Overboard (A Crow's Nest Novel Book 2)

by Natasha Raulerson

  “Sure, you will.” The skepticism in her voice was hard to miss.

  “Hey.” He pointed at her. “I may be a lot of things. Sexy, smart, desired by all the ladies—”

  “Are you done?”

  “But,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. “I am not a liar, Sirena. I am a man of my word, and I will return soon.”

  “I guess we’ll see,” she said.

  He didn’t like the bitterness in her tone, but at the same time, he couldn’t really blame her for it either. More and more, he saw parts of his past in this woman. More and more he wanted to break the restraints and carry her out of the hospital like some big damn hero.

  “I guess we will.” He winked and left the room, pulling out his cell phone as the door closed behind him.

  Chapter Five

  The pinks and golds of sunset streamed through Cassidy’s window. They couldn’t even give her a view with the ocean. Instead, all she saw was a few palm trees and housing complexes for miles. Sighing, she tried to pull her hands from the restraints again. Not that it did any good. People stronger and more desperate than her had tried. In movies, she’d seen people try and dislocate their thumb, then slip their hand right out, but she didn’t know how to do that, and even if she did, Cassidy wasn’t a fan of pain.

  The situation had taken a front seat before, but now, her leg throbbed in time with her pulse. She had a morphine button, but she hadn’t pushed it. Though maybe she should have. At least then she’d sleep and be able to forget about all this for a while. Unless the nightmares came.

  No.

  There still had to be hope. A way out of this. Miguel wasn’t coming back. He was just too polite to say so. Like everyone else, he thought her story didn’t hold water. That she was just some blond, out-of-her-mind twit.

  She slammed her fists against the bed, blinking back tears of frustration.

  Why won’t anyone believe me?

  The door to her room opened and she lifted her head off the pillow. “Miguel?”

  Maybe he hadn’t been lying after all. She expected to see a tall, Latin man with dark hair falling into his eyes, but instead, a shorter man wearing an expensive suit quietly closed the door. They didn’t have locks, or else she assumed he would have put it in place. He grinned at her, his light blue eyes squinting in a predatory way. He was bald with wrinkles in the back of his head, but despite his middle-aged appearance, the man’s body looked to have broad, strong shoulders, and muscles flexing beneath his jacket.

  Dread settled over her and she swallowed thickly.

  “Who are you?” Her heart thudded, setting off the monitor.

  Good. Maybe a nurse would come in. She didn’t like being alone with this man.

  “I am,” he said in a thick Russian accent. “The one they call ‘The Cleaner.’

  “What, like you do windows?” Even as she said it, Cassidy knew that’s not at all what he meant.

  He smirked and waggled a finger as he walked over. “A sense of humor. I like that.”

  Instead of turning the monitor off like she thought he would do, he attached something to it. The screen blipped for a moment before coming back on, showing her heart steady. Cassidy was positive it was going faster than 72 beats-per-minute.

  “What do you want?”

  He reached forward, and Cassidy flinched, but he just took the pillow from beneath her head. “Did you know,” he said, fluffing the pillow. “That a bullet wound, always carries with it the risk of an embolism?”

  “No?” Her body trembled and she hated herself for it. Not even on the boat, face to face with the man who murdered her sister had Cassidy felt this much fear. Though she hadn’t been as vulnerable. She’d had a gun—and the use of her hands. Sweat broke out on her palms and she rubbed them on the sheet.

  “Well, Ms. Fletcher, unfortunately, after I put you to sleep, that is exactly what’s going happen to you. It will be very tragic.” He shook his head, bowing it as though mourning her loss before she was already dead.

  “He—” She started to scream, but he put the pillow over her face, muffling the sound.

  She bucked, trying to fight against it, but being strapped down there wasn’t much she could do. The fabric sucked into her mouth and nostrils, blocking her airway as she tried to breathe in. Still she mumbled as best she could. The weight pressed down harder, and her lungs burned for fresh oxygen. The world, already black beneath the pillow, started to fade, pulling away from consciousness.

