with the most to
lose.

Vargas shoved Lani at Jake. “Get over there by the
sink.”

He caught her in his arms and felt her shaking. But
her mutinous expression said the tremors stemmed as much from fury as from
fear.

On the kitchen table lay his spare Jeep key, the one
he kept in a magnet box under the back bumper. One small mystery solved. The
bigger answers were to come. If only they could survive them.

Lani
. He couldn’t lose her, not when she’d
helped him find himself, the self he’d lost for twelve years. A spasm gripped
his throat and he swallowed it, determined to stay focused.

“What is going on?” Lani demanded. “Who’s behind this?”

“I’m amazed you haven’t figured it out by now, my
dear.”

J.T. Meagher stepped into the room. Cool and calm in
creased khakis and a pink button-down. Not a pewter hair out of place. “Apparently
you haven’t remembered either.”

Jake squeezed her hand.
We were right.
Only
they’d had no evidence, only hunches. Until now. When it might be too late.
Vargas hadn’t shot them already because Meagher planned something here. That’s
why he’d driven the Cherokee to the farmhouse.

“Maybe not yet,” she declared. “But I will.”

Meagher ignored her bravado. He pocketed the key and
magnet box. Slipped on thin deerskin gloves and took the pistol from his man.

“Wescott knows who I am,” Vargas said. “The ATF’s been
looking for me. This has to end today.”

“I’ll handle these two. You delayed and bungled
enough,” Meagher said.

Dissention. Jake might be able to work that.

Vargas turned his back on his accomplice and
disappeared down the hall. His tread thumped on the stairs, then a metallic
thunk sounded above.

A carving knife sat in the dish drainer to his left.
Jake began to edge that way.

Lani stepped forward, her hands fisted her sides. She
glared at Meagher with toxic contempt. “Is your cover-up worth murder? All this
to protect your baby son and get him the House seat you couldn’t win?” Her
voice was as dry as ashes.

Meagher moved nearer. He bent close enough to them
both that Jake could see the red web of capillaries in his cheeks.

J.T. gaped at Lani in amazement. “Kevin?” He barked a
laugh. “So you really don’t remember that night. No matter. You would
eventually. And your poking around has raised too many questions. I have too
much at stake. But my son? Not that milquetoast. He wouldn’t have the guts to
kill your bitch of a sister.”

The pieces fell into place. “It was you,” Jake said.
Gail’s lover had been older after all. Much older. Meagher had lied to Galt.
All those late nights at campaign headquarters must’ve led to an affair. One
that got out of hand. “
You
killed Gail.”

Meagher didn’t deny the accusation. Merely held the
gun steady on them, his expression cold as the Arctic Sea.

“But why?” Lani’s voice broke on a sob. Jake’s gut
twisted at the strain he heard in her voice and the ivory pallor beneath her
tan. “My sister was...troubled that summer.” She flicked an apologetic glance
toward Jake. “There were...several guys. She never told. Even I didn’t know
back then.”

Jake nudged her, hoping she understood his signal.
Move
away
. The farther they were apart, the harder to shoot them both. He edged
another step toward the knife. She seemed to catch on and sidled right, away
from him and toward the hallway.

Meagher’s gun hand trembled, and he added the other in
a two-hand grip. “Other men, yeah. She didn’t tell me but I found out anyway.
That night, I left the campaign party. Had my Bayliner at the resort dock so I
could come and go unseen. When I told her I wanted to end it between us, she
had a hissy fit. Claimed to be pregnant. Threatened to tell my wife.”

“So you killed her and set fire to the barn,” Jake
said quietly. And all this time J.T. thought Lani saw him.

“An accident.” Meagher seemed to look inward, although
he kept the gun high. “I only meant to scare her. She made me lose my temper. I
hit her with a board. She was unconscious but she’d tell when she came to. She
gave me no choice.”

The egotistical gall of the man. Making it Gail’s
fault. Hatred prowled inside Jake, fury that Meagher had cheated on his ill
wife with Gail, then killed Gail and was killing again to keep his secret. His
murderous recklessness had ruined lives, tainted others.

“The gasoline was right there, handy,” Jake said. “Lining
the pockets of Frank Tyson took care of the rest.”

The other man shrugged in concession. “Until now. Our
harbormaster is a man of many talents. He’s been quite useful in tying up loose
ends. In both our mutual projects. Except he wasn’t content with arson, had to
use his new toy.”

The C-4.
Pascal/Vargas must’ve been the one who
torched Tyson’s house and tried to kill Lani. Jake’s vision went red around the
edges. He couldn’t let these monsters get away scot free.

