This was about to get ugly.
Xander knew as soon as Kyle heard the alarm he would get the ladies where they needed to be. They had been over this every time they boarded the boat. Xander’s only concern, as was his concern for himself, is that Kyle might be too drunk. Just as that thought hit him he heard the distinct sound of boots hitting the top of the boat above him, and he knew they had been boarded. He moved quickly down to the floor and pulled a long, hard-leather case out from under the bed. He almost face-planted as he hit his knees, the liquor still heavy in his bloodstream. This was the worst-case scenario. Innocent people on his yacht and he wasn’t even properly sober to defend himself, or them.
“Pull it together, X,” he said to the empty room. He then gave his head a shake, hauled the case on top of the bed, and pulled on his white linen pants. He opened the case, grabbed the sawed-off shotgun with a pistol grip, strapped Rambo—his trusty knife—to his leg, and, as best he could, readied himself for a fight.
* * *
“Xander still hasn’t answered his cell,” Sam announced to Sarah. The look of worry on Sarah’s face matched the feeling deep in the pit of Sam’s gut. When they landed the jet at Cyril E. King Airport on the island of St. Thomas, they immediately jumped on a waiting helicopter. The pilot informed her that another helicopter had left there no more than five minutes before them. Nine men dressed in tactical gear, carrying several large cases. He had no idea where they were headed.
Sam did.
Fortunately, Sam kept a tracking device on each of Xander’s toys, so she gave the pilot the yacht’s exact coordinates. While Sarah strapped on her bulletproof vest, Sam readied the rope for a quick rappel down to the boat.
“How far out are we, Sam?” Sarah asked over the thump of the chopper’s rotors.
“Three minutes.”
“Nine men did he say? Oh God. Sam, will we be too late?”
Sam grabbed Sarah’s worried eyes with a hard gaze.
“If he’s sober? He’ll have already taken them out. If he’s drunk––”
She left it at that. Sarah gave a worried nod. Every indication had been that Xander and Kyle had been celebrating all day. Sam had mentioned that the last time she spoke with him, he had just boarded the jet in Las Vegas. Sarah tried not to let it show that she was bothered when Sam had mentioned the group of women tagging along. She tried, but she didn’t think she had succeeded. Sam had just shaken her head with a laugh. “Boys will be boys,” she said. Sarah knew she had no right to be jealous. Hell, she hadn’t even spoken more than a few sentences to him. But the last six months of her life in the CIA had been dedicated solely to Xander.
“Have you had a lot of field training, Sarah?” Sam asked as she clipped the rappel rope to her harness.
Sarah shook out of her daze.
“I know how to put a bullet in someone’s head, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Sam turned her head toward the window and noticed a faint glow rising from the dark ocean off in the distance. Sam loaded her sniper rifle. “There it is. You ready?”
Sarah cocked the hammer back on her nine-millimeter and clipped the rappel rope to her harness.
“Let’s get these assholes.”
* * *
Xander had stumbled his way down to the main level of the yacht. There were two entrances from that level, the sliding doors leading out to the deck at the back end of the yacht, and the service entrance on the starboard side that led into the kitchen. Xander knew that if it were him, he would enter through the kitchen. That is why he went directly to the oven, turned it on broil, and stuffed it with as many paper towels and napkins his blurred vision could find. The smoke would give him an advantage. He would need every single one he could get.
He was now posted by the large sliding glass doors that led from a large living room out to the deck. The sheer white curtains were closed so he knew no one could see in, but the yellow lights still glowing on the deck would enable him to see shadows as they passed. Listening for the men would be futile with the alarm continuing to blast. He positioned himself where he could see someone entering either from outside or from the kitchen where a steady rise of smoke now emerged. He also could keep an eye on the stairway that led down to the service quarters and to the secured room. The only light where he stood was the red alarm light flashing on and off, momentarily turning everything red, then everything black. It was playing tricks on his inebriated eyes, further compounding his condition.
At that moment a shadow passed outside along the deck, causing a flicker in the yellow lights beyond the curtains. Then another shadow, then another and another. Four men. So far. Xander slowly opened the sliding door and slinked out onto the deck, the shotgun extended in front of him. The sound of