by Misty Evans
So much for the boat not being seaworthy. The way the thing was bouncing and gyrating through the water, it seemed to be holding up just fine.
Shuffle-walking to the bed, she held on to the shelf nearby and stole a look outside.
They were heading north, out of the bay. She craned her neck and chanced looking behind them. The marina grew smaller, no black SUV anywhere to be seen.
Drawing in a deep breath, she edged back from the window and let it out slowly. Safe.
At least for now.
Where did they go from here? Could Tephra follow them on the water? It wasn’t like they could stay out on the ocean forever.
Focus on the here and now.
Her cheek stung and her legs shook, but she forced herself not to sit down on the bed and have a good cry. Instead, she hunted for something to clean up the glass. The last thing she needed was for the dog to cut her paws and Cal to blame her for that on top of everything else.
The two cabinets under the sink held a garbage can and a few cleaning products. A worn-out broom and dustpan sat in a tall cabinet next to the stairs. Bianca moved them aside and started rapping lightly on the cheap plywood wall behind the broom. This is where Cal disappeared.
Her knuckles hit a section that had more give and made a lighter sound. A hidden door.
Her fingertips ran over the wood and found a tiny notch. One that looked almost natural in the cheap paneling. When she curled her fingers into it and gave it a tug it didn’t budge. But when she pushed, a section gave way.
The hidden door swung open to reveal a compact space. On all three sides, various handguns and knives were meticulously placed, ready for someone to grab. Cal’s own personal gun safe.
One spot was empty.
He’d grabbed a weapon but where had he gone from there? He hadn’t come back into the cabin so there had to be another door.
Crouching, she again ran her fingers around the walls, avoiding touching the weapons. She couldn’t find any other hidden door and no funny sounding areas when she knocked on the walls.
Backing out, she closed the secret door and grabbed the broom. Cal…always so secretive.
Just like you.
Sweeping up glass in the dimly lit cabin was challenging, especially when the boat continued to rise and dip as it sped through the water, but it gave her something besides the recent encounter with an assassin to concentrate on. She set the coffee cup in the sink and went to work.
She was under the table, sweeping up the last pieces she could find when Cal startled her. “What are you doing?”
Jerking up, she hit the back of her head on the tabletop. “Ow.”
Inching her way out, she sat back on her heels and looked up. She hadn’t even noticed the boat had slowed or that he’d come down the stairs.
Her dustpan held an assortment of grossness. She held it out to show him. “Don’t you ever clean under there?”
“It was the next thing on my to-do list, right after saving your ass from a bullet.”
“Your dog saved me.”
The dog in question was standing by Cal’s legs. She wagged her tail and panted.
Cal took the dustpan from Bianca’s hand and dumped the contents in the garbage can under the sink. Then he helped her stand. “How’s your cheek?”
The boat rose and fell, sending Bianca’s face into his chest. His very solid, very muscular chest that she’d always loved. He grabbed her by the arms to steady her, but she didn’t immediately pull back. Instead, she tilted her head up and looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry for this. All of it.”
He clenched his jaw and pushed her down onto the bench seat. “Sit.”
Her balance leaving her, she didn’t have much choice, her butt hitting the cushion. Cal went to the bathroom, came back with a blue plastic box with a white top on it. On the lid, red letters spelled out First Aid Kit above a red cross.
Without another word, he flipped open the lid and laid out a package of antiseptic ointment, gauze, and bandages. He knelt in front of her and unceremoniously ripped off the bandage on her cheek. “Hey!” she yelled, flinching.
He ignored her protest and opened a flat, square antiseptic wipe package. “This will sting.”
She glared at him. “Like ripping off the bandage didn’t?”
Again, he ignored her. That was Cal. Nothing was ever done slow and easy. Everything with him was a bandage that had to be ripped off fast and hard.
He was right. The antiseptic wipe stung like a bee, but Bianca refused to flinch this time. She wouldn’t let him get to her. Wouldn’t let him see she was in pain. She’d never be as tough and callous as he was, but she sure as hell wasn’t a wimp.
