His gaze skimmed over her face, now filled with hesitancy. She’d placed a bandage on the cut above her eye, but her opposite cheekbone sported a purpling bruise—undoubtedly from Beanie. Redness bordered her eyelids and her hair had shrunk into frayed springs while she’d slept—if she’d actually slept.
“You could be my informant,” he said with a shrug. His gut told him that at some point their paths would cross again, and if she ever wanted out of this life, he could offer her the same deal he’d struck with Milo.
She threw back her head on a laugh, showing off her pearly white teeth. “Ha, you wish. I’ll never rat out my friends. Can we go now?”
Maybe not. “Yeah.” He turned to the door, but his second phone, the one he used to call his team, vibrated in his pocket, stopping him. He pulled it out and checked the screen. “It’s my team. I’ve got to get this.”
Peyton nodded.
He swiped to answer. “Eric, what’s up?”
“You called earlier and hung up when I answered. You’re on speaker and Mandy’s here. Everything okay?”
“Sorry about that. I was interrupted. We’ve got a . . .” He glanced at Peyton, who was watching him, and turned his back. “Situation on board. A civilian is in trouble with Moretti and he wants her dead by morning. I’m getting her off the ship in a lifeboat and need you to arrange for her to be picked up by the coast guard.”
A stream of curses left Eric’s mouth. He was a good agent, but he wasn’t good at rolling with the punches when something threw a case sideways. “You realize how risky it is for us to get close? Christ, all it’d take is for one of Moretti’s crew members to see the coast guard tailing them and your cover would be blown.”
Irritation sizzled between his ears. As much as he liked Eric, it irked him that the younger agent questioned his judgment. “We don’t have much choice. I don’t think the lieutenant would be very happy if we stood back and let a civilian get killed, and I’m not willing to throw the case out the window either. So if you’ve got a better plan, let’s hear it.”
“I agree with Rhett,” Mandy piped up. “Our first priority is to protect civilians. Get her off in the lifeboat as safely as you can and give us the coordinates. In the meantime, I’ll get in touch with the coast guard so we can move in fast.”
“Good plan,” Rhett said.
“Give us your coordinates now in case something happens, so we have an idea what route you’re on,” Eric said, his voice thick with reluctance.
Rhett pulled out his other phone, the one Moretti had supplied, and went to the app that calculated his exact location. He rattled the coordinates off, disconnected, and then stuffed his phones in his pocket. “Ready?”
Peyton nodded and pushed her hair back with a shaking hand. “They didn’t sound happy. Will they come for me?”
He stepped closer, and her head tilted back. He pressed his palm between her shoulder blades and gave her what he hoped was no more than a reassuring pat. Her eyes, liquid gold, locked on his. Her body swayed with the boat, bringing her closer.
“You have my word.”
Her eyes lowered to his chest and she nodded. Hell, he couldn’t blame her for being shaken. They were a couple hundred miles away from the coast now, and even with a head start it’d take the coast guard and his team an hour or two to reach her.
“The lifeboat’s stocked with reflectors, lights, flares, and enough water and rations for six people for several days. Use the reflectors when you think you see a boat. Don’t use the flares until you’re certain.”
Her eyes grew even larger, and her skin tightened beneath his palm. Regret became deadweight in his gut. Mandy had said their first priority was to protect civilians—how the hell was he doing that by sending her out in a lifeboat by herself in the middle of the fucking ocean? He pulled his hand away from her and rubbed his palm over the back of his neck. His gut screamed at him that this was wrong, that he should pull the plug and bring in the SWAT team to end this now and get her on a helicopter.
But he couldn’t.
A firm grip caught his bicep. “Rhett, I’ll be fine. But we need to hurry. We’re getting farther and farther from the coast, which means it will only take longer for them to find me.”
He brought his hand down. “All right. Stay close and don’t make a sound.”
She kept her hand on his arm, and her hold burned through his dress shirt. He opened the door and her fingers fell to tangle in his. The satiny smooth skin against his made his nerve endings sing. He ached to offer her more comfort, but time was limited.
