Always Page 8

  He was the most repulsive-looking creature she had ever seen. At least a hundred and fifty pounds overweight, his features were all but lost in the puffy blob of blubber that made up his face. Beady eyes glinted at her from between two folds of fat and his thick lips stretched in a smile that showed snuff-stained, greenish yellow teeth riddled with gaps. For such a large man, his head was small and seemed to come to a point. His neck was twice as wide. It started at the point of his chin and spread outward, hanging in flabby rolls. He looked like a slug in human clothing.

  "Jist, shut up, Harley, an' get them two outta there like ah tol' you." The unseen man followed up the order with a sharp rap on the roof of the vehicle with the butt of his gun. The explosive sound made Meghan jump and cling tighter to Rhys. "Scratch, you gone to sleep in there? Git yore lazy carcass out here an' give me'n Harley aiiand."

  "I'm a'comin.' Don't go gittin' yore skivvies in a wad. I had the devil of a time figurin' out where the light switch was on this fancy machine, is all." Moving slow as molasses, Scratch unfolded his six-foot-plus frame from the limo, hitched up his pants and proceeded to demonstrate how he had come by his nickname by casually tending to an apparent itch in his crotch.

  "Figures," Harley snickered. "Shoot, you couldn't find yore own rump with both hands. I tol' you I shoulda been the one to pick 'im up, Virgil. Leastways, I wouldn't 'a brought back extra baggage like old Scratch here done."

  "I didn't have no choice," the driver protested. "That Morgan fella wouldn't even git in the danged car till the woman came outta the theater. You couldn't a done no better."

  "Oh, yeah? Well-"

  "Jist hush up, you two, and git Morgan and the woman out here. Time's a'wastin'."

  "You heard the man." Harley nudged Rhys's temple with the barrel of the gun. "Git out. But take it nice and slow. An' keep them hands o' yorn out where I kin see 'um."

  A shiver rippled through Meghan.

  "All right. All right, I'm coming. Just take it easy with that thing," Rhys said, but he paused long enough to whisper in Meghan's ear, "Take it easy, honey. Just stay calm."

  Calm! Stay calm! How was she supposed to do that when they were being abducted, she'd like to know?

  "Just get off me," she hissed.

  Rhys gave her a warning look, then levered himself off of her and climbed out.

  Meghan followed reluctantly. In the tussle with Rhys, her teal green dress had gotten twisted, and when she stretched out her leg to step out of the limo the straight skirt rode up well above her knees, revealing the top edge of her sheer stockings and the lacy strap on her garter belt.

  The leer on Harley's slug face as his beady little eyes swept over her sent a shiver of revulsion up Meghan's spine. One of her shoes was still somewhere in the back of the limo, but she sidled around the fat man as fast as she could manage with her awkward up-and-down gait, pressing her back against the open limo door and anxiously straightening her clothing as she went. When Rhys took her hand and pulled her against his side she went willingly, scooting in as close as she could get. He slipped his arm around her waist and held her tight.

  They were on an isolated wooden pier. Except for one boat moored to a piling, the crude structure was deserted. Only the light spilling from the seedy cabin cruiser illuminated the dock. Meghan could barely make out the name Six Pac, painted on the bow. In the distance a few lights glimmered, but there did not appear to be a marina or any other docking facility, or even any other sign of human life, within a half a mite.

  The salty sea breeze tugged at Meghan's hair, pulling several curly strands from the chignon at her crown and plastering her clothing to her body, much to the apparent delight of Scratch and Harley. The pair ogled her openly and Meghan did not know which revolted her more, Harley's porcine lust or the perpetual vacant expression on Scratch's face.

  The smells of fish and seaweed and wet hemp surrounded them. Through the darkness Meghan could make out whitecaps and she heard the waves slapping the hull of the decrepit cabin cruiser and the pilings beneath the dock.

