by Fiona Quinn
“Yeah, he done good.” Gator reached out and lightly touched her shoulder, let his finger trail slowly down her arm, and slipped his hand around hers. He visibly swallowed.
“It’s going to get bad isn’t it?” Christen asked, pulling her gaze from his to look out over the water then back again.
He nodded.
“The captain said he turned around. Do you think we’ll make it back to dad’s island before it really gets blowing?” She thought again of her little helicopter and how she pressed to stay just ahead of the haboob, landing, jumping out into the debris that abraded her skin, despite her flight suit. She remembered not being able to move forward against its wrath to get to the buildings at the FOB, and possible safety. She lay on her stomach, trying to lizard-crawl forward. Her clients, the two SEALS, grabbed her arms on either side, and dragged her up. Their heads hunkered together, pressing in to shield her, the men muscled their way through the door. Once inside, Christen dropped to the ground, spent from the effort. The men had their hands on their knees gulping at the air.
“Thank you, ma’am,” one had huffed out.
“Teamwork,” she’d said. She was equally indebted to them for getting everyone to safety.
“We still have some time,” Gator said. “I talked to the crew, they’re full steam ahead. It was a shame that that decision was made so late. We’re backtracking now, trying to get back around to the other side of this island. That might be a little calmer. The captain’s not heading for your father’s island. He’s heading slightly south west of here toward the mainland. He said there’s a port he thinks he can make. If the captain aimed for your father’s island, it would move us into the storm not out. He’s radioed ahead. The harbor knows we’re coming and will make accommodations for us.”
“We still have radio signal then?” She turned her hand and laced her fingers with his and stepped closer so their bodies aligned. There was peace in their physical connection. She felt perfectly at home standing like this.
He brushed his thumb down the side of her face. Caught in under her chin and tipped her head back. Christen thought he was going to kiss her. She was surprised and pretty darned disappointed when he let his hand drop and stopped himself.
“The mainland has us on radar,” he said. “They’re tracking our progress. Headquarters has us on satellite, but we don’t think that will hold. I know you’ll probably feel better when you have the control stick in your hand, but the captain seems to be competent.” He unlaced his fingers from hers. But he didn’t move away.
Christen pulled her brow together. “You know what I do?”
“That you’re a Night Stalker? Yes, ma’am. My buddies Nutsbe Crushed and Honey Honig speak highly of you.”
Ah hah! Interesting. “You’re an Iniquus operative?” Iniquus was based out of DC. DC was only an hour and a half non-stop flight from Nashville. That wasn’t an unsurmountable distance. They could see each other when she was on back at Fort Campbell.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you signed on with my father?” Christen forced herself to shift gears. She looked at her feet, processing. He and Blaze must be the other two in their group of five. She wondered how the CIA had fenagled them onto her father’s employment sheet. How they’d won such admiration from a man who wasn’t exactly known for handing out approbation like bonbons. How had they won the appreciation that her dad obviously felt? Huh, there was a mystery. And here Christen had assumed that the other two CIA operations officers were lurking in the shadows, play acting at being fellow tourists or perhaps had dressed in staffing uniforms and blended.
“Yes, ma’am, just for this trip. Mr. Davidson needed the extra security when you and your friends joined the party.”
“I wish you would stop calling me ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am. Protocol.”
She nodded. It meant that there was space and discipline between them. It was militarily correct. And probably why he’d stopped himself from following through with that kiss. He was contracted and on duty and that would be a breach of ethics. And Iniquus operatives had a golden reputation for high ethics. Three more days and they could do what they wanted. Right now, she wanted to put her cheek against Gator’s chest and hear his heartbeat. She knew it was racing. She knew he was mastering adrenaline in his system. She was anyway. That sense of foreboding. And the sense of discovery. Of new lo—
“Christen?” Johnna called.
Gator tap-tapped Christen’s back, a release signal as he stepped away from their private bubble. She was bereft at the loss of his touch.
