by Amelia Autin
She tried to get the terror under control. At least I hurt them, she consoled herself, remembering the gashes her keys had made when she’d fought off her attackers. She hadn’t managed to gouge out an eye, an idea that sickened her even though she knew it shouldn’t. But she’d done some damage to the faces of two of the men before she’d been grabbed from behind and chloroformed.
She could hear harsh male voices from the front of the van, but they were talking in rapid Cantonese and she couldn’t understand a word. I’ve got to get back to my Cantonese lessons, she reminded herself firmly, until she remembered...there weren’t going to be any more lessons. Not for her.
* * *
“Jason! Damn it, Jason, answer me. Are you alive, mate? Tell me you’re alive!”
The booming Australian voice pierced the fog surrounding Jason, and he shook his head to clear it. His chest hurt like a son of a bitch where the deployed airbag had protected him from hitting the steering wheel. There was something warm and sticky in his eyes, too, and when he raised a hand to wipe it away, he saw the blood. The words I’m alive were automatic.
“Bloody hell, Jason, you scared the crap out of me.”
Sudden laughter shook him. “Bloody hell is right,” he told Cam. “I’m covered in blood, but I’m alive.”
A string of curses filled the air. Then, “Where the hell are you? I’ll get an ambulance to you right away.”
He blinked and looked around, all at once realizing just how precariously his precious Jaguar was situated, wedged between two trees on the steep slope. If he didn’t miss his guess the Jag was a dead loss, but the trees had saved him. He said drily, “I need a tow truck and rescue equipment more than an ambulance. I’m halfway down the bloody mountain.”
The electronic beeping growing ever fainter finally impinged on his consciousness, and just like that the fog swirling inside his head was dissipated. Alana. Abduction. The Eight Tigers. “Make that call about Alana to Detective Inspector Lam your top priority,” he said, his voice crisp and once again in command. “Then worry about me.”
“Righto. But how’s he going to find her?”
“She’s transmitting her location, just like last time. With the right GPS equipment—” Something clicked in his brain. “Macau. They’re taking her to Macau.” He unbuckled his seat belt, saying, “Belay that order about Detective Lam.” Then he punched the remaining safety glass out of the driver’s side window with his elbow, preparatory to climbing out. “I need a boat.”
* * *
Still bound and gagged, Alana feigned unconsciousness when she was transferred like baggage from the van to the cargo hold of a sleek, bright red boat that looked fast. Very fast. She didn’t know enough about watercraft to know what this one was. All she knew was that it was bigger than her father’s cabin cruiser, but smaller than the yacht Jason had taken her out on.
Jason. She’d tried her best not to think of him. Tried not to remember how he’d rescued her the last time. Part of her couldn’t help praying he would somehow rescue her again, but she couldn’t count on that. She had to rescue herself if she could, which was why she hadn’t let on the effects of the chloroform her captors had used on her had worn off earlier than they’d anticipated. She needed every little edge she could get.
They’d taken her keys away, but not before she’d activated the beacon. And the driver of the van, who was one of the men who’d carried her onto this boat, had pocketed her keys...and her key fob. Which meant even though the transmitter wasn’t actually on her, it was close enough for someone to track her. Assuming the beacon’s range was great enough to encompass wherever it was they were taking her. So it was still possible Jason might...
If they didn’t kill her before he could find her. She’d acknowledged her ultimate fate back in the van when she’d realized she wasn’t blindfolded, so she wasn’t overcome with fear now. But she also knew they weren’t just going to kill her. Otherwise she’d be dead already. So there was a purpose to why she was being transported on a boat. She just didn’t know where to, and she didn’t know why. But one thing she did know. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good...for her.
* * *
“Damn it, Jason, would you hold still? You bled like a stuck pig.” A bottle of hydrogen peroxide in one hand, cotton swabs in the other, Cam was attempting to clean the wound that was still oozing sluggishly on Jason’s forehead.
Jason impatiently waved him off and attempted to rise. “What are you, my nursemaid? I’m fine.”