  After everything, the very man who was responsible for her sister’s death, would be responsible for hers.

  See you soon, Mer.

  There was the sound of something crashing and then the pillow came off her face. She sucked in as much air as her lungs would allow, eyes going to Miguel, fighting with The Cleaner. Both were skilled fighters, throwing punches and kicks, and blocking them from the other side. The Cleaner must have realized that the commotion would draw attention, because in a desperate move he lifted the chair and swung it at Miguel before running for the door.

  Miguel cursed in Spanish—a stream of obscenities that made Cassidy blush even as she continued to cough. He had thrown his arm up in an effort to deflect and a spot of red seeped through his bandage. He stood up—chair being made of sturdy material hadn’t broke, but he’d taken a good hit. Throwing it off, he stood up and ran to the door, cursing again, before coming back to her.

  “Cassidy, hey!” He cupped her cheek.

  She leaned into him, trembling under his touch. As much as she didn’t want to cry, the tears came anyway, strolling down her skin and onto his hands.

  “Shh, hey you’re okay.” He undid the restraints on her wrists, and she sat up, clasping onto him.

  Miguel rubbed her back, holding onto her like a lifeline. She sobbed against him, tears soaking through his shirt.

  “Please don’t go…” It came out small and full of fear.

  Cassidy didn’t care. Miguel might be the only chance she had—not just for someone to believe her, but to survive whatever Ivanov would throw at her.

  “I’ve got you.” He kissed the top of her head. “No one’s going to hurt you while I’m around, Sirena.”

  God help her, she believed him. The way he held her protectively, the way his voice soothed everything in her—she knew Miguel would keep her safe. She needed him to. There was more than just safety—a desire to be near him, an attraction she’d been ignoring, but at the moment all her emotions were heightened. She felt everything. The gentleness of his touch, the way her heart pounded against her ribs—the array of emotions rushing through her.

  “Don’t leave,” she whispered. “Okay?”

  “Not a chance, Sirena. Not a chance.”

  After the doctor checked Cassidy over, police flooded the hospital, looking for ‘The Cleaner’. They hadn’t found him. No surprise there. Miguel knew a professional when he saw one. With Cassidy’s family at a hotel, he probably hadn’t expected anyone else to be sitting with her. But he hadn’t expected Miguel to walk in on him either. When Miguel saw the son of a bitch suffocating Cassidy, he had grabbed the nearest tray from the counter, throwing it at bastard’s head. The distraction had worked, and Miguel rushed him. The Cleaner wasn’t an easy man to subdue, but neither was Miguel. The Cleaner had taken desperate measures to escape. Sloppy, but it’d worked.

  He’d had a Russian accent from what little Miguel had heard. Cassidy had corroborated it. After being questioned, he called Cap back, adding The Cleaner to the list of people he needed Honey to look into. The others were Meredith Fletcher and Grigory Ivanov.

  Detective Wallace returned. She wore jeans and a t-shirt as opposed to her normal suit. Most likely she’d been off duty, probably with her family. Wallace had four kids and a husband. Cap had helped Wallace’s oldest son in the past, and she trusted him because of it. Often times, the men at the Nest got the benefit of the doubt. Right now, she didn’t look happy to be back. Not that Miguel could blame her, considering the circumstances
that surrounded this whole thing. Miguel figured that benefit of the doubt bit might have been used up in this particular instance.

  He sat on the edge of Cassidy’s bed, holding her hand. The restraints had been removed. After the attack, they attempted to put them back on, but Miguel politely told them that he’d just take it off. She didn’t need to be restrained after that. It’d taken a long time just to get her to stop shaking, but she was still in shock.

  “Detective Wallace.” He nodded to her.

  “Cortez.”

  There was no joking between them this time.

  She looked at Cassidy. “Ms. Fletcher, I understand you’ve been through a lot, but I really need to discuss what happened here today—and I would really like to discuss what happened on Ivanov’s yacht as well.”

  “No,” Mr. Fletcher walked in with his wife.

