LITMIR.BIZ

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his hand. When John shook the long fingers, he felt a firmness and strength that caused him to take a second look. The Rasta’s black eyes showed a seriousness that didn’t fit with the costume. Quietly, Edgar said, “Miss Evangeline recommends my services, mon.”

      Evangeline Prescott was in charge at Prescott Personal Securities. She’d sent John and Lily on this trip to make contact with her husband, Robert, a former MI6 agent who was presumed dead and had been missing for two years.

      Robert Prescott had founded PPS, and he was more than a boss. John had been one of the first agents hired, and he considered Robert to be his mentor and his friend.

      “All right, Edgar,” John said. “Do you mind if I make a phone call first?”

      “Sure thing, mon.”

      They went back inside the air-conditioned terminal. While Lily chatted with Edgar, John opened the suitcase that held his computer and electronic equipment, including a satellite phone with a secure line. All communication with their office needed to be untraceable and indecipherable. Over the past several months, PPS had been investigating a series of murders back in Denver that might have roots on Cuerva.

      With the three-hour time difference, he figured Evangeline would still be at the office. He got through on her private line. “Who’s Edgar? And why does he want to show us where the sea turtles mate?”

      “You can trust Edgar MacAllister. He’s a friend.” Evangeline’s breathy tone betrayed her excitement at the prospect of being reunited with her husband. “Have you heard from Robert yet? Have you seen him?”

      “We’re still in Jamaica.”

      “Right. Of course, you are.”

      It was unlike Evangeline—a former FBI agent—to be so rattled. He asked, “Is there some reason why you kept Edgar a secret?”

      “He contacted me this morning. The threat level on this assignment has gone from amber to bright red. Someone on Cuerva is after Robert.”

      “Who?”

      “I don’t have a name for you, John.”

      He’d expected complications. Otherwise, Robert Prescott could have hopped on a commercial flight and come directly to Denver.

      “There’s more bad news,” she continued. “We’ve uncovered information that a Denver businessman with mob connections is involved in our murder investigations. His name is Drew Kirshner, and he arrived on Cuerva yesterday.”

      John put two and two together. Someone on Cuerva was after Robert. Drew Kirshner came here. “Is Kirshner the person who’s after Robert?”

      “I don’t know.” She exhaled a nervous sigh. “Be careful, John. Bring my husband back to me.”

      “Count on it,” he said.

      After he disconnected the call, he sat for a moment, assessing this new information. There were too many unknowns on this assignment, and the potential for lethal danger. It might be wise to pick up a couple of guns on Jamaica before heading to Cuerva.

      As soon as he joined Edgar and Lily, he mentioned the need for additional weaponry.

      “All taken care of, mon.” Edgar pointed them toward the exit to the runways.

      “Hold on,” John said. “I need to cancel our other flight and see if I can get a refund.”

      The Inter-Island Transport representative was an intense brunette with a bun so tight that it lifted her eyebrows. She responded to John’s request in icy tones. Their policy was to never issue refunds.

      For a moment, he considered convincing her otherwise. John was an expert negotiator who learned to haggle when he was a skinny kid on the Navajo reservation selling crafts to tourists. But that was a long time ago, and he had more pressing concerns.

      Lily popped up beside him. “What’s wrong?”

      “Wasting money goes against my grain.”

      “But this isn’t really your money. The unused tickets can go on your company expense account.”

      “It’s still a waste.”

      Her eyes were wide and curious, searching for answers. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

      As if he would ever discuss what it was like to grow up dirt-poor, squeezing every nickel, going without dinner so his brothers and sisters could eat.

      He’d never been a man who readily shared his life secrets. The less people knew about him, the better. Besides, he’d overcome his past. He was thirty-seven years old, respected in his field and financially successful. His family would never go hungry again. “We can talk later.”

      Her eyebrows pinched in a scowl. “That’s the third time you’ve said that to me.”

      “And you still haven’t taken the hint.”

      “Figuring you out is a challenge. And I’m very persistent.”

      “Like a migraine?”

      “Like a thousand stinging wasps.” Her innocent expression turned shrewd. “I already know a few things about you. You were in the Marines. You majored in physics in college, which led to your training and expertise in security systems.”

      “That’s my résumé.”

      “I’ll figure you out,” she teased. “You didn’t fool me at all when you pretended to be napping on the plane.”

      “I was sleeping. And so were you.”

      Edgar shuffled up beside them. “Let’s go, mon.”

      Hoisting their luggage, he followed Lily and Edgar through the small terminal to the tarmac, where Edgar commandeered a modified golf cart and drove them to nearby hangars.

      Apart from a painted picture of the glamorous redhaired Martina on the nose, the small, single-engine Cessna looked like a standard issue aircraft with a fixed undercarriage. Inside the cramped interior, John gave Lily the copilot seat and settled in behind them. As soon as they were airborne, he eased forward and took a position between the two cockpit seats.

      The view was breathtaking. At the edge of sunset, the skies to the west had taken on a soft pink glow. From horizon to horizon, there was nothing but sparkling water as far as the eye could see. John soaked it all in. The beauty of Mother Earth never failed to amaze him.

      He spoke loudly over the whir of the propeller. “Tell us about yourself, Edgar. How do you know Evangeline?”

      Edgar’s shoulders straightened. With quick, precise movements, he removed his earphones, then he unfastened a few clips and took off his hair.

      Lily laughed out loud. “Great disguise.”

      “Thank you very much.” Without the dreadlocks and the easygoing Rasta manner, he had the air of a gentleman. “I met Robert Prescott while we were both employed at MI6.”

      The British Secret Intelligence Service. Edgar had dropped the Bob Marley accent. He sounded British through and through.

      “You’re not with MI6 anymore?” John asked.

      “Quite happily retired.” His gaze fixed on the instrument panel. “I do, however, stay in touch with my former colleagues. When Robert requested my help, I was delighted to be of service.”

      “You’ve spoken to Robert,” John said. “Is he well?”

      “Very well, indeed. I’m not precisely certain about his plans, but I should inform you that this visit to Cuerva will be much more than a simple extrication.”

      John had feared as much. No one at PPS, not even Evangeline, knew what Robert had been investigating for the past two years, but it had to be huge. “You said the weapons were taken care of.”

      “In the rear empennage,” Edgar

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