At six-four, Cam had three inches on Jason, and he shoved him back down on the seat. Hard. RMM’s MetalCraft Marine high speed interceptor 11M patrol boat, the Night Wind, had already departed from the dock ten minutes ago, with Chao at the helm, following the course Jason had laid in based on the GPS coordinates of their moving target. Luke and Logan were setting up the 50-caliber machine guns in the forward and aft gun mounts, and Trevor—the crème de la crème of RMM’s sharpshooters—was uncrating sniper rifles from the cache RMM kept stored below decks and methodically loading them.
“If you’re too stupid or too stubborn to let me clean that up and put a bandage on it, I’ll order Luke and Logan to hold you down, mate. And don’t think I won’t.”
Which made Jason chuckle because, damn it, he knew Cam would do it, too. Besides, they weren’t even close to catching up with the boat carrying Alana, which meant there wasn’t a damn thing for him to do at the moment except listen to the electronic beeps...and let Cam do his worst. So he gave in with as good grace as he could muster, saying, “A couple of sticking plasters should do it after you mop up the blood. I don’t want anything interfering with my vision.”
“It’ll take more than that, you dipstick. I don’t know what you hit if the airbag deployed, but there’s a three-inch gash on your forehead from your hairline to your eyebrow. Don’t even think about using face paint as camouflage the way you usually do, or I’ll have to hurt you. Wear a mask instead. That wound will probably need stitches, but for now I’ll do the best I can.”
* * *
The Night Wind, designed for intercepting, boarding and seizing high-speed target craft, was already doing forty knots in the relatively calm waters of the South China Sea. Jason had just recently had this boat retrofitted with the latest technology, which, when combined with its speed and versatility, made it the perfect vessel for RMM’s covert operations.
They’d skirted north of the Soko Islands and were coming round the southwestern tip of Lantau Island, from which it was a straight shot to Macau, when the electronic beeps began to pick up in frequency and volume.
Jason put his hand on Chao’s shoulder and leaned forward to peer through the windshield awash with ocean spray. “Binocs in that compartment right there,” Chao said, pointing. Jason pulled out the binoculars and stepped outside the cabin for a better view, quickly focusing on the red boat in the distance.
“Gotta be them,” he replied a minute later as he came back inside, forcing his voice to a calmness he was far from feeling. “ETA to intercept?” he asked Cam, who was already punching numbers into a laptop.
“Eight minutes, give or take. Assuming they’re already doing best speed and Chao kicks it up a notch.” His gaze met Jason’s. “It’d be preferable to overtake them in open water.”
Meaning, as Jason well knew, it would be best if they were far from any of the islands south of them and there were no other boats in their vicinity. Because their plan was tantamount to piracy. Overtake, intercept, force their target vessel to heave to—at gunpoint if necessary—and board. And at the same time they had to make sure none of the men aboard the other boat tried to use Alana as a hostage...or worse. The fact that they knew damn well she was a prisoner on that boat didn’t change the illegality of what they were going to do. “Agreed.” He glanced at Chao. “Gun it.”
* * *
Alana had j
ust maneuvered herself onto her back, despite her bound hands, when she heard what sounded like a burst of machine-gun fire, followed by excited babble in Cantonese overhead. The boat abruptly changed course, throwing her sharply to one side, but its speed didn’t slacken. Then the vessel shuddered when something hit it with terrific force, accompanied by another round of gunfire and cries of pain this time.
There was an odd sound she couldn’t quite place, sort of a gurgling. Before she could figure out what it was, something cold and wet seeped across the deck on which she lay, and then she knew. Water. Ocean water. We’re sinking!
Urgent footsteps warned her someone was coming down the ladder into the hold. She quickly closed her eyes to mere slits and readied to defend herself. One chance, she thought feverishly, hearing Captain Mateja-Jones in her mind again. You have one chance. Make it good. Suddenly a shadowy figure with a gun in one hand was looming over her, his other hand reaching down, and...