Tossing the used wipe on the table, he fanned her face to dry the alcohol. Ripping open the ointment package, he squirted a small glob on a cotton swab. Gently, he brushed her cut with it, smearing the ointment around. His eyes stayed focused on her wound as he spoke. “You may end up with a scar.”
His fingers were light but he continued to clench his jaw. Tense. Pissed. “A scar is better than being dead.”
The swab went the way of the wipe, landing on the table. Next he grabbed a larger bandage than the one she’d used and removed it from its packaging.
“Where are we headed?”
“North.”
She knew that. “Where?”
“A safe place. I need to figure some things out.”
“Did you get the plate number on the Escalade?”
He placed the bandage on her cheek, smoothing it gently with one fingertip. “It was gone before I made the dock.”
A shiver ran through her, her skin felt tingly and her head light. She opened her mouth to ask him something else but the words disappeared. Thoughts raced through her brain faster than she could catch them. Manic. No, not now. Focus on something. Breathe.
As Cal packed up his first aid kit, she kept her eyes pinned on the red cross. She liked the shape—balanced. A symbol of hope and caring. Maggie came over and laid her head on Bianca’s lap. Her fur was dry now, thick and soft under Bianca’s fingers.
Cal brought her a bottled water, then took out a knife and climbed up on the far side of the bench seat. He dug at something in the wall.
Her tongue felt thick as she took a swig of water, but touching Maggie’s head was comforting. Cal’s presence was as well. The activity in her brain slowed to its usual level. “What are you doing?”
The muscles in his arm moved as he worked at his task. “Your assassin left behind a token.”
The bullet.
Bianca took another drink of water, hand shaking as she lifted the bottle. She stroked Maggie’s head and silently thanked the dog once more for saving her life.
A second later, Cal pocketed the knife and pulled the compressed bullet from the wood. He held it up in the light, rolling it around. The pointed end had flattened but it was still an imposing sight. “Fucker used a BTSP. He knew he’d be shooting through a barrier.”
She knew a lot of useless facts, some pretty important ones too. “What’s a BTSP?”
“Snipers normally use a specific ammo, BTHP. When a sniper knows he’ll be shooting through a barrier, like tempered glass, he uses BTSP. Different design.”
Bianca’s brain seemed to be floating in cotton candy. “Meaning what?”
Cal’s eyes met hers. “He was prepared.”
Exactly what she feared. Tephra knew she’d be on a boat. Cal’s boat. She sat forward and put her forehead in her hands. Her brain cleared for a second as a fresh shot of adrenaline entered her system. “Tephra knew that if I figured out he was after me, I’d run to you. You live on a boat, which under normal circumstances has polycarbonate or tempered glass for windows.”
Cal’s nimble fingers turned the bullet over and over. Moving closer to the window, he eyed the once-pointed tip in better light. “Huh, that’s weird.”
The remnants of the bullet looked like a mushroom cap that had been flattened. “What?”
After a moment, he shook his head. “I’ve seen about every type of ammunition out there. There’s something off about this bullet. I just can’t put my finger on it.”
His palm closed over it and he came back to the bench, sliding down in the seat. He set the bullet on the table, his face was drawn, his eyes hard. “He killed Gus.”
“Who?”
“My neighbor a few slips over. The sniper used Gus’s boat. I found the body. Gus never stood a chance.”
A man was dead because of her. The memory of her mother’s face flashed in Bianca’s mind. How many more people would die because Bianca hadn’t been smart enough to stop their deaths? “I’m so sorry, Cal.”
He slid out of the seat and she watched as he pulled out a T-shirt and tacked it up over the open window. “Drink your water,” he said when he was done. “And stay down here.”
Bianca’s ears were ringing. “What now, Cal?”
At the first step, he paused. “We see how far The Love Boat can take us.”
