by Susan Cliff
The transom door was unlocked, so he slipped inside. The galley was empty. He grabbed the only weapon he could find—a mop handle. Unscrewing the top, he set it aside and crept down the steps to the cabin.
Again, he found an open doorway. These pirates were completely unprepared for a hostile takeover, which was kind of ironic, like thieves who left their loot in full view. Logan listened at the entrance for a few seconds. He heard two men arguing in French. Logan didn’t speak French, so he had no idea what they were saying.
One of the men walked out of the cabin, still muttering under his breath. Logan said hello with a sharp blow to the head. The man crumpled to the ground quietly. He was of European descent, midthirties, dressed in black. Logan stepped over him and entered the cabin. Cadence was sitting on the floor. Her wrists and ankles were tied. There was a gag in her mouth and mascara tracks on her face.
Logan didn’t dwell on these details. He had to focus on the guard, who appeared to be the muscle of the operation. Logan guessed he was Polynesian, from one of the local islands. When Logan swung the mop handle, the man blocked it easily. Then he brandished a wicked-looking knife and went on the offense. Logan leaped backward, avoiding a series of wide arcs. His back hit the wall, and he ducked down to avoid the blade. After it missed him, Logan jabbed the end of his stick against the man’s rib cage. The knife tumbled out of his hand. The man staggered sideways and bent to retrieve his weapon.
Logan couldn’t wait for a better opening. He leaped on his opponent’s back and held the mop handle across his throat, cutting off his airway. The man slammed Logan into the wall in an attempt to dislodge him, but Logan didn’t budge. They both went down to the floor. It took every ounce of Logan’s strength to maintain his grip on the stick.
The man struggled to break free. He reached for his knife, which was sitting right there on the ground. Cadence kicked it away.
That little bit of help made all the difference. The man finally passed out. Logan almost did the same. He let go of the mop handle and shoved his limp body aside. Black spots danced across his vision. His head felt like it might explode. Sweat trickled down his temple. Or maybe it was blood.
He couldn’t afford to rest, so he took a few deep breaths and pulled himself together. He rolled over, picked up the knife and cut the ropes that bound her. She untied the gag with trembling hands. Her mouth was raw, her eyes wary. She didn’t seem relieved by his rescue. She looked terrified.
Of him.
This wasn’t an unusual reaction to trauma, but it still unsettled him. He expected her to trust him, not shrink away in horror.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t say anything to put her mind at ease. He touched a finger to his lips in warning. Then he lifted her to her feet, giving her a cursory inspection. She appeared unharmed. Even if she wasn’t, they had to get off this boat immediately. He didn’t have the strength to overpower the rest of the crew. His energy was spent. He pulled her through the door, stepping over the bodies that were piling up. The guy outside was regaining consciousness. Logan hoped he’d lie there for a few more minutes.
They crept up the stairs, through the galley and out the transom door. The raft was hanging from a pulley system on the starboard side. He used the knife to cut it loose, praying they wouldn’t be seen by the men in the wheelhouse. As the raft fell against the railing, his European friend staggered into the galley.
Damn it.
Logan couldn’t let the man reach the wheelhouse and alert the others. He passed Cadence the rope that was still attached to the raft. “Hold this,” he said, because he wanted her to stay put. Then he barged through the galley to take his opponent down. His knee buckled on the first step, which threw off his attack. The European noted this weakness and seized the opportunity to launch his own assault. He tackled Logan around the waist and pushed him backward. They burst through the transom doors and fell right off the stern, into the dark sea.
The man didn’t let go underwater. He clung to Logan like a goddamned octopus. He was trying to drown Logan, and it was working. As soon as Logan broke through the surface, the European dunked him again. Logan’s movements were clumsy from fatigue, but his instincts were still sharp. So was the knife in his right hand. Making a strangled sound, he buried the blade in the man’s belly. Then he twisted it.
The arms around him loosened, and the weight fell away. Logan treaded water, gasping for breath. Cadence was there, in the raft. She’d managed to push it overboard and get inside. He swam toward her and handed her the knife before hauling himself out of the water. Once he was safely inside, he rested on his back for a moment, one hand over his thundering heart. He was nauseous and light-headed. As soon as his stomach settled, he straightened and searched the water for a body.
He didn’t see one.
The cabin cruiser continued on its journey, oblivious. Their escape would be noticed at some point, but now they had a chance. They had to put as much distance between the raft and the cruiser as possible.
The paddles weren’t inside the raft. They must have been left on the deck. He explored the motor with wet hands, looking for a pull cord. What he discovered made his blood run cold. There was a key ignition.
Without a motor or paddles, they were sitting ducks. The kidnappers would circle back and recapture them.
Or recapture her, rather. He had no value to them. If they knew she wasn’t Maya O’Brien, she was equally worthless. Logan didn’t doubt that these men had firearms at their disposal. They hadn’t used them on the cruise ship in the interest of stealth. There was no reason to be quiet now.
“Can you start it?” she asked.
“Not without a key.”
She stared at him in dismay.
“I might be able to hot-wire it at first light.”
“What do we do until then?”