They moved through the lower level and up the stairs to the main deck. Dim lights shone in the direction of the galley, but no voices sounded. Dammit, he should’ve swept the deck first to see if the guys were still upstairs. He itched to drop Peyton’s hand and grab the Glock at the small of his back, but his walking around ready to shoot would only put anyone he came across on high alert. Worst case, he’d say Peyton had come clean and was ready to spill her guts to Moretti.
He turned, grabbed Peyton by her upper arm, and propelled her alongside him. Panic filled her eyes, and she struggled against him.
“What are you—”
“Shh. If someone stops us, we need to have an explanation,” he whispered next to her ear. “It’ll look a hell of a lot better for both of us if it doesn’t look like I’m sneaking you around.”
The deep lines etching her forehead smoothed, but she cocked an eyebrow. “And it won’t look suspicious that I’m in a wetsuit?” Her dry tone made him huff impatiently. At least she was no longer resisting. He moved swiftly to the ship’s stern.
“Sure, it will. But I can say I found you trying to escape.” Cold air whished through the door leading to the outer deck as he opened it, and salty sea air misted his face. He moved her to a corner and pressed her back against the wall. “Stay here and don’t move,” he said, speaking over the noise of water splashing against the side of the yacht. “I’m going to get the inflatable lifeboat and scope out where the guards are gathered.”
She curled her arms around her stomach and looked out at the vast, turbulent sea around them. A lead ball of guilt pulled at the pit of her stomach. He reached behind his back, pulled out his gun, and held it out to her. Her eyes widened, but instead of pulling away, she reached for it.
Her hands circled the weapon as if they’d done so a million times. She checked the chamber and then held the gun at her side. “Thanks.”
“Don’t fire unless you have to.”
She twisted her mouth in a no shit expression, and he turned and walked away. The wind howled over the ocean and he curled his hands into fists. Every step made the guilt heavier.
* * *
With the weight of the Glock in her palm, Peyton felt some of her unease ebb away, but she hoped Rhett would hurry the hell up. The top deck held the outside sitting area, where Beanie had restrained her. If Rhett was trying to locate the other guys, he’d either have to go to the bow of the main deck to try to hear their voices above, or go inside and take the stairs to the top deck.
He had a team offshore. Did that mean he was working? Was his team comprised of fellow agents or others working for Moretti? He’d referred to her as a civilian, and he’d instructed his people to contact the coast guard. Maybe he wasn’t a dirty cop.
Footsteps scuffed over the deck and shoved the analysis from her mind. She rolled her shoulders back. That hadn’t taken Rhett long at all.
Then the beam of a flashlight bounced around the corner of the boat and landed in front of her feet. Fear paralyzed her. Rhett didn’t have a flashlight. The heavy clunking of the guard’s advancement grew louder, bouncing off her eardrums. She tightened her hold on the gun but kept it pointed at the ship’s deck. The light came around the corner and hit her in the face, searing her retinas. She turned away quickly.
The footsteps came to a halt and a rough hand seized her shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing out here?”
White spots floated in f
ront of her vision, blocking out Beanie’s face, but she recognized his voice. Terror raced over her skin. She shifted her hand behind her back, concealing the gun. “I . . . I’m lost.”
He moved his face close to hers, and his hand gripped her throat. “Yeah, I bet. Where’s your bodyguard, huh? Does he know you’re sneaking around?”
She shook her head. The sweet scent of cigars wafted to her nose, followed by the acrid smell of whiskey. His hand tightened on her windpipe, stopping the flow of oxygen to her brain. She snapped her gaze to his face and her eyesight cleared. Dark, coal-like eyes dipped to her wetsuit. His wide mouth slashed into a smirk.
“Going somewhere?”
She narrowed her eyes.
Humor lit up his face. “What, you were going to swim back to shore?” He threw his head back and laughed.
She wrapped her free hand around his wrist and dug her nails into the skin on his arm. He didn’t flinch, but his grip on her throat eased enough for her to catch her breath.
