by Sara Fawkes
I watched silently, my eyebrows going up as I realized he had no butter or oil to grease the stainless pan. “Uh huh,” I said, resigning myself to more fire alarms.
As the last vestiges of sleep left my system, I sobered up. “So what happens now?” I asked, leaning one elbow on the granite.
“What do you mean?”
“Can I go home?”
I couldn’t quite read his expression from my vantage point. He seemed fixated on the eggs, although he wasn’t really stirring them. “It’s not that easy,” he said after a moment.
“Let me go,” I pleaded, giving my pride a break. “I translated for you in that dirty little room, which probably makes me a criminal in some way.” The thought made my chin wobble. “Lucas please, let me go. I don’t want to become like Anya.”
There, I’d said it. Lying in bed last night, it occurred to me that the other woman’s death, and possibly her life, was a sore spot for the gunrunner. His reaction now confirmed my suspicion: the knuckles around the spatula in his hand whitened and he sighed. “All right,” he finally murmured, but held up a finger before I could start cheering. “But on one condition: you have to attend this last meeting with me.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“It’s cargo transfer, paperwork mostly. They requested everything be expedited, so everything is happening today. I want you there to make sure anything in French is correct, then once that’s done you’re free to go.”
I sagged in relief. “Thank you,” I said, smiling in gratitude. Behind Lucas, the first tendrils of smoke wafted from the pan. I motioned toward the oven. “You’re burning the eggs.”
Lucas let out a curse and pulled the pan off the fire. He quickly switched on the exhaust fan as smoke billowed out from the fry pan, but it was too late. Five seconds later, the fire alarm went off again, and Lucas cursed again.
The whole scene was comical, and I bit my lip to keep from smiling, to no avail. My mood much lighter since I was set to be freed soon, I pushed back the stool and rounded the corner into the kitchen. “Put that in the sink,” I said, wrinkling my nose at the sulfur smell of burned eggs. “Don’t run water on it,” I added quickly, stopping him just in time from ensuring the smell would never leave.
A quick check of the pantry and refrigerator gave me the tools I needed. Two minutes later I was whisking together some batter.
“What are you making?” he asked, peering over my shoulder.
“Pancakes. And you are hereby banished from the kitchen.” I pointed the whisk at him, careful to keep it over the bowl. “Shoo!”
“Ooh, I like a bossy woman,” he murmured, then fled as I pretended to go after him with the wooden spoon still covered in burned egg.
Four hours later, I wasn’t smiling any more when the limo stopped along the water’s edge. Lucas exited the vehicle first and I followed behind, staying as close to him as I could. If it had been Jeremiah there, I would have held his arm for support, but this wasn’t the sort of situation the businessman would have willingly put me into. My only comfort was that, after this part, I was done.
I had no clue where we were. We’d left New York City far behind us; my apprehension rose the further we moved from the big city. Any hope of Jeremiah swooping in to rescue me died a slow death during that journey. I tried to comfort myself that I’d see him soon, provided Lucas kept his end of our deal. I wished it didn’t come at the cost of having to do this again.
Niall and his men were standing ahead, with a large ship sitting in the water down a short pier behind them. I was no nautical expert, but while this wasn’t as big as some of the cargo vessels I’d seen passing along the Hudson River, it was still large enough to carry just about anything. The ship was old. Lines of rust ran down from between the plates and rivets holding the hull together. It looked like at one time it may have been a fishing boat, with the bulk of its storage in the belly. If it was here, I doubted that was its use any longer.
“What’s this piece of garbage?” Niall didn’t look happy with the ship, jerking his thumb derisively toward the hunk of metal.
“You wanted a transport, here it is.” Lucas didn’t seem fazed by the other man’s irritation. He turned to another older man standing apart from the Australian’s group. “Has everything been loaded aboard?”
“Loaded and awaiting your orders.”
Lucas nodded, but Niall wasn’t finished with his tirade. “Mate, if I wanted a bloody lifeboat, I would have bought one myself!”
