The issue here, was that amount of collateral damage meant that there were bound to be consequences.
And for a man in his trade, that was unforgivable.
He frowned.
Still, he was out of options.
Andre climbed the stairs, through the hatch, and onto the deck.
He spotted a crew of detectives heading his way on an inflatable Zodiac at full speed. He waved his arms to them.
“Quick!” he shouted. “I need help!”
The person at the Zodiac’s controls steered straight for him.
Andre glanced at the clear water beneath the stern. He could see the sandy seabed thirty feet below as though he could touch it. There was a small ripple of movement. Nothing much, but whatever it was, it caught his eye.
He leaned over the gnarled web of rusty metal to get a better look.
And an instant later, the rusty deck began to vibrate. The deep gurgling sound of a high-powered engine came to life. The ripple of water behind the stern turned into a powerful twin waterjet.
Andre tried to grip something for balance, but the entire topside of the decrepit ghost ship was liquid rust, making it slippery.
As the ghost ship lurched forward, he slipped onto his back with a loud and painful thump.
The ship’s bow lifted up, and he rolled off the back of the stern, landing in the warm water below. He kicked hard to reach the surface. It was always harder to swim in boots. His head surfaced and he took a deep breath.
He squinted, but already, the fast-moving ghost ship was on the aquaplane, skimming the water at speeds in excess of seventy knots, and disappearing far beyond the breakwater, into the Tyrrhenian Sea.
Chapter Sixteen
Sam Reilly woke up feeling content.
He opened his eyes. Catarina was there next to him. She wore a singlet without a bra, revealing her soft, voluptuous body, and the slight hint of her nipples. Her exotic face was set with a mischievous grin, and her beguiling gray eyes teased him, as she ran her fingers through his hair.
“Good morning,” he said, pleased to know he could still remember her. That meant his memory wasn’t completely damaged. It wasn’t like dementia which permanently altered the brain’s ability to catalogue memories.
“Good afternoon,” she replied.
“How long did I sleep?”
“About three hours.”
“That’s all?”
“Afraid so. We have things to do. How do you feel?”
“Good. I think.”
“What about your memory?”
“I remember meeting you this morning.”
She grinned. “I’m hard to forget.”
He nodded, pleasure and desire plastered on his face. “Yes, you most certainly are. I still can’t believe I can’t remember you from before.”
She smiled, her eyes fixed on him, with a curious and puzzling look, as her eyes traced his naked chest, her fingers running over his muscular physique, and array of scars.
Sam asked, “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Seriously? What is it? Have I changed that much since…?”
“It has been at least fifteen years.”
“And?”
“You look exactly the same…”
“Except?”
“There’s a few more battle wounds. Jesus, it looks like you’ve been shot here on your shoulder, once or twice in your chest, and once in your abdomen.” Her hand moved delicately across his lower torso. “And what is this? A stab wound?”
Sam shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. My body is as new to me as it is to you.”
“You look like you haven’t treated it very well since I last saw you naked,” she chided, her voice set like a doctor disciplining a patient for smoking.
“Hey, it’s not like I can remember my mistakes!”
She stood up slowly out of the bed. She had a pair of black Italian knickers that covered her dark tanned skin. She was neither fat nor skinny. Her figure was perfectly proportioned.
Even after only three hours sleep, she was sexy.
Catarina caught him looking at her. She smiled. “And me… have I changed?”
He held her gaze. “I have no idea. Were you entirely perfect last time we met?”
“Yes.”
He laughed. “Then, I’d say you haven’t changed a bit.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that.” Her lips parted in a lascivious smile. “Last night was nice by the way. It was exactly as I remember it.”
“I wish I could remember it. But all the same, I’m happy to make new memories.”
She held his gaze. “I’d like that to be true.”
“It is,” he said, his voice firm. “I just wish I could remember why I was angry with you all those years ago.”
She played with his thick brown hair, met his eyes, and kissed him. “Does it matter?”
Sam shrugged. “It might. Right now, I can’t imagine what you could have possibly done to make me so angry that I was willing to leave you.” He studied her response, hoping to see something in it. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me what it was, before I get in too deep?”
“No. I’m afraid I’ve been given a second chance, and I don’t want to wreck it — not yet anyway.”
He tried to argue, but instead, she kissed him again.
She stood up. “Get dressed. I’ll take some blood from you and get it checked out at the hospital right away. Then, on my way back, I’ll try and pick up your suitcase.”
“Thanks.”
Ten minutes later, they were both dressed. She put a tourniquet on his left arm, found a vein, inserted a needle, and withdrew a blood sample into a vacu-container.
She glanced at his arms. There was a small red dot in the inside crease of his elbow. She frowned.
Sam asked, “What?”
“It looks like you’ve recently had a blood test in this arm.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, see… right here. Someone’s performed venipuncture, either to take a sample of blood, or put something in.”
Sam said, “Like a drug addict, injecting something?”
“Exactly.”
“So you think I might have become a drug addict?”
“No, I doubt it. Like I said before, you don’t have that sort of personality.”
“So then why do I have track marks?”
“Track marks refer to a line of injection sites, commonly found on intravenous drug user’s arms, where they have injected continuously. This is just one injection site.”
“All right. So what does it mean?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you just injected once? Or maybe you had an operation and someone gave you antibiotics afterward? I don’t know. We’ll find out as soon as I get this sample to the lab.”
She sealed the blood sample in a snap-lock pathology collection bag, with the ring contained within three rings, the international symbol for a biohazard.
“I’ll take this to the pathology labs at the hospital,” she said. “I’ll do the test myself. It won’t take long. I should be back in a couple hours. I’ll try my best to have some answers for you. If Via Visconti is empty, I’ll retrieve that suitcase for you, too.”
Sam stopped her from leaving. “Catarina…”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For everything. I mean it. You’ve been a life saver.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
Catarina stepped up to meet him, wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips parted, and she kissed his mouth. It was a slow caress, tender, yet passionate. She was painfully sexy. In her own Italian way, she made the simple act of kissing seem to have all the passion and pleasure of making love.
A moment later, she pulled back, opened the door — and disappeared from sight.