Covert Pursuit Read Online Free Page A

enough, the key slid easily into the lock. With the door open, she felt around the inside wall until she found a light switch. Score.
    A single-person sit-on-top kayak was fastened to the wall by bungee cords. Several shelves lined the wall filled with beach gear.
    The kayak wasn’t ideal. She’d only ever kayaked down the Charles River, which was a far cry from the agitated water of the ocean. But she wasn’t going to let a little thing like inexperience stop her.
    She held a paddle in one hand and snorkel gear in the other and made a decision. As soon as the sun rose she’d paddle out. Obviously, she wouldn’t be able to go very deep with a snorkel but she wasn’t planning on dredging the bag up. She’d leave that to Decker and his men. All she wanted to do was confirm what she’d seen.
    She’d show Mr. Jason Bodewell that a Carlucci never gave up on an investigation.
     
    Beneath a sky streaked with gold and safety-cone orange, Jason eased the Regina Lee away from the dock. He searched the horizon for the impendingtropical storm predicted on the news. Other than the wind gusting over the Gulf water, he didn’t see any signs. But that didn’t mean one wasn’t brewing. Sometimes they came on fast and left a trail of destruction in their wake. But not yet.
    Once clear of the marina, he sped toward the apex of the coordinates he’d memorized last night, while keeping a sharp eye out for any unwanted attention. Especially a boat full of armed men.
    He doubted he’d find anything at the bottom of the ocean; the men in the boat wouldn’t have left anything of value behind. But one never knew.
    And it gave him something to do. He was so tired of waiting. Waiting for Picard to slip up and show his hand. Chatter through the intricate intel channels monitored by both ICE—U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement—and ATF—Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives—solidified the belief that Picard was on Loribel Island.
    Posing as a charter-boat captain allowed Jason to explore the coastline all the way around the island. He had narrowed down three possible places Picard could be working from, since the arms dealer would need ocean access. All were being monitored by satellite surveillance. Which hadn’t yielded much so far.
    But now that Jason had identified the man from last night as Hector Ramirez, a name linked with Picard in Interpol files, Jason was sure it would only be a matter of time before he found Ramirez again. Jason prayed the man would lead him to Picard.
    Up ahead, a small craft, maybe a kayak, bobbed in the waves. Jason slowed the Regina Lee, his gaze sweeping the area. About fifty yards from the kayak, a dark head popped up, breaking through the waves. Water spurted out of a snorkel.
    Jason stared as disbelief and frustration built in his chest. There was no mistaking the face staring at him from behind a clear mask.
    “Women,” he muttered, making the word sound like an epithet.
    Putting down anchor helped calm his ire. Moving to the side of the boat, he called out, “What are you doing?”
    With graceful, broad strokes, Angie swam closer. She had on a short-sleeved black dive suit similar to his own. When she reached the Regina Lee, she lifted the mask to rest on her forehead and blinked up at him. “Enjoying the water. You?”
    His mouth quirked. “The same.”
    She smiled, clearly not believing him any more than he believed her. “Did you see anything of note?”
    She shook her head. “No.” She held up the snorkel. “I was hoping I’d be able to see the bottom but it’s too murky.”
    He reached behind him to where his scuba gear sat on the floor of the boat and held it up for inspection. “I can take care of that.”
    “I’d appreciate it.”
    “You might want to grab your kayak before it floats away,” he pointed out, watching the drifting craft move farther out to sea.
    “Ugh, I had it tied to my wrist,” she exclaimed and swam away, powerful and lithe in the