  She glanced at her watch. Judging by the length of time it had taken to get there, they had to be somewhere on the lower Texas Gulf Coast. The question was, where?

  With a self-possession she could only admire, Rhys looked from one to the other of the three men who formed a semicircle around them. "All right. Let's cut to the chase, shall we? How much, exactly, do you slimeballs want?"

  "Hey! Watch who you're callin' a slimeball!"

  "Yeah!" Scratch agreed.

  The third man, the one the other two called Virgil, snapped, "Shut up, Morgan. I do the talking around here."

  Virgil appeared to be in his late thirties, about five-nine with a wiry build, close-set eyes and a mean face. He was bald except for a fringe of hair circling his head. He had grown that long on the left side and wore it parted just above his ear and combed over the top in a vain attempt to conceal his scalp. Though plastered with greasy dressing, the flap of hair lifted and fluttered comically in the sea breeze, like the other two men, Virgil wore jeans and a western shirt, cowboy boots and a leather belt with a huge silver buckle.

  He looked Meghan over, from the top of her red head all the way down to her feet. "Dammit, Scratch, what the hell did you bring the woman for? She's no good to us a'tall. Who the devil is she, anyway?"

  "Shoot, how would I know? An' like I done tol' you, Virgil, I didn't have no choice. Morgan wouldn't get in the car till she showed."

  "You shoulda used yore gun an' made him get in," Harley said in a superior tone. "That's what I woulda done."

  "There was too many people comin' out that stage door. I couldn't take the chance of somebody seein' me, now could I?"

  "No, I reckon not," Virgil conceded grudgingly. "But now we're gonna to have to do somethin' with her."

  Rhys's arm tightened on Meghan's waist.

  "Do something? You mean—?"

  "Button your lip, Hartey," Virgil growled, and jerked his head to one side. "You'n Scratch come over here with me." He took a step, then paused and stabbed Rhys and Meghan with a hard look. "Don't you two budge, ya hear. You try anything an' I'll by-damn blow you away."

  Moving aside a few feet, the three bent their heads close together. Before long they were gesturing wildly.

  "What do you suppose that's all about?" Meghan whispered.

  "I'd say they're having a difference of opinion. At least, Harley doesn't look too happy. But I wouldn't count on him winning the debate. Virgil is clearly the boss of this motley crew."

  Meghan leaned forward, straining to hear what was being said, but their voices were pitched so low she could only make out the occasional word or phrase.

  "... don't like it, I tell ya."

  "Toughcan't jist turn her loose..."

  ".. .excess baggage..."

  "...if Virgil says..."

  "...don't like it..."

  "... no good to as..."

  The longer the discussion went on, the more tense Rhys grew. Out of the blue, pitching his voice to carry to the three men, he announced, "I think you fellas should know that Ms. McCall is my fiancee."

  Meghan's jaw dropped. She stiffened, but before she could voice a protest he went on calmly, "I assure you, my people will pay a ransom for her as well. They know how important she is to me."

  Virgil's weasel face sharpened with interest. "Is that right? Well, now. That's different. Whaddaya think, fellas?"

  "Shoot fire, I ain't gonna object to more money." Harley rubbed his hands together and looked immensely relieved.

  "I don't know," Scratch drawled, digging into his armpit. "That woman's a pain'in the butt. 'Course, it's up ta you, Virgil. You know I'll do whatever you say."

  They put their heads together again, and instantly Meghan turned on Rhys.

  "Have you lost your mind?'' she hissed.

  "Ssh. It was the only way I could think of to protect you."

  "Protect me! You probably just blew any chance I had that they would let me go.
"

  Rhys abandoned his watch of the men long enough to give her a pitying look. "Meghan, you didn't honestly think they were going to let you go, did you?"

  "Why... yes. Why wouldn't they? After all, Virgil himself said I was no use to them."

  "Other than the obvious, that's right." Meghan looked blank, and Rhys rolled his eyes. "Sex. I'm talking about sex," he said bluntly.