“Scratching each other’s back. He helps you cover up
your old crime and you provide a hiding place for his contraband. Let me guess,
one of your old warehouses.”

“I suspected you were here for more than recuperation
and carpentry. Looks like I was right.” J.T.’s long, seamed face looked drawn
and tired.

Gasoline fumes stung Jake’s nostrils. Vargas entered
the kitchen with a gasoline can in his hands. It sloshed—only partly full—as he
set it down by the refrigerator.

Where had he been spreading the accelerant?

Lani stood closer to the hall than he did. She swung
her gaze to him, panic flaring in her eyes. She smelled the gas. Knew what came
next.

Shooting them was only part of the plan. Or not part of
the plan at all. Lani needed him. His throat was cotton-dry, but he swallowed
and forced the tension from his body. He couldn’t function without calm.

“It’s time. You got the matches?” Meagher said to
Vargas.

“This old place’ll fucking go up like dry timber.”
Vargas tossed over a matchbook. He slid a small stun gun from his pocket and
started toward Lani. “We have to get out fast.”

“All my troubles will go away with a little
murder-suicide,” Meagher said to Jake. “Folks will assume Lani snapped when she
realized you were the one who killed her sister.” His smile was icy, but sweat
beaded along his hair line. He waved the pistol. “Stand over there with her.”

Jake didn’t budge. Neither did Lani. Would J.T. be
able to kill in cold blood?

The slam of a car door turned everyone’s head.

Meagher dipped his head and the Mexican crossed to the
mud-room door.

Kevin Meagher burst in, anxiety furrowing his brow. “I
know what’s going on. Dad, I know about you and Gail.” Voice shaking, he
gestured toward Jake. “You can’t kill them. They’re my friends.” He started
toward his father but Vargas blocked his way.

J.T.’s face darkened to purple. “Get out of here,
Kevin. How did you...what—” He sputtered, unable to formulate anything
coherent.

Kevin tried to skirt Vargas but the other man clamped
an arm around his chest and jammed the stun gun against his neck. He struggled
against the grip to no avail. “Never mind how I know. Give yourself up, Dad. It’s
over.”

J.T. yelled back that he wasn’t going to prison. He
erupted in a harangue about Kevin’s failings.

The acrid scent of smoke stung Jake’s nose. Black
fumes snaked in from the hall. The living room ceiling smoldered, which meant
the fire had already started upstairs. A crash jolted him. He backed against
the counter as a cloud of smoke and dust billowed from the living room,
stinging his nose with smoke and a musty smell.

He coughed and pulled his shirt up to cover his nose
and mouth, as he looked for an opening. Lani remained pressed into the small
nook between the cabinets and the refrigerator.

With a great thump, like a wave crashing into a
cavern, the living room exploded in flames. Flames crackled and roared and
licked toward the kitchen. Glass panes burst their window frames.
More
oxygen for the fire triangle.

Fifteen, maybe twenty feet for the fire to reach the
kitchen.

The can of gasoline. Open. If the fire reached its
fumes, the place would explode. They had little time before all hell broke
loose. They had to make their move.

But Lani stood as rigid as a two-by-four, staring at
the fire. Frozen, in a trance.

He couldn’t help her, couldn’t save her unless he got
that damn gun away from J.T.

“You dumb
Americanos
can stay in this fucking
inferno if you want.” Vargas coughed and shoved Kevin away. “I’m not getting
burned up for nobody.” He went for the door.

J.T. swung the gun toward Vargas. “Come back here!”

Jake tackled J.T. with the momentum that had once
propelled him to second base. They went down hard below the increasing smoke.
J.T. was fit and strong. Jake kicked him in the balls, felt no pain in his
thigh. When the older man doubled over, Jake went for the gun. J.T.’s grip
held. They tangoed in and out of the noxious fumes. Breathing smoke sapped
their strength. They gasped.

The pistol coughed once.

And again. Jake heard a cry of pain. If the bastard
had shot Lani...

Rage gave him new strength. He wrested the gun loose.
Stepped back, ready for J.T.’s next attack, but the other man only looked
behind him. Jake followed his horrified gaze. Kevin lay crumpled on the floor,
a red stain soaking the Meagher Enterprises logo on his shirt.

An animal roar erupted from J.T. He charged Jake, his
face mottled with fury. “You made me shoot my own son!”

When he grabbed for the pistol, it slipped from Jake’s
hold and went flying across the room. The gun disappeared with a clatter
somewhere in the fire’s smoky haze. A clip on the chin deflated J.T. to a heap
on the floor.

Coughing, Jake stumbled across the room to Lani.