9
Rourke
I was working stripped to the waist, using a plane to shave down a piece of wood before I fixed it in place. The boat was old enough that there was always something that needed replacing and I did all of the work myself. It helped fill the days and stopped me heading to McKinley’s too early in the evening. I’d lose myself in it, listening to the ocean, and Edwards’ watchful presence beside me. Normally, I got into a kind of meditative state and forgot everything else.
Today, though, I couldn’t forget her.
I brooded on her all day, getting angrier and angrier as the sun got closer to the horizon. By the time the sun was kissing the water, I was livid. What the hell did she think she was doing, prancing around with something as dangerous as that map, tempting me?
Deep down, I knew that wasn’t the problem. She wasn’t prancing around. She’d been as smart as anyone new to this world could be. She’d come to me, not one of the others: it was me who’d turned her away. And as for tempting me...yes, she damn well did, but not deliberately. I had a feeling she didn’t have a clue how gorgeous she was. It was all me. I couldn’t take my eyes off the woman.
So why didn’t you help her? asked Edwards, sprawled out on the deck next to me.
You know why, I thought bitterly.
The sound of engines made me look up. A convoy of SUVs roared up to the dock and started unloading men and gear. An expedition, and a big one. I watched as one car tore away from the pack and drove down the coast to a nearby cluster of houses. I grabbed my binoculars, a suspicion forming in my mind. The first person to haul himself out was...yes, Ratcher. And the second was—
I let out a groan as the sun caught her blonde curls. Shit. Not Ratcher. Anyone but Ratcher. Why had she teamed up with him?
Edwards gave me a pointed look. I told him to shut the hell up.
I watched as Hannah led Ratcher inside the house. I remembered Bertrand, the guy who’d lived there: he’d asked me questions about local history a few times, over the years. Was Hannah some relation to him? Is that how she’d got the map? Why didn’t I ask her, instead of chasing her away?
Through the windows, I could see Hannah sitting on a bed, fiddling with what looked like a pair of jeans—I couldn’t make out what she was doing to them. Meanwhile, Ratcher was quietly poking around in the other rooms, opening drawers and nosing in cupboards. The sight of it made my skin crawl.
Hannah grabbed a suitcase and a big travel bag so heavy she had to use both hands to heave it up onto her shoulder. Then she locked up the house and she and Ratcher got back into the car. I followed it back to the harbor, lowering the binoculars as it pulled up outside Ratcher’s boat. Hannah hesitated at the gangplank. Don’t, I willed her, unconsciously leaning forward.
Ratcher held out his hand for her. She bit her lip, casting nervous glances at the horizon. She’s scared of the sea. So what the hell was she doing hunting sunken treasure?
I saw her take a deep breath and then she took Ratcher’s hand and climbed aboard, her face pale. Ratcher bawled orders to his crew and they cast off. The harbor echoed with the sound of his ship’s big engines and it growled out of the bay in a cloud of nose-wrinkling diesel fumes.
I lowered my head, focusing on my work. It’s her choice, I told myself savagely. I put my hands on the plane and pushed it forward over the wood. It’s not your problem.
I pulled the plane back and pushed it forward again: a less certain movement, this time.
On the third stroke, the plane slowed and then faltered to a stop.
I jumped up and ran to untie my launch.
10
Hannah
Waves. Waves on every side of me. I could feel the panic rising and, as Nassau disappeared from sight, it got worse. I couldn’t ignore the water beneath my feet. My breathing got faster and faster but, no matter how fast it got, I didn’t seem to be getting enough air. We were in the middle of nowhere, suspended above a drop that might as well be bottomless, protected by a hull that suddenly felt very flimsy. I could already imagine the water soaking through my clothes and chilling my body. I was panic-breathing, now. If the boat sank, I’d be lost out here, the tops of the waves towering over me, the force of the ocean gradually sapping my strength until I sank beneath the surface….
