Colder Than Sin (Cold Justice - Crossfire: FBI Romantic Suspense Book 2)

by Toni Anderson

  “Could we use the GPS sites you were setting up to somehow signal for help?” Haley asked.

  “Like how?” Darby sounded doubtful.

  “Move a bunch together to write an SOS?” Haley suggested.

  “It would take days to move that many GPS units and set them up in that way. The data is collected twice a day and not necessarily analyzed in real time.”

  “Maybe we could move enough that the scientists on the other end would take a look at the satellite images, and we could write SOS in some other physical way that can be spotted from the air?” Haley didn’t know if the scientists would be looking, but she knew Alex Parker and Dermot Gray would be.

  “That is a great idea.” Quentin’s voice was warm with approval.

  She felt like a goddamn rocket scientist.

  “I don’t like the thought of going back,” Darby admitted.

  “We can conceal the boats and hide ourselves from passersby. Wait for the cavalry to arrive.”

  “How will we know who the cavalry are?” Darby asked, clearly not onboard with the idea.

  “We wait until we’re sure,” Quentin assured her.

  Haley knew the US would be pulling out all the stops to find a federal agent who’d been kidnapped—assuming they knew he had been kidnapped. They might assume he was dead with all the other conference delegates. Her too. She didn’t say that in front of Darby. Darby needed all the optimism Haley could muster.

  “Is there a supply of fresh water on the island?” Quentin asked.

  “Yes. There’s a natural spring. I even left some MRE packs in a cooler that I doubt they would have found.” She looked around anxiously. “I’m scared,” she admitted.

  “We’re going to be real smart about this, Darby. We’re going to make a plan and wait for the authorities to come get us. If you can think of a better idea, then let’s hear it, otherwise, we head there so we can get off the water before daylight.”

  After a long moment, Darby nodded reluctantly. “I can’t think of a better plan. And I do know the island. If we get there, we might just have a chance—”

  The engine chose that moment to splutter and die.

  * * *

  Quentin scanned the inky surface of the sea, searching for obstacles as he motored steadily north, northwest. They’d clambered into the second inflatable and ditched the first one to decrease drag and hopefully maximize fuel efficiency, taking anything with them that was even vaguely useful.

  They’d found flares and a compass but no radio. The flares might prove handy but not until they knew exactly who was out here and who might respond to their cry for help.

  Darby had fallen into an exhausted heap against Haley, both of them slumped in the bottom of the boat out of the wind. Haley’s blonde hair caught in the breeze.

  She was still the center of attention—his attention, anyway. He tried not to think about that. Despite everything she’d snuck under his guard.

  Circumstances.

  She wasn’t for him. He was a government grunt who moved around at the FBI’s whim. She was a wealthy CEO who’d survived a difficult past. He pressed his lips together, wondering why he was even thinking about their non-existent relationship—non-existent in the real world at least. Out here they were reliant on one another for support and survival. Back home she wouldn’t even know he existed—and not just because all he ever did was work or sleep.

  None of that mattered. All that mattered was getting these women to safety and then going back to attempt to rescue the Alexanders. The US wouldn’t let these assholes get away with the wholesale slaughter of its citizens, and he had no doubt the terrorists would use their American captives as a shield. But he could help. It was his expertise—although negotiating with sociopaths was always a challenge.

  He wasn’t sure if returning to the location of Darby’s abduction was a smart idea. He figured it was better than the wish and prayer and the wide-open seas that was their other choice. It was a known quantity. A risk, but a calculated one.

  The sky was starting to lighten to the eastern horizon, which made him nervous. He wanted to be off the water by the time dawn came.

  A sea bird swooped alongside him, startling him, and his heart gave a bang.

  To the west, he caught sight of a vertical line of intense orange. Lava. He turned the rudder so they headed in that direction.

  “Darby,” he called even though he didn’t really want to disturb her. But better that than to end up back on the island from which they’d recently escaped.

