Last Ride on the Merry-go-round Read online

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  The Wild Rose Press

  www.thewildrosepress.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Judith Rochelle

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Reviews for Judith Rochelle

  Last Ride

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  About the author...

  Thank you for purchasing

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  The last time Ethan Caine had called him for a favor, he'd ended up racing through the Quintana Roo jungle in Mexico with an AK 47 under his arm and a scared kid over his shoulder. Now another child was in danger and her identity put a whole new face on things.

  Well, hell.

  Saying no to his closest friend wasn't an option. His calendar was clear. He'd just completed an operation for his “silent” partners so one wasn't likely to pop up in the immediate future. The two small fishing charters he had booked could be referred out.

  He put his feet up on the desk and leaned his head back, his mind trying to wrap itself around the situation. This was personal, and Ethan Caine with a personal agenda was like a mountain lion with fresh meat in his jaw.

  Not to mention the fact that this one involved Jennifer LaCroix. More than eight years had passed since the last time Dino saw her, partying with Ethan's wild crowd, looking for the edge in every situation. And now she'd somehow gotten herself mixed up in the stolen antiquities trade, one of the most lucrative yet most dangerous businesses in the world. Wars had been fought over artifacts looted from tombs and museums. Murder committed without the blink of an eye. How the hell had party girl Jen gotten herself in this kind of mess?

  Sighing, knowing that he was stepping into a big tar pit, he picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number.

  "Crank up the chopper. We're invited to breakfast."

  Reviews for Judith Rochelle

  "There are many surprises in LOVE WITH A PROPER RANCHER; trust me; you will not be able to put the book down. It is a great book and I highly recommend it."

  ~The Romance Studio (5 hearts)

  "Read LOVE WITH A PROPER RANCHER, I guarantee you'll enjoy it."

  ~TwoLips Reviews

  "In REDEMPTION, Judith Rochelle has written an intense read that will satisfy lovers of romantic suspense novels."

  ~Long and Short Reviews (Top Pick)

  "This action-packed story [REDEMPTION] hooks you from the start with its intriguing characters and plot. You might guess the big reveal a bit early, but it doesn't make the journey any less interesting."

  ~Romantic Times (4 stars)

  "In REDEMPTION Ms. Rochelle has written an action packed story that will keep you reading until the early morning hours."

  ~My Book Cravings

  "In ONE HOT TEXAS NIGHT Ms. Judith Rochelle has fully developed her main couple in the same exacting manner as she always does."

  ~The Romance Studio (4 Hearts)

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Last Ride

  on the

  Merry-Go-Round

  a sequel to Redemption

  by

  Judith Rochelle

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Last Ride on the Merry-Go-Round

  COPYRIGHT ©

  2008 by Judith Rochelle

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 706

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2009

  Print ISBN 1-60154-537-1

  Published in the United States of America

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Dedication

  To my son, Steven, who inspired the series;

  to my editor, Ally, who makes my stories sing;

  to the real Dino who does a job few people want; and to my wonderful husband, David,

  who keeps me sane, encourages my insanity, and loves me beyond measure.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Prologue

  Michigan, somewhere north of Detroit

  Jennifer Sutherland wasn't sure how long they'd hidden in the air duct, her daughter tucked close against her. The space was barely big enough to hold the two of them, and with their bodies blocking the flow of air it was stifling. The only ventilation now came from the grill through which they could see the room below. They were both covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, not all of it due to the heat of confinement. But the location was high up and kept them hidden from the men below.

  John had shoved them up into the vent when they heard the car pull up outside, his body tight with panic. Now the sound of angry voices carried up to them, two strangers shouting, John arguing back. His revelation earlier in the day had been shocking enough, slamming into her with the force of a truck. She'd been sick with the knowledge ever since, wondering if she ever really knew the man she'd married.

  Hearing the same story from the lips of others only made the nausea bubble up from her stomach. She swallowed hard, forcing it back. How had they ever gotten into this nightmare, from which there was no waking up?

  Calm. She had to be calm. And absolutely still and silent. She had the little girl's face pressed against her body, barely allowing her to breathe. One tiny sound and danger would come calling.

  The argument escalated, then John's voice pleading, begging. A stranger answered him, his tone cold and harsh and unforgiving. Threatening. Demanding.

  "Doing this was a stupid move to begin with,” one of the men was saying. “But to choose these particular pieces was suicidal."

  "Actually, I think it was pretty smart on his part,” another voice said. “He can score enough on the sale of these to disappear with his family and live well for the rest of his life."

