The Cursed

  “The bruises. Come on. See for yourselves,” Mendini said. “You can grab a mask on the way in.”

  Dallas remembered talking to the young woman who was now lying naked on the stainless steel table, being sewn up. He was very glad that Hannah wasn’t with them.

  “See what I’m talking about?” Dirk asked them as he lifted her right arm. Bruises had formed on her flesh—bruises that clearly came from the grip of forceful fingers.

  “She drowned?” Logan asked.

  Dirk nodded. “I believe she was drawn into the wreck and held there. Based on bruising and the water in her lungs, her killer ripped the regulator from her mouth, held her—and watched her drown.” He shuddered.

  Dallas touched the body, his sympathy rising for Yerby Catalano. He was glad that Liam had been the one to tell her family she was gone.

  He lingered by the body, hoping to get a sense that her spirit was lingering. He felt nothing, but that didn’t mean she was really gone, not after such a horrible death.

  Logan also touched the body, under the pretense of studying the bruises.

  “We know, of course, almost exactly when she died, since she was on a dive,” Dirk added. “It’s like hell come to paradise.”

  “It has to be stopped,” Logan said quietly.

  “And it will be,” Dallas vowed, then he turned to the M.E. “Did you get any trace evidence? Anything under her nails?”

  “She tried. She fought,” Dirk said. “We’re a long way from any possible answers, though. She had a few fibers caught in her nails. They look like they belong to a run-of-the-mill dive skin.”

  Dallas shook his head. “Not many people go down in wet suits. Not at this time of year.”

  “Some do,” Dirk said. “I know a lot of people who wear them year round. Helps if you brush against fire coral or run into a school of jellyfish.”

  That was true. But it was still going to be easier to ask witnesses about someone wearing a wet suit, because most people stuck to bathing suits in the summer.

  “Liam is canvassing the dive boats in the area. Maybe he can find out something,” Dallas said. “Any little detail can help.”

  “Of course. But you have to remember, she was under the water for at least an hour and a half before she was found. Seawater does a number on a corpse, even in a short period of time,” Dirk reminded him.

  “Her bathing suit and dive gear?” Dallas asked.

  “Forensics is already working on them,” Dirk said.

  Yerby Catalano’s eyes were mercifully closed. She looked small and frail, her once lovely body now scarred by a wicked Y-incision.

  She was gone. And there was no way in hell they could have known that they needed to save her.

  As they left the medical examiner’s office, Dallas noted the breeze of the early evening. The sky was nearly crystal-blue, with light puffs of clouds riding across it. Even here, just off US 1, they weren’t far from the water.

  They got in the car to drive back to the dolphin research facility where they’d left Kelsey and Hannah. There were plenty of cars on the road. The news was out about the deaths, but as far as the general public knew there was no connection between them, so people were still heading south, on their way to Key West. They would, Dallas knew, feel no connection to the victims. As far as they knew, Jose Rodriguez had been a drunk who hung around with the wrong crowd. And as for the tragic death of Yerby Catalano, well, it was sad, but some people insisted on trying dives that were too difficult for them or didn’t follow their divemaster’s rules.

  “You know,” Logan said, “it could be we’ll find out they were killed by two different people.”

  “Maybe, but I can guarantee you they’ll both be connected to Los Lobos. That gang is nothing but a bunch of snakes, like Medusa’s head,” Dallas said. “I want whoever killed these two—and I want them to pay. But more than anything I want to find the Wolf.”

  Logan nodded. “Which means we need the killer, or killers, alive,” he said.

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’ve only ever killed a man when it was to save another. I’m not a cowboy, Logan. I don’t let my emotions rule, and I don’t shoot unless I have to,” Dallas said.

  Logan glanced at him quickly. “Sorry. I wasn’t implying anything. But I know how hard it is when you lose someone on your team.”

  Of course the guy knew about him. After all, Adam Harrison had been watching him. “You’re talking about William Warwich.”

  Logan shrugged and said, “I know you had no choice—I read the report. The victim came within split seconds of death. I know it was a justified shoot.”

  “Then...?”

  “I lost my wife,” Logan said. “And I remember wanting to skin the killer alive, that’s all.”

  They were both silent as they continued to drive. Then Dallas said, “We both know we need to take the killer—or killers—alive. But first we have to find them.”

  They hadn’t gone far, not even ten miles, when Dallas saw the giant sculpture of a dolphin on the left side of the road that announced the presence of the research facility.

  People were leaving. It was past five, and the place had closed. But they explained who they were to the employee manning the entrance, and a few minutes later the facility’s friendly photographer led them out back.

  Hannah and Kelsey had evidently borrowed bathing suits so they could swim with the dolphins. Now they were using the “splash zone” to rinse off.

  Hannah was standing under the spray of a playful whale, smoothing back her wet hair. Her eyes were closed; her face was turned to the water. She appeared as graceful as the best swimmer in the sea, sleek and stunning. He found himself staring and gave himself a mental shake.

  “Hey!” Kelsey called to Hannah. “The guys are here for us.”

