Turn the Tide

by Ruggle, Katie

  He brought the boat up to the rig’s southwestern leg and squatted beside her, stroked a hand down her arm, and lifted one of the earphones. “We’re here.”

  She opened her eyes, ran them over his face as sweet as a caress, then focused past him. “A rig.”

  “The rig. Our rig.”

  Slowly, she nodded. “Okay. Our rig.”

  He shut his eyes hard and counted out three seconds, hoping against hope he’d done the right thing. “Ours.”

  “What do you—”

  “I reached out to that company. The one in the Marshall Islands that left this thing here.”

  Her brown eyes were huge. Massive, a little doubtful, a little excited. He wanted to squeeze her to him.

  “It’s ours now,” he repeated.

  “What are you—”

  “Come on up.”

  “You okay, Eric? Are you having a meltdown or something? This seems crazy.”

  “Only a little.”

  He grabbed the ladder, then reached for her hand. “You first.”

  Right beside the rig, something bobbed up. A sleek, gray head, followed by the whiskery snout.

  “Oh my God!” Zoe’s hands flew to her face. “It’s Sea Lion Bob! Oh, shoot! I don’t have my diving gear to check on the others, or—” She leaned far over the side. “Come here, Bob. Come here, baby!” Eric watched impatiently, but also with a kind of awe while she rubbed her knuckles against the creature’s head. Bob, it seemed, liked Zoe almost as much as Eric did.

  He couldn’t begrudge him her attention. Finally, after a few minutes, the sea lion took off into the water.

  “This is the best present ever, Eric.” Was she sniffling? “Thank you!”

  “No! No, this isn’t it. Or at least not all of it.” He swallowed. “Climb up. I’ve got something to tell you.”

  “O-kay.” She tilted her head at a funny angle, narrowed her eyes at him over her sunglasses, and climbed up.

  At the top, she spun around, blinking at the changes he’d made. “What’s going on?”

  He’d done some work on the first deck—and hired a lot of it out, or she might’ve begun to wonder at his absences, but this wasn’t what he wanted her to see.

  “There’s more. Come on.”

  He pulled her up another level and inside, down the hall—to that place where they’d confronted those first two assholes—past the living quarters, which he’d had cleaned up, if not redone…yet.

  “What…”

  Hand in hand, they walked to the end of the hall, where he’d decided to turn the mess hall into something else entirely.

  “What…what’s this?”

  “It’s going to be my office.”

  “Your office?”

  “You know that security firm I talked about starting up? To keep me out of trouble, as you like to say?” At her nod, he went on. “Well, I’ve got three employees already. And this is our HQ—offshore, which gives us mega leeway. But, there’s room for more.” He eyed her carefully. “Right here, across the hall, we have space for…a nonprofit, maybe?”

  “I don’t…” She was shaking her head. In confusion, he thought. Or was she turning him down? Crap, maybe he shouldn’t have kept this a surprise. “Eric, I can’t…”

  “I want to give this to you.” After a second’s hesitation, he put a hand on her waist. “Please think about it. I know there are some messed-up memories here, but it’s also what brought us together, you know?”

  She nodded, her soulful eyes glazed over with tears. “You’re crazy.”

  “I know.” He wasn’t sure whether to smile or not. Was this too much? Probably.

  “But I love it.”

  Oh, thank God.

  “And you. I love you, Eric.”

  “Good. ’Cause it’s a package deal, so listen up.”

  She paled and waited.

  “Move in with me.”

  She laughed. “Like I haven’t already?”

  “Make it official.” He leaned in. “’Cause I don’t need more time to be sure of something I knew that first night we spent together.” He shifted back to get a good look at her face, but also to make sure she knew this was important to him. “You’re it for me, Zoe Garcia. You’re the end of the line. And, more than anything, you’re the beginning. Of everything that matters.”

  A tear gathered at the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek. He caught it with his thumb.