Chapter Seven
Cal turned off the autopilot and resumed control of the boat. No one was following them on the water. Didn’t mean they wouldn’t catch up, but at least he had a minute to think.
His head swam with ideas, questions. There had to be more to Bianca’s story. Politicians did stupid things, and sometimes endangered good men and women, but this all seemed too farfetched.
Cal wasn’t stupid. He knew the government covered up a lot of shit. But who would hire an assassin to take out an NSA agent because she’d discovered a senator had leaked intel?
Then again, Otto Grimes was no ordinary target. He’d made quite a name for himself, challenging President Norman to a showdown on more than one occasion. The fact he’d issued these challenges and threatened to kill the US leader in cold blood in a series of videos—all widely viewed on a popular video-sharing website by millions of people all over the world—had turned the death threats into a Hollywood spectacle. Congress had demanded the videos be removed, the owners of the video website had refused and lawyers were now involved. The CIA had tried tracing the origins of the video uploads but were still chasing their tails.
President Norman, along with his V.P. and cabinet, was suddenly in a brand new spotlight. The younger generation knew who he was. His campaign advisors saw a way to reach those voters come November. The president made his own video, calling out Grimes and issuing threats at the terrorist sponsor. “Put up or shut up” was the president’s new calling card.
Flame wars ensued on the video sharing website, crashing it for several hours. Norman’s approval rating went through the roof.
The terrorist sponsor had responded with a Wanted: Dead or Alive video, telling Norman he was coming after him personally. A Homeland tech guru had finally gotten a solid lead on where the videos were being made and uploaded. SEAL teams were put on alert, but intel from the area revealed Grimes wasn’t there.
Norman decided to up the ante. He’d challenged Grimes to put his money where his mouth was—Norman would give the order to let Grimes enter the country if Grimes would meet him at the end of his campaign trail in Chicago at a dinner fundraiser.
The V.P., the First Lady, and a host of other people had gone ballistic. There was no way anyone wanted Grimes to get near the US or POTUS. Cal’s SEAL team had been put on alert.
But Norman was crafty and so was the CIA, FBI, and NSA…all working the Hollywood terrorist and his ego to their advantage. Grimes would never endanger himself by entering America, and in order for him to save face, he’d have to attack Norman in other ways. If they got Grimes moving and planning a terror “spectacular” on American soil, the SEALs’ odds of capturing the man increased three-fold.
It had seemed like the plan was going to work. Grimes, as suspected, had made several moves, one of them being the attack on the universities.
There was an outcry from many inside the US, but instead of blaming Norman for provoking Grimes, the majority of people—especially the younger generation who’d grown up on movies like The Hunger Games, Divergent, and Ender’s Game—rallied around him. They wanted a showdown. They wanted blood.
On the flip side, Middle East violence escalated. They, too, wanted a showdown and were cheering on Grimes.
Behind the scenes, Cal’s team had been given orders. The intel was solid. The team prepped and readied to go.
But something had gone wrong. If Bianca was right, Senator Halston had leaked the information and somehow it had gotten back to Grimes.
Three good men were dead. Cal was out of a job. Bianca was being shot at.
What the fuck was going on?
The storm had cleared out of the area but Cal could see the system a few miles ahead of them to the north. He juiced the engine and felt the boat strain under his direction. The Love Boat wasn’t even up to twenty-five knots, but then again, from what the previous owner had told him, she hadn’t been on the open water in ten years.
At this rate, Tephra or whoever was after them, could swim faster than they were traveling. Being on open water had advantages, but not if the boat wasn’t seaworthy.
Tephra. No way was he an assassin. The man was an absolute god in the SEAL world, a loyal soldier through and through.
Bianca had intel Cal didn’t on many things inside the government, but she had to be wrong on this. If Tephra were alive, why keep it a secret?
Had something gone wrong on his last mission? Was there a reason the man needed to stay MIA?
Cal needed more information. He suspected Bianca had it. He didn’t want to leave the deck for long, though, and didn’t want her anywhere in plain sight. He’d hug the coastline for now and not risk her being spotted or shot at again.
