In the Enemy's Arms (4 page)

Expectations for after college had been slim, too. While Cate had studied her butt off in medical school, Trent had traveled—skiing in Colorado, cruising the Mediterranean, diving around the world—and Justin had gone with him. Her third and fourth years she’d spent days in clinical rotations and nights in the med school library, cramming data about each monthly specialty into her weary brain, and they’d gone mountain climbing in Nepal and surfing in Australia. Trent had barely made it back from China for her graduation, literally walking in the door of her apartment as she and her parents were walking out.

She was basking in self-pity, she realized, and that wasn’t her style. So what if she’d begun her medical career with a grand total of $342,769 in debt? Who cared if they’d been out seeing the world while she’d worked so hard? She was a
doctor.
The only thing she’d ever wanted to do in her life.

Besides, Trent had paid off that debt as a divorce gift.

Yes, other husbands gave their wives wedding and anniversary gifts. Hers had rewarded her for putting up with him as long as she had.

“What did GayAnne tell you?”

Her gaze shifted to Justin, leaned back in his chair, wearing sunglasses that had come from nowhere. The backpack, she realized. He hadn’t left it locked up at the dive shop with her suitcase. “Nothing. Just that everyone was gone and she was leaving, too. Where are they?”

His only response was a shrug so lazy, so arrogant, that she wanted to smack him. She curled her fingers around the water bottle to make it harder to reach across the table and do just that. “Knock it off, Justin. The volunteers have fled. The girls are gone. The local employees are gone. Susanna and Trent are gone. You know damn well they wouldn’t just take off on a whim. La Casa is too important to Susanna, and she’s too important to Trent.
Something
has happened, and you at least have an idea what or Trent wouldn’t have told me to call you.”

Another long swig of water, another lazy shrug. “Maybe he’s trying to set us up together.”

Cate sat back. The idea was ludicrous. As if Trent would wish her on his best friend, or vice versa. As if she would willingly stay five minutes in the room with Justin if she wasn’t forced to. She didn’t like him at all, but she liked him best when he was on another continent, and Trent was well aware of that.

She loaded her voice with scorn. “Come on, Justin. Tell me what the hell is going on so I can—”

His cell phone rang, and he raised one hand imperiously to stop her while he answered it. Rude, obnoxious, self-centered. She fumed as the waiter approached and set a plate in front of each of them. Immediately her stomach growled, overriding her annoyance. It had been a long time since breakfast, and she needed to refuel in order to deal with her present company.

The seviche looked incredible; the hamburger Justin had ordered smelled even more so. She dug in, closing her eyes briefly at the first mild, sweet, spicy, limey flavors, silencing the low
mmm
of satisfaction that hummed through her. If she’d been with her last serious boyfriend, AJ Decker—the cop who’d gone and fallen in love with his ex-partner while Cate wasn’t looking—she would have immediately picked up another forkful and insisted he taste it. She didn’t offer Justin anything.

Silence followed his
hello
for a moment, then his mouth tightened. The muscles in his fingers holding the phone contracted, too. He didn’t look pleased.

Fear niggled in her belly, but it didn’t slow her eating. She wasn’t one of those people whose appetite came and went based on their emotions. Maybe it had to do with the pace of working in the E.R.; maybe it was a leftover from the frenetic medical school years, but when it was time to eat, she ate. She could do salvage work on a kid’s leg dangling by a shred after a bicycle–pickup truck run-in, then go to the break room, wash up and eat a substantial meal of spaghetti and meatballs.

Besides, this call that displeased Justin could be about any number of things other than Trent and Susanna. Someone could have dinged his Ferrari back home in Alabama. A banking mistake could have temporarily delayed a payout from one of his multiple trust funds into his checking account. The housekeeper could have forgotten to vacuum backward out of his living room so she didn’t leave footsteps behind.

Best friend or not, Trent was only a small part of the universe that revolved around Justin.

And
she
didn’t register in that universe at all, except as a very minor nuisance. She’d learned that years ago and would never forget.

