by Cherry Adair
His heartbeat stumbled, a hard, painful knock inside his chest. It took seconds to start again. “Daniela?! Oh, Christ. Wes!” His friend lay sprawled near the door connecting the two cabins. He’d been shot in the shoulder. Logan’s gaze darted about the room searching for any sign of Daniela even as he crouched beside his unconscious friend. He pressed two fingers on the pulse under Wes’s jaw. Alive. Thank God.
He activated the comm in his ear. “In my cabin. Wes has been shot,” he told Piet, his voice eerily calm to his own ears. Inside, he was filled with fear and an awful sense of foreboding “Daniela’s gone.” He disconnected, not waiting for a response. Piet would send help ASAP.
The bed was a rumpled mess. The sheets tossed on the floor. A small, obscene black hole had been drilled in the white leather headboard, causing his already erratic heartbeat to stop and then roar back at full speed. A marksman with uncanny skill had made the shot.
It felt as though a fist grabbed him by the balls and squeezed. “No sign of blood,” he told himself. “That’s good. That’s really good.” He laid his hand on Wes’s massive shoulder. “Hang on buddy. Help’s on its way. I need a minute.”
Running to the door, he yanked it open, fastening it in the open position, then he raced into the bathroom. Empty. Ran into the cabin next door, then went back to his own cabin to stand beside Wes, head lowered.
Logan felt gutted, his vital organs scooped out and left trailing. He hadn’t expected to find her, but God, he’d—
Dog barked from the open doorway to the balcony. He ran.
Another of Wright’s men, dead, slumped in the corner. An obscene dark hole between his eyes. Someone had scaled the side of the ship, shot him, and entered through the slider to grab Daniela.
“Quiet!” he instructed the frantically barking dog as he curled his fingers over the wood topping the Plexi, and scanned the water with burning eyes.
Pleasepleaseplease.
He saw nothing but moonlight dancing on agitated black water.
* * *
What the invading bad guys couldn’t know was that Derek Wright had more than one group of T-FLAC operatives on standby. A group that was patrolling the coastal waters, so that when the attackers fled Sea Wolf, they were scooped up before their boats hit land.
Daniela hadn’t been with them.
Dawn broke in a display of coral streaks against a purple and yellow sky, similar to the bruising to be seen on the men on board. One of the counterterrorists was a doctor, and he was still busy in Sea Wolf’s small infirmary, tending Wes and the other men injured in the fracas.
Piet made some order out the chaos left behind by giving the men clear instructions. The authorities were already on the way to retrieve the bodies and take statements. The crew had the ship cleaned in record time, and Hipolito and the stewards kept fresh hot coffee and hearty foods replenished as the men limped into the common room, which was being used as a war room and command center.
The atmosphere on board was grim. Logan couldn’t sit, so he paced until Jed took him by the shoulder and shoved him into a chair. “Listen, and we’ll go from there,” he instructed his friend, not without sympathy.
“As nonexistent as my imagination is, I can’t help but—”
Jed squeezed his shoulder. “Focus on what we can do, not what could be.”
Sound advice. “I’ll give it my best shot.”
Dog sat beside him, ears pricked, eyes intent on the slider to the deck. Dog was looking for Daniela too. There was a strong possibility that she was dead. Logan pressed his fist to the pain in his chest. Surely he’d feel it if she was dead.
No. Stamps had taken her. Stamps had her. And if that was the case, then the senator wanted her alive. Logan had to cling to that scenario. Nothing else was acceptable.
Derek Wright walked in and one could hear a pin drop. Logan got to his feet, walked over, and punched him in the solar plexus, hard. He almost broke his hand on the man’s rock-hard belly. All Wright did was grunt before muttering. “Promise broken. Got it. We’ll find her.”
“You’d fucking better.” Logan stalked away before he tossed the son of a bitch overboard or worse. Acid churned with fear and regret in his belly. Daniela wasn’t Wright’s to protect. He was the one who’d let her down. He was the man responsible.
