Deception Island

by Brynn Kelly

  Well, hell. Alone wasn’t such a bad place. She was still alive. And she had the knife. With luck, Rafe would be past remembering that.

  She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the box—sending a signal to the soldier that he could take it easy. Her gut burned from Gabriel’s punches, her arm throbbed from the gunshot wound, and she couldn’t open her left eye even if she wanted to.

  Urgent voices filtered in from outside, punctuated by quick footfalls and heavy thuds and scrapes. Out of the windows she could just see the tops of trees against the bruised sky, but occasionally a man would pass the chopper’s open door, carrying a box or bag or some other item. They were moving out—before Rafe’s backup could get there, if the guy even existed. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. She strained to pinpoint Rafe’s and Theo’s voices. Nothing. The men had talked about leaving on a boat—had the capitaine and his son joined them? Her heart twisted. She’d never see them again.

  Well, good. When she got out of this mess—and she damn well would get out—she’d find that cabin by the sea and grow into an old hermit. Maybe she’d adopt a dog. Yes, a stray mongrel, to remind her of the dangers of letting people in.

  After a while, the noise outside subsided. The helicopter pilot pulled himself into his seat, put on headphones and started pressing buttons. A man ducked into the hull, striking up an animated but hushed conversation with her guard. Gossip—she’d recognize that tone of voice in any language. The confrontation between Rafe and Gabriel must have been quite the soap opera. The new guy settled into a spot near the front, facing backward. More eyes on her. They fell silent as footsteps approached. The helicopter blades whined.

  Gabriel climbed in, still fucking smiling, followed by Rafe, carrying a sleeping Theo. Relief washed over her. Hell, that was dumb—of any of her enemies, Rafe was the most dangerous. Not only physically, but because he knew how she fought, knew what to expect, knew about the knife. His gaze flicked around and locked on hers. His eyes had lost their white-rimmed wildness, but there was no hint of emotion. Just a cold, hard stare. Not the man she thought she knew. She dropped eye contact.

  Rafe and Gabriel sat along the wall furthest from the door, Theo sighing as he resettled onto Rafe’s chest. Yearning clawed her stomach. How stupid had she been to picture the three of them, together? The two of them were a unit, and she was alone. The whine climbed in pitch. The helicopter shuddered, rose and angled forward.

  She curled her bound feet underneath her and let her bent legs drop to one side, ignoring the stiffness in her injured knee. Retrieving the knife would require a few gymnastic maneuvers. Her guard shot her a look. She winced and stretched her neck from side to side, feigning sore muscles. Looking bored, he fixed his gaze out the open door. They were heading over the sea.

  If Holly managed to get away—when she got away—she’d track down Amina’s lobby group. If she could cut the cable ties, maybe she could take a flying leap out the door as they approached land? Not her best plan ever, but options were few. She’d rather deal with the sharks down there than those up here.

  She twisted her arms to bring her hands to the knife pocket, her muscles screaming with effort. Blood squeezed out of the bullet wound and dribbled to her elbow. She ignored the bite of pain. Her fingertips came up an inch short of the zipper. She drew her legs higher and tighter. Her swollen knee burned, ready to pop. If anyone looked right now, her contortions would look mighty suspicious. Rafe pointed to the windscreen of the chopper and spoke to Gabriel, taking his attention away. The other guard turned to look, too.

  She pinned the zipper between two fingers and eased it open. The engine’s roar and the whip of the wind masked the rasp of the parting teeth. She caught the top of the knife and worked it out of the pocket, every nudge straining her forearm to near snapping point. Finally, she closed her palm around its familiar shape. Hallelujah. She straightened her legs, hiding the knife in the arch between her back and the metal box, and inhaled crisp air. Her leg muscles pulsed, grateful for the reprieve. A breeze played with the clammy skin on her face. She closed her eyes for a second, willing it to cool her down.

  Leveling her breath, she popped the blade, coughing to mask the click. With one wrist jammed over the other, the angles were awkward, like doing something tricky in the mirror. The tremble in her arms wasn’t helping. She parked her face in neutral as she experimented. She jimmied the knife in under the plastic and flicked. It held. She repositioned it and filled her lungs, willing her strength to pool at her right wrist.