* * *

Bracing the phone between his ear and shoulder, Justin picked up the knife and cut the burger in half, then fished off the lettuce from one half. The call hadn’t started off good: the caller ID screen had shown the number as unavailable. He rarely took those sorts of calls; with his money, his family and his reputation, there were way more people trying to contact him than he wanted to talk to. Under the circumstances, though…

The caller was a man, his voice heavily accented but easy to understand.
I saw you at La Casa para Nuestras Hijas, Mr. Seavers. I was warned you might be in the vicinity.

Justin hadn’t recognized any of the men in the black sedan, but why would he? He didn’t generally hang out with thugs…though apparently he’d been somewhat friendly with men who hired thugs. How was it that he’d never heard even a hint of gossip about the seamier side of Joseph and Lucas Wallace’s activities back in the States?

Because they hired discreet thugs, he thought grimly.

“What was in the backpack you took from La Casa?”

The man’s question echoed in his head, and he worked to sound careless, more to impress Cate than the caller. He wanted rid of her, and the only way to do that was make her believe that everything was okay with Trent and Susanna. “Just stuff I need. You know, something to read, a change of clothes—things that don’t fit in my pockets.”

“You mean, things you took from La Casa
.
Things that don’t belong to you. I want them.”

Justin glanced at Cate and locked gazes with her. She was eating as if she didn’t have a care in the world, but she was also watching him shrewdly. So far, she’d believed pretty much nothing that he’d told her, and this conversation was definitely going to make her doubt him even more and make her that much more of a problem. Sliding his chair back, he left the table and walked to the low wall that separated patio from driveway. There he couldn’t smell the tantalizing burger or the seviche for the sweet heavy fragrance of yellow flowers that vined the wall.

His voice flat, he said, “Nothing in my pack belongs to you, either. What have you done with Trent and Susanna?”

“Mr. Calloway and Ms. Hunter are fine, for the moment. But that won’t last if my employers don’t recover the property Ms. Hunter took.”

That damn flash drive. Susanna hadn’t stolen the files contained on it entirely on her own. Justin had met her in the stairwell at the Wallaces’ office building, taken the drive and disappeared while she returned to the offices for a meeting with Lucas.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Justin lied. “Maybe your boss just misplaced whatever he’s missing, because I’m pretty sure Susanna would never take anything that wasn’t hers. She’s such a goody-goody.”

“We’ve searched her, Mr. Calloway and La Casa. That leaves you. Any time Ms. Hunter has problems, she turns to you, and we know you were on the island that day.”

Sensing movement behind him, Justin shifted. He half expected Cate, eavesdropping, but instead it was a tiny clubfooted bird, hopping around in search of tidbits. Cate still sat at the table, still eating, still watching him. Keeping her in his peripheral vision, he turned his gaze to the street, where one ancient VW Bug after another chugged past.

“What is it your boss thinks is missing? Susanna’s taste is too good to pilfer any of that tacky art in the reception area, though I admit her purses are big enough to hide a piece. Or was it maybe something smaller? Did they leave a few grand in cash lying around that day? Or did it have sentimental value, like the gold lighter presented to Great-Grandfather Lucifer by President What’s-His-Name a hundred years ago?”

His attitude was pissing off the man. It showed in the tightening of his voice. “Records,” he said precisely. “She took records, and we want them back. Give them to us, and your friends will be released unharmed. Continue to hide the records, and they will pay the price. Call the authorities in your country or mine, and they will pay the price. Stand in our way, and you will pay the price. Do you know how my employers dealt with the last person who stole from them? Take a look at the photograph I just sent you.”

Frowning, Justin watched the photo download, then his stomach heaved. It was difficult to say if the body lying on the sand was male or female, young or old. All he could say for sure was that he or she had spent some time in the ocean, the main course for a feeding frenzy among its residents. Please, God, after drowning first.

“By the way, Mr. Seavers, everything I’ve just told you applies to Dr. Calloway, as well.”

“She doesn’t know—” He broke off his automatic denial. Damn! They’d been watching for her, too. The Wallaces must have known she was due back for one of her medical clinics. Whether they believed she knew anything was a moot point. She was here, and she’d been at La Casa
.
As far as the Wallaces were concerned, that meant she was involved. He could try putting her on an airplane back to Georgia or a cruise ship to nowhere, but she wouldn’t be safe. As long as the Wallaces thought their business was in danger, so was Cate. He was stuck with her.