  “I know this is fast, but we went two years before letting anything happen between us. I don’t want to do that again. No more wasting precious time. Will you move in with me? Will you…start something here? In the place we first met?”

  She sniffled and wiped more tears away, but her smile gave him hope.

  “Are you kidding?” Her arms went around him and she kissed him like she did every time she put her lips to his—like she meant it. Like he was the most important thing in the world. Like she loved him. “I’m wild about you.”

  “And what do you think? Of this place? Our headquarters.”

  “It’s weird!” she said a little louder.

  And that was when he knew for sure he had her. The rig thing was strange, but it was exactly the kind of strange she was into. His woman liked weird, off-the-wall new experiences. It’s what made them perfect for each other.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Yes!” she yelled. “Hell, yes.”

  His phone chose that moment to ring, but he ignored it. He refused to let anything take away from this. He bent forward, put his lips to hers, and kissed her. It was the kind of long, slow kiss a guy didn’t have time for when he was running for his life. The kind of kiss he’d keep giving her forever.

  The phone chimed with a message, which he would have ignored, except that when he glanced at the screen, the number was weird. Was that a Russian prefix?

  He called voicemail and waited for the message to come through, holding Zoe’s hand.

  “Eric. Need…help.” Right away, every hair on his body stood up. Zoe must have heard it or felt it. She straightened and watched him closely. “…attacked…linked to the Chrono…”

  The connection was so full of static that he could feel the distance from San Diego to Antarctica. Every mile was a crackle on the line. Frantic, he pushed the phone to his ear, hard.

  “…my research… Headed to Volkov. You’ve got to find out…” When the talking stopped, Eric pulled the phone away, glanced at it, and shoved it back to his ear. It wasn’t a problem with this end, dammit. It was with Ford’s.

  “…hear me? Shit. He can’t hear me.” Was he talking to someone else? “Volkov. Volkov! Call Volkov station! Tell them…less than…” Eric just about lost all hope when the static took over. But suddenly, Ford’s voice came back on. “The Russians know it. We could use help. And, hey, could you figure…what…want…my fucking virus?” Ford yelled that bit before quieting. “Love you…whatever happens. Love you.”

  Eric waited a good ten seconds after the message ended before hitting Save and lowering his hand.

  “Tell me.”

  He blinked at Zoe and shook his head. “My brother. He’s in trouble.” Here, Eric had been on his cloud with this woman, while down there, at the bottom of the world—

  “Where’d he call from?”

  “Antarctica.” Eric frowned. “Someplace called Volkov, maybe?” He shook his head. “I’ll have to listen again.”

  “Wait.” Zoe’s hand landed on his, solid and warm. “Call the number back.”

  Hope swelled as he called back, but quickly died when it went straight to some unintelligible message. Definitely Russian. He hit the number over and over without any luck.

  “Why’d my brother use a Russian phone? He’s on an American base.”

  “Volkov doesn’t sound American to me.”
/>
  He blinked. “You’re right.”

  They listened to the message a second time, together.

  “Wait!” Zoe said. “He said Chronos.”

  Skeptically, Eric hit Replay.

  “…attacked…linked to the Chrono…” Something skittered down his back.

  “Hear it?” Zoe put out her hand. “Let’s listen again.”

  He replayed it.

  “See? The s is cut off, but it’s there.”

  When he hung up the last time, Zoe watched him, her quiet, worried gaze the only thing keeping him from losing his shit.

  “No idea what’s going on?”

  “None.” He shook his head, unnerved at the thought that his brother was likely out there, alone, in Antarctica—the most inhospitable place on earth—and worried enough to call him. “But I’m gonna figure it out.”

  “We are,” she said and grabbed his hand, hard. Like she meant it.

  And damn if he didn’t believe her.

