Terror Stash

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  He threw himself backwards, sinking into the water for whatever protection it would give him.

  The latch struck him in the sternum, beneath the left breast and right over the heart, which wheezed with the impact. It was exactly like being struck by a big bullet. He was thrown backwards, to land on his ass in barely six inches of water.

  The level quickly rose around him as he lay collecting his thoughts. He looked down at his chest. There was a deep impact cut where the door latch had hit. Raw meat showed in the half-inch crater. Blood was starting to pool.

  No sharks inside the boat, he told himself. He spared a fraction of a second to wonder how he’d go getting back to the beach, but his more immediate concern was to avoid drowning.

  The water was pouring down the four steps like a mountain stream in a spring thaw. Now that the cabin door was open the water was leveling itself out again. It would distribute itself about the boat, spreading out into every available pocket.

  As he lay there, it trickled into the wound on his chest and the sting of salt was enough to launch him to his feet.

  Well, at least the floor was becoming horizontal again. But he could see that, very quickly now, this lower level was going to be completely filled.

  He pushed forward against the rushing water, digging in his heels. It was going to be a close race. Step by slow step, he made it to the stairs, fighting against the tidal flow of water. The water was up to his shoulders now, but seemed to be subsiding. He began to climb the steps, feeling his way slowly.

  At the last second he realized his mistake. With the water running to the back of the boat, it was bringing the boat slowly back to a normal angle. The water accumulated at the back, evening out the load. Abruptly, the boat dropped its fanny into the water with a slap and the water in the corridor Caden stood in instantly filled the last of the space at the top.

  As soon as he realized what was happening, he snatched as large a breath as he could. Then there was nothing but cold seawater around him.

  He swam forward and up the steps into the main saloon cabin. There was a touch more light through the portholes there and he let himself rise to the ceiling. It was his fervent hope that the water had not reached the saloon’s ceiling yet. That snatched breath hadn’t been a full one; he wouldn’t make it to the gangway and up to the deck.

  His nose and chin bumped against the ceiling.

  No air.

  He clamped down on the need to swear even in his mind, because the effort would use up oxygen. Already he could hear his heart loud in his ears as it worked overtime to compensate for the diminishing oh-two in his system. He also damped down the fear. If he kept his head, he’d make it out. The door was that way, just turn around and swim towards it. There’ll be a big square of light. Look up, you’ll find it.

  When the hand clamped onto his elbow, he nearly gasped aloud with surprise. He gritted his teeth together, fighting to hold his breath, and turned around.

  Montana’s white shirt was glowing in the gloom. Her hand moved quickly up to his shoulder. Then firmly, it pushed down. Insistent.

  Little black dots were bouncing around in front of his eyes now. He was close to passing out, so did as she was insisting, fighting against all his instincts to do it. He let himself sink down in the water, his feet touching the carpeted floor of the saloon.

  Then her hand slid under his arm and tugged up. He pushed off with his feet obediently.

  And his head rose up into a black pocket of cool air. This time he did gasp. And pant. The air was foul with the stench of rotting fish and was the sweetest air he’d ever breathed. As his oxygen-starved muscles and mind recovered, he put together what Montana had done and laughed aloud. His laugh echoed back at him, flat and muffled.

  She’d tipped a bait bucket upside down and carried it down to him, with precious air trapped inside it. It would’ve taken pure muscle to fight against the overturned bucket’s buoyancy and bring it below the surface.

  She was tugging on his arm now, drawing him along. He reached up to grip the edges of the bucket, to hold it steady. It had to stay vertical or the air would spill out of it. He’d only get a few more lungfuls, anyway. Already the air was starting to feel warm and stale as he used up the oxygen in it.

  When he kicked the riser of the first step up to the deck, he took a last deep breath, let the bucket go and looked around, blinking against the sting of the salt.

  She was swimming up to the deck. Her own breath would be close to depleted by now.

  He followed her up, hauling himself along by the banister and suddenly his head emerged into cool, fresh air.

  “—do something! The water’s getting higher...for Christ’s sake!” Patrick was flat-out panicked now.

  Montana was standing knee-deep in water on the main deck. The curtain of her black hair streamed water as she watched him emerge from the cabin. She had lingered to make sure he made it, even though Patrick’s bellows were hard to ignore.

  He had intended to climb the ladder and go sort out Patrick, but when he got close enough, Caden found himself reaching for her, wrapping his arms around her and...just holding on. He closed his eyes and let the terror of those few seconds before she had arrived with the bait bucket play back through his mind. A shiver rippled over him.

  “Smart, tough, and quick thinking. I’m glad it was you here, Montana.”

  “I guess partners sometimes have their uses, huh?” As he let her go, she stepped back and looked up at him. She smiled a little, then turned and strode through the water to the chromed ladder up to the pilot’s deck, while Caden dealt with the little frisson of shock she had delivered.

  Partners?

  For years, he had worked solo by choice. For a start, there were very few people that were interested in his very personal agenda, and the few that might feel any sort of dedication to his cause weren’t physically capable, or smart, or tough, or gutsy enough....