I had to get away from the water. I went below deck...and entered chaos. The room was filthy and disorganized, the floors stained with oil and strewn with tangled rope. Muscled, tattooed men, high on excitement, cursed and yelled obscene jokes at each other. I stood in the middle of it all, clutching my bags, and my nerves only seemed to excite them more. They’d push past me, “accidentally” rubbing up against me, or throw a piece of diving gear across the room so it just narrowly missed my head. I felt like a high school geek, trapped by the football team in the locker room.
Ratcher rescued me at last. He showed me a corner where I could stash my bags and then led me to the mess hall, which reeked of sweat and fried food. God, how big was Ratcher’s crew? There were at least ten sitting at long tables, working their way through plates piled high with ribs and French fries. There’d been another ten in the first room. And everyone seemed to have a beer in his hand.
Ratcher grinned as he saw the way I nervously eyed his crew. “Don’t fret. They work hard, they play hard. But I can keep them in line.”
I didn’t miss the way he said it. Can. Not necessarily will.
He stepped closer, backing me into a corner. He came close enough that his stomach almost touched me, where it stretched out his tank top. Suddenly, I wanted to be back on deck, even with the waves.
“Why don’t we take a look at that map?” he asked, that London accent sugary-sweet.
The room went quiet.
I swallowed. I might be new to all this but I wasn’t stupid. Once he had the map, he wouldn’t need me anymore. “Let’s take it stage by stage,” I said. “You know the rough area. Let’s get there, then I’ll show you the detail.”
The cool softness of his belly touched me. As he pressed closer, it rolled outward to cover more and more of me. “I’d rather see it now,” he said, a warning tone creeping into his voice.
One of his crew burst through the door. “It’s not in her suitcase,” he said. “And the other bag’s just full of books.”
What?! “You went through my stuff?”
Ratcher ignored me. “S’pose it must be on her, then.” And he pressed hard against me, pinning me against the wall. I felt the soft squish of his stomach and then the muscles beneath, the reminder that he was as strong as he was big.
I gave a panicked gasp and tried to bolt to the side but he grabbed my throat with one big hand. He didn’t choke me: not yet. But his hand was like iron. Then his other hand started working its way down my body. It was obvious that I wasn’t hiding anything above my waist: I was only wearing a blouse and a bra. But his palm slid over my shoulders, under my arms and then…. I writhed in disgust, closing my eyes to shut out the sight of him as he cupped and lifted my breasts.
His hand slid lower, diving into the rear pockets of my jeans, taking the opportunity to squeeze my ass. Then the front pockets, his fingers probing.
He loosened his grip on my neck and I tore away from him, staggering on shaky legs.
“Think she hid it inside her?” asked the man who’d been through my bags.
Ratcher smiled. “If she does, we’ll find it soon enough.”
I wanted to scream but deep, chilling fear stole my voice. Men rose from their tables and ambled towards us. I took a step back.
“Think very carefully how you play this, girl,” said Ratcher. He used girl as if it was an insult. “You hand me that map now, you can spend the whole trip with me, in my cabin with the door locked. But if you run, they’ll come after you. And I won’t be able to stop them once they catch you.”
I was so scared, I wanted to throw up. How could I have been so stupid? This had been his plan all along: my only choice was whether I was entertainment
for him...or the whole crew.
Ratcher grinned as he saw me weaken: he must have thought I was going to take his deal. And that superior smile made the anger jump and flare inside me, lending me strength. You’re going to have to catch me, first.
I bolted across the room, heading for the nearest door. I didn’t have any plan in mind, other than to get away. I heard Ratcher curse behind me: I’d taken him by surprise. But other men were already moving to grab me.
Two of them tried to corner me. They were grinning, enjoying the chase, which only made it worse. I dodged past them and sprinted through the door. I could hear laughter and footsteps behind me...but it didn’t sound like they were running. Why aren’t they running?
Then it hit me and my steps faltered and slowed. I had nowhere to run. We were miles from shore.
Footsteps behind me. I sped up again, determined. I didn’t care if it was useless.
I raced around a corner and along the length of the ship. Seconds later, I burst back into the first room, the one where I’d left my stuff. Most of the men had left but a few were still there, rooting idly through my suitcase, holding up my bras and panties. They laughed when they saw me and stood up, taking a step towards me.