  About the Author

  Adriana Anders is the award-winning author of the Blank Canvas series. Under Her Skin, a Publishers Weekly Best Book of 2017 and double recipient of the HOLT Medallion Award, was featured in Bustle, USA Today Happy Ever After, and Book Riot. Today, she resides with her husband and two small children on the coast of France, where she writes the stories of her heart.

  Be the first to know about new releases, sales, and more by signing up for Adriana’s newsletter at adrianaanders.com/newsletter.

  For a list of newest releases, visit AdrianaAnders.com. Follow Adriana on BookBub at bookbub.com/profile/adriana-anders. Like her on Facebook at facebook.com/adrianaandersauthor. See what she is up to on Instagram at instagram.com/adriana.anders. Tweet her @AdrianasBoudoir.

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  Whiteout

  With a storm coming and a madman on the loose, every next step could be their last.

  Once upon a time, Angel Smith fled to the edge of the world to escape her life. Now she’s finally ready to leave her post in Antarctica and return to the mainland for a second chance. But on what was meant to be her final day, the research station is attacked. Hunted and scared, she and intense—and intensely attractive—glaciologist Ford Cooper barely make it out with their lives…only to realize that in a place this remote, there’s nowhere left to run.

  “Scorching hot and beautifully emotional. A pulse-pounding, edge-of-your-seat read.”

  —Lori Foster, New York Times bestselling author

  For more, visit:

  amazon.com

  No Way Out

  A Final Hour Novella

  Juno Rushdan

  Chapter 1

  Munich, Germany

  Thursday, March 3, 11:55 a.m. CET

  In thirty minutes, the lives of fourteen thousand employees and the future of one of the most innovative biotech companies in the world would be ruined, all thanks to Ashley Agnello.

  She swung her gaze across the hall to Jonas Hoffmann, where the mild-mannered biochemist traded his suit jacket for a white lab coat. He left his office, electronically locking the door, passed his secretary, the iron gatekeeper Marie Fischer, and headed to the elevator as he did every day at noon. He’d spend the next six hours doing preclinical drug development.

  Hoffmann’s project was hush-hush, but the overwhelming buzz about the breakthrough lead compound he’d discovered was impossible to muzzle. BGA predicted top-line results and projected a 50 percent boost in stock worth billions.

  The compound was an unprecedented game-changer that had whetted Ashley’s curiosity.

  Right on schedule, Marie poured her daily glass of the home-pressed green juice she’d drink in lieu of eating lunch. She was unmarried, had no children, didn’t smoke, didn’t attend office celebrations, didn’t do coffee runs, and seemed to have no apparent weaknesses.

  Except one: she was always prepared for life’s little hiccups.

  Funny how a person’s greatest strength could easily turn into their Achilles’ heel.

  Ashley unscrewed a ballpoint pen, let the tube of ink slide into her palm, and snapped it. Blue dye splattered on her white oxford. She dumped the pen in the trash, grabbed the small plastic vial hidden in the liner of her purse, and hurried across the hall in feigned panic.

  “Ugh! Look at this mess,” she said in fluent German with the Berlinerisch tongue of her youth. Her father had been an American Foreign Service officer who met and married her mother abroad. Ashley spent every summer until she was sixteen with relatives in Germany.

  She pulled on a careful frown, without overselling it. “Can you help me?”

  Marie clucked her tongue and shook her head. “It’s good you came straight to me.” Her lilting Bavarian accent was thick. “You would’ve made it much worse.” She spun in her chair, turning her back, and opened a bottom desk drawer. The bangles on her wrist tinkled softly.

  With a furtive glance ensuring no one in the nearby offices noticed, Ashley popped the top on the vial and poured a few drops of the colorless, odorless contents into Marie’s glass.

  Four oily globules sank into the green liquid.

  Marie soaked a palmful of cotton balls with nail polish remover. The sharp odor of acetone prickled Ashley’s nose. “Dab. Don’t rub,” Marie said with a reproachful sigh.

  Giving a grateful smile, Ashley held the damp cotton balls in her cupped palms like a treasure. “What would I do without you?”