  He watched Montana climb the ladder to the upper deck. Yeah, if he had to have a partner, Montana was one of those rare people who might possibly fit the bill. If he had to have a partner, that was...and why was he even considering it? He shook his head and headed for the ladder himself. Time to put Patrick out of his misery.

  Montana was studying Patrick’s chains again. “If we can’t release the chains, what about picking the lock?” she asked as Caden stepped onto the deck.

  “You know how to do that?”

  She shrugged awkwardly. “Well, I’ve read about it in a book and there’s some stiff wire on the radios there....”

  He shrugged. “We have to try.”

  “Why don’t you try lifting the chair out of its base?” she said.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Without that chair beneath him, it’s possible we can slide him out of the chains from below.”

  He took another deep breath, enjoying the feel of his lungs inflating. “Let’s go,” he said and turned to the chair.

  “Omigod, it’s up to the third rung!!” Patrick kicked and struggled inside his chains as the boat gave another shudder and settled further into the water.

  “You were telling me about the reception, Patrick,” Montana said smoothly, warmly. Caden saw her glance at him. “Three hundred guests,” she said. “They rented out the whole Hillarys Boat Harbour Clubhouse for the reception.”

  He wasn’t sure where Hillarys Harbour was, but guessed it was one of the city’s water ports. That explained something else.

  “This boat was going to be for your wedding night, right, Patrick?” he asked as he got on his hands and knees beneath the chair. “That’s why you took out the bed.”

  “Oh man.” Patrick took a deep, wobbling breath. “I’ve been such a fuckin’ idiot.”

  “Stay cool,” Caden told him. “What happened at the reception? When did it start going wrong?”

  “It didn’t go wrong. That’s just it. It went right to plan. Everything. Even my thing.”

  Caden wrinkled his brow as he
peered up at the underside of the chair. “What you mean, ‘your thing’?” he asked. He pulled his head out. “Montana.”

  “Mmm?” She was bent over the padlock, working with her nose almost touching it.

  “I think if we can lift the whole seat part of the chair it simply lifts off the swivel post.”

  “He’s gotta weigh two hundred and fifty pounds, Caden. Then there are the chains, the chair itself.”

  “How strong are you?” he asked.

  She touched Patrick’s shoulder. “How much do you weigh?” she asked him.

  “Seventeen stone. I think.”

  “What’s the American translation of that?” Caden asked Montana. She’d been here longer than he had, after all.

  She shrugged. “Two hundred and forty pounds, give or take. Come on, let’s try. We’re almost out of time here.”

  He glanced at the deck below. The water was swirling around the fourth rung. Two rungs to go and it would be up to the cockpit floor.

  “Let’s try, then.” He put his arms underneath the seat of the captain’s chair and Montana matched him on the other side.

  “Give the word,” she said.

  He took a deep breath. “Now!”

  They both heaved upwards and miracle of miracles, the chair eased up four inches, until the chains snapped taut and stopped them from lifting it any further.

  “Down!” he gasped. They dropped the chair back onto the post. “Goddamit!”

  Montana massaged her forearms. “Then it has to be the lock,” she said. There was no despair in her voice.

  “Another rung, ohmigod, Arrabella!” Patrick strained against his chains, but there was no give in them, no mercy.

  “I hope it was a very detailed lock-picking book you read,” Caden said.

  She bent back over the padlock.

  “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die!!” Patrick was kicking out, wriggling like a beached fish.

  “Caden...?” she asked softly.

  He knew what she wanted. “Patrick,” he said. “Tell me about the reception. What was your ‘thing’? Patrick? Keep still a moment, huh? Let Montana work. Tell me. What was the thing?”

  Patrick took a deep, rasping breath. “The envelopes, man. Y’know?”

  “No. Tell me about them.”

  “I had one stuck beneath every single chair at the reception. Then, when it was my turn to make my speech, that was when I told them.”

  “Told them what?”

  “To open the envelopes.”

  The sound of a distant motor alerted Caden. He searched the billowing surface of the sea and spotted an approaching cruiser. The Marine Patrol.

  “About time!” he breathed.

  “It’s been eight minutes since I called,” Montana pointed out.

  Eight minutes? Caden blinked.

  “Oh god, oh god, it’s at the top!!!” Patrick blubbered. His whole body seemed to flinch and shiver.

  Caden looked over his shoulder. The rest of the boat was now fully submerged. All that was left was the top deck they stood upon. “Montana.”

  “I know.”

  “Ohmigod!!” Patrick wailed.

  “There are pockets of air. It won’t sink like a stone,” Montana murmured.

  “Arrabella!”

  “Patrick, the envelopes. What was in the envelopes? Deep breath, big guy. Tell me about the envelopes.”

  “Pictures.”

  “Photos? Of what?”

  “Arrabella. Fucking my best fucking man.”

  Caden saw Montana’s chin lift in surprise, but she immediately returned to the padlock. She was keeping her priorities straight.

  He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. “You knew she had been sleeping with the best man and you married her anyway?”

  The police cruiser had seen them now and was heading at full speed towards them. Patrick’s bright blue, bloodshot eyes were filled with tears, as he looked at Caden. “I didn’t know until two days ago, when the detective brought the pictures to me.”