  She came awake with a start, terror in her eyes for that split second before she realized where she was and who she was with.

  Quentin nodded at the lava flow. “Is that your island?”

  She craned her neck over the side of the boat to see. Then she nodded, expression pensive. “Pulau Gunung Rebi. Head around to the west from the north side. There’s a small beach we can land on.”

  Quentin narrowed his gaze at the orange glow. “It isn’t about to blow, is it?”

  “Erupt, you mean?” Darby’s eyes gleamed for the first time since they’d met. He was surprised she wasn’t catatonic from the brutality of her experience, but he suspected she’d blocked a lot of it out. For now. Or maybe she was just as resilient as hell.

  Survival had many forms.

  “Not according to the measurements as of when I left.” The glow in her eyes diminished. “But a lot can happen in five days, even for volcanoes.”

  Her words made his throat go tight, because now she was clearly thinking about her own experiences.

  “I’m sorry you were hurt. I promise the US authorities will pursue these men—”

  “Will everyone have to know?” she interrupted sharply.

  Quentin stared at her, assessing. “I have to report what I saw.”

  “Why? It wasn’t you who was raped.”

  The harshness of the words took them both aback, as did the bitterness in her tone. But what was worse than being violated?

  The whole world knowing you’d been violated.

  He wanted the kidnappers punished, but if that caused Darby more pain… He paused, trying to remember the things that had made him a good negotiator. Trying to remember the behavioral change stairway model that helped him influence people’s actions—active listening, empathy, rapport, influence, behavioral change.

  But maybe he had no right to try to influence this woman. Maybe he should let her make her own decisions.

  “I can make my report such that it doesn’t lay out any graphic details, but investigators will ask, and you shouldn’t lie to them. Lie to them about one thing, and it will undermine anything else you say.”

  Her mouth tightened.

  “You’ll need medical treatment. You’ll need counseling.”

  “I could be pregnant. Or have some terrible venereal disease.” She glared at him. “I didn’t get a contraceptive injection before I left and now, I might be pregnant.” She looked away, her chin thrust out in anger.

  The anguish of Darby’s words hit Quentin unexpectedly. He was used to dealing with people in crisis, but her vulnerability drew out his protective instincts. “I’ll make sure you receive the medical treatment you need, Darby. Whatever that is. For however long you need it. I will make your care my priority and a priority for the team in the Crisis Negotiation Unit. There are others in the FBI who can help. We have victim advocates. We have medical practitioners. We can help you through this ordeal. I promise you.”

  Her lips wobbled as she looked at him. She finally nodded, accepting him at his word.

  She switched to lecture mode. It was easier on both of them. “The lava has been flowing intermittently for about five years now, and the whole region has definitely been more active recently with Krakatoa and all the excitement over that. But this particular volcano has been fairly stable, and I doubt that’s changed. I will check the readings on the tiltometer to make sure.”

  Quentin could live without the excitement of witnessing a vo
lcanic eruption in person, especially from this sort of distance. He let her talk.

  “The Japanese held prisoners here during the Second World War. Mainly Dutch ruling class.” She roped her hair nervously between her fingers. “There’s a graveyard where they buried the dead and the remnants of some of the old guard towers, but it wasn’t used for long and they moved the prisoners to some of the main camps on Java after some seismic activity in early 1943.”

  The harm human beings did to one another never failed to depress him. That civilizations did not learn the lessons of history was equally disturbing.

  The sun was creeping up the horizon, and Quentin wanted to do a little reconnoiter of the place before they committed to this plan. Even as the thought entered his head, the outboard started to splutter as it ran out of fuel.

  Dammit.

  He squeezed as much juice out of it as he could, and then when it finally died, he came forward, grabbing the oars. Darby passed him the water bottle, and he took a sip before setting off.

  The currents were strong, but the wind was working in his favor. After a while, the muscles in his shoulders burned, but he ignored the discomfort.