  Her gaze darted to the three men and her stomach did a flip-flop. "Oh, my Lord. You don't think—"

  "I'd say it has at least occurred to them. But even if that's not their intention, they wouldn't let you go free. You're an eyewitness. You can identify them. They can't afford to let you go running to the police. So if I were you, I'd start acting like a loving fiancee. As long as they think you're money in their pockets, they'll keep you alive."

  Meghan's heart lurched. "A-alive? You mean...they would...?"

  "Exactly."

  The hasty confab broke up and Virgil swaggered forward with his gun pointed at Rhys's middle. "All right, Morgan. We've decided to keep your girlfriend, too. So both of you get on board."

  "What?" Meghan squawked. "You mean you expect us to get on that piece of junk? Absolutely not. We won't do it."

  "Meghan-"

  "Ya see. What'd I tell ya, Virgil?" Scratch grumbled. He spit a string of snuff over the side of the pier and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shooting Meghan a disgruntled look. "That female, she ain't nothing but trouble. Why, she's ornery as a sack full a wildcats. If this job comes to grief, it'll be 'cause of her. You jist mark my words, she ain't worth it."

  "Quit yore whinin', Scratch. This little lady's gonna double our money for us. 'Sides, she ain't gonna give us no trouble. Not where they're going."

  Virgil waggled the barrel of his gun and motioned them toward the boat. "Now get on board before I lose my temper. An' don't try no funny stuff. Remember, there's three guns pointed at you."

  Meghan tried to dig in her heels and hold back, but Rhys kept nudging her forward. When she protested, he clamped one hand over her mouth, hooked the other around her waist and hauled her on board the rickety scow by force. She kicked and squirmed and mumbled dire imprecations into his palm every step of the way.

  As they passed Harley he grinned. "Whewie! She shore is a handful, ain't she? But I kin see you know how to handle her."

  "Yes," Rhys agreed. "She does require a firm hand now and then."

  Handle her? Handle her! Meghan fumed. She'd show him a firm hand when he let her go. She'd put it right in his eye.

  "Take 'urn below and lock 'um in the cabin," Virgil ordered.

  Harley prodded Rhys in the back with the barrel of his gun and escorted them below deck where he shoved them into a grubby cabin that smelted of bait, fried food and unwashed males.

  Beer cans overflowed the trash can, every surface bore a layer of grime and trash was scattered throughout the cabin. The curtains over the portholes were little more than limp rags and the mattress on the bunk did not have so much as a sheet on it.

  "Now you two have fun. An' don't do nothing I wouldn't do," Harley jeered a second before he shut them inside and shot home a bolt on the outside of the door.

  Rhys released Meghan and she rounded on him, her eyes shooting fire.

  "Don't you ever manhandle me like that again, you... you... egotistical jerk!''

  "Fine. Don't give me reason to, and I won't. Dammit, Meghan, you don't seem to realize what a dangerous situation we're in. Right now, these guys hold all the aces, and for the time being we're going to have to go along with them, like it or not."

  "Well, I don't like it. I don't like it one bit." She paced the narrow confines of the cabin like a caged tigress. "Oh, Lord. Where do you suppose they're taking us?"

  "I have no idea," Rhys answered in a distracted voice, moving to the small porthole. He watched the activity outside for a moment before shaking his head. "I just hope it's not far, because one thing is certain—these bumbling idiots aren't sailors."

  "What do you mean?" Meghan joined him at the porthole in time to see Scratch trip over a coil of rope on the pier and land fiat on his face.

  Harley guffawed, and when Scratch picked himself up the two got into a nose-to-nose argument, shouting and gesturing like two boys. They were about to come to blows when Virgil jumped back onto the dock and broke them apart. He delivered what, from Meghan and Rhys's vantage point, appeared to be a blistering lecture before stomping back on board.