“We wait,” he said grimly. “And hope they don’t come back for us.”
Chapter 4
One of the best nights of her life turned into the worst.
The absolute worst.
She survived it, somehow. So did Logan. They waited in silence for the boat to double back for them, but it never did. Logan said the kidnappers must not have realized they were gone right away. He also said the raft would be difficult to spot in the dark, like a needle in a haystack. The ocean was immense, and frightening. The raft rose and fell with every swell, traveling on a swift current.
What followed them wasn’t a boat. It was the body of the man Logan had killed. He floated on the surface, facedown, his white T-shirt bobbing. It was almost as if the corpse was swimming after them. She watched in horror as his body jerked suddenly. He flailed back and forth, reanimated. Tail fins thrashed on the surface as sharks tore him apart. First one, then two, then a half dozen.
Cady threw up over the side of the raft.
When she leaned too far out, Logan grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back. She wiped her mouth, shuddering.
The night dragged on, never ending. She was cold and miserable. Logan stripped off his wet clothes and wrapped his arms around her, but she didn’t stop shivering. Her mind replayed violent images. Black masks. Glinting knives. Sharks circling.
She couldn’t believe they were in this situation. She couldn’t believe they’d escaped. When Logan had entered the doorway, his face pale and his clothes wet, she’d screamed into her gag. She’d thought he was a ghost, for good reason. She’d seen him get knocked unconscious and thrown overboard. No normal person could survive that. He’d appeared out of nowhere and fought like a man possessed.
One minute, she’d been weeping silently, frozen with fear. The next, she was watching Jason Bourne attack his enemies.
She didn’t understand why she’d been targeted, or how Logan had arrived on the scene. The whole thing was surreal. And sinister. He’d incapacitated one of her captors and gut
ted another like a fish. She knew he was a Navy SEAL, trained to kill. She also knew he’d acted in self-defense, and he wasn’t a danger to her. Even so, her first reaction to his daring rescue wasn’t relief. It was terror.
The brutality of his actions, and the ease with which he’d executed them, still disturbed her. She hadn’t signed on for this. She wasn’t equipped for it. She was a chef on a cruise ship, sailing toward an uncertain future. She’d been in a slump, personally and professionally. Her idea of adventure was using new spices in a recipe. Leaving the bar with Logan was the wildest thing she’d ever done.
Now she was stranded on a raft in the middle of the ocean.
She shouldn’t have gone back to his cabin. She should have listened to her instincts, instead of her hormones. She couldn’t have predicted this outcome, of course, but she’d known what kind of man he was. He was an elite soldier. He had hero written all over him, along with heartbreaker and risk taker.
She’d only wanted a single night of excitement with a man whose gaze had warmed her from the inside out. Instead she got this stone-cold warrior who watched sharks feed on a corpse without flinching.
Her stomach lurched at the memory. She rolled over and dry-heaved quietly.
Logan kept his hand on her back like an anchor. His touch felt reassuring, despite the fraught circumstances. She didn’t want to be here, but she was glad she wasn’t alone. She was glad they were alive, and relatively unharmed. When her stomach settled, he pulled her into his arms and held her close. Little by little, her tremors subsided.
At dawn, he put on his damp clothes. She sat up and stared at the rising sun. Its reflection glinted across the ocean, illuminating their plight. There was no pirate boat on the horizon. There was nothing. No cruise ship, no commercial barges, no airplanes, no islands. No drinking water. It might as well have been the Sahara Desert.
Her gaze met his. His features were rough-hewn in the harsh daylight. There was a big lump on his temple, and dried blood clumped to his eyebrow.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She didn’t think she was, but she felt numb. She slowly took stock of her condition. Her mouth was still sore from the gag. She rubbed her wrists, which bore rope burns. Other than those minor discomforts, she was fine. “I’m okay.”
“Did you understand what they were saying?”
Cady spoke a smattering of French. She hadn’t caught every word. “They thought I was someone else.”
“Maya O’Brien.”
“The president’s daughter?”
“I was supposed to be guarding her.”
Now it made sense. The kidnappers had made a mistake. They weren’t targeting her. Cadence Crenshaw was nobody. Maya O’Brien was America’s daughter, rich and famous. “Were they terrorists?”
“I don’t know,” he said, frowning. “French Polynesia isn’t a hot spot for terrorism. Their motivations might have been financial.”
“When will they start looking for us?”
“The kidnappers?”
“The rescuers.”
He studied the clear blue sky above them. “Today, with any luck. They’ll know something is wrong when you don’t show up to work. Employees will see the signs of a struggle in the cabin next to mine. Then they’ll launch a search party with air support.”
“Do you think they’ll find us?”
“Yes.”
She hoped he was telling the truth. His expression revealed nothing, and she didn’t know him well enough to judge. Maybe he was honest to a fault. Maybe he was a strategic liar. Maybe that head injury had rattled his brain. He’d already said that the raft would be difficult to spot on the open sea.
“I thought you were dead,” she said in a hushed voice. She still couldn’t quite believe he was real.
“Nah,” he said. “I don’t die that easy.” His smile was wan, belying the boast.
“What did you do?”
“I swam.”