  Hannah quickly turned and went for her towel. As she dried off, she waved to a tall woman with dark hair and equally dark flashing eyes. Hannah quickly introduced Dallas and Logan to her friend who ran the center, Stella Marsh. Stella greeted them warmly, urging them to return when they had time.

  “You look good,” Logan said, smiling at Kelsey.

  “Stella got us in on the last swim,” Kelsey said. “I love dolphins. They’re such magnificent creatures.”

  “You should see them with Stella,” Hannah said. “They’re like puppies. They know her. They’re affectionate with her.”

  “What can I tell you? They’re smart,” Stella said.

  “Give us two seconds to get dressed,” Hannah said, hurrying for the changing rooms. Kelsey followed on her heels.

  Stella chatted to the two men while they waited. Of course the deaths in Key West came up. Logan and Dallas were careful in their replies. Investigations were under way. No one really knew anything yet.

  As they talked, though, Dallas felt the tension in him easing. It had been okay. Hannah had come here and enjoyed a break from the situation. And she was safe. Nothing had happened.

  He almost felt calm as they got into the car for the return ride.

  “Impressive place,” he murmured as Logan pulled out onto the road.

  “Oh, I love it there,” Hannah said. She smiled at him, but her smile quickly faded and she looked at him somberly. “Well? What did you find out? Was she...?”

  He nodded. “Someone held her down there.”

  She didn’t reply but looked out the window.

  “Did the M.E. tell you anything? Was there any evidence on her body?” Kelsey asked.

  “Whatever they found is with forensics. He’ll tell us what they find as soon as he hears,” Dallas said.

  “I hope it’s soon,” Kelsey said, looking out the window. “I do miss this place. There’s something wonderful about growing up on an island.”

  “And difficult s
ometimes, too,” Hannah said. “I mean, it’s only ninety miles to Cuba but about five hundred miles to the state line. Sometimes it felt like we weren’t even part of the rest of the country.”

  The cousins talked comfortably as they went, pointing out places they loved along the way.

  “We’re being followed,” Logan said quietly after about ten minutes of reminiscing.

  Dallas turned slightly, discreetly, to look out the back window.

  It was hard not to think you were being followed on the way to or from the Keys. The only through-route in either direction was US 1, but it was unlikely that a car would stay with them by coincidence through Marathon, where there were multiple lanes through both the business and residential districts.

  Now, though, they had left the town behind and driven onto Seven Mile Bridge.

  Dallas quickly caught Logan’s eye in the rearview mirror, his own expression questioning.

  “Same car that pulled in behind us right after we left the dolphin facility,” Logan said. “It deliberately hung back through town, but now it’s with us again.”

  “We sure as hell can’t pull off,” Kelsey murmured.

  Dallas reached for the Glock in his shoulder holster.

  He never had a chance to make a move.

  The car behind them sped up and rammed them at eighty miles an hour.

  Logan fought to regain control of their car as it leaped forward and began to spin.

  10

  Hannah had never been so grateful that, even in the backseat of a car, she automatically put on a seat belt. It was Florida state law, but not everyone obeyed, especially in the backseat. Even so, she could never have imagined anything as horrible as the uncontrolled motion of the car and the horrendous sound of metal screeching against metal. The soar and spin of the out-of-control vehicle made bright lights appear before her eyes—lights created by her blinding fear. She didn’t see her life rush by behind her eyes in those seconds; instead, she felt an agony of dread. She was thrown against Dallas as the car smashed into the median, and just before the air bags sprang to life, she felt his hand grip hers.

  She gasped for breath as the car came to a stop, amazed that she was in one piece, that the pressure of the air bag hadn’t crushed her. They were alive! They’d made it.

  She heard Dallas cursing as, somehow, he quickly cut away the remnants of the air bags. He must have been carrying a knife. She wasn’t sure why it was so urgent that they rid themselves of the air bags so quickly. Then she knew.

  It wasn’t over.

  The man who had hit them was still out there.

  “Everyone all right?” Dallas called out quickly.

  “Yes,” everyone answered in unison

  “Down! Get down and stay down!” Dallas told Hannah.

  He didn’t need to ask twice. Shaking, she hunkered low. She could hear steam coming from the front of the car and, peeking, realized they were slammed against the guardrail. Another violent impact would end them. Her door was crammed against the barrier.

  “He’s coming back at us!” she heard Logan shout.

  “Stop!” Dallas roared, shoving his way out of the wrecked car to stand beside Logan on the road.

  Hannah braced herself and peered out above the seat. The car was coming back toward them.

  She heard a gunshot, then another and another. Each one seemed to rip through her, and she jerked in rhythm to the sounds.

  “It’s all right,” Kelsey said, and Hannah realized that her cousin had her weapon out and steadied on the dash as she aimed at their attackers through the open driver’s door. “They got the car.”

  Got the car?

  She looked closer and realized what Kelsey meant. Dallas and Logan had shot out the tires of the car that had hit them. She watched as it skidded and crashed into the guardrail ahead of them.

  “Who the hell is that?” Kelsey whispered intently.

  Hannah saw the driver’s side door of the big sedan that had struck them opening. A man emerged. He looked about forty, she thought, and he was wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a baseball cap.

  And carrying something that looked like a very big gun.