  Mrs. Fletcher immediately went to Cassidy’s other side, doting on her while Mr. Fletcher squared off with Detective Wallace.

  “I know that District Attorney Mendez has spoken with you about that. A deal has been struck. This will not go to trial so there is no reason to ask her questions about that.”

  “With all due respect, sir,” Wallace said. “It may very well have to do with the man who attacked your daughter.”

  Cassidy leaned closer to Miguel, and he put an arm around her. Mrs. Fletcher raised a brow, but didn’t say anything, instead, still holding onto Cassidy’s hand.

  “We’re leaving in the morning,” Mr. Fletcher said. “Cassidy will get the help she needs, and we can put all this behind her.”

  “And if the man comes back?” Wallace quirked a brow.

  Miguel was liking the Fletcher parents less and less. If he had a kid and someone attacked him or her, he’d want to know who—then he would do very dark and unspeakable things to that person. Like he planned to do to The Cleaner if he ever managed to find him.

  “He won’t,” Miguel said. “If he does, he’ll have me to deal with.”

  Wallace shot him a glare, and Miguel shrugged. She turned back to Mr. Fletcher, their tones stiff.

  “Mr. Cortez,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “You’ve saved our daughter’s life twice now. You really must let us repay you somehow.”

  Miguel knew the type of people the mister and misses were. Everything had a price. Making problems go away, saving their daughter, and making sure that their name wasn’t sullied in the process. Most days, it probably worked. A lot of people were in dire need of cash. The economy sucked ass, and people just wanted to survive without worrying if their house would be foreclosed on next month.

  Still, he smiled, letting it shine all the way up to his eyes. He’d practiced that on more than one occasion. Faking it, knowing how to make it look real.

  “No need. Again, happy to help.”

  Wallace and Mr. Fletcher had moved their argument out of the room, and Miguel was curious as to what was being said.

  “Would you at least do us the favor of staying the rest of the night?” Mrs. Fletcher asked. Her blue eyes, the same as Cassidy’s, only with tiny lines around the edges. Fear resided in them. As much as she wanted this situation to be buried, she also wanted to make sure her daughter was safe. Losing one child had probably added a few of the lines around her mouth—and a few gray hairs she covered with dye.

  Even if he didn’t sympathize with her, the answer would have been yes. He’d already planned on staying with Cassidy—only not at the hospital. The Fletcher parents didn’t need to know that.

  “It would be my pleasure.” He rubbed Cassidy’s shoulder.

  She relaxed a little more beneath his touch, her breath evening out some. After everyone had bombarded her room, she hadn’t said a word. That concerned Miguel. He didn’t want her retreating into herself. This place did nothing to help her stress levels. Something was amiss, and the Fletchers were wrong. Taking her out of the state wouldn’t stop Ivanov if he was after her. He’d want her silenced, to make sure that no one looked too closely at him. Sending a hit man had been risky. It might add weight to Cassidy’s story—or would have if her parents hadn’t swept everything under the rug.

  Wallace walked back in, her face red and flushed. “My apologies, Ms. Fletcher. It’s not my intent to add to this difficult time. If you could just tell me what you know about the man who attacked you?”

  Mr. Fletcher had walked in behind her, and leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. Something told Miguel that she’d gotten a call from her superior. Nothing short of that would have made Wallace back down from a good ol’ fashion interrogation.

  That was the problem with the cops, Miguel knew. Sometimes, no matter how much they wanted to help—the justice system left their hands tied.

  Chapter Six

  After they gave their statements, everyone left except Miguel. He’d managed to save her twice now. For once, her mother hadn’t argued. Even Mom thought it was a good idea for Miguel to stay. That had been the scariest experience of Cassidy’s life, and she had no desire to go through that again. Miguel still sat on the bed, his arm around her. She curled up as best she could with her leg, her head resting against his shoulder as her anxiety eased.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “No need to thank me, Sirena.” He kissed the top of her head.