I ran up a set of stairs and burst out onto an upper deck, high above the water. My lungs were burning. The sun had pretty much set and all I could see around me was dark ocean. A boat! I need a boat! The idea of going out on the water terrified me but it was better than the alternative. I ran to a lifeboat that dangled over the water but I had no idea how to launch it.
The men started to emerge from below deck, appearing from stairways and doors. I swallowed and started to back away from them, but then my ass hit the rail. Shit! They were coming from both sides, surrounding me, muscles gleaming in the darkness, teeth white as they grinned. They’d enjoyed the chase, now they wanted their prize.
I looked behind me at the rail. The deck was at least twenty feet above the dark water and, if I jumped, it was too far to swim to shore. I had nowhere to go.
I looked back at the men. At their open, hungry mouths. Oh Jesus, no….
I turned to the rail and quickly climbed up onto it, closing my eyes to shut out the sight of the sea. I balanced there, sneakers squeaking on the rail, my heart hammering in my chest. I’ll jump. Even drowning’s better than—
“Don’t,” snapped Ratcher behind me. “Don’t, you little—”
I bent my knees to jump. My eyes opened and I looked down—
And found myself looking into deep blue eyes set in a stern, tanned face. He let go of the rope he’d been climbing, grabbed the rail and vaulted over, pushing me down off the rail at the same time. He had his sword drawn before his boots hit the deck. He straightened up and stepped between Ratcher and me, a protective wall of Scottish fury.
“No one’s fucking touching her,” said Rourke.
11
Hannah
I stared at him, wide-eyed. How did he get here? And why was he saving me...how had he even known I was on board?
Ratcher stepped forward but I noticed that he stayed just out of reach of Rourke’s sword. His crew pressed forward as well, a shrinking semi-circle around us. “What the fuck are you doing here, Rourke?” spat Ratcher.
Rourke didn’t answer him. He just stood there, feet so surely rooted to the deck that he was almost part of the boat. He looked more sure-footed here on a swaying boat than he ever had on dry land. Without taking his eyes off Ratcher, he spoke to me. “Get ready,” he said. “We’re going to swim.”
What?! I gulped and looked over the rail. The drop into the black water didn’t look any more inviting now I had company. “Where’s your boat?” I asked in a strangled voice.
“Behind us. Look a little to starboard.”
Starboard? I had no idea which way that was. But then I saw something breaking the line of the waves, far behind us and shrinking rapidly. “All the way back there?!”
“Didn’t have time to tie on,” he snapped. “It’s only a half mile.”
I gulped. I’m a good swimmer but it’s a long time since I swam half a mile...and that had been in a hotel pool. But, I realized, Ratcher’s boat was still moving. With every second, Rourke’s boat was slipping further out of reach.
I climbed up onto the rail again. Rourke waited until I was up, then backed up to the rail himself.
Ratcher and his crew pressed forward. “Don’t,” warned Ratcher through gritted teeth. His whole face had turned red with fury. “The Hawk’s mine and so’s she. You do this, Rourke, and I’ll hunt you down and fucking finish you!”
Rourke reached down and grabbed something off the deck: it looked like a big, net bag. “Ready?” he asked me, backing right up against the rail.
“No….”
Rourke suddenly turned, sheathed his sword, and scrambled up onto the rail beside me. Ratcher and his men surged forward. Rourke bent his knees, ready to jump—
I stared down at the dark water and swallowed. Twenty feet was much, much higher than I’d ever dived from. “Wait—”
A hand grabbed mine, warm and strong. Rourke jumped….
….and pulled me with him.
My legs kicked and I let out a long wail of terror. We plunged, my stomach left behind as the black ocean rushed up to meet us.
We smacked into the water and everything went dark. Salt water blasted up my nostrils, rushed up the legs of my jeans and then I was fully under, my hair streaming out around me—
Rourke’s hand heaved on mine and I surfaced, spluttering and coughing. Somewhere high above us, I could hear cursing.