  It was her turn to scream “Get down!” at the two men outside the car.

  “Drop it!” Dallas or Logan—or maybe both of them—shouted.

  The man fired but, perhaps dazed by the crash, only hit the headlight of the rental car. She watched Dallas’s gun go off. The other man squealed in pain—and drew a second gun from his waistband.

  The two agents fired again.

  This time the man went down. For a moment, the air seemed impossibly still. Time seemed to stop. Then it started up again, and she realized she could smell gas. She caught Kelsey’s shoulder and said, “Out!”

  Kelsey must have smelled the gas, as well, because she scooted across to the driver’s side door as Hannah crawled out of the back.

  Dallas and Logan were walking toward the fallen man when Hannah shoved Dallas in the back with a single explanatory word. “Gas!”

  They all ran toward the corpse. She realized cars were close behind them now and turned to run in the other direction to warn them. Waving her hands wildly, she tried to stop them from passing. Then she felt herself being lifted off the ground—not by an explosion but by Dallas. He fell to the pavement with her, taking the brunt of the impact. Two seconds later a car whizzed by, speeding when it shouldn’t have been speeding, seeing her too late.

  The rental car suddenly exploded. The bridge shook as if there had been an earthquake. Flames leaped to the sky. The car that had nearly clipped her crashed into their attacker’s ruined vehicle and added to the chaos.

  Time seemed to go crazy in a cacophony of smell and sound. Fire on the air, shouts and reverberations, heat from the flames...

  As Hannah returned to the here and now she realized that Dallas was lying above her. He had rolled to use his body as a shield against the rain of debris.

  Protect and serve. The man certainly had it down pat.

  He rose, drawing her to her feet. “You okay?” he asked anxiously, and as soon as she nodded, he caught her hand.

  The local police had arrived already—there must have been a patrol car nearby—and the state cars were bound to follow.

  Dallas drew her along with him as he hurried back toward Logan and Kelsey, who were already speaking with the cops.

  They were standing by the body of the dead man, who lay in a pool of blood on the asphalt. One of the agents had caught him dead center in the forehead. His head had rolled to the side, and most of the back of it had been blown away. Only a gaping black hole remained, surrounded by bits of bloody dark hair. He had been in his mid-forties, Hannah thought dully.

  “No,” she said when asked. She’d never seen him before. Dallas used a handkerchief to search in the dead man’s pocket for a wallet. His license identified him as Robert Brown of Fort Lauderdale; he’d been forty-seven.

  The next thirty minutes were a blur as the road was blocked off, and the agents and police hunkered over the dead man, soon joined by Dirk Mendini. The local police, aware that she was the civilian in the mix, kept offering to make her comfortable in the backseat of a patrol car, but Dallas didn’t want her out of his sight, not even in a police vehicle.

  Somewhere in the chaos, she remembered that people would begin arriving at the Siren for the evening’s ghost tour long before she could possibly get back.

  Except there was a dead man on the road. Who had tried to kill them. What did a ghost tour matter?

  Then again, in the greater scheme of whatever was going on, maybe it did.

  While forms were filled out, while each new officer arrived and had to be briefed, she talked to Dallas about the situation. She realized she sounded like a robot. There was no rise and fall
in her voice, no emotion. She wondered if she was in shock.

  “You use a service,” he said. “Call them and let them cancel. There’s nothing else you can do. I wish there were. Oddly enough, I feel that tour should go out tonight.”

  “People get to the house early a lot of the time,” she said. “I wonder if we can stop them before they get there.” She hesitated, looking toward the dead man. “My tour and my bed-and-breakfast have always had top ratings. I know that’s not a big deal when a man is dead, but they’re still my livelihood.”

  He took her by the shoulders. “Hannah, I understand, and believe me, I wish it could be different. No one wants to use deadly force. But he tried to kill us, was probably ordered to kill us—or one of us. And I think that means you. I don’t know if the Wolf knows you have inside knowledge about Jose’s death or if he just thinks you might know something because of what your guests saw. But I’m convinced he wants you dead.”

  “Do they know who he was? The man who hit us?”

  “He had ID that said Robert Brown,” Dallas said. “But fake IDs are easily acquired, and I have a strong feeling his was fake. They’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  Kelsey was standing nearby. “You have every right to worry about your business, but first you need to worry about your life. And not only does the Wolf seem to be after you, he seems to think something he wants is hidden somewhere in your house.”

  “I know he seems to believe the treasure is in the Siren of the Sea somewhere, but why?” Hannah asked.

  “Easy. If the treasure wasn’t on Chandler’s ship, it had to be hidden somewhere in town, and where better than Chandler’s own home? And since no one knows where the wreck is but they do know the Siren’s address...” Dallas said.

  “But after all these years, wouldn’t someone have been bound to find it if that was true?” Hannah asked.

  “Here’s where we’re in trouble—the Wolf doesn’t need proof. If he suspects something, he acts on it. He probably didn’t have proof that Jose was an FBI agent. He just suspected. He didn’t know that Yerby knew anything, he just suspected that she did, so he had her killed, too—maybe, as a warning to the others to keep their mouths shut.”