Hot Schemes Read Online Free PDF

there was no one in the nearby boats.
    “I’m taking the boat out,” Michael announced.
    “No way, man,” Domínguez countered, blocking his way. Shorter than Michael and built more squarely, he looked like a bulldog confronting a sleek, angry Doberman. “You’d have to be
loco
to get anywhere near that bomb.”
    “I’m not endangering other people,” Michael insisted stubbornly. “Who knows how powerful the damn thing is or when it’s set to go off.”
    “Exactly my point,” the evidence tech said, trying to hold Michael back. “Let those crazies who like to live on the edge deal with this. That’s what the county pays them for.”
    “It’s my responsibility,” Michael insisted, breaking free of the other policeman’s grasp.
    When Molly started to follow him, Felipe Domínguez held her back, his determined grip on her arm almost painful. “You won’t stop him, and he sure as hell won’t want you with him.”
    She knew it was useless to fight him, knew that he was right. Biting back a sob, she whispered, “But what if …”
    The policeman cursed at the sound of the engine coming to life. “Jesus, O’Hara,” he muttered as the boat began to move.
    “Michael!” Molly shouted over the steady throbbing of the engine. Bile rose in her throat and tears stung her eyes as the boat inched away from the dock.
    Just then Ken Marshall returned, saw the moving boat and stared after it, openmouthed with shock. “Mother of God, Felipe, why didn’t you stop him?”
    Felipe turned his anguished dark-eyed gaze on his colleague. “How? You know what O’Hara’s like when he gets something into his head. Did you want me to handcuff him?”
    “If that’s what it took,” Ken snapped in exasperation.
    “What time is it?” Molly asked with a dawning sense of horror and a sudden understanding of what the whole day’s events could have been about. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t see the face of her watch.
    “Just before midnight.”
    “Exactly, dammit!”
    “Eleven fifty-eight. Why?”
    She lifted her hands helplessly. “I don’t know. Just a feeling I have.”
    “That the bomb would be set for midnight,” Ken guessed.
    She shook her head. “One minute after.”
    Both men regarded her with puzzlement. “Why?”
    “The date,” she said with certainty, her voice choked. “It’ll be the anniversary of the goddamned Cuban revolution.”
    They could already hear sirens in the background as Ken kept his gaze riveted on the second hand of his watch. “Eleven fifty-nine,” he breathed. Then, “Midnight.”
    The next sixty seconds were the longest of Molly’s life. Her heart was in her throat. The boat was a couple of hundred yards into the bay and still chugging toward open water.
    “Twelve-oh-one,” Ken said.
    Molly’s eyes burned from tears and from straining to see through the darkness. There was no mistaking the sudden spark of fire at the back of the boat, the puff of smoke.
    “Oh, God,” she murmured, wanting to turn away, but unable to. Her gaze was fixed on the
Niña Pilar
with a sort of horrified fascination. Waiting. Waiting.
    Just when she thought she could bear the terrible suspense not one second longer, flames shot into the air with an explosion of sound that slammed through the stillness and echoed in her head. One of the policemen, she had no idea which one, gathered her close, rocking her back and forth, even as a steady stream of curses spewed from his mouth.
    “Michael?” she whispered, weeping. She looked up into Ken Marshall’s stricken face. “Where is he? Did he get off?”
    “Even if he did …” Felipe began, before Ken shushed him.
    Molly didn’t need to hear the rest of the words. Even if Michael had gotten off the boat, what were the odds that he was far enough away when the billowing flames danced across the water?

CHAPTER
THREE
    The music at Sundays by the Bay trailed off, replaced by screams and the pounding of footsteps as people raced from the