Alana’s left leg shot up as if it were a piston, kicking the man’s gun hand. She couldn’t see very well in the hold’s dim light, but the grunt he made and the half thud, half splash of the pistol hitting the deck told her she’d managed to disarm him. When he scrabbled in the slowly rising water to recover the weapon, her right leg swung up and over, and her foot connected with his ribs. The man stumbled and fell to his knees. Alana was sure the words issuing from his mouth were curses, but she didn’t understand and didn’t give a damn anyway. She jerked herself around in what was now a couple of inches of water, levered both knees up, then kicked out with everything she had, making solid contact with the man’s midsection and sending him sprawling with a satisfying splash.
Over the harsh sound of the man’s continued curses she heard thumps overhead that sounded like boots hitting the deck, and the boat rocked violently. Then what little light there was in the hold was temporarily blocked out when a man disdained the ladder and jumped through the opening, landing with another splash. She readied her now-trembling legs to ward off a new attack, when a deep voice she heard in her dreams said, “Alana?”
Chapter 19
Alana’s name uttered in Jason’s distinctive British accent, the voice he hadn’t been able to disguise from day one, sent a wave of blessed relief through her veins and a rush of tears to her eyes, but the gag kept her from answering. Her would-be attacker scrambled to his feet, and she moaned frantically to let Jason know she was alive and to warn him they weren’t alone in the hold.
He didn’t seem to need her warning. A series of powerful blows from him, and the man she’d only temporarily incapacitated hit the deck...and didn’t stir again.
Jason was at her side instantly, gentle hands raising her up and turning her around. She recognized the whisper of metal against leather, and knew he was drawing his knife from its sheath. “Hold still,” he ordered.
Then, just as the first time Jason had rescued her, the gag melted away. “Oh, God. Jason!” Those were the only words she managed before tears of thankfulness closed her throat.
His irreverent “One and the same, lang loi” made her choke on laughter as the rope binding her wrists was carefully cut loose. Laughter, because she knew he didn’t really mean it that way. Because she knew him. Despite the accomplishments that in any other man would have accompanied an ego twice the size of Alaska, despite the quiet confidence and assurance he exuded, Jason was relatively modest and unassuming. He’d only said what he’d said now because he knew her well enough to know she needed something to buck her up, to make her laugh so she didn’t start crying.
He sheathed the knife before lifting her effortlessly into his arms and splashing toward the rectangle of light spilling down into the hold from above. “Cam!” he bellowed.
A giant figure appeared in the opening, then strong hands reached down to lift Alana onto the deck. Three seconds later Jason was at her side, and his arms closed around her. Tight. She didn’t mind in the least because her arms were doing the same to him, holding him as if she’d never let him go. And now that it was all over, the adrenaline letdown had her silently weeping as if she’d never stop.
He pressed her head against his chest, one hand stroking her hair in soothing fashion. In a distant corner of her brain she recognized there was movement going on around them. But all she could hear was the not-so-steady beat of Jason’s heart beneath her ear.
Eventually she cried herself out and raised her head, gasping when she finally got a really good look at him. “Oh, my God!”
Unlike the first time he’d rescued her, he wasn’t wearing camouflage face paint. But he was wearing a disguising black mask over his eyes. That wasn’t what made her gasp, though. That was caused by the white bandage across one side of his forehead, which was secured by a bright red bandanna, giving him a somewhat piratical look. And the bruises already forming on the right side of his face made her exclaim, “You’re hurt! What happened?”
“Slight disagreement with a tree. Nothing serious.”
The tall man with a shaggy mane of blond hair standing beside them, the man who’d lifted her out of the hold and whose face was camouflaged, suddenly snorted. His “Don’t listen to him, Sheila” was delivered in one of the broadest Australian accents she’d ever heard. “He’s going to need stitches, but the bloody fool insisted on coming to your rescue first.” He shook his head in mock disbelief at Jason’s supposed stupidity, but his eyes were kind and his voice held rough affection for the man whose arms were still around her.
