Twice Dead - Catherine Coulter [252]
And in that exact moment, Simon knew it was all over for him. He’d met a woman to trust, a woman loyal to her bones. She sent his feelings right off the scale. His princess, all delicate and soft and pale as milk—well, not right now, since she was still damp from the rain, her clothes torn and splattered with mud, and that hair of hers, all limp and tangled around her head; it was his opinion that she looked superb.
What was a man to do?
He eased a small airplane pillow between her belly and the seat belt. He leaned back against the seat and closed his own eyes.
Lily awoke thinking of her brother, knowing he must be frantic. Surely Hoyt and Dillon knew they’d been taken. But did they have any idea where? And, for that matter, why had they been kept alive at all?
She looked over at Simon’s seat. It was empty. He was gone. But where?
She heard a man’s deep voice say in halting English right next to her ear, “You eat now.”
Nikki eased himself down into Simon’s seat. He was holding a tray on his lap. It was the man who’d shouted to her on the beach, the man Alpo had said was mean.
“Where’s Simon?”
The big man just shook his head. “Not your worry. Eat now.”
She said very slowly, very deliberately, “No, I won’t do anything until I see Simon Russo.”
Nikki cupped his big hand around the back of her neck and dragged her head back. He picked up a glass of something that looked like iced coffee without the ice and forced her to drink it. She struggled, choked, the liquid spilling down her chin and onto her clothes, soaking in, smelling like coffee and something else. Something like pills went down her throat. She felt dizzy even before Nikki let go of her neck. “Why did you do that?”
“We land soon. Officials here. We want you quiet. Too bad you did not eat. Too thin.”
“Where’s Simon, you son of a bitch?” But she knew the words didn’t sound right coming out of her mouth. She wished she’d eaten, too. She heard her stomach growl even as she fell away into a very empty blankness.
TWENTY-FOUR
Bar Harbor, Maine
Special Agent Aaron Briggs, neck size roughly twenty-one inches, biceps to match, a gold tooth shining like a beacon in his habitual big smile, nodded from behind the counter at agents Lowell and Possner. Both agents were dressed casually in jeans, sweaters, and jackets, trying to appear like ordinary customers looking at frames and photo albums.
It was two o’clock, on the dot.
Savich was in the back. Aaron knew he had his SIG ready, knew he wanted Tammy Tuttle so bad he could taste it. Aaron wanted her, too. Dead was what Tammy Tuttle needed to be, for the sake of human beings everywhere, particularly young teenage boys. He’d listened to every word Dillon Savich had said on the flight up here. He knew agents who’d seen the wild-eyed guy in Antigua who’d slit Virginia Cosgrove’s throat, agents who couldn’t explain what they’d seen and heard. He felt a ripple of fear in his belly, but he told himself that soon she’d be dead, all that inexplicable stuff he’d heard she’d done down in the airport in Antigua would then be gone with her.
The bell over the shop door sounded as the door opened. In walked Tammy Tuttle, wrapped up in a thick, unbelted wool coat that hung loose on her. Aaron put out his big smile with its shining gold tooth and watched her walk toward him. He could feel the utter focus of agents Possner and Lowell from where he stood, his SIG not six inches from his right hand, beneath the counter.
She was pale, too pale, no makeup on her face, and there was something about her that jarred, something that wasn’t quite right.
Aaron was the best retail undercover agent in the Bureau, bar none, with the reputation that he could sell a terrorist a used olive green Chevy Chevette, and he turned on all his charm. He said, “Hi, may I help you, miss?”
Tammy was nearly leaning against the counter now. She wasn’t very tall. She bent toward him and his eyes never left her face as she said, “Where’s the other