  He rowed until he got a glimpse of the beach Darby had mentioned. They both scanned the area intently. Haley was still fast asleep. She must be exhausted.

  “What do you think?” he asked the young woman.

  “I don’t see any signs of anyone else being here.”

  “Do we risk it? Or do we keep rowing until we find a boat to pick us up?”

  He wanted to give her the choice, so she could start taking control of her life again. He didn’t know what he’d do if she decided to stay at sea. They could easily die within a couple of days if they didn’t find water or rescue.

  Darby’s green eyes widened. “A random boat?” It was light enough now to see her visibly shudder. She was a pretty woman with bright red hair and eyes that held a world of pain. “No, I don’t want to risk that. I know every nook and cranny on this island. They won’t catch me unaware again. They won’t catch any of us unaware.”

  Good.

  “And the sooner we start moving your GPS units, the sooner help will arrive.” Quentin maneuvered the RIB awkwardly. It had been a long time since he’d rowed anything, let alone something this size. Darby eased beside him on the bench seat, taking one of the oars from him.

  “I can help,” she said.

  Quentin didn’t say anything. It was important for her to reclaim her independence and autonomy. It would aid her recovery. And he appreciated the help.

  It didn’t take the two of them long to row to shore, even though Darby was shaking with exertion by the time they got there. She was so skinny he doubted she’d eaten much since her capture. Not even a few fried crickets.

  When they hit the sandy bottom, he jumped over the side and grabbed the rope, hauling the boat a little farther in.

  The island rose up from the beach in a wide grassy plain. Forest flanked the lower edges of the island, which was maybe three miles across, green and lush.

  “I’m surprised this place isn’t inhabited. It has fresh water, and there looks like some fertile farmland.”

  “The locals think it’s cursed.” Darby grimaced. “They might be right.”

  Quentin didn’t know what to say to that. He pointed to the margin between sea and sand. “Let’s take the boat closer to those trees before we haul it out. Then we can drag it into the forest or cover it with leaves to hide it from view.”

  “Without leaving big drag marks up the beach and giving away the fact we’re here.” Darby gave him a look of approval, which made him smile considering their relative positions in life. She was obviously confident and intelligent, or she’d never have undertaken this sort of solo adventure.

  He hoped she didn’t lose that but possibly added a layer of security. But that was on the college and her supervisor, not her.

  He glanced at Haley, whose eyes were starting to blink awake. Something inside his chest gave a little jolt when she smiled at him. He got that feeling whenever he looked at her.

  Darby surprised him by jumping over the side of the boat and into the surf. When she disappeared beneath the surface, he froze and took a step forward. Then she reappeared, washing herself using seawater. He could only imagine how desperately she wanted to be clean.

  Haley touched his hand. “Let’s give her some space. I’ll help you with the boat. She’ll be okay.”

  Haley’s lips were dry and cracked, eyes puffy and tired, dark circles beneath them, but she was still just as stunning as the woman who’d held his attention in the bar a few short days ago. A woman he’d made love to.

  He wished things had gone differently after that. Wished they’d had the normal sort of interaction where he texted her and asked her out on a proper date. That would have been fun. As opposed to being on the run from people who would slice them to pieces if they caught them again.

  He managed to drag his gaze away. Reminded himself they weren’t home free yet. Not by a long way. He needed to concentrate. To protect them, to keep them both safe.

  Don’t get distracted, Savage. Stay in the now.

  Together they dragged the heavy rubber dinghy over the pebbles and into the bushes. He used his stolen knife to cut branches from nearby bushes, covering the metal of the engine and gleam of the sides.

  “I haven’t thanked you properly,” Haley said after they were done and stood admiring their handiwork. Her hands were on her hips, and she was wearing his gym kit, no longer whispering for fear of being overheard. For the first time in days, they could talk normally. “You’ve saved my life so often, I don’t know what I’d have done without you.” She forced a smile, but her eyes held a sheen they both pretended wasn’t there.