  Glaring and muttering at each other, Scratch and Harley untied the forward and aft moorings at the same time. They fumbled and stumbled around and bumped into each other repeatedly, and within seconds another argument erupted. Neither noticed the boat drifting away from the pier until the lines they were holding pulled taut.

  They shouted to Virgil in the pilothouse and pulled back on the ropes. Harley had the bow line, and with his weight advantage, that end of the boat swung back toward the dock, which in turn made the stern swing even farther out.

  "Hey! What're ya. Ohhh-ohhh-ohhhhh...!"

  Scratch tried to dig in his heels, but the stern of the boat caught the incoming tide and swung farther out, dragging him along. Instead of releasing the rope, he held on for dear life... and took a header right over the side of the pier.

  Virgil pelted down from the pilothouse, cursing a blue streak. Harley stood on the pier gaping, and when a wave hit the side of the boat and jerked on the line he was caught off guard. He barely had time to let out one squawk before he went over the side, too. He hit the water like a belly-flopping whale and sent a geyser spraying up into the air.

  Shouting the most colorful curses Meghan had ever heard, 'Virgil unhooked the life preserver on the stem and tossed it to Harley, then raced to the bow and held out a long-handled net to Scratch and hollered for him to grab hold.

  "I don't believe it," Meghan murmured, shaking her head.

  "They're not rocket scientists, that much is certain. With any luck, we'll wash up on shore before ol' Virgil can haul them in," Rhys drawled. "While the three stooges try to figure out what to do, maybe we can bust open that door and make a break for it."

  It took a lot of effort, particularly with Harley, but somehow Virgil managed to pull his cohorts aboard before the boat ran aground. Leaving the shivering pair sitting on deck like drowned rats, he raced back up to the pilothouse, and a minute later the engines rumbled to life.

  "Well, that's that." Rhys flopped back down onto the bunk. "Looks like we're going for a boat ride."

  "We, huh!" Meghan shot him a black look and poked her chest with her rigid forefinger. "I shouldn't even be here. And it's all your fault that I am. If you hadn't waylaid me and forced me into that limo, I'd be at the hotel right now."

  Bracing on his elbows, Rhys lounged back on the grubby bunk, one knee bent, his foot propped on the stained mattress ticking. He raised, one eyebrow at her. "If you're trying to make me feel guilty for this, forget it. I had no way of knowing that I'd be kidnapped tonight."

  "Maybe so, but the fact remains that if it hadn't been for you I'd be safe right now."

  He shrugged. "Perhaps."

  The unconcerned reply infuriated Meghan. She glared at him, but her ire did not seem to have the least effect, and she began to pace again. After a while a horrifying thought occurred to her and she halted and swung around to Rhys.

  "Do you think Quincy will pay the ransom when they contact him?"

  "Of course he'll pay it."

  Meghan snorted. "Yours maybe, but I'm not so sure about mine. In case you haven't noticed, your manager doesn't care much for me."

  "Don't mind Quincy. He's just guarding his territory. He's afraid if I get seriously involved with a woman, my music—which to Quincy translates to money—will no longer be the most important thing in my life. But look, if you're worried, I'll ask if I can write him a note or make a tape they can play for him over the phone. I'll spell out to him exactly what I want him to do. Don't worry, Quincy wouldn't dare disobey
my instructions."'

  Meghan wished she could be as confident of that as Rhys. As for Quincy's concern, he had nothing to worry about from her. Personally, she could not imagine Rhys becoming serious over any woman, but if it ever happened it certainly wouldn't be with her.

  Her nerves were drawn as tight as a piano wire, and she took several more turns of the cabin before she worked up the courage to broach her biggest concern. "Rhys, do you think these men are dangerous?"

  "Meghan, any man with a gun is dangerous."

  "I know that. What I mean is, do you think they're professional criminals who've done this sort of thing before?"

  "I doubt it. My guess is they're just three bubbas who downed a few too many one night and dreamed up a get-rich-quick scheme."