"Hey, mon," Cecil called out from the disreputable-looking fishing boat. "You in trouble, mon?"
Michael rose from his spot in the bushes. "You can cut the accent, Cecil. She's out for the count."
Cecil dropped his huge bulk over the side, into a small, battered looking dinghy. "She faint?"
"With a little help," Michael said. "Did someone take care of the house?"
"I sent someone to work on it." He started the motor. It was a small, rusty looking machine that started with a well-oiled purr, and in moments he was up on the crushed coral beach. "Since we haven't heard an explosion, I expect he managed to take care of the problem." He waded toward Michael. "What happened?"
"How the hell do I know? You were supposed to be watching," he snapped, letting his temper out.
"We were watching, mon," Cecil protested, mocking him with his accent. "We were watching the two of you at the café, someone else was watching the house, and we had men stationed down at the beach where you two were supposed to go swimming. They were placing bets as to whether you were going to seduce her on the sand or wait until you were back in the house."
"Voyeurs," Michael muttered, more as a token protest. "She's not my type."
Cecil peered through the heavy foliage at the body lying in the brush. "You must be crazy, mon. Then again, you work for Cardiff…"
Michael glanced up at him. Cecil was a good deal taller than his own six foot two and outweighed him by several stone. On top of that, he hadn't spent the past few weeks in hospital. "You want to elaborate on that, Cecil?" he inquired gently.
Cecil took an involuntary step backward, a fact that amused Michael. Cecil's reputation had preceded him—he was a man who wasn't intimidated by much of anything, and his physical courage was enormous. Apparently the Cougar's reputation had preceded him, also. Enough to make Cecil wary. "No offense, mon. The lady's mighty fine looking, that's all."
"What I do or don't do with the lady is my business," he said. "Your only concern is to ensure our safety."
"My concern is the success of your mission."
Michael nodded, granting him that. "I'll find out what I need to know. It's up to me how I go about doing that."
Cecil didn't move as the two men measured each other. And then Cecil shrugged. "I'm glad we're on the same side, Cougar," he said. "I don't imagine you lose very often."
"Battles, sometimes. Never the war."
"You want me to get her?" Cecil started toward Francey's unconscious body, but Michael forestalled him.
"I'll take her."
"I'm stronger than you are right now," Cecil said, and Michael knew perfectly well he was goading him, testing him. This time he didn't mind.
"I'm sure you are," he said with a crooked smile. "But whether I want her or not, she's mine." In fact, she was lighter than he would have guessed, even as a dead weight. His bad leg gave way as he stood upright, and he staggered for a moment. Cecil wisely looked away.
The waters of the Caribbean were warm as he waded out to the dinghy. "She said there were coral reefs out here," he said over his shoulder.
Cecil was busy under the hood of the sports car. "She was right. If I hadn't had a local man with me, you would have been a sitting duck." He slammed down the hood, cursing. "Get the hell in the boat."
He dumped her body on the floor of the boat, vaulting in after her. "Why?"
"They're thorough bastards. They've got a bomb set in the car for good measure. Just in case you caught on to the gas. You're just damned lucky you didn't jar it into going off when you came down that old road."
Michael didn't even feel a trickle of fear. Might-have-beens wasted time. He glanced down at the woman lying at his feet, and he flipped her cotton skirt over her long, tanned legs. "Let's get the hell out of here."
"You got it, man," Cecil said, forgetting his accent as he raced through the shallow water. "She's about to blow."
He'd just managed to reach the boat when the explosion rocked the landscape, sending the dinghy hurtling backward through the suddenly stormy sea. Michael reached down and hauled Cecil's impressive bulk into the dinghy, then stared back at the cove.
Flames were shooting up from the skeletal remains of the car. Trees had been uprooted by the force of the explosion, and the underbrush was burning sullenly.
"They were pretty thorough," he remarked as Cecil settled himself by the engine. He had a gash over his cheekbone, one that was oozing blood, and they were all drenched from the sea spray that had shot up.