  Haley Cramer had already broken down once in front of him. He doubted she’d want to do it again. He took her hand in his and rubbed the cold skin of the back of her hand, bringing it to his lips without thinking. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Yes, you could,” she argued.

  “We did it together, Haley. Every step.” He didn’t want to admit that he cared about her in a way he hadn’t cared about anyone in years. Even knowing either of them could die at any moment, he’d allowed himself to get involved. He simply hadn’t had a choice.

  He went to let go of her hand, but she didn’t let him.

  “You’re a good man, Quentin Savage.” She looked at him, and what he saw in her eyes made him wish for so many things. “I’m glad it was your bedroom I wandered into.”

  That comment niggled just a little. Was that the only reason she’d had sex with him? Because he’d been there? Because he’d given her a safe space? Was he a pity fuck?

  There’d been attraction in the bar, but so what? He frowned because he didn’t know, and he was irritated it bothered him.

  “Do you think Cecil Wenck was warned about the attack? Do you think he left for that reason?” she asked.

  Quentin pushed thoughts about the whys of them hooking up aside. “Until we know whether he survived or not, there’s no use speculating.” His voice came out a little firmer than he intended. The fact was authorities might not even be looking for them yet. They might assume he and Haley were both dead. “Let’s get moving.”

  Together, they waded through the surf back to Darby, who looked better. Her wet hair was darker now and plastered to her skull. The ragged material she wore clung to her body. He didn’t even know what it had been. A sack? A stitched together blanket? He averted his gaze, not wanting her to be uncomfortable with a man seeing the outline of her body.

  “Let’s avoid walking in the sand and making tracks. We’ll go up through the woods. That way, if anyone does a quick scan of the beach, they won’t see fresh footprints.”

  “Definitely smart,” Haley said.

  Hell. Praise from her made him want to puff out his chest like a rooster. If his team could see him now, they’d be laughing their asses off. He rolled
his eyes at himself.

  “Can you take us to the stream to collect water, and then we’ll see what supplies you have left?” Quentin asked.

  He was starving, but Darby hadn’t eaten in days. She needed to keep her strength up as part of her recovery.

  “Then we’ll get to work on the GPS stations.” Darby nodded emphatically.

  “Let’s do this.” Haley held up her hand to high-five them both. He slapped her hand, enjoying the fresh sparkle in her eyes after everything they’d endured.

  Darby high-fived Haley and then turned to him. She hesitated briefly and then smacked his open palm.

  He held her gaze, and some of the horror of what she’d been through leached into those mossy eyes. The raw anguish he saw there made his teeth clench. Even so, a small smile teased the corner of her lips.

  “Don’t let the bastards get you down,” Haley murmured quietly.

  Darby nodded, then stared at the waves breaking around her ankles for a long inhale. Then she looked up. “Let’s go screw up the USGS data and see if anyone is paying attention. I, for one, want my life back.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The phone rang on the bedside table, and Eban jerked awake. He’d fallen asleep fully clothed with the TV jabbering in the background. Jet lag, combined with long working hours, meant he’d passed out as soon as he’d got to his room at some point in the early hours of the morning.

  Dammit.

  Groggy, he grabbed his cell, cursing the charging cord that knocked his notebook off the table. He detached the cable. “Yeah?”

  It was the legal attaché, Reid Armstrong. Eban had met the guy last time he was on rotation out here. “Evidence Response Team found what was left of Quentin Savage’s creds in the ruins of the hotel.”

  The words were like individual punches to the face. A quick one-two followed by a giant uppercut. Eban closed his eyes, wanting to deny what the evidence and eye-witness accounts were telling him. But until he knew for sure, until they identified Quentin’s body, he wasn’t giving up hope.

  Armstrong cleared his throat as if uncomfortable with his own emotion. “I managed to get a meeting with Foreign Minister Ini Kanawela’s assistant first thing this morning.”