“The ship is sound and Captain Matthews will take good care of your cargo. And if you want my help getting your merchandise into the country, you’ll use my ship.” He grinned broadly at Niall. “Trust me, she grows on you.”
The Australian didn’t seem at all convinced, but Lucas obviously didn’t care. “And where is the good doctor?” he asked.
Niall grunted. “He’s taking a different route to our destination. We’ll be riding with the cargo.”
From the satisfied grin on the other man’s face, I got a sick feeling there was more to it than that, but Lucas’ smile never wavered. “Ah. Well gentlemen, let’s make sure everything is to your satisfaction then we can leave and…”
“Oh no, we got other business to discuss.” Niall pointed at me. “She’s coming with us.”
My heart stopped, but Lucas gave a light laugh. “I’m afraid the girl stays with me,” he said, taking my arm, but stopped when the men at Niall’s back pulled out their guns.
“You didn’t tell me this little sheila belongs to your brother. Tell me, how much do you think he’d pay to get her back safely?”
I swallowed, fear causing my stomach to heave and roil. The guns weren’t pointing at us, yet, but the threat was obvious. Lucas’ smile never left his face, but it took on a flat note as he studied Niall and his thugs. “Quite a bit, I’d imagine.” Lucas clapped his hands. The sudden sound caused two of the goons to raise their weapons. “Well then, Captain,” he said to the man still standing next to him, “it seems like we’ll be having a few guests. Make sure extra accommodations are prepared.”
“Yes sir.”
“Bloody right.” Grinning at having won this argument, Niall stepped forward and reached for my arm. “You’re coming with me.”
I cringed back, prepared to fight tooth and nail, but Lucas stepped between us. He moved so quickly I didn’t even see him pull the gun until it was already under Niall’s chin. The big Australian jerked to a stop, rage and sudden fear making his face go florid as he glared at Lucas.
“Ms. Delacourt stays with me.” There was nothing jovial about Lucas now. He leaned in close to the other man’s face. “My ship, my rules. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Jackson?”
Niall looked like he was sucking on a lemon. Behind him, his men had their guns trained on Lucas and me. I prayed the gunrunner knew what he was doing.
“They’ll kill you and the girl,” Niall hissed, then grunted as Lucas pushed the gun harder against the tender flesh of his chin.
“Perhaps.” Lucas smiled, a hint of amusement in his tone. “But you’ll still be dead.”
The two men glared at one another, neither willing to back down. When Lucas manually cocked the weapon the fire died in Niall’s eyes. “Guns down,” he called, and his men lowered their weapons. The blond man stepped back and Lucas lowered the weapon, although it remained trained on the other man. “You’ll pay for that.”
“I have many things to pay for,” Lucas said. “This ranks low on my list.” Putting his hand again on my elbow, he steered me away and toward a nearby gangplank. When I struggled against his grip, he didn’t waver, forcing me up the narrow pathway to the ship.
“You promised me I could go,” I hissed, trying unsuccessfully to wrench my arm free.
“Yes I did.” Lucas’ lips were pressed in a grim line as he pulled me along behind him down the side of the ship. Much of it looked like a walking tetanus trap, despite obvious attempts at whitewashing and other paint jobs. The boat dipped
and swayed, rocking in the turbulent winter waters. As we rounded the main part of the ship, a cabin door loomed into the darkness. “Down here, but watch your step.”
Water dripped from somewhere inside, but the stairway led into a cavernous opening within the bowels of the ship. Men were hard at work moving crates around on the bottom floor. Stairs and metal gangways wound around the open area, leading to different levels. Our staircase was long, running all the way to the cargo hold below. Lucas let me down a single flight then turned me onto a landing about halfway down. We passed several doors on the left before Lucas pushed one open, gesturing me inside.
The room was in much better condition than the rest of the ship. While small, it still had a queen size bed, a couple pieces of furniture and, to my relief, its own bathroom. “Your home sweet home for the next few days,” Lucas said as I examined the room. He ran a hand through his hair, the only indication that he was agitated. Like his brother, his face was hard to read, for once lacking its normal cocky grin. “There’s tablets in the bathroom cupboards if you get seasick. Keep the doors locked to everybody but myself, and you’ll be safe here.”
