the island.
Max scratched Truman’s head and gave the two-tap signal to go. Instantly the dog shot across the sand, silent despite his size. Speed and keen intelligence were his specialties, and Max was glad to have him along as backup. Things were quickly growing messy in ways that no one had planned.
Not that Max had expected this mission to be easy.
The dog slowed, sniffing the ground. When he trotted back, he carried a soggy mass that might once have been white, but now was the color of day-old vomit.
Max studied the wad of fabric in Truman’s teeth. He remembered the white thing that had been tied around her shoulders when he’d lugged her out of the water onto the beach. When Truman bumped his leg again, eager to continue the chase, Max gave him the two-tap freeing command. Go.
Given the woman’s resourcefulness, he had no more doubts.
She had to be working with Cruz. Rescuing the other passenger he’d seen would have to wait.
MIKI HUDDLED IN THE DARKNESS, shivering. What in the heck was she doing?
Her knees were bleeding and her cheek was bruised where she’d hit a rock during her blind flight. She was a photographer, not a secret agent, and she was way out of her comfort zone.
She heard a noise behind her, at the mouth of the cave. Pebbles skittered, echoing hollowly. With unsteady hands, she followed the narrow tunnel deeper underground, splashing through an icy pool.
More pebbles rattled. Terror drove her forward, stumbling over fallen earth and boulders, her feet bleeding. Abruptly the cave widened. She pressed on, leaning against the stone wall, following the sound of water. In her panic, she stumbled. Her ankle twisted and her head struck a ragged piece of limestone. Even then she tried to crawl forward, but the ground had begun to whirl.
Something splashed through the water behind her, and she lost her balance, going down hard. She was angry that she wasn’t faster, angry that she’d lost her favorite shrug.
Angry that she’d screwed up yet again.
A sharp pain throbbed in her forehead. She kept crawling right up until everything went black.
CHAPTER FOUR
MIKI AWOKE WITH SAND in her mouth.
She was flat on the ground, her clothing still damp. Her hands were behind her back now, aching in plastic wrist restraints. How much time had passed since her fall?
She tried to free her hands, and instantly felt hot canine breath on her face, a silent warning. Miki tried to clear her fuzzy thoughts, remembering her escape and the pursuit. Her wrists hurt, but by wriggling slightly she could relieve the pressure. Tilting her head back, she looked up, searching vainly for familiar constellations. With the clouds gone, the darkness was alive now, filled with glittering white specks that dotted a sky untouched by any other light. None of them meant a thing to Miki. She barely recognized the constellations back home in New Mexico.
She was on a beach somewhere. That much she knew, but nothing else. Wincing, she glanced carefully around and froze at the sight of the pale shape stretched out nearby.
A really huge dog. Some kind of retriever.
Now you’ve stepped into it, Miki thought. Fired, wrecked, ditched, then lost and half drowned. A hysterical laugh bubbled up inside her, but she cut off the sound, remembering Dutch’s final order.
Stay smart and stay alive.
The dog gave her no choice. She shuddered at the thought of sharp teeth lunging at her throat. Guard dogs were taught things like that. They could kill in seconds, according to Miki’s best friend, who trained service dogs for police and military units. Now Miki wished she’d paid better attention all those times Kit described how she trained her dogs.
If she ever got back.
Blocking a wave of hopelessness, she watched a dark shape feather across the moon. She recognized the leaves of a palm tree, and that meant she was still in the tropics. Given the silence, it had to be someplace remote. Since she’d come awake there had been no lights, either at sea or from passing planes.
Very remote, she thought grimly.
Her head began to ache, and she remembered bumping it back in the cave. Now her whole body throbbed along with her head, but pain or not, she had to do something before the creep in the wetsuit came back, even if one escape effort had failed.
But that left the dog. If she moved very slowly, she could try to make her way back to the water, since dogs couldn’t carry a scent over running water. She remembered hearing Kit say that.
Carefully, Miki eased onto her side. The wind rushed over her face, but she was certain the dog couldn’t hear her anyway. Her confidence growing, she moved another few inches.
Still no warning growl.
Her pulse hammered as she moved again, her face against the wind. She heard a sucking noise and sand skittered over her feet. The sound came again, and the blackness materialized into a column. Miki realized the man was back, her worst nightmare in the flesh. Over the slam of her heart she heard a soft groan that seemed familiar. The noise came from what appeared to be a large object.
Dutch?
Recognition made her try to stand. Had he actually found Dutch out in the dark water? She could barely believe it.
Her urgent questions were cut off by cold gloved hands at her mouth. “No noise,” he whispered. Kit felt him bend down, checking that her restraints were in place.
Then sand squished and he drove her across the beach. She felt sand give way to dirt, the waves sounding muted behind her.
A light flickered and disappeared and his low voice came at her ear. “Four steps down.”
The first drop took her by surprise and she stumbled, her ankle twisting. Gloved hands caught her and she slammed against a hard chest.
A door hinge whispered. Light flared, blinding her. She could see the creep for the first time, his body covered by a black wetsuit and black gloves. He was carrying a pair of heavy night-vision goggles, and in the light his eyes snapped with command, somewhere between blue and gray. Miki couldn’t seem to focus, but when he undid her restraints and set her down, Dutch was at her feet, sickly white. A long gash ran down his right cheek.
“You got him,” she whispered, kneeling beside the pilot. She didn’t look up, gripping Dutch’s cold fingers. “Thank you. I didn’t think anyone could do that.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” He tossed a silver thermal blanket over Dutch and tucked the foil around the man’s motionless body. As he moved his light, Miki saw that they were underground in some kind of small room. Near her feet were a large metal case and half a dozen tins that looked like MREs. The dog sat beside the case, ears erect, body alert. Spotting her sodden camera bag on the floor near Dutch, Miki reached out, but the dog seized the handle in its teeth and tugged it out of reach.
“Hey! What do you mean by—”
“No noise.” The man looked at his dog. “Sit.”
Instantly the powerful body dropped, Miki’s camera bag still between his front paws. The dog nosed the bag and suddenly flattened on the ground, his hackles rising.
The man spun around. “Target?” he said softly. “Alert.”
Target? All Miki had in the bag were clothes, a few sundries and her camera equipment. Everything was likely to be ruined from the seawater.
The dog sniffed the ground, sniffed Miki’s satchel, then laid one paw across the leather bag and didn’t move.
“Confirm.”
The dog sniffed her bag again, and the motion made something shift inside an inner pocket. There was a small pop and fragrance blossomed, filling the cramped space. Miki realized it was her best French perfume, the same fragrance she’d worn