She gaped at him in wonder. Her head had been covered during the kidnapping, so she’d been disoriented. She’d assumed the men had pulled him out of the water for some reason, or he’d grabbed a tow rope. “You swam from the cruise ship?”
He nodded.
“How?”
“It wasn’t that far.”
Her next question was more important. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you risk your life like that? You hardly know me.”
His gaze darkened. “I know you well enough,” he said, squinting at the horizon. “Even if I didn’t, I’d have done the same thing. There was nothing else to do. Staying near the cruise ship wasn’t an option. My chances of getting rescued there were very low.”
She studied his battered face, trying to gauge his sincerity. He might have had no other choice, but he was also downplaying an incredible act of heroism. He’d swum after a motorized raft and overpowered two men—after sustaining a concussion. It was an amazing feat, almost superhuman. Most people couldn’t save themselves, let alone others. They froze in the face of danger. Cady had experienced this phenomenon firsthand as a child. She’d watched her grandfather die and been paralyzed, unable to help him.
It was the most traumatic moment of her life. Until now.
Logan removed his cell phone from his pocket. He took it apart, piece by piece, and set the components out to dry. It didn’t take long; the sun was brutal. Light reflected off the ocean, magnifying the effect. Within an hour, everything was bone dry, including her throat.
He had no service, of course. He couldn’t even send a text. He turned off the phone and tucked it away. “I’ll try again later.”
Cady stayed quiet. She doubted they’d drift into a better service area anytime soon. They were several days’ travel from Tahiti by cruise ship. She didn’t know of any other islands between here and there. She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. Maybe they’d arrive on the shore of a private resort and sip fruity cocktails at noon.
She mixed a fantasy drink with her favorite ingredients. Crushed ice. Fresh fruit. Something really bougie, like a strawberry-basil bourbon spritzer.
Logan emptied his pockets to study the contents. In addition to his cell phone, he had a wallet with cash and credit cards. She had nothing but the dress on her back. Her purse had been lost in the melee. Her shoes had fallen off. So had his.
His next project was hot-wiring the engine. He used his knife to disable the ignition and open the casing. He spent the better part of the morning with his head down, cursing. It reminded her of her father doing auto repairs. He flinched when one of the live wires singed his fingertips. After some trial and error, he twisted two wires together and the engine turned over. He flashed her a victorious grin. Then he disconnected it, killing the motor.
Her spirits fell. “We’re not going anywhere?”
“I have to save fuel,” he said. “We can’t travel far on a gas tank this size.”
“Why did you hot-wire it?”
“Because being able to move a short distance will help us get rescued. If we see a ship in the distance, we can approach it. If a plane goes by, I can fire it up and do some circles to get their attention.”
She searched the horizon for signs of an airplane or a ship, with no luck. The glare of sunlight on the water burned her corneas, and constantly scanning the area exhausted her eye muscles. When she couldn’t continue, he took over. She curled up in a ball, her stomach roiling. She wondered how long it took to die from thirst. She didn’t ask Logan, because she was afraid the answer might be one day.
The afternoon sun was brutal. He removed his shirt and dipped it in the water. Then he wrapped the wet cloth around his head, turban-style. The hunting knife he’d taken from one of the kidnappers was tucked into his belt. He looked like a storybook pirate, with perfectly defined abs an
d a tantalizing strip of hair below his navel.
She remembered how his body had felt against hers on the dance floor, and how eager she’d been to touch him. Their brief, lust-drenched interlude didn’t seem real. She’d never experienced such a powerful rush of attraction before. Who meets someone at a bar and wants to tear their clothes off after ten minutes? In what alternate dimension do two mature, sober people fall into a sexual trance and make out in public? She might have been embarrassed if she wasn’t so worried about dying.
“You need protection from the sun,” he said, drawing his knife. He motioned for her to move closer.
“What are you doing?”
“Cutting off this extra fabric.”
She held still while he sliced through her tulle overskirt. The serrated blade was sharp, with a wicked point at the tip. She tried not to think about where else it had been. She couldn’t afford to throw up again.
When he was finished, she used the fabric like a veil, covering her head and shoulders. It was blisteringly hot. Her lips were dry. His were already cracked.
They didn’t speak, because it hurt to talk.
After what seemed like ten or twelve hours, clouds gathered in the sky. There was a sudden, intense downpour. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, desperate for moisture. The raindrops didn’t quench her thirst, but the cool water felt like heaven against her skin. When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her. She wondered if he was thinking about the kisses they’d shared. Was it a strange, distant memory for him, too? A moment of passion that had slipped between his fingers?
He pulled his gaze away, flushing. She doubted he felt any embarrassment or shame about his behavior. Men never did. Maybe he was just sunburned, or he couldn’t figure out why he’d been so enthralled with her. She probably looked like a bedraggled sea witch. Humidity wasn’t kind to her hair.
When puddles gathered on the bottom of the raft, they both drank their fill. With the sun behind the clouds, the temperature was pleasant. For a short time, she almost felt comfortable, and hopeful about getting rescued. Then the temperature dropped and darkness fell. They spent another night shivering, huddled for warmth.