“Oh, you promise?” I snapped sarcastically. “Like how you promised I could go home after this?”
He conceded my point with a tip of his head. “Touché.”
“Lucas?” I called as he was closing the door. He paused and looked at me. “Is this what happened to Anya?”
“No. She thought the danger was romantic.” He shook his head and sighed. “And I, great fool that I was, let her come with me.”
I digested that as he shut the door, then hurried to lock it behind him. Collapsing backwards onto the hard mattress, I grabbed a pillow from above my head and covered my face. Oh, what a mess my life had become! Only a month ago, I was an office temp barely managing to get by living in the city. How on earth did I manage to get aboard a gunrunner’s boat?
I was still lying there several minutes later, staring at the wood ceiling, when I felt the jolt of the ship taking off. Closing my eyes, I turned my head into the pillows, wishing fervently my life wasn’t such a disaster.
Now that we were moving and away from the shore, the rocking surf grew more pronounced. My family had never been the kind to take boat tours, so I hadn’t developed much in the way of a sea stomach. I was okay so far, but decided it was better safe than sorry and headed to the bathroom to chew a tablet.
Unlike my room in the loft, this one had obviously never seen a woman’s touch. Spartan and threadbare, almost everything in the room was either bolted down or braced, which made sense for a seafaring vessel. Even the shelf nearby had a tall lip to keep the books from flying free, and I peeked through the titles. All of them were weathered and beaten, as if they’d seen extensive use. Some I expected, such as Sun Tzu’s “Art of War” and Machiavelli’s “The Prince.” Others weren’t what I imagined to find in Lucas’ room, such as Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. Interesting selection, I thought, thumbing through the various titles, and then I abandoned that area to look around some more.
A single picture sat on the narrow dresser. When I tried to pick it up, I realized it was glued to the surface ,so I leaned forward to peer closely. It was impossible to tell just how old the picture was, but I hazarded a guess that the two boys were Lucas and Jeremiah Hamilton. The shoreline looked like that of their Hamptons home, to which I’d recently been a reluctant visitor. There were no smiles on their faces, but the way they stood close to one another spoke of a bond that had apparently broken at some point between then and now.
There was a knock at the door, and I bolted upright as if I’d been caught snooping. Rolling my eyes and blowing out a quick breath, I unbolted the door and opened it to see Lucas standing in the doorway.
“Didn’t I tell you to ask before opening?” he said, irritated at my lapse as he strode past me into the room.
“Yes, Master,” I said sarcastically, getting an exasperated look from him. “What’s this?” I pointed to the bundle he set onto the bed.
“Clothing,” he replied, for the moment letting the matter of security drop. “I had them picked up before we left. And no, they are not Anya’s old clothes. I sent a man to pick up something in your size last night.”
I gave him a suspicious look. “How long were you planning on keeping me with you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, gracing me with a big smile. “So, how do you like your new room?”
He was talking to me like we were best friends, which made me even more suspicious. Then again, I thought, that’s probably how he talks to everyone. “Not bad,” I said in a guarded voice.
“Good. Because I’m going to be staying here with you.”
“Oh no you’re not.” The words poured out of my mouth, a kneejerk response to his assumption. The idea of sleeping in the same room as the man let alone the same bed… “Nope, no way.”
“Yes way.” He poked the tip of my nose before I could pull away. “And you’ll thank me for it. Besides, this is my room. You wouldn’t expect me to bunk in a cot with my men, do you?”
“Yes,” I blurted out, and Lucas rolled his eyes.
“I need to go make sure we make it away from the mainland alright. Hopefully I greased the right palms this time.” He gestured around the cabin. “Make yourself at home.”
“This time?” I echoed, but Lucas was already heading out the door. Letting out a frustrated groan, I locked it behind him, determined to keep it closed the next time he knocked. Then I went and grabbed a book, resigning myself to boredom.