“Alana, this is Cam,” Jason said in a long-suffering voice. “Cam only thinks he knows best. Must come from being the oldest of a large family.”
Cam winked at her, then grinned. She wiped away the remnants of tears from her eyes with the back of one hand and tried to answer his smile. “Pleased to meet you, Cam. You’ll pardon me, I’m sure,” she said with the same mock seriousness he’d used, “but I’m awfully glad Jason didn’t stop to get stitches before rescuing me.”
He laughed and clapped Jason on the right shoulder. “She’ll do for you, mate.” Jason’s sudden wince of pain wasn’t lost on either of them, and their smiles faded. “Damn it,” Cam growled. “Hospital for you.”
Jason shook his head. “For Alana, not me. I want her checked out.” His gaze turned back to her, a terrible question in his eyes. “They didn’t...?”
“No, oh, no!” she reassured him, understanding what he couldn’t bring himself to ask. “They didn’t.”
His profound relief was obvious even beneath the mask. But just as obvious was the assurance that his relief was for her, not for him. That his love wouldn’t have abated one iota or been altered in any way if she had been raped. Her heart swelled with renewed love for this incredible man, and she laid her head against his chest as their arms tightened around each other again. “They didn’t even hit me this time,” she admitted softly. “Just overpowered me with chloroform.”
“I still want a doctor to look you over,” he said in decisive tones, his voice rumbling in his chest.
She privately concurred, although not for herself, for the baby. I want a doctor’s reassurance our baby’s okay. But her voice was quietly insistent when she told Jason, “Only if you’ll agree to do the same.”
* * *
Events moved swiftly after that. Another camouflaged man, whom Jason introduced merely as Trevor, came up to them. “This boat’s taking on water, Jason...as if you didn’t know,” he added when his gaze took in their wet clothes. “What do you want to do about the boat...and about them?”
He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, and that was when Alana saw the five men who, with the man still down in the hold, had abducted her that morning. Bloodied, but alive. Tightly bound and gagged, just as she’d been. But alive. Standing guard over them were two blond men in full camouflage, each with a rifle slung over one shoulder.
Her heartbeat stuttered at the instant
aneous and terrifying change that came over Jason’s face as it morphed from loving concern to implacable anger. And for just a moment she feared...
“No, Jason,” she pleaded softly, clutching his forearm, which was like corded steel beneath her fingers. “No.”
He glanced down at her, and the frightening expression had vanished. “Did you really think I’d turn them into shark bait, lang loi?” he chided mildly. “Much as I might want to for what they planned to do to you?”
He didn’t say anything else, but in her mind Alana heard his words from weeks ago. Not in cold blood... We’re not judge, jury and executioner... We want to bring them to justice. Not mete out a death sentence. And she knew she’d worried for nothing.
“No. Not really,” she stammered. “Well, just for a moment... But I know you wouldn’t.” Then she focused on his last sentence. “How do you know what they planned to do to me?”
Jason’s absolute stillness revived her earlier fear. But all he said was, “I know. Let’s just leave it at that.” He turned back to Trevor. “Let’s get them aboard the Night Wind. And the one in the hold, too. We’ll decide what to do with them on the way back. As for this boat...” He smiled, but it was a smile she’d never seen on Jason’s face before. Cold. Ruthless.
Whatever that smile meant, Trevor seemed to get the message. His answering smile matched Jason’s. “Consider it done.”
* * *
Jason and Trevor transferred Alana to the Night Wind, and saw her safely ensconced on a seat in the cabin, before she thought of something. “Oh. One of the men who abducted me has my cell phone as well as my keys and beacon key fob. I assume the beacon is how you located me, and I want it back. I was never more grateful for any electronic device than I was when I remembered I had it.”
Trevor glanced at Jason, then back at her. “I’ll get them, ma’am.”
After he left, Alana said with certainty, “He was involved in my first rescue, too. Not the driver of the van that took me home—the other man.”