“Dr. Calloway doesn’t have a clue about anything that happens outside her emergency room. Healthy, uninjured people don’t interest her.”

“Then if you both follow my instructions, her stay on the island should be quite uneventful. Now, do you know where the records are?”

Justin hesitated. If he lied and said no, the bastard wouldn’t believe him. If he lied and said he had them, they’d want to set up an exchange, and he doubted seriously that the Wallaces intended to let any of them walk away from this. The fact that the man wasn’t worried about any copies of the documents they might have made indicated that.

So he told a close version of the truth. “Not exactly. I’ve got some ideas.”

“I suggest you start looking. I’ll be in touch again soon. Oh, and Mr. Seavers—when you have the documents, don’t bother making any copies. Keep your phone charged and nearby.”

As the call ended, Justin stared across the street, where a cruise ship was making its way slowly to port. The Wallaces wanted the files back but weren’t worried about copies. Why?

True, the files were encrypted, but Garcia, one of his buddies in Mississippi, was working on that. She’d hacked into far better programs than any the Wallaces’ tech guy could even conceive of.

So they wanted the information badly enough to kidnap Trent and Susanna—and to threaten Justin and Cate—but they didn’t care about copies because the information was fluid. Names and locations could be changed. Move the people around and set their own hackers to erasing their existence…

Footsteps alerted him to Cate’s movement in time to keep her voice from startling him. “Was that about Trent and Susanna?”

He gave her an irritated look. “Geez, you lock in on one subject and beat it till it’s dead. No wonder Trent got so bored with you.”

Her jaw tightened and hurt flashed through her eyes the instant before she pivoted to return to the table. Aw, damn. He hadn’t meant—

He should apologize, but the Justin she knew didn’t offer apologies easily—at least, not sincere ones. That didn’t stop him from following her. She was rummaging in her purse for her cell phone when he reached the table. He tugged it from her grasp and slid it into his pocket with one hand as he picked up the bill with the other.

Stonily she stared at him. “Give me my phone. I’m going to call Trent’s parents.”

He did a quick conversion from pesos into dollars, then tossed down enough cash to cover the next three meals. “If Trent wanted Mom and Dad to know where he is, he would’ve told them.”

Her gaze narrowed, making him feel like something small and slimy that she was about to dissect. She didn’t argue, but turned toward the bar, no doubt to ask where she could find a phone.

He caught her arm and swung her back, half coaxing, half dragging her to the steps that led to the street. “You’re tired. It’s been a long day. Commercial flights are hell, aren’t they? Let’s go someplace quiet, and we can talk.”

“Talk?”
Her response reminded him of a parrot his frat brothers had inherited from a graduating senior. Whenever it was upset, it squawked like that. “I’ve been trying to talk since that awful moment at the house.”

He grinned. “You mean when they shot at us?”

“I mean when I saw you standing in the doorway.”

He flagged down a cab and ushered her into the backseat the instant the vehicle came to a stop. After giving the cabbie the address, he tried to casually glance around to see if anyone might have noticed them. He’d guessed not, but then, he hadn’t exactly had experience with being followed.

As they pulled away from the curb, Cate straightened. “What about your motorcycle?”

“At the moment, I’d rather be in a car than on my bike.”

“What about my suitcase?”

“We’ll get it later. Don’t worry. Mario will take care of it.”

“But—my stethoscope—”

He rolled his eyes. “If anything happens to your precious stethoscope, I’ll replace it. Scout’s honor.”

He wouldn’t have thought it possible for her face to get any scrunchier, but she managed. “You were never a Scout, and you have no honor. If anything happens to my stethoscope, I will hunt you down and kill you.”

Grinning was the last thing he wanted to do after that low blow, but he managed the brashest, most arrogant one ever. “Gotta get away from me before you can track me down.” And that wasn’t happening anytime soon, thanks to the Wallace brothers.