“You know what? I’m a nice guy. I think I’ll let you try that.” His deep chuckle shook his body. He leaned in even closer, until his mouth was almost touching hers. Her body turned to stone. Her airway was now clear, but terror had stilled the muscles that activated her lungs. He brought his hand up next to her face. The sheen of a switchblade flashed. “After I take what’s mine.” He brought the blade to her breast and dragged the tip over her nipple and down her ribs.
Alarm bells screeched in her skull. She had to get away. She jerked her knee between his legs and connected with his manhood. A gurgle of pain burst through his lips, and his hold on her neck loosened. She snapped her fist against his elbow, breaking his grip completely. Drawing her hand back, she jabbed the heel of her palm into his nose. Cartilage crunched against her skin and he howled in pain. Blood splattered through his fingers. The whites of his eyes glowed in the moonlight, and his pupils were so wide and dark with rage that a shiver of fear rolled down her spine. He lunged at her, and she swung the gun out from behind her back and pointed it at his head. Her chest rose and fell rapidly and a chill settled into her bones.
Rhett had told her to use the weapon only if she had to—at this point, she didn’t have much choice, but firing the gun would bring every guard to the stern and would out Rhett. Beanie’s face fell, but fear didn’t take residence.
He took a step closer. “I fucking dare you. You’ll be raped and then killed before you can swim even ten feet from the boat.”
Blood roared through her veins and her head pounded. She had to make a decision.
“Drop the knife.” The command shook from her lips.
He raised the hand holding the knife away from his body. The radio at his waist crackled and she jumped. Seeing the opportunity, Beanie grabbed her arm and slammed her wrist above her head. The gun fell from her fingers and skittered across the deck.
He brought the knife to her cheek and smiled. Adrenaline kicked through her system. She had nothing to lose. She’d rather die than let him touch her. She grabbed his wrist and yanked the knife away from her face then slammed her forehead against his.
He yanked backward and slashed the knife at her. She lifted her leg to block the blow, but the icy steel carved through her wetsuit. Warmth flooded her skin and pain seared her nerve endings. He pinned her to the wall and crushed his hand over her face. The heat of his palm scorched her lips as he pressed his weight into her jaw.
“You’re going to die tonight, you fucking cunt.”
Crack!
Beanie’s head snapped to the side, but he didn’t fall. He wheeled around. Rhett stood there, a flashlight in his hand. Then he stomped his foot into Beanie’s chest, sending the man flying backward. Beanie reached for the radio at his hip, but Rhett kicked it from his hand.
“You traitor,” Beanie hissed. “Moretti’s going to slit your throat when he finds out what you did.”
“He’s not going to find out.” The edge in Rhett’s voice made goosebumps erupt over Peyton’s skin.
Rhett took a step forward, but Beanie quickly reached behind his back and then pointed a gun at Rhett’s chest.
Peyton’s mouth went dry as Rhett raised his hands. Beanie got to his feet and scanned the ground. Peyton’s gaze fell to the small device on the deck—his radio. She dove for it and hurled it over the edge of the yacht.
Beanie snagged her hair and dragged her toward his chest. Her scalp screamed, the throbbing falling into sync with the pulsing of the knife wound on her leg. “You,” he said, gesturing to Rhett. “Lead the way to the top deck. If you try anything, I’ll blow her head off.”
Rhett raised his hands. “Fine.”
No, no, no!
It couldn’t end like this. Not with both of them dying. She struggled against Beanie, but he shoved her in front of him. She searched Rhett’s face, but he wouldn’t meet her stare. Sticky, warm liquid coated her thigh as Beanie forced her to walk alongside him.
The pungent taste of fear coated her taste buds as she watched Rhett’s back retreat. He turned the corner, moving out of sight. She swung her elbow backward against Beanie, throwing him off balance. As she ducked out of his hold, there was a flutter of movement at the side of the boat. Rhett jabbed Beanie’s already bloody nose, but before the man could scream, Rhett twisted him into a reverse choke hold.
