Dead Reckoning. Sandra K. Moore

square off against Gus. Guns, choppers, ammo. Always Scintella. Always his arrest. Never a word about what really mattered.

      “All I want is my sister,” Chris said loudly into a break in the argument. “I can get onto that island myself, one way or another, before you bring in the cavalry. Give me that chance to get Natalie out, and you can do whatever the hell you want after we’re gone.”

      “That’s a good way to get yourself killed,” Garza remarked.

      “If I do nothing, Natalie gets killed. None of you sound very interested in her except as a source of information.”

      For a long moment, no one spoke. Gus’s face screwed into his characteristic scowl. Antonio Garza stared at his shoes beneath the table.

      “I’m not leaving my sister at Jerome Scintella’s mercy,” she said quietly. “I’ll take Obsession to Isladonata if I have to do it on my own.”

      Long seconds passed while she held Smith’s gaze. She wasn’t bluffing and she knew that showed in her face—she was scared, but she wouldn’t back down. She didn’t trust this agent to look after Natalie once he and his team had Scintella in view. Sure, they might be honorable men. But her experience had taught her to be wary. The nice mutt sitting placidly with you on the front porch one minute could become a mindless part of a howling, uncontrollable pack when the quarry was sighted.

      She was the only one in the room putting Natalie first.

      Smith must have read her correctly because he said to Garza, “I need to make a phone call. Can we talk outside?”

      Garza sighed and faced her, his dark eyes soft with what looked like fatherly concern. “Do you mind waiting?”

      “Go ahead.”

      Garza grasped the cane that leaned against the table and levered himself from his chair like a much older man. After he’d limped from the room behind Smith, Chris asked, “Was he injured in the line of duty?”

      “Domestic violence case. Guy beatin’ up his wife, the neighbor calls, we go over there. We’ve got the guy cuffed and headed out the door when the wife goes ape-shit with a handgun ’cause she wants to ‘save her man.’”

      Chris heard again Natalie’s voice: He didn’t mean it. It’s not like he broke anything.

      “God,” she murmured.

      Gus shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m no shrink. I just know it happens sometimes. They usually don’t come out firing, though. Tony got a bad break.”

      She was silent for a moment before she asked, “What do you think they’re talking about?”

      His heavy sigh could have been anything: fatigue, resignation, exasperation. “I don’t know,” he said finally, kicking his chair back onto two legs. “I got an idea but I never cared much for guessin’.”

      He had a point. Guessing invited a lot of wondering, and that would turn into worrying. She had enough of that on her plate already.

      While Gus jangled quarters and dimes, Chris tried to concentrate on not wondering if Jerome was hurting Natalie. Live today, right now, she reminded herself. Maybe it was time to go back to meditating. That practice had helped when she was having a tough time with the rig roughnecks. Funny how the simplest things got so easily swamped by worry and fear. You get busy, then you forget how to stay centered, sane.

      “What I don’t understand,” Gus said abruptly, “is why these boys sound like they need your boat. The DEA could use any old tub they’ve seized recently.”

      “I thought smugglers used Cigarette boats and fishing trawlers,” she said, thinking back over cruising posts and magazine articles she’d read.

      “Then why don’t they take a damn go-fast boat then?”

      “You know I won’t let them go without me,” she warned.

      Before Gus could work up a head of steam, the office door opened. Chris watched Smith and Garza file back in and settle across from her again. Gus tipped his chair onto all four legs, clearly ready to do battle.

      “Ms. Hampton,” Smith said, “you’ve given us the best chance in years to put our hands on Scintella. It’s a major break for us.”

      “I’m sure of that,” she said flatly. “What about my sister?”

      “We want to see her home with you safe and sound.”

      That she wasn’t sure of. Smith didn’t seem to notice.

      “We’ll put a team together and go to Isladonata, intercept Scintella and bring your sister back.”

      “On what boat?”

      “I phoned my partner, Special Agent McLellan, while Mr. Garza and I were outside. McLellan wants to pay for the upgrades in exchange for using your yacht.”

      “Why can’t you take a seized boat?” Gus demanded.

      “Logistical problem,” Smith snapped. “Last year’s hurricane season took out our suitable yachts. Ms. Hampton’s right. We need something that won’t make them suspicious.”

      “And you’ll find a captain who can handle a hundred-ton vessel?” She ignored the yank on her gut at the thought of handing the yacht—her home—over to a bunch of weekend sea cowboys she didn’t know.

      “It might be tricky,” he admitted.

      “How will you find the island?”

      “Hook us up with your sister and we’ll take it from there.”

      She shook her head. “It’s not going to work that way.”

      “Why not?” Smith asked sharply.

      “She won’t talk to anyone but me.”

      “That’s not wise—”

      “Of course it’s wise. She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t know your voice. What if Jerome tricks her into talking to one of his thugs? It’s bad enough that he could tap her phone.” Chris paused, lifted her chin. “But she knows me. She trusts me. If she does happen to come up with fresh information, she’ll call.”

      Smith hesitated, clearly tempted. “We can set up a phone relay.”

      Chris shook her head. “Not good enough. I’m going with you or there’s no deal.” When she saw that mule look come over Smith’s open face, she added, “This isn’t negotiable.”

      “You don’t understand.” Smith leaned forward. “Two operations failed to bring Scintella in. Believe it or not, the long shot you’ve dropped in our laps may be our best opportunity to nail him. He might anticipate his men turning on him, but he might not guess that his wife would.”

      “I just want to know Natalie’s going to be safe. If it comes down to a choice between catching Scintella and saving my sister—”

      “There aren’t any guarantees where Scintella’s concerned,” Smith said bluntly. “Except that he’s dangerous and he’ll fight being brought in. He’ll do everything he can to stay free.”

      And the DEA agents, no matter how well-meaning, would have their sights set first on Scintella, then on Natalie.

      I’m the only one who’s going to be looking out for her.

      “I’m captaining my vessel on this trip,” Chris told Smith as she stood. Before he could start lobbing objections her way, she said, “When you and your partner come out to the boatyard, I’ll be prepping my yacht.” Then she turned on her heel and walked out.

      The small, silver key dangled on a chain held lightly in Special Agent Smith’s fingers. Behind him, late afternoon sunlight swept into Obsession’s salon, haloing him, making his blond hair almost golden, his roughly sculpted features classically Grecian in their shadows and highlights.

      “I