  "Ah, yes,” the first man said. “The family. If you don't have the pieces then your wife does. Or she knows where they're hidden. Your ace in the hole, right?"

  "You know he was going to get them,” the second man put in. “His wife and kid are probably waiting there for him, so it's a given they know where the pieces are."

  "Then we need to find her and see what she can tell us.” Scuffling of feet. “Where the hell is she, Sutherland?"

  "No. Stay away from her. She knows n
othing about this."

  "Really? I think you're lying to us. Maybe when we get our hands on that cute little girl of yours, your wife will be more willing to cooperate than you are."

  "You leave them alone.” John, sounding scared and angry at the same time.

  "Or, what? Do they just think you're all going on some kind of vacation?"

  "They have nothing to do with this. They don't know a thing about it."

  The noise of a struggle, just beyond Jen's line of vision. The sound of the gunshot, like a cannon going off in the small room below, was so unexpected she flinched. Her arm tightened convulsively around Deanne. Through the grill she saw John crumple, blood blooming like a rose on the front of his shirt as he collapsed to the floor. One more shot, his body twitched, and he lay still.

  Up in the ductwork, Jen nearly choked on her sobs, her hands quickly covering her daughter's eyes to block out the sight.

  "We'll find them,” the man with the gun said. “They can't be far. He wouldn't separate himself from them for too long. Especially if he left the pieces with them."

  "Then we'd better start looking. We'll check all the rooms. There's got to be something there to tell us where he stashed them. Or where the woman and child are. If we can't find the pieces, we have to find them."

  "We will. By the time we get through with them they'll tell us what we want to know."

  Jen felt as if she was holding her breath while the sounds of the search echoed through the small cabin. She could hear the rage in their voices as they argued about the lack of results.

  "Let's get out of here,” said the man who seemed to be in charge. “See if we can pick up a trail."

  "What if we can't find them?” There was an edge of panic in the voice.

  "Then we'd damn well better find a hiding place for ourselves, someplace the boss won't find us. If there is such a place."

  Jen heard heavy footsteps, then the front door to the cabin opening and closing. Her every instinct was to scramble out of their hiding place, but she forced herself to wait for what seemed an eternity. Time enough for them to get tired of looking. One hour. Two hours. The minute hand on her watch crept by with agonizing slowness, but she had to be sure the men were gone.

  Deanne had mercifully fallen asleep.

  Finally, when it was dark, Jen pushed out the grill, dropped down to the floor and reached up for the child.

  "I'm scared,” the tiny voice said.

  "Me, too, sweetheart. But we'll be fine. I promise."

  Jennifer hugged her daughter. Deanne had been so good, as if she sensed the menace ready to grab them if she moved or spoke. “We'll be fine, sweetie,” she whispered, her mouth next to the child's ear. “But we need to get out of here."

  "But, Daddy..."

  "Ssh."

  Jennifer kept Deanne's face turned into her side until they were out of sight of the body. The suitcases were still packed in the bedrooms, open with all the contents scattered on the floor. She knew to leave them. If the men came back, their absence would be a dead giveaway. Anyway, John had been very clear about the preparations when he told her they were in trouble.

  Trouble! What a laugh. That didn't even begin to describe their situation.

  Taking her daughter's hand, she tugged her along. With each step, she paused and listened, hyperaware of the sounds outside, but all she heard was the rustling of leaves in the night breeze. They tiptoed through the back door, easing it open and pausing to listen again.

  Still nothing.

  Again she bent down so her mouth was right next to Deanne's ear. “We have to play a game, sweetheart. We have to leave right now. If you can keep from making a sound, you'll get a prize."

  "But, Daddy,” she tried again.

  "Later, sweetheart. Please. Daddy wanted us to leave and that's what we have to do."

  She could hear muted sobs escape the little mouth but the child was both smart for her young age, and obedient. Jen moved forward, easing away from the house, eyes scanning everywhere, searching for any movement. As they started toward the trees a hundred yards away, Deanne tugged on her hand and pointed to their car parked next to the cabin.

  Jen shook her head and leaned down again.

  "We're taking another car, sweetie. A special one Daddy left for us."

  She could see the questions in the young eyes and bit down on her lip to keep from crying.

  "Come, now. I'll explain later. Please?"

  Slowly the child nodded, and they moved like smoky wraiths toward the trees.

  When they finally reached the middle of the copse, Jennifer allowed herself a small sigh of relief. There it was, a shed hidden just as John had told her it would be. The door creaked as they pried it open. She waited to see if they'd attracted any attention.

