Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [59]
He didn’t have the instinct that most DEA officers developed during their careers. All he had was his daddy’s name and an attitude to go along with it. He would have to wing it like he usually did, and he knew what that led to. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Something had to be going down at that fortress, or he would be forced to return to Miami with his tail between his legs, a common sight. He’d find out what the hell was going on; maybe then he’d earn a few brownie points with his father and the powers that be, and his critics would think twice about that goddamned task force that wanted to kick his ass to the curb.
Then there was the blackmailer. A part of him hoped he’d just bump into his blackmailer and get it over with. Whatever it was. Taking another deep breath, Tyler decided he’d head back for dry land in order to rethink his lack of planning.
Swallowing back the nausea for a second time, he was reaching for the key when a loud smack against the side of the boat caused his heart to hammer. “What the hell?” he whispered. Nervous, he swallowed several times before he found the courage to stand up and peer over the side. Probably a stingray. He’d seen some that were the size of a car tire. Leaning over the boat, his gaze raking the surrounding water, he saw nothing lurking in the dark waters of the ocean. He sat down again and was about to click the key to the start position when he saw something swoop in and out of the water.
Reaching for the night-vision goggles, he strapped the contraption to his head, then scanned the water around him. About fifty feet ahead he saw something leap out of the water, then dive beneath the surface. A few seconds later Tyler saw something surface again, and he realized what he’d seen . . . fins! Someone was actually in the water swimming. Who in their right mind would be out in the ocean this time of night? Swimming? At least he was in a boat. He strained to see ahead, his night-vision goggles turning the water a murky greenish tint. The figure was at least a hundred feet ahead. Tyler almost fell over the side of the boat when he saw another set of fins swoop out of the water. There were two idiots in the ocean! Knowing he was outnumbered, he waited another minute before cranking the boat’s motor. He could be out of there in minutes, but curiosity got the best of him. Who the hell were those two, and what were they doing here at this time of night? He’d told no one of his plans—if you could call them plans. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he’d expected to find when he’d hightailed it out of the marina. Surely this was just a coincidence, two lone people, swimming toward the mansion at the tip of the island? Bullshit. He’d bet his last dollar they weren’t tourists out for a midnight swim.
It wouldn’t surprise him in the least if it were Rush and Martin trolling the waters, looking for a way to screw him over. The pair would go to any lengths, especially Rush, if she thought she could overshadow him in any way. In view of his current delicate position with the DEA, it wouldn’t take much to accomplish it if that was her ultimate goal.
Raking his gaze across the water, he spied the two swimmers in scuba gear as they clomped toward the beach. Grabbing his binoculars for a closer look, Tyler observed the duo. Whoever they were, they weren’t Rush and Martin. They were too tall, too broad-shouldered. Definitely not women.
Briefly, he wondered if the two had any connection to the blackmailer. Though why they’d follow him out on a night like this, he hadn’t a clue. Placing the binoculars on the floor, he removed the night-vision goggles, then reached for the binoculars again.
For the life of him, try as hard as he would, he couldn’t put a name to the blackmailer’s voice. Maybe these two would remove their gear, and he could get a closer look, possibly nudge his memory a bit.
Tyler adjusted the binoculars, zooming in for a close-up. Because it was so dark, he was only able to view