Rourke let go of my hand. “Wait right there,” he told me. And to my surprise, he started swimming towards Ratcher’s boat, one hand still gripping what I now realized was a fishing net. The boat was still moving and he reached it just in time to grab hold of the back before it left him behind. What’s he doing? Already, the boat was starting to turn: Ratcher must have told the pilot to circle back to pick us up.
Rourke suddenly dived beneath the surface. A few seconds later, there was a screech of tortured gears and the steady roar of the boat’s engine turned to coughs and splutters. There was worried yelling from up on deck. There was a screech of metal on metal, so loud I had to cover my ears…and then suddenly the engine stopped and everything was silent.
Rourke surfaced—from where the propeller was, I realized—and swam back to me. “Take ‘em an hour to untangle that,” he said as he arrived beside me. “Come on.”
I just stared at him. It was slowly sinking in that I was in the sea, for the first time since—
I froze, barely able to tread water. The waves slapped and pulled at me, lifting me, and dropping me like I was nothing. I turned a slow circle, seeing nothing but vast, rolling blackness—
“Hannah?”
I didn’t respond. My breathing went shaky. I was a kid again, reaching out for my Mom’s hand, not quite able to grasp it—
“Hannah!”
I focused on Rourke. He was frowning, staring at me. You alright? his eyes asked.
No. My stomach twisted in panic and, simultaneously, I felt a hot rush of humiliation. No, I’m not. I’m a fuck up who’s scared of the sea just like a little kid and I shouldn’t even be out here and—
A big, warm hand found mine under the water and grasped it tight. A warm throb of security raced up my arm, pushing back everything else.
“Swim,” he told me, the Scottish accent like whiskey over smooth ice. “Just swim.”
And he tugged me forward, launching me in the right direction and then pulling ahead of me to lead the way. I somehow got my arms and legs going in a stroke. The ocean was still terrifyingly huge but I found I could shut it out—just—if I focused on him.
He swam with long, easy strokes, gliding through the water as if it was air, as if he was born to do this. Whatever caused the limp he’d had on land, it didn’t seem to bother him at all, in the water. In fact, he had to keep waiting for me to catch up.
It wasn’t just that I was out of practice, it was my clothes. Rourke’s t-shirt and shorts didn’t hold him back too much but my blouse was billowing out, filling with air and water like a parachute, and my jeans felt like they were made of lead.
“Take ‘em off,” snapped Rourke. That accent again. Rough-smooth, rasping right down my spine and making my toes dance. He hauled his t-shirt over his head as if to demonstrate and I tried not to stare at the smooth slabs of his pecs.
“I’m fine,” I said.
Rourke wriggled out of his shorts, then looked over his shoulder and cursed. I followed his gaze. Ratcher’s boat was still drifting but I could see men working at the stern, trying to launch one of the small boats.
“Take ‘em off!” snapped Rourke again. This time, his eyes were blazing and…. I gulped. It was hard not to imagine him saying the same words as we stood beside his bed.
“I can swim like this,” I lied.
Rourke just shook his head and dived. Before I could think about where he was going, I felt his hands on the fly of my jeans. My eyes widened and I looked down: all I could see was dark water but I could feel him there, his strong chest pressed against my legs. “What—”
I drew in my breath as I felt him pop the button of my jeans open, then tug down the zipper. The back of his thumb grazed the front of my panties and I flushed and stifled a gasp.
He tugged but the waistband of my jeans caught on the curve of my ass. His fingers hooked beneath the fabric to free it, fingertips skimming my ass cheeks, and this time I did gasp. Then he was pulling off my sneakers and hauling the jeans down my legs and off. He surfaced with them in his hand and just...looked at me. I’d never seen a stare like it: half lust, half anger, blazing right through to my core. I panted, treading water, my newly-naked legs kicking.
“The rest,” he muttered. His eyes never left mine.
I swallowed and, knowing he’d do it if I didn’t, I unbuttoned my blouse and stripped it off. He grabbed it from me as soon as it was free, wadding it up with my jeans, and gripping the bundle in one big hand. Then he just hung there in the water, staring at me.
Captain Rourke Page 6