“Christen? Ah. There you are. Cook says the food is ready, everyone should eat now.” Johnna arrived at her side. “Oh, hey, Gator.” She sent Christen a side grimace with a “Whoops – sorry to interrupt” dip to her lower lip. “Cook says the storm’s going to be brutal – well he said there’s a ‘difficult weather cell’ moving into our area. He says he won’t be able to fix a sit-down meal after this. But if we should grow hungry, he has sandwiches and fruit in the cooler. He didn’t look too confident that any of us would want to eat, though. And they’re taping barf bags every couple of feet around the interior. I’m imagining a bout of sea sick in my near future.” She turned to Gator. “Do you have any information?”
“Iniquus says the storm formed out of nowhere. It’s big and fierce. The captain’s aiming for a mainland dock, away from the worst of it. It could be that we can out run it or at least stay out of the main path.”
“You don’t sound confident.”
“I think you need to be prepared for a difficult time, ma’am. The good points are: we’re in a yacht of substantial size and power. The captain is used to these waters and has been piloting for decades. And he’s as invested as we are in getting to safety.”
“That pep talk was awe inspiring,” Johnna deadpanned. “Especially that last sentence.”
“Ma’am, I sugar-coated it as best I could while still giving you the information you need.”
“That was sugar-coating it?” Johnna’s eyes stretched wide. “Shit!”
Chapter Thirty-One
Gator
Friday, The Davidson Yacht
Christen didn’t like him calling her ma’am. There was no help for that. He had to keep his distance. Before, it was for professional reasons, and now? It might help safeguard her.
Gator was aware that he hadn’t called her Christen, and promised himself he wouldn’t. Christen sounded soft like a lullaby being hummed and carried away on the summer breeze. Christen was the woman he longed to wrap in his arms and hold against his heart. The woman he wanted to talk to and hear about her life, learn her stories, to tease and tickle, and watch her graceful movements that hid her physical strength. D-day was the warrior who’d come to do her duty. And that was the aspect of her he needed to focus on. Professional and distant.
He’d messed up. Bad. He’d shared personal stories with her, reached for her hand. Let their bodies touch. Damned near kissed her. It set a craving burning through his system.
Catastrophic.
It felt like Katrina on the bayou. He was fifteen years old and biding his time before he could sign with the Marines following in his dad’s footsteps into the military when that storm ripped his childhood home from its foundation and tossed it end over end. When the family was finally allowed to return, they’d found it in splinters. It broke his heart to see his mama kneeling in the still damp dirt hugging a weather-beaten picture of his dad to her chest, the one that was took just before Dad was killed in Iraq. It felt like a miracle to have found it. There wasn’t really a whole lot more of anything to find in the debris. There weren’t nothing left from his childhood but the memories he carried with him.
Once Gator became an Iniquus operative and was making good money, he had tried to rebuild what his family had lost. His mama had bought a trailer home, so she could live on the family land. He’d replaced it with a house that was classified to withstand a category five sustained hurrican
e, had it constructed up on stilts to allow for storm surge. It was modern and beautiful. He wanted to take pride in it. But it weren’t the same as their little hand-hewn cabin had been, it lacked a story.
He’d made sure his mama had everything she’d need. All the bells and whistles that might make life easier as her kids all went off to live their lives. Only Auralia, the baby, was still living with her. His mama was proud and grateful, but Gator knew in her heart what she wanted was her old life back. And that, Gator couldn’t do nothing about. She’d been born and raised in a house where her kids were born and raised, and now it was gone. Nothing would be the same again.
Christen was his Katrina. She blew into his life. Upended him. And for the rest of his days, he’d deal with the aftermath and loss.
“There you are,” Blaze said. “They’ve finished eating. The crew’s getting everything locked down.”