Logan’s mind raced like a fucking rat in a maze. Cool it, he cautioned. Running around like a chicken with its head cut off was counterproductive. Clear, cool thinking was what was called for now. And clearly, it made fuck-all difference if Wright and his men were present or not. Despite every precaution, she’d been snatched from beneath their very noses.
The only broken promise in the entire clusterfuck was his to Daniela.
Since it was impossible to sit, still or otherwise, Logan stood, his mind going a mile a minute. Who she was with wasn’t the issue. The question was, how to get her back.
He stared blindly across the room as Wright raised a hand to get everyone’s attention. Rubbing his belly, the T-FLAC operative propped a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Here’s what we know. Daniela was taken to a private airfield in Punta de Bombon. No flight plan was filed. That plane just landed in Lima. Plans are being made for her retrieval, and you will be on hand when that goes down. Let me fill you in on our visitors while the details are being ironed out.
“One hundred men were dispatched from those two pleasure crafts off your starboard side.”
“We got that,” Logan said tightly. He knew, because Wright had told him when he’d come back, that there hadn’t been that many men on board. So they’d snuck on after Wright and his people had paid the ships a call. “Didn’t see them because they used SCUBA gear and approached underwater. Again. Should have fucking thought of that.” Logan sounded as feral and savage as he felt.
“We did.”
“Not fast enough to protect Daniela. They threw her from the third-deck balcony, for God’s sake!” Dog must’ve gone in after her.
Wright acknowledged the statement with a small nod, and sympathetic glance. “Senator Stamps has arranged a press conference at the Grand Hotel in Lima this afternoon.”
Logan’s mouth was dry as he fisted his hands in his pockets. Alive. Thank you, God. “Is he going to show her off or kill her?” he asked evenly, hearing the surge and race of his blood through his veins and the annoying pounding of his heart in his ears. He’d never been so afraid in his life. Not the day his mother had grabbed him and his brothers and snuck them all off Cutter Cay away from their abusive father. Not the day their father had snatched them back. Not the day their mother had died in that car wreck.
This was a whole different fear, because now he knew enough to know what evil lay in wait for Daniela, and he was too far away to do anything about it.
“We believe he’s going to use her appearance to announce that he’s running for president,” Wright informed him.
“She won’t be part of it.” Logan clamped his teeth together.
Wright met his eyes. “She might not have a choice.”
Every minute, fuck, every second that Victor Stamps had his hands on Daniela, there was a chance he’d do worse than brand her, or suffocate her for a few thrills. “Let’s go.”
“Chopper’ll be here in thirty minutes.”
Not nearly soon enough. “I have my own. It’s leaving now.”
Wright pushed off the doorjamb, with a shake of his head. “Not enough fuel to get a group of us to Lima. Thirty minutes isn’t going to make any difference. We have his location, and we know that he won’t do anything to harm her until after the press conference at four.” He held up a finger, then touched his earpiece and listened for several minutes.
“That thirty minutes may not matter to you, but to her that’s hell on earth. Do you know what that fucker did to her?”
Wright’s eyes narrowed. “We know what he’s done, or we wouldn’t be here. But we need that thirty minutes for the tactical advantage. You go in there right now, you’re one guy, mayb
e four at the most. You wait thirty minutes and my team will be ready to back you up completely.”
“Confirmed and in place? Because I’ve heard this fucking song and dance before. And look how well that panned out!” Logan knew these guys were good, but they weren’t off the hook for fucking up. Now he was in charge.
Wright gritted his teeth. “Here’s what we have. No investigation was ever started on the senator. Special Agent Price and his family were discovered by their neighbors. Suspected home invasion. All dead. We’re looking into Price’s financials now. I suspect a payoff from Stamps.”
“If Stamps was paying off Price, and I don’t doubt that for a moment, why the hell kill him?”
“Perhaps Price had a crisis of conscience, and was about to blow the whistle. Perhaps he refused to give up Daniela. Doesn’t much matter, does it? Guy’s dead.”
“What about the drugs at Daniela’s gallery? Price had to have told someone else what was happening.” This shit only happened on CSI.
“The Blue Opal was drug free as of yesterday at o-eight hundred. Swept. Not a trace that anything illegal was ever there.”
