The Jefferson Key (Cotton Malone 7)

Nelle nodded in understanding, caught Kaiser’s gaze with her own and shook her head. No more.

“Good,” he said. “I knew you would be reasonable.”

He motioned for them both to be hauled outside. One of the electric carts waited in the rain. Both woman were laid onto its wet cargo bed. Two men with rifles stood guard, watching the trees, alert to the storm.

All seemed clear.

The two armed men hopped into the cart.

He’d already told them to avoid the main road to the dock and use the secondary path, which was primarily for the farm equipment that tended the fields.

And to hurry.

The cart sped off.

He rushed back inside the prison. As captain, it was his duty to stand with his men.

And stand he would.

CASSIOPEIA APPROACHED THE BUILDING THAT HALE’S SECRETARY had identified as the prison. She’d learned from the terrified man that both Stephanie Nelle and Shirley Kaiser were being held there. She’d also learned that the building was under attack, so she’d approached from its rear, eastern side, staying in the trees, seeing no one so far. But that didn’t mean much. The storm provided excellent cover for both her and everyone else.

A door opened in the rear of the building. In the wedge of light that escaped she watched two women being carried out.

Her heart sank.

Then she realized the hands and feet were bound. No need to tie up a corpse.

Two men with rifles stood guard and another man seemed in charge. Both prisoners were laid across the back of a vehicle not much larger than a golf cart. The two men with rifles climbed into the front seats.

The rest retreated inside.

The cart headed off into the dark.

Finally, a break.

WYATT RETREATED FARTHER INTO THE TREES THAT DOMINATED the north shore of Paw Island and watched as the boat drew close to shore.

Who was this? The fire had clearly drawn them. He spotted four people in the small craft. One with long hair, thinner. A woman.

The boat’s bow beached.

The woman and one man leaped out, both holding guns. Another man, standing at the wheel, also brandished a weapon. They examined his stolen boat using a flashlight. Then they cautiously advanced inland, toward where he’d doused the fire.

“He’s here,” he heard the woman say.

Carbonell.

Good fortune had finally turned his way. But he didn’t like the odds. Four to one, and his ammunition was limited. Only five shots remained in the magazine.

So he stayed still.

“Okay, Jonathan,” Carbonell called out. “We’re going to the fort to clean up your mess. I’m sure you can get there before we can. If you want to play, that’s where you’ll find me.”

KNOX DID NOT WANT TO BE HERE. THIS WAS INSANE. CARBONELL was deliberately challenging Wyatt. And what about this Cotton Malone? Was he still around, too? He watched as Carbonell found her cellphone and pressed one of the buttons. She listened for a moment then ended the call.

“Jonathan,” she called out. “I’m told Malone has left the island. Now it’s just us.”

He checked his watch. Nearly midnight.

Dawn was only a few hours away.

They needed to get out of here.

Carbonell returned to the boat and seemed to sense his edginess.

“Relax, Clifford. How many times do you get to do battle with an accomplished pro? And that’s exactly what Jonathan is. A pro.”

WYATT HEARD HER COMPLIMENT, WHICH HE TOOK AS ANY thing but. She was goading him. But that was okay. He was going to kill her, tonight, inside Fort Dominion.

Yet there was something else.

Carbonell had come here to announce her intentions.

She was leading him. Pushing him forward.

Toward the fort.

He smiled.

CASSIOPEIA HUSTLED THROUGH A FOREST OF CYPRESS LADEN with dripping moss beards. The cart with Stephanie and Shirley made its way toward a graveled path that cut a swath back toward Hale’s house and the river. Not the main road she’d followed to get here, but a secondary route, most likely being used to avoid whomever had decided to pay the estate a visit on this stormy night.

The cart sloshed its way ahead through the rain, its electric motor whining as it turned left onto a straightaway into the trees. She timed her approach carefully, both hands empty, swiping the soaked foliage aside, shaking her head to keep her eyes clear, building momentum.

She caught sight of the cart to her left, winking in and out beyond the branches, coming her way.

She waited until it was perpendicular to her path, then burst from hiding, her body slamming into the man sitting on the front passenger side.

SEVENTY-THREE

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 10

12:20 AM

HALE RECEIVED THE NEWS HE WAS WAITING FOR-reinforcements had arrived outside the prison and were in position. Now they had their attackers in a vise. Similar to when privateers swarmed their prey, circling, the noose ever tightening, each watching out for the other until together they captured the target.

He faced the six crewmen inside the prison. “We strike them hard, flushing them back. Our men are waiting for them.”

The others nodded.

He knew none of their names, but they knew him and that was all that mattered. Earlier, they’d witnessed the vengeance he and the other three captains could mete out, so each one of them seemed eager to please.

But he wasn’t asking them to do anything he wasn’t planning on doing, too.

He’d already decided that he’d had en

ough of pacification.

Time to personally deliver a blow that his opponents would understand.

“I want only one of them alive,” he made clear.

CASSIOPEIA WATCHED AS THE CART DRIVER WAS FLUNG ONTO the wet roadbed. The man from the passenger side had been driven across the front seat, his hands now clinging to the steering wheel. A right cross sent him reeling out of the cart. She righted herself as the wheels rolled to a stop.

Gun in hand, she took aim behind her.

The two men were recovering, grabbing for their rifles.

She dropped each with a shot to the midsection.

She advanced toward the still forms lying in the road, two hands steadying her aim, and kicked the rifles away.

Neither man moved.

One lay faceup, his lips open, mouth filling with rain. The other was on his side, legs at an odd angle.

She ran back to the cart.

KNOX REENTERED FORT DOMINION, THIS TIME THE PRISONER of Andrea Carbonell.

“How many men do you have here?” he asked her.

“Just these two now. I ordered the others to leave.”

But why should he believe her? Of course, the fewer witnesses to what she was about to do the better, but he had no illusions. Not only was Jonathan Wyatt on her hit list, so was he. She’d made him think they were still allies, that their interests remained aligned-I might even give you a job-but he knew better.

She was also doing something he’d never seen her do before.

Carrying a weapon.

She stopped within the inner bowels of the fort, crumpled buildings and collapsed walls all around them, the stench of birds heavy once again in the chilly air. He recalled the fort’s geography from his first visit and wondered how much Carbonell knew of this place.

Would that knowledge give him a slight advantage?

His two men lay dead about fifty feet above him. They’d carried guns. He had to make a move.