“I just checked in with the captain. It gets rough from here. We have about five more minutes then everyone needs to be wedged in their bunks with a life preserver and all the pillows we can find.” Gator spread his legs until his feet touched either side of the walls here in the hallway of the upper level, his hands pressing out, braced. “What’s going on below?”
“Life vests were distributed. We asked everyone to leave their rooms unlocked so we can get to them if there’s a problem. Karl had some anti-nausea meds that he distributed. He’s suggesting that the staff not take them because they can be sedating.”
“Do we want the guests sedated?” Gator hollered as the wind picked up its howl.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Gator leaned in to yell into Blaze’s ear. “Did Red and D-Day take them?”
“I didn’t see. Red was in the head puking so if she took them, I’m not sure they got into her system, they probably went down the drain with her dinner. I stayed with her and made sure she got tucked in bed nice and tight. D-day came in to see if she was okay and her eyes were as wide as saucers.”
Gator sent him a scowl.
“She’s fine,” Blaze patted his shoulder then slapped his hand back to the wall to catch his balance. “Horrified, but fine. She said she was making her way down the hall when the door to Gregor’s cabin slapped open. There was Daniel on his knees giving the big guy a blow job. Gregor was apparently naked and as hairy as a silver backed gorilla.”
A grin spread across Gator’s face. “What did she do?”
“Said excuse me and shut the door. She told me she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting a sexual experience during this.”
“Maybe Gregor needed a little stress relief, something to take the edge off.”
“D-day was concerned that one big drop from a wave and taking the edge off was exactly what might happen.” Blaze fell into Gator, laughing.
“Oh, man, the visual on that…” The boat tipped precipitously. Gator slammed Blaze into the wall on the other side of the hall as they fell backward. Gator cupped his hand and yelled. “This is getting too much, we need to get below. The captain said he’d use the intercom if we can help. When Daniel’s done servicing Gregor, he can tell us if he’s changed his strategy on handling the guests and this storm.”
“I’m not sure there is a strategy to get through the storm, other than pray.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Gator
Friday, The Davidson Yacht
Gator was wedged between the wall and a pipe, holding on for dear life. He had known things were gonna get rough, but nothing he had imagined looked anything like this. It was like they were a toy boat being tossed around a toddler’s bath tub. A hyperactive, hyper-destructive toddler’s bathtub after he’d scarfed down his Halloween candy.
They’d tip back as they rode a swell then drop weightlessly. Boom! They’d hit the surface. Gator had puked his guts up so many times there wasn’t even bile left in his belly. His throat was raw from the acid and from yelling. The stomach cramps wanted to bend him in two. He was left with dry heaves and the sweats. “Embrace the suck,” he whispered.
Something had gone wrong with the electrical system, and they’d lost lights and air conditioning. The air inside the state rooms had sponged up the water, and he was soaked with sweat and humidity. The boat tipped back, Gator gripped the pipe. He’d duct-taped a flashlight and a radio to his arms so he would have them handy. The illumination from the flashlight just added to the sense of eeriness. He went weightless. The boat crashed down. Its joints moaning and shrieking. Gator’s damp grip slipped from the pipe, and he tumbled forward, his momentum stopped by the couch built into the wall.
He grappled with the furniture until he was upright. That one was bad. Well, they were all bad. That one was worse. It had been a while since he’d done rounds, he should check on folks. And though D-day wanted to push into his thoughts, he pushed back just as hard. A few more days. He had to keep her alive a few more days. Then he’d be gone, and she’d be safe.
“Charlie to base.”
“Base,” Daniel said with his thick accent.
“I’m gonna make rounds of the cabins.”
“Copy. Out.”
Gator bet he copied and was out. Blaze and Gator were the only two security guards providing security. The other three were hunkered in their berths or somewhere. Gator hadn’t seen them since Daniel laid down the law for the guests to stay put in their cabins.
“Delta to Charlie,” Blaze came over the comms. “I’ll take the upper deck and see how the crew are doing. Make sure the captain’s still tied in.”