  She picked up the child and carried her into the shed, to a van loaded with supplies. Buckling Deanne into her seat belt, she fastened her own and cranked the engine. It purred like a contented cat and in seconds they were headed along a rough path through the woods, in the opposite direction from the one they'd taken when they arrived. She drove without headlights, afraid to do anything to identify their position, grateful for the bright moon.

  She looked in the rearview mirror constantly, straining her eyes to see any movement in the blackness behind her, still not convinced someone wasn't lying in wait for them. A mixture of emotions clashed within her, but she had no time to sort them out or give in to them now. Later, maybe. If they were still alive.

  At last they hit a paved road, but she had no idea where they were. Stopping to ask directions didn't seem like the greatest idea, so she blundered around for half an hour before she finally saw signs pointing toward the interstate. Five miles after that they were headed south. She could feel the fear of the child next to her, a feeling she shared but had to conceal.

  After a long silence, Deanne asked, “Where are we going?"

  Jen reached over and squeezed her hand. “To the one person I know who can help us, sweetheart. The one person who can make this all right."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  Key West, Florida

  Dino Brancuzzi leaped soundlessly to the dock and finished tying off the lines on his boat. The boat was in darkness. The only light came from the few dim lampposts that lit the pier. He paused and scanned the area carefully, checking the surrounding boats, looking for signs of activity.

  Nothing and no one seemed to be moving. At that hour of the night—or morning, as it actually was—he didn't expect anything to happen but he never let down his guard. That led to disaster.

  Everything appeared normal.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small remote. He whistled softly and two men appeared on deck at the rail. Dressed in black, as he was, they moved forward at his signal. One click of the remote and the pier lights were extinguished. They'd have to hurry. Who knew how long they had before some tenant popped out to gripe there was trouble with the lighting again.

  One of the men silently negotiated the ladder to join Dino on the pier. They both reached out to help the third man make his descent. He moved slowly, obviously injured and favoring one side of his body, but soon they were all heading along the pier in the darkness.

  They moved as quickly as possible to the parking lot separated from the pier by a chain-link fence. Minutes later, Dino watched as the two men climbed into a black SUV, ready to head away from the marina. The man in the driver's seat rolled down his window a scant two inches.

  "Good job, as always,” he told Dino. “Thanks."

  Dino nodded. “Take care of your friend there."

  "Will do. You'll be hearing from me again."

  Dino grinned. “I'm counting on it."

  He watched as the SUV pulled out of the lot and made a left onto the highway before turning on its lights. When he was sure they were safely away, he turned on the pier lights again.

  The trip back from the extraction zone had taken longer than h
e'd expected. Especially when they'd had to run without lights in certain parts of the Gulf. But it had all been worth it. Even the tiny nick in his arm from a bullet that came too close. In a week he'd be healed, adding one more scar to his growing collection.

  Heading back through the gate, he began a slow walk down the pier. Although he was a big man, he'd learned over the years as a member of Scorpio to move almost soundlessly, with an economy of motion. He always dressed in black, knowing other colors reflected the light. He ran his hand over his hair, pulled taut in its usual ponytail to avoid getting in his way. Tonight he'd also covered his face with black camouflage so nothing would give him away.

  Dino always liked to check everything before he locked up for the night, a habit long-ingrained in him. He had owned the marina for eight years and every inch of it was burned into his brain, as familiar as his own bed.

  He rented out several of the slips on a more or less permanent basis. Along with the fishing charters he took on now and then, it provided a nice cover for his operation and gave Blackwater Charters a higher level of legitimacy.

  The snick of a sliding door opening caused him to swivel to the right. A man appeared on one of the boats, climbing up onto the deck.

  "Hey, Dino,” he called. “You'd better get those lights fixed. They keep conking out."

  "It's just a glitch in the wiring,” Dino called back. “Anyway,” he joked, “for what you're doing, you shouldn't want any light."

  The man laughed and disappeared back inside his boat.

  Dino retraced his steps to his office at the shoreside end of the pier. Blackwater Charters was housed in what looked like little more than a shack at the head of the pier. But anyone trying to break in would set off multiple alarms—set to protect the inside—which would have been the envy of any technophile. High performance computers and communications gear lined two walls, securely bolted to shelves. A row of satellite phones sat in a rack next to his desk.

  To the left of his desk, inside open cupboard doors, were a row of monitors hooked up to a state-of-the art security system. Those doors could be closed and locked when the wrong eyes might see them. The people who chartered him for deep sea fishing were completely unaware of the real work he did.