An indeterminate amount of time later, there came a knock at the door. I was a quarter of the way through “Art of War”, having given up on Tolkien by the second chapter. I flipped the page, ignoring whoever was at the door. We hadn’t made any stops since leaving, and I still wasn’t in any mood to entertain visitors.
Another rap at the door, this one louder, had me rolling my eyes and putting the book down on the bed. “Who is it?” I called in a bored voice.
“Much better this time.”
I crossed my arms. “You know, sarcasm won’t get you through this door.”
“What about food?”
My stomach rumbled at the mention, and I quickly unbolted the locks. Lucas stood in the entrance, a tray in his hand. “Mind if I join you for dinner?” he asked.
The polite question startled me, and I shrugged. “Sure.” I moved aside as he brushed past. Smells reached my nose, making my mouth water, and I trailed after him as he set the tray on the dresser. “I take it I won’t be eating in whatever passes as the cafeteria here?” I peered over his shoulder to see what he brought.
“The correct term is ‘galley’, and probably not. I trust my men not to touch you, but Niall brought along a number of his own guards. I’m still not altogether certain of their intentions.”
The thought of being the only woman aboard a ship full of men hit me, and I shivered. “Did Anya ever come aboard ship?”
Lucas nodded. “Not often, but on at least two occasions. She liked the attention.” He threw me a droll gaze. “I don’t think you’d appreciate it as much.”
We ate in silence, which I was happy for. The food was decent and fairly healthy, even if the green beans were flavored with bacon fat. “Who’s your cook?”
“Alexei. Claims he went to a culinary school, but I don’t see it.”
“Oh.” The ensuing silence was awkward, but tolerable enough. Lucas seemed lost in thought, which gave me a rare moment to just watch him. Somber like this, he looked so much like his brother. I found it hard to believe Lucas was older than Jeremiah. The man before me was slimmer and shorter than his ex-Army brother, but had the same features and dark coloring. The pale scar along his face stood out against the olive skin, differentiating him from his brother more than anything else.
It amazed me how different the two men were. Jeremiah had the broody, tortured thing going for him, while Lucas… I wasn’t sure. He held a different type
of mask in place, one that I found hard to pierce. There wasn’t much brooding here, at least not on the surface; his lips more often than not were locked in a Joker-like smile, as if sarcasm and pleasantries could keep people away.
As much as I enjoyed puzzles, the Hamilton men were a bit out of my league.
“So am I stuck in here until we reach wherever we’re going?” The question was matter of fact; I’d resigned myself to another bout of imprisonment by a Hamilton brother. They certainly had that in common too.
To my surprise, Lucas shook his head. “You’re safest in here, certainly, but you can explore the ship if you’d like. Provided,” he added, holding up a hand to keep me from speaking, “one of my men is with you at all times.”
I frowned at him, which he appeared to ignore. “From one prison to another,” I muttered, poking at the remains of my green beans. I’d been a “guest” at the Hamilton family’s house in the Hamptons for nearly two weeks, forced to stay inside the palatial mansion. Despite my captivity, I hadn’t fared well; I was shot at, kidnapped, and almost killed before my lover, an ex-Ranger sniper, had taken out my assailant right before my eyes.
The memory killed my appetite, and I pushed the plate of food across the bed. “What now?”
Lucas shrugged. “I don’t usually come along for the ride on this kind of trip. I’m more a ‘private charter across the sea’ kind of guy who’d rather enjoy some tropical scenery and a Mai Tai.” He winked at me. “I like the little umbrellas.”
“Of course.” Conversations with the scarred man were like talking to a child running in circles around your legs: twisted, but oddly amusing. “Five days, right?”
“Right. I’ll think of something to get you home between now and then.”
I wanted to believe him, but just nodded glumly. Lucas picked up the book off the bed, leafing through the pages. “Good choice,” he said. “There’s a lot of practical knowledge in here that doesn’t have to apply to war only.”