“Copy.” Gator waited for the next drop and slam. As the boat hit back down in the water, he pawed his way through the room to the hallway. He forced the door open and headed to the first door on the left to check on D-day. D-day had taken the meds and was all but blacked out the last time he’d been in. He’d ripped up some sheets and tied her to the bed like a patient on a medic’s stretcher. He made sure she had pillows wedged at her back and front in case she puked, so she couldn’t roll over and aspirate the vomit into her lungs and drown.
He made it all the way over to the bed as a swell lifted them up. He knelt beside her, using his flashlight to scan for any problems. Then he was weightless and clinging to the box spring. Then they slammed down. Boom!
He checked her pulse and respiration. Checked the ties to make sure they were tight but not restricting her blood flow. Checked to make sure her life vest was secure.
“Gator,” she moaned. He reached out and lay his hand against her cheek. She was too hot. The room was stifling. “Gator.”
“I’m here,” he said, brushing his thumb over the softness of her cheek. He reached down and felt her arm, clammy with the humidity. She kicked against the restraints. She was wearing a t-shirt and pair of lace panties.
Gator worked to pull his gaze away from the length of her legs.
“Gator, listen. You’re not listening.”
“I’m listening.” He swallowed down the “sweetheart” that he’d never get to say to her. In his mind, he saw the holy man standing there in the fire circle. “I’ll live up to my end of the bargain. You get her through this.” He said it out loud. He wanted to make sure he was heard by the holy man, by the saints his mama prayed to every day of her life, to the guides and angels he’d always felt near him, to Jesus Christ, to God Almighty to any benevolent force that would hear him. “Get her through this,” he prayed.
“The craziest thing, Gator… Saw you and knew…” she muttered.
Gator crouched closer. “Knew what?” again he had to swallow the words that formed naturally on his tongue, “You knew what, baby?” He put his hand on her forehead. His heart raced.
“Knew that I would love you f—”
Before she could finish, Gator slid his hand over her mouth. She hummed the word behind his palm.
She’d almost said it out loud. Almost cast the spell, or made the contract, or whatever it was that those words did. Every time. It was those words and then death. Her death. He would
n’t allow that. Not in this life time. This lifetime, he’d break the curse, no matter what it took. No matter what it took away from him.
He forced himself onto unsteady feet.
Shit!
Okay. It was going to be okay. He’d tell Blaze to take point on D-day. He’d stay in the shadows. What was he thinking out on the railing touching her like that?
Did it matter if she was dreaming when she said it? Could she really feel that way?
Shit!
He turned this way and that as if searching for an answer that might lay in the puddles beneath his feet.
He wished the holy man had told him what to do. How to fix this. How to save her.
Gator tumbled himself from the cabin and stood outside her door, panting. He loosened his knees and rode the waves, catching his breath. The hall door banged open and wind whipped salted mist across his exposed skin. The hallway was ankle deep in water from the crashing waves.
He forced himself to the next cabin, then the next and the next.
At the end of the row, all of the guests accounted for, Gator headed back to talk to Blaze and switch positions. As he passed D-day’s room, the door stood open. He reached to grab the handle and made a quick sweep of his flashlight before he pulled it closed again.
Her bed was empty. The restraints untied.
He shot the beam of light through the state room; she was gone. She’d been drugged and was dreaming. Did she get up and wander? He checked the head. Empty. As he turned to leave, he saw a lifejacket floating near the wall. He picked it up and carried it with him. Fear sizzled over his skin.
The beam from his light slid down the hall. Empty. He moved to Johnna’s room to see if D-day had gone down there. He had tied Johnna down like Christen, and she had squirmed her way forward and was puking over the side of her bed. Gator closed her door against the rising water.
He slogged his way down the hall, his hands pressing into the opposite walls, the life vest dangling from his shoulder. He concentrated on staying upright. He made it through the salon, shouting her name. The wind lifted and carried the sound of his voice away.