For a while, it was enough to simply drive the boat and watch the water and the ever-darkening horizon. Although the boat wasn’t speedy, they were catching up to the storm. He might have to slow down or find a spot to dock if the storm didn’t move inland soon.
Surprisingly, Bianca followed instructions and stayed below deck. While he should be relieved that she’d listened to him, he actually felt a twinge of worry. She never did what she was told. Maybe she really was in shock and he should go check on her.
He slowed the boat and switched on the autopilot again.
Maggie followed him below deck. The cabin was dark after he’d hung the T-shirt over the broken window, but the fabric blew out here and there as the breeze caught it, sprinkling light over the bunk bed. Bianca lay under the covers, her eyes closed.
She’d removed her ponytail holder and her hair tangled on the pillow. Her white dress shirt lay on the bench seat, blood splashes in multiple spots. Cal moved closer to the bed, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Her breathing was even, not too shallow, not too deep.
She’d replaced the white shirt with one of his standard gray T-shirts and the sight of her wearing it brought back memories of their lazy weekends together. Times like those had been few and far between, making the memories richer. She’d always slept in his T-shirts, claiming they were softer than any of her pajamas.
He reached out and touched her hand on top of the blanket. Warm. The shirt-curtain blew open again and he could see her cheeks were flushed from sleep. Her lips, parting on a sigh, were rosy.
No signs of shock. Just to be sure, he lightly slipped two fingers to the inside of her wrist and found her pulse. While her wrist was tiny, her pulse was strong and steady. Closing his eyes, he counted the tiny beats under her skin.
Even after he was sure she was fine, he let his fingers linger on her skin. He stroked the tiny bones on the inside of her wrist, remembering how she loved to be kissed there.
“Cal?” Her voice was sleepy, her eyelids half-closed.
The gray of his shirt made her blue eyes brighter when the light hit them. “Yeah, B.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Fine. I was just checking on you.”
Maggie pushed her nose into Bianca’s face and she patted t
he dog’s head, barely avoiding a dog kiss. “I haven’t slept in days. Too scared.” She gave a half-hearted chuckle and ran a hand over her face, flinching when she rubbed against the bandage on her cheek. “It felt good to curl up and take a nap.”
In my shirt. In my bed.
Cal patted her hip. “Go back to sleep. You’re safe.”
She met his gaze, eyelids still at half-mast. “Will you fix the camera?”
“The camera?”
“It must have fallen over in the storm.” She drew out her phone from under the pillow. “I’d feel better if I could see you when you’re up there.”
The phone. Dammit. He snatched it from her hand. “This thing has GPS. Someone could be tracking you. We have to destroy it.”
“No, wait!” She sat up and grabbed it from him. “I’ve disabled the GPS and made the phone untraceable.”
Seeing the skepticism in his eyes, she said, “Trust me. Anyone tracing the phone believes I’m in downtown San Diego right now.” She looked down and cringed. “Crap. Another missed call from Coop.”
“Coop?”
“My taskforce boss, Cooper Harris. I was supposed to be at a meeting at ten. He won’t be happy I missed it.”
She started to dial and Cal once again lifted the phone from her hands. “No communication. None.”
“But I—”
“None, Bianca.” He held it out of her reach. “Not until I figure this mess out.”
She glanced up at the screen and let out a sigh. “Looks like service is pretty limited and I assume you disconnected your Wi-Fi so I can’t access the camera anyway.”
He looked at the phone, and sure enough, only one bar was lit. “We’re off the grid until further notice.”
“Okay, okay.” She wiggled her fingers at the phone. “I promise not to call anyone. Can I have my phone back?”
“What for?”
“My life is on that phone.”
Giving her back the phone was a bad idea, but she gave him a forlorn look, and like usual, he caved. “I’m not kidding about the communication. Service or no service, you are not to text, call, email, or surf the net. Got it?”