across the water, one arm keeping the rifle trained. He was having trouble hearing over the hum of the outboard, so he cut the engine.
“Who is she?” he asked Stephanie.
“She wanted me to bring her on, noting you might need help. I asked how she knew anything about anything, but she offered nothing. I told her you could handle it without her help.”
“Any reason you didn’t pass that intel on to me?”
“Her call just came about an hour ago. I tried to reach you, but you didn’t answer.”
He’d left his phone in the rental car.
“I answered this call because it’s the same number from earlier,” she said.
He was drifting away from the other boat and watched as Laura Price maneuvered herself back near him. He lowered the rifle, deciding she was no longer a direct threat. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t trouble.
“Tell me about her,” he said.
“What makes you think I know anything?”
“We wouldn’t still be talking if you didn’t.”
He’d worked with Stephanie long enough to know that she never left anything to chance. She ran the Magellan Billet with military efficiency, accepting nothing less than perfection from her agents. Thanks to her personal relationship with his uncle, former president Danny Daniels, Luke liked to think that he enjoyed a closer connection with his boss, though he knew she would never show favoritism. Stephanie expected her people to do their jobs. Period. Who you were mattered not. Mistakes were barely tolerated. Results. That’s what she wanted. And she’d diverted him here to get results.
But he’d messed up.
Bad.
“She works for the Malta Security Service,” Stephanie said.
“This little island has an intelligence agency?”
“Part of the Armed Forces of Malta. It’s not big, but it does exist. She worked at the CIA for a few years. They remember her at Langley. Seems she doesn’t follow orders well. An adrenaline junkie. A loose cannon, but generally one that fires in the right direction.”
“That sounds like me.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Any idea why the Maltese are involved in this?”
“Not a clue. But she’s apparently been on you the whole time.”
Which he’d missed.
Another mistake.
He stared across the water at his stalker. She was blond and striking with high cheekbones and a pretty mouth. Straight, squared-off bangs highlighted a narrow brow. She wore jeans, belted at the waist, with an open-collared shirt that revealed deeply tanned arms. A looker. No question. And she seemed in terrific shape, muscle-hardened in a way he liked. Obviously, she knew how to drive a boat, shoot a gun, and try to make herself useful. Combined with the balls of an alley cat he could see how she might be regarded as a loose cannon.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“I don’t like pushy people or liars. Get rid of her.”
He smiled to himself. “It’d be my pleasure.”
“Tell me what happened with Gallo.”
“A slight problem. But I’ll fix it.”
“Do that.”
And the call ended.
He continued to speak into the phone, pretending the conversation was ongoing, but assessing the situation. He still held the rifle. Laura Price lingered about twenty feet off his port side. He simulated ending the call and motioned with the phone that he needed to return it to her. If he kept it cool he may just be able to catch her off guard. Things were bad with the cardinal, but he’d find that trail again. Crap happened. The trick was not to let it stink everything up.
The rifle was pointed down toward the deck.
He motioned with the phone and she worked the boat closer. He tossed it over. She caught the unit and he used that moment to level the weapon and fire three rounds into her engine.
She lunged to the deck.
The outboard erupted in sparks and smoke.
He chuckled.
Those three hundred horses were now useless.
He turned the key and brought his own boat to life, spinning the wheel, engaging the throttle, throwing out a wake as he motored away that soaked the other boat. A glance back and he saw Price rebound to her feet, but he was already too far away for any meaningful shot from her on a pitching deck.
He threw her a wave, hoping never to see her again.
Time to find Gallo and get back on track.
He glanced toward shore and the Madliena Tower. The cardinal and the other man were gone. He worked the wheel and avoided some of the larger chops, paralleling the coast, cruising east toward Valletta where his rental car awaited. Vibrations from the engine rattled up through the deck and