Logan clenched his fists in his pockets. “If Daniela said there were kilos of heroin, I believe her.”
“So do we,” Wright assured him. “The senator’s been a clever, sneaky boy. But my people are smarter and a lot sneakier. We’re building a case, and it’ll be solid and airtight.”
“And how’s that going to impact Daniela?”
“In her favor, I hope.”
Logan got right up in Wright’s face, nose to nose so his meaning couldn’t be mistaken. “Not hope. Allow one hair on her head to be hurt again, and I don’t give a fuck how much training you have. It might not be quick, it might not be finessed, but I assure you, I will kill your ass.”
* * *
Sour nausea crawled up the back of her throat in a burn of fear. Disoriented, Daniela struggled to open sticky eyes, but dizziness pinned her down like a rock on her chest. No—a hand on her chest. Panic was cloaked, almost, by drug-induced layers of calm. She fought against the lethargy, but knew moving would give her away. Fear made her heart race, and sweat made her skin itch. She lay limp and still.
“I told you—you gave her too much!”
More powerful than the nausea, more frightening than being held down, Victor Stamps’s voice, so close, made Daniela’s heart stop. To hell with it. Fear dictated that she move, and fast. She struggled to break free from her stupor, but no matter how desperately she wanted to, she realized she couldn’t move, and opening her eyes was a Herculean task no matter how hard she tried.
“She’s awake,” an unfamiliar male voice said defensively.
“I know she’s awake.” Victor slapped her cheek hard. “Open your fucking eyes, bitch.” Face hot and stinging from the blow, Daniela managed to slit them at half-mast, seeing him through the screen of her lashes. Not because he demanded it, but because to be blind to his next action was as frightening as knowing something worse was coming.
Victor sat on the bed beside her, his hand splayed between her breasts. Even though she wasn’t capable of movement, Daniela’s felt as if all her organs were shrinking out of reach. Her skin crawled, and her heart beat so fast she was afraid she’d pass out. As her eyes focused fully, she was able to see his face more clearly.
Handsome in a preppy way, Victor was a cunning, charming reptile. The horn-rimmed glasses were nothing more than a prop, and did a good job of hiding his real expression from those around him. When he looked at someone, it was opportunity he was looking at. Opportunity, advantage, or a soft spot to deal a blow. Either physical or psychological.
His “sun-streaked” hair was perfectly styled, his tan looked natural. He was as handsome as a Greek god, and as scary as a child’s worst nightmare. No. Daniela’s worst nightmare.
“A ship in the middle of the Pacific?” His upper-class Boston accent dripped contempt he no longer had to hide. “Clever, Daniela. I never would have looked for you anywhere near the ocean because of your phobia.”
A Victor-induced phobia.
Her damp hair stuck to her throat and neck. Her shorts and tank top clung to her goose-bumped skin like a shroud. She’d clearly been immersed in water recently. A full body shudder preceded teeth-clicking shivers. A mixture of cold and dread. Her eyes shot to his. Had he …
“How?” It came out a hoarse whisper. Her throat was raw, her mouth so dry it hurt to push even that one word out.
“How did I get you from there to here? My people created a little diversion—Oh, you mean how did you get so wet? Bob, apparently, threw you off a balcony. Then it was a simple matter of hauling your inconvenient ass into a fast boat and heading here by private plane. Oh, here, is the Grand Hotel in Lima.”
Hundreds of miles from Logan. He’d never find her. If he was even alive. “Happen to t—ship?” To Logan? And Jed, and Wes, and Hipolito? Her eyes smarted. Dog.
“Jesus, Daniela, who cares! I hope you’re happy at how much trouble you’ve caused me at the most crucial time in my career. It’s cost me a fucking fortune to find you.” He pressed his hand down on her chest, making it painfully harder for her to breathe, his eyes cruel slits behind his glasses. “I had to use resources earmarked for other things.” She flinched as he lifted his hand, but it was only to comb through her hair, and hold her head steady so she had to look up at him whether she wanted to or not.