  A zing of something went through her. More than comfort—of want, need. Desire even. She knew it was probably just because of the intense situation she just went through. The need to feel alive, to feel something other than fear. Adrenaline junkies were like that. Always looking for that next high. Or maybe, she was just comparing herself to Meredith, who would jump into bed with any man, and who literally always needed another fix of heroin or meth—or whatever would make her forget.

  Cassidy’s heart ached, and she pressed closer to Miguel, closing her eyes. She didn’t care right now what it meant. It felt good, and she was so tired of feeling bad. Especially because she knew that after today, she would be locked up in some mundane room with only a bed and nightstand. Worst of all, Ivanov would continue killing women.

  A knock on the door made her jump. Fear that her parents had come to take her early, or maybe it was another hit man sent by Ivanov. She tightened her grip on Miguel’s arm, and was a little surprised to find a man in a cowboy hat standing in the doorway. He wore a flannel shirt, jeans with an overly large belt buckle, and work boots. He held a stack of clothes in his hand.

  There was a vague sense of familiarity, and she realized that the cowboy was one of the men who’d gone after the jet ski attackers.

  “You know,” he said, a southern accent rolling off his tongue. “I wish you’d make up your mind. Stay, go. Stay, go. If we were gonna work a rescue mission, there was no sense in me heading off earlier.”

  Miguel flipped him off. Cassidy looked between the two, at an utter loss of what was going on.

  “Rescue mission?”

  “Si.” Miguel disentangled himself from her and stood up. “We’re all getting out of here now.”

  Cool air brushed across the skin he’d kept warm and she felt void of him, like something was missing. She rubbed her arms, looking at the cowboy again. “You’re one of the men from before, right?”

  “Yep.”

  Man of few words. “I didn’t catch your name?”

  He tipped his hat and grinned. “Name’s Hunter Shaw, ma’am. I’m part of the cavalry.”

  The man was hot, but not in the same way as Miguel. Hunter’s features were sharper and almost scary to Cassidy. Miguel’s features were by no means soft. He was handsome as hell with his brown complexion, dark eyes, and almost black hair that laid shaggily on his head. She wanted to run her fingers through it—

  Cassidy stopped herself and blushed.

  Miguel raised a brow, and then shot a look to Hunter. He didn’t seem happy, but Cassidy didn’t know what happened while she’d been day dreaming. It wasn’t the time to think about it. They were getting her out of there which meant…

 
She looked to Miguel. “You believe me.”

  “I believe someone is trying to kill you.” He walked over and took the clothes from Hunter before handing them off to her. “These should fit. Hopefully, anyway.”

  A pair of jeans, new panties, a t-shirt, and bra. “How’d you know—”

  “We didn’t,” Miguel said. “Ida tends to figure this sort of stuff out easily though.”

  “Ida?”

  “The Crow’s Nest guardian angel,” he said. “You passed out before you met her.”

  Cassidy held the clothes to her chest. “It’s like you guys are heroes from a movie.”

  “Not heroes ma’am,” Hunter said. “Just folks who might be able to help.”

  “What he said,” Miguel echoed. “Now go get dressed so we can get this mission underway.”

  Cassidy got out of bed and Miguel helped her to the bathroom. She shut the door and changed. The jeans were a little too big, which she was grateful for because it didn’t put pressure on the bandage. Everything else fit perfectly. She was going to have to send Ida a big thank you gift when she met her.

  If she met her. First, she had to find a way to take Ivanov down without getting killed in the process.

  When she walked out of the bathroom, there was a wheelchair waiting for her. Miguel did a double take, and she shifted a bit.

  “What?” She tugged at a strand of hair.

  “Didn’t think you could look better than you did in your ocean gown.” He wheeled the chair over and she sat down.

  “Flirt later,” Hunter said. “Jax is in position.”

  “Position?” Cassidy asked.

  Miguel nodded and wheeled them into the hall. “Chances are whoever was after you isn’t through yet. They’ll want to finish the job.”

  She shivered.

  “Which means they’re probably watching,” Hunter added.

  “So, we have a decoy truck,” Miguel continued. “Same make, model, year, color, and license plate.”