  “Probably get fired.” The biting arrogance that kept the secretaries and apprentices at arm’s length oozed from her. “Herr Mueller has exacting standards.” Marie sipped her juice.

  Ashley nodded agreement, but her gaze tracked the contraction of Marie’s throat with each swallow, stomach churning in anticipation.

  She drifted back to her desk, dabbing at the ink stains, which were in fact disappearing, and waited for her opening. Every second counted. She had to be ready to spring into action.

  This was her only shot.

  Her real boss, the esteemed Bruce Sanborn, didn’t tolerate excuses and didn’t give second chances. She’d finally convinced him that her request to transfer from analysis to field operations wasn’t an emotional reaction to the terrorist attack two years ago on one of their covert teams. The lone survivor had been CIA officer Logan Silva.

  Logan. They’d been closer than some married couples, without the steamy physical benefits, finishing each other’s sentences and shouldering one another’s confidences. The dynamic duo. Until he pushed her away, as though their bond—the one she would’ve sworn on her life was unbreakable—was as insubstantial as tissue paper.

  Her chest constricted, and Ashley fought back a shiver deep inside. She wasn’t going to muck up her first field assignment with toxic thoughts about Logan.

  That coward. Selfish quitter. Damn him.

  She drummed her fingers on the desk before she caught herself. Clenching her hands in her lap, she drew on her limited operational training and silently recited the four A’s.

  Always have an excuse for your whereabouts.

  Always control the situation; don’t get boxed in; stay on the offensive.

  Always think before you speak; silence is better than slipping up or giving in.

  Always stay alert, aware of your surroundings; own the street.

  She jotted a note on a sticky pad. Movement in the hall had her gaze flickering up.

  The mass exodus from the surrounding offices finally began—a procession to the break room one floor below to celebrate the birthday of the vice president of R&D.

  A fellow apprentice, Tim Weber, ducked his head in her office. “Coming? I heard the cake is from Sweet Lab.”

  A Sweet Lab cake meant an elaborate confectionery masterpiece for the eye and tongue. Her mouth salivated for the decadent s
lice of heaven she’d never taste.

  “I’ll be along shortly,” she said, looking through him, beyond his boyish enthusiasm, her focus riveted on the woman across the hall. “I have to finish something for Mueller first.”

  Ashley gestured to the memo on her computer screen. But she’d already printed and dropped the document on the desk of her fake boss, Dieter Mueller, who was at a lunch meeting.

  “Hurry. It won’t last.” Tim’s eyes beamed, and he headed off behind the gaggle of suits.

  Marie pressed a palm to her stomach. Her pallid face twisted in discomfort that, on a scale of one to ten, was about to skyrocket from a bearable four to an explosive twelve.

  Poor thing wouldn’t have suffered if she’d been inclined to socialize.

  Marie teetered to her feet. She doubled over and scurried toward the ladies’ room.

  Sucking in a breath, Ashley tried to calm her jitters. It was now or never.

  She removed the false chunky heels of her patent leather wing-tip shoes, her fingers tingling. After withdrawing the cool technological toys hidden inside, she clicked the heels—lined with a special material to shield the gadgets from the metal detectors in the lobby—back in place. She took the note she’d scribbled a few minutes ago, darted across the aisle into the office, and slapped the sticky on Marie’s monitor.

  Surveilling the hall, Ashley pressed on to Hoffmann’s door. All clear. Nervous excitement gathered in a rush, raising goose bumps. She placed a device on the electronic lock.

  The steady red light started blinking and turned green. She slipped inside Hoffmann’s office and crouched in front of the PC tower behind his desk. Her pulse was a hammer in her throat.

  Electronic emissions were shielded from external intrusion, necessitating an insider. The computers were air-gapped—the entire corporate network was isolated from the Internet. As additional security, the computers used for research and development were physically kept in secure rooms and linked behind a separate firewall.