“You owe me, and you owe me fucking big time. It took an army and dozens of payoffs to pull this off.” He yanked so hard at her hair, tears sprang to her eyes. “And their discretion didn’t come cheap. They were sent to retrieve you. You’re retrieved. End of story.”
She met his cold gaze. “How did you find me?” It was frightening how weak her voice sounded to her own ears. How long until the drug wore off? How long until she could attempt an escape? If they were in a hotel, there’d be people around. All she had to do was elude Victor and his minions and get out of the room. All. She wanted to laugh at how much weight that one small word had.
If she was with other people, he wouldn’t …
“Your sailor boy and his brother went looking for info on you online. Guess you lied to him, too, huh, bitch? One of my more gifted hackers was watching for Internet searches on you, me, and your gallery, and it didn’t take a genius to connect Nick Cutter to Cutter Salvage, with its boat off the coast of Peru. I should have figured you’d head home to Mommy’s family.” He leaned closer and sneered at her. “If you’d just told the man what he wanted to know, it would have taken us a lot longer to find you. As it happened, Mack happened to be paying a visit to Special Agent Price’s home when Cutter called him.” Daniela got even paler and Victor paused, his eyes glittering in a perverse way that let her know worse news was coming. “The first group of guys who hit that damn boat weren’t able to say for sure if you were on it, but that call made it a lock. Unfortunately, Price had a home invasion later that evening,” he murmured with exaggerated sympathy. “He, his wife, and those three sweet little towheads were brutally murdered. Terrible.”
Focus. Don’t internalize. Focus. Stay in the now. “Must’ve told other people…” The DEA didn’t work in a bubble. There were strict protocols. People would investigate the murder of a federal agent. They would search for the killer … And how long would that take? More than the next hour, she bet. And how would they connect Daniela Rosado to the case?
“About the drugs? No,” Victor scoffed. “No need to worry about that. Price came to me the day you ran. We made a solid business arrangement. But he did have a soft spot for you, my love. Tried to help us both. It got him killed in the end. You know how I feel about disloyalty. I gave his wife and little kiddies to Mack as a bonus, right, Mack?”
Mack had been the one jacking off in the room as the stench of her own burning flesh had filled the air when Victor had branded his initials on her ass. Like his boss, Mack was a psychopath.
“Good bonus, boss.”
Vi
ctor yanked on her hair again, so she had no choice but to look up. “You’ve caused my Gallup poll numbers to drop dramatically. Voters like having a golden couple. And sympathy votes only lasted so long.” He withdrew his fingers from her hair, pulling the strands hard enough to make her eyes water again. Her head fell limply back to the pillow. Daniela bit the inside of her cheek to contain her fear as he traced a smooth finger down the side of her neck to the swell of her breast.
“They need their king and queen back, baby. Everyone wants another Camelot.”
His nail grazed her nipple through the damp cloth of her thin top, and the best she could manage in defense was shooting him a heated glare and uttering a hoarse, “No!”
Victor grabbed a fistful of her shirt, pulling her off the mattress, his warm spittle flecking her cheek. “You’ve caused enough trouble, Daniela. We’re going to give the people what they want. The press is already gathering in the ballroom downstairs. They want the scoop on where you’ve been for the last few weeks, and they want the kidnapper handed to them.”
“Wasn’t … kid … napped.”
“Cutter and his band of cutthroat pirates kidnapped you, transported you halfway across the world, and tried to extort five million dollars from me.” ”
“Delusional,” was all she could manage. Even though the kidnapping was cut from whole cloth, Victor’s team would spin any grain of truth in it into whatever he wanted.
His political idol was JFK, and he emulated him in every way he could. Up to and including the president’s sexual fetishes and aberrant behaviors. Victor’s PR machine had started weaving and fabricating Kennedy comparisons the day after they’d started dating. God, his sense of entitlement, and his misconception that they were the perfect, golden couple, would be laughable if it wasn’t so totally terrifying.
Someone cleared his throat, startling her. Daniela didn’t dare take her eyes off Victor. Her throat was dry, and her voice sounded raspy and frighteningly weak as she pushed out the words, “Lo—They’ll find me.” Logan will find me. Please God, Logan will find me.