  “You hired a detective?”

  He shook his head miserably. “Her parents did.”

  “But he brought the pictures to you?” Caden felt stupid, unable to grasp what Patrick was telling him.

  “He thought I should know. He wanted more money from me.”

  “Nice,” Caden said with a grimace.

  “Wait, no, back up a second,” Montana said. “Are you telling me her parents hired a detective to catch their own daughter having an affair with the best man?”

  The tears in Patrick’s eyes glistened and trickled down his cheeks. His chin wobbled. “They were trying to catch me.”

  “With their daughter?” Caden asked, totally bamboozled now.

  “No, with the best man,” Montana said, straightening up. “They must have been pretty sure to spend that sort of money on a private dick. Right, Patrick?”

  His voice was very small. “Right.”

  The police launched sidled very gently up beside them. “Hello down there! What do you need?”

  “Tell me you have a pair of bolt-cutters on board,” Caden called.

  The officer leaning over the gunwales looked back over his shoulder, called a comment and looked back. “No, nothing that could bite through chain.”

  “Know how to pick locks?” Caden called. “Better make it quick. I figure we have maybe three minutes, max.”

  “Oh, Arrabella, what have I done?” Patrick moaned softly.

  Another discussion on the launch. The officer looked over his shoulder again. “What?” he said sharply. Then he looked back at Caden and spread his hands almost apologetically. “Apparently, you’re sitting right over a sandbank here. It’s so shallow, you’re probably going to bottom out before it reaches his knees.”

  Caden could feel his eyes widening almost comically. Montana jerked her head up and around to look at the launch. Her hands were still on the lock. “Excuse me, what did you say?”

  “It’s the way the tide runs down this coast. There’s a sandbank right here and it’s only about twenty feet deep. We figure that with the draft on this boat, you’re going to hit bottom any tick of the clock.”

  Silence.

  Then, sounding like aural punctuation, at that moment the padlock in Montana’s hands gave a loud click and fell open.

  A deep groan shuddered through the deck beneath them. The deck canted to one side, then grew still and solid. They had come to rest on the sandbank.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Montana could feel her fury like a live thing, swirling through her, trying to find a way out, a vent. The problem was everyone else could see it, too. The police officers were being very polite and very formal with her. Strictly by the book. Under normal circumstances they were smart and efficient, but with a total disregard for rank or hierarchy. Knowing that they were tiptoeing around her fed her anger.

  Caden was not helping her mood improve, either.

  They were sitting on the police launch, wrapped in the blankets they’d been offered. The officers were discussing the next step with supervisors at home base. She had declared her diplomatic status as soon as they’d come on board and it was not something the police were used to handling. That was fine. She was used to people having to step through the process of diplomatic immunity.

  What was keeping her temper simmering was that every couple of minutes, Caden would quiver under his blanket. His face was stoical, but Montana knew that he was laughing and holding it in.

  When the boat had halted in the sand, he’d thrown his head back and given one loud, deep belly laugh before glancing at her face. Then he’d shut it off with a deep breath. All except the waves of laughter rippling through him every few minutes.

  Caden Rawn found this whole situation wildly hilarious. She did not. Not even for a minute. They had risked their lives for a vengeful groom who was too drunk to appreciate it and all for no reason.

  There was a clatter of heavy metal as the knotted chains around Pa
trick finally slithered to the deck. Patrick was blubbering with relief as they helped him onto the police launch. When he saw them sitting on the bench along the transom, he stumbled over. “How do I thank you? How can I ever make it up to you?”

  Caden pursed his lips together tightly for a moment. His eyes were shining with good cheer. “Invite us to the next wedding,” he said, once he had his voice and diaphragm back under control. “You give one hell of a party, Patrick.”

  They shook hands. Patrick held his out to Montana. She pumped it once and let it drop. She didn’t dare say anything. Her fury was too close to the top.

  Patrick was led away by the youngest officer on the launch, down into the cabin.

  “If I were the police, I’d be getting a reading on his blood alcohol level,” Caden said. “Poor ol’ Patrick is about to get hit from every side.” He paused for a moment. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he faces Arrabella after this.” He swallowed another guffaw and took a deep, sighing breath.

  Montana rolled her eyes. “Like they’re ever going to talk to each other again.”

  “They will.” Caden was sincere. “There was something in his voice.”

  “Oh please, spare me. Love conquers all?” Suddenly the anger was there, huge and spewing from her. “For the sake of love, Patrick has screwed up the lives of...how many people? Arrabella, the best man, their families and friends and let’s not forget us, either. You could’ve drowned in that cabin. In the end, what is love? Nothing. You can’t touch it, you can’t taste it, you can’t hold onto it. Love is a crock of shit, Rawn. It doesn’t make the world go round. It screws people over and leaves their lives a total mess.” She was astonished to realize she was panting with the effort to vent it all.

  He turned to face her. Any humor in his expression had gone. “You like your world so ordered?”

  “You’re damn right I do!”

  “You’re not really pissed at Patrick for wasting your time at all. You’re pissed because he’s stupid enough to let his life be messed up by love. You don’t want to save the life of someone who, in your exalted opinion, is too stupid to deserve it.”