“Get back,” Rhett growled. Peyton cupped her hand over the scorching-hot slash on her leg and returned to the boat’s stern. She heard several grunts and blows but couldn’t focus on what was happening. Her teeth gnashed together with each involuntary shiver of her body, and she slid down the wall until she sat on the deck. As she pressed her hands against the wound, the ship rocked and swayed. Each movement sucked at her consciousness. Her limbs turned to ice. Her body jerked in spasms. The stars swirled overhead, and she blinked as blackness closed in on her vision, narrowing the constellations into a tunnel. Her hand fell away from her leg and she rested her head against the wall. Then the warm arms of sleep surrounded her, chasing the cold away with their peaceful darkness.
CHAPTER 7
Rhett balled his hand in Beanie’s jacket, grabbed the back of the man’s head with his other hand, and smashed his forehead into the yacht’s railing. The guard’s head bounced off the metal with a sickening clank, and he slumped to the deck.
Rhett rolled Beanie’s shoulders back, but the stiff muscles protested. The bastard was an ox. He reached into his back pocket and fished out the phone he used to communicate with Eric and Mandy. A spiderweb crack fractioned the screen, and the device wouldn’t turn on. Sonofabitch! He shoved the phone back in his pocket—he’d try to salvage it later.
He rounded the corner of the deck and searched the darkness but was greeted only by stars and the beating of waves against the yacht. “Peyton?” He turned in a circle. No way she’d gone inside. He ran to the rail and caught the cold steel in his hands. His gaze roamed the waves, but there was no sign of her body.
He wheeled around. A dark shape lay motionless against the wall. “Shit.” He dropped to Peyton’s side. Her hand lay open next to her leg, her head was tilted, and her eyes were closed. She was sucking ragged breaths through her open mouth. Her lips were pale. Sweat dampened his collar. If something happened to her it’d be his fault. He couldn’t live with that. Couldn’t live with having Serena and Dani’s friend’s death on his hands. He caught her cheeks in his hands and her cold, clammy skin absorbed his heat.
“Peyton,” he said, as he gave her head a gentle shake. She didn’t move. Dread ate a hole through the lining of his stomach. He scanned the deck for the flashlight but couldn’t see it. She couldn’t have been shot. No guns had been fired. What had he missed? He cupped his hands around her shoulders and worked his palms over every inch of her body. When he reached her right thigh, warm stickiness stopped his movement.
“What the?” He lifted his hand into the moon’s glow. Blackish-red fluid coated his palm. His muscles constricted. He jumped to his feet and ran to Beanie’s uncon
scious form. After yanking the switchblade from the guard’s pocket, he slashed a hole in Beanie’s tuxedo jacket and ripped off a long strip.
He returned to Peyton and dropped down next to her again. “Peyton, you need to wake up.” He kept his voice hard, stern. “We have to get you off this boat now. You’re hurt and the guards will come looking for Beanie any minute.”
Who the hell was he kidding? He couldn’t put her in a lifeboat by herself while she was bleeding enough to pass out. He worked the material under her thigh. The black night, dark wetsuit, and oozing blood made it difficult to determine the gash’s exact location, but it had to be substantial, given that she was losing consciousness. He tied a knot over the wettest area and returned his attention to her face.
Her fingers reached for her leg. “Ah, what’d you do?” Her brow creased in accusation, and he grunted.
“Probably saved you from bleeding to death. Are you all right?”
She blinked and sat straighter. “Oh my god, I passed out.”
“Yeah. Not very good timing.”
“Where’s—”
“He’s out cold. But we need to get out of here. Can you stand?”
Some color returned to her cheeks and lips. His pulse regulated, and the angst that had gotten his heartbeat jumping eased as she clamped her hand on his forearm. He hauled her to her feet. She gasped, and her fingers dug into his muscle.
“You okay?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and rolled her lips in. “I’m fine.” She pressed more weight onto her injured leg and let go of his arm.
He searched her face, but she nodded again. “Get the lifeboat.”
He turned to where he’d dropped the sixty-pound duffle bag that enclosed the lifeboat, picked it up, and carried it to the stern. He tied the tether to the metal hook on the boat and heaved the red bag over the side. The tension on the cord would prompt the air cannister to inflate the boat. It disappeared into the wake then surfaced. Peyton came up beside him and cupped her hand on the rail.
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