  Flick. The knife slipped, slicing into something too soft to be the ties. Her left wrist. Shit. She bit her lip, waiting for the pain, to tell her what she’d cut. Surely an artery would spurt blood from the get-go? The sting came, clean and sharp. Warm liquid trickled into her left palm and seeped through her fingers. Ounces of it, not pints.

  Change of tactic. Swallowing, she maneuvered the blade so it faced upward, away from her skin. She seesawed the knife, keeping it firm against the plastic. Slicked with blood and sweat, the handle kept slipping in her fingers. Finally, the bond released. She pulled it from her wrists and tucked it into her trousers. Last thing she needed was for the severed tie to go skidding along the floor.

  She shifted position, scooting her feet as close to her right butt cheek as she could, and twisted her arms as far around as they’d go. Sweat tickled her forehead. No matter how much she strained, she was still a good five inches short of the ankle ties.

  Unless she sat on her knees or tipped forward flat onto the floor, the logistics of freeing her feet while pretending her hands were bound were impossible. Either move would draw suspicion. Damn. She’d never make it past the guard and out the door with her feet tied, let alone swim. She’d have to risk sneaking her hand out from behind her. If anyone noticed, her plan was toast. She gripped the knife and inched her hand along the floor, her pulse drumming.

  Rafe looked her way. She darted her hand behind her back, her cheeks chilling. His gaze rested on her pocket. The zipper gaped—she hadn’t thought to do it up. Game over. Lines bunched on his forehead. His focus scooted around the cabin, to the faces of the guards and Gabriel. Checking if they’d seen? Dammit, was he on her side or not? He leaned toward Gabriel and the guy nearest him, and spoke in words she couldn’t understand. Her stomach fell. Not on her side.

  He pointed to a large polystyrene box beside the door, and addressed her guard. The guy shrugged, and reached for it. Gabriel and the other goon watched listlessly as he pulled out a bottle of water and handed it over. Rafe took a gulp, and passed it to Gabriel. Her guard got out another bottle and chugged, shutting his eyes. Diversion. She didn’t know what the hell was going on with Rafe, but she wasn’t about to waste an opportunity. She reached down, sliced the ties behind her ankles and resumed her position. If anyone looked too close, they’d notice the plastic lay too loose over her foot. Rafe must have known what she was up to. Had he distracted the guard on purpose?

  His eyes pinned hers. Deliberately, he trailed his gaze to her guard, then back. He repeated the eye movement, this time following it with tiny movements of one finger—pointing to her, then her guard. He wanted her to take out the guard?

  He drew the finger up to his neck and patted it against his skin. He rolled his eyes to Gabriel and then the other guard, then returned focus to her. He raised his eyebrows. A question—did she follow? Her face heated. So he would take out Gabriel and his guard while she was busy with hers? The pilot could wait—he couldn’t fight and fly. Was Rafe planning to hijack the helicopter?

  She gave him the slightest nod she could. Adrenaline prickled under her skin. His face reassumed its default robot expression. At some point it’d become a facade. When? No doubt about it, he was screwed up, but he was present enough to know working together gave them a better chance of escape. At least this meant he wasn’t in league with Gabriel. Not that his loyalties lay with her, e
ither. That stung, but she’d get over it once she was free.

  Watching the men, he surreptitiously held up a palm. Wait for his signal. He nestled his face into Theo’s hair and spoke softly in French. The boy jerked awake, rubbing his face and looking around him dully, before sinking back against his father. Holly could feel his relief. If she could help it, his ordeal would soon be over.

  Rafe pushed the hair off his son’s face. “Tu comprends?”

  “Oui, Papa,” Theo whispered groggily. His hair was plastered to his head in damp curls.

  Rafe kissed his son’s forehead, letting his eyes drift closed. A second passed. Two. His chest rose to full capacity and sank. Something squeezed Holly’s heart. How hard would it be to knowingly put your child in danger when you’d just got him back in your arms? He’d do anything for that kid.

  Including: betray and kill me.

  Through the door, a fringe of snow-white beach came into view. Rafe wrapped his arms around Theo’s back, so his right hand was visible only to Holly. He splayed his fingers. Five. He tucked in his thumb. Four. She gripped the knife. Three. She’d rather shove the guard out the door than spill more blood, but the blade was good backup, at least. Two. She filled her lungs. One.

  Chapter 30

  Holly leaped up and launched a flying kick at her guard’s head. He stood, and her heel struck his stomach, the impact coursing up her leg and drilling him into the side of the chopper.

  Over her right shoulder, Rafe was a blur. She registered Theo dashing into the corner she’d just left. Shouts echoed through the hull.

  As the guard gagged, she powered a knee into his nuts. He squeaked but wrenched her arm, spinning her. Her back smacked into his chest, and his arm wrapped around her throat. Crap. She rammed an elbow into his belly. He flinched but tightened his grip, crushing her windpipe. Damn, she’d have to get dirty with the knife.

  She jerked her right hand over her shoulder and stabbed at his head, cringing. She caught only air, but he raised his arms to defend himself, releasing her. She pivoted. The chopper banked, sending her flying backward into Theo, driving him into the wall. The guard grabbed a bracket on the other wall, his legs flying. Theo yelped, his face squashed against her back. G-forces pinned them.

  “Sorry, kid.”

  The chopper lurched. The guard lost his grip and smashed on top of Holly—right onto her outstretched knife. His eyes widened. His hands went for her throat, as if he hadn’t figured out a blade was sunk to the handle in his gut. She twisted it. His hands tightened, wringing the breath from her. Beneath her, Theo wriggled. She tried to arch up—the poor kid was taking the weight of both of them.

  The helicopter righted, but still the goon squeezed. She gagged, her vision pinpricking. Blood trickled from one side of his mouth. Finally, his hands weakened and he tumbled down her body and slumped to his knees, the knife still embedded. Air scraped back into her lungs. He teetered and collapsed forward. One twitch and he was dead.

  In the doorway, Rafe and the other goon wrestled. Gabriel leveled a handgun at them. She launched forward, tackling the warlord’s legs. Something dense slammed into her back—Theo, joining the fight. A gunshot exploded through the hull, followed by silence. The floor jerked. Shit.

  “Rafe?”

  The helicopter dropped, taking her stomach with it. Rafe yelled, his words gurgling in her blown ears. She looked up. His goon had vanished. The pilot lay slumped over the controls, the windscreen sprayed red. The recoil had shoved Gabriel into the fuselage. He juggled to regain his grip on the handgun.

  Rafe shouted again. Her brain registered: Jump! He grabbed Theo and spun him up onto his back. A rifle hung from his shoulder. Holly listed toward them. Theo clasped his hands around his father’s neck.

  “Holly, now!”

  Rafe held out a hand. As she stretched up to take it, the chopper jolted, plunging him out the door, with Theo. Holly went to follow, but the floor tipped. Bracing her thighs, she fought up the slope, like on a boat in high seas. The helicopter tossed sideways, thumping her onto her back. Gabriel slid into her, cracking the gun barrel into her injured temple. Her head burned. The chopper lurched again and righted. A mechanical wail rang through her brain. Or was it coming from her mouth?

  She caught the edge of the door with her left hand. The helicopter dipped and bounced, sending her swinging as she grappled to get a grip with her right. The world went into a spin, g-forces catapulting her out the door, wrenching her shoulder nearly out of its socket. The chopper spiraled like some demented carousel. She should let go. Gabriel flew past, into space, his shout surging and fading. The polystyrene box pelted her face on its way out. Let go, you moron. Wind belted her eyeballs. The ocean rose up fast, whipped white by the churning air. She released her hand.

  Her shoulder crunched into the skid, flipping her onto her back. She hit the surface of the water with a slap and plunged into cold liquid, jolted immediately by the force of the helicopter crashing down beside her. Kicking hard, she fought through the wash until her lungs caved, forcing her up for air.

  Treading water, she spun, her head gyrating as though she’d been spat from a washing machine. Her panting sounded like it was coming from someone else, far away. The helicopter floated on its side. An island lay maybe a mile away. It looked tiny. She turned almost a three-sixty before she spotted Rafe and Theo, clinging to the polystyrene box. Rafe had a rifle aimed at her. He shouted something indecipherable.

  Shit. She dropped under the surface and pulled herself down and away, in the direction of the island. A muffled series of explosions sounded above her—or did she imagine it? Rafe had lost the killer-robot face, but who knew what was going on in his brain?

  She swam underwater until her chest pinched, surfaced just long enough to gulp in oxygen, then changed direction before popping up again. She braced for gunfire but no shots came. One of her shoes had come off. She yanked off the other, and continued toward the island in a crazed diving zigzag. A few times she thought she heard distant shouts, but with her buzzing ears and water slapping all around, she couldn’t be sure—and she wasn’t stopping long enough to check. Salt stung her wrist and her bullet wound and found a dozen other cuts and scrapes to torment. Her knee held together okay, as long as she kicked with straight legs.

  After an age it felt like swimming through cement. She’d pass out if she kept rationing her oxygen, and the island didn’t seem to be getting any closer. She’d have to risk a rest.

  She heaved in a breath, then swam as far as she could sideways, underwater. She surfaced quietly, rapidly blinking the water from her eyes. Only a bump of fuselage remained of the helicopter. Next to it were three figures. A wave rose up, obscuring her view. She ducked under the swell and broached again. Her blond hair would be a beacon.

  She squinted at the figures. Theo clung to the box. Rafe had one arm wrapped around the polystyrene, and the other around...Gabriel. She dived under another wave. When she surfaced, Gabriel was gone. Dead? Rafe raised his head, his gaze barreling into hers. Eyeing up his next target? She wasn’t going to wait around and find out.

  She dived. Her best hope was to get to the island and pray the inhabitants were friendly. Was she even getting anywhere? The outgoing tide tugged her backward with every stroke, her knee burned with each kick, and her arms ached. At least Theo would slow Rafe down.

  She chanced a look behind. The choppy swell hid her from Rafe, most of the time. The sun opened a gap in the clouds, creating blinding reflections. Her muffled hearing somehow amplified her pulse, making it boom in her head. A wave slapped salt water up her nose. It burned its way through her sinuses.

  The island looked further away than ever. Ah, screw it. She’d never make it at this pace. She’d have to break cover and swim freestyle. If she was having trouble spotting Rafe, he’d struggle to see her, too. No doubt he was a crack shot. If he intended to ki
ll her, at least it’d be all over before she knew it.

  She swam on, the events of the past few days rattling through her mind—the night Rafe grabbed her from the boat, the shark, the plane, the island, the pirates, the hammock, the helicopter, Gabriel, Amina, Devi, the explosion of relief in her chest when Rafe had appeared in the jungle. It was all a confused tangle. She’d have plenty of time to figure it all out once she was entrenched in her cottage by the sea. Her number one priority was to get there.

  The change of stroke upped her momentum. Instead of pulling her back, the waves surged her forward. Fatigue clawed her. She ignored it. She settled into a pattern—four or five strong strokes in between waves, then rest and ride the surge. Her eyes stung. Something scraped her elbow. She flinched. A wave picked her up and dragged her along a ragged rock, gouging her side. The pain barely registered.

  Not a rock. A reef. She hadn’t been paying attention to the changes in the waves. She scrambled to her feet before the next surge, and launched herself into a break in the coral, the water swirling light-brown with sand. Forcing her eyes open underwater, she navigated past swaying smudges of lime and burgundy. The water calmed, the going got easier. Ahead, orange and blue blurs flitted and darted.

  A minute or two later, she beached in the shallows, her body pulsing with relief. She crawled to the water’s edge and flipped onto her back, gulping air with a strangled sob, willing her burning muscles to cool. She’d be hurting tomorrow—if she saw tomorrow at all.

  Movement along the beach caught her eye. Rafe pulled Theo clear of the waves and threw the box up the sand.

  She stumbled to her feet. No time to rest. She no longer knew who was on which side. The world tipped. Damn. One swim and she’d lost the land legs she’d only just found. She staggered up the beach, eyes fixed on the tree line. A muffled shout—her name, close behind. She wasn’t stopping to let him get a clear shot. A wave of sand seemed to rise up, and she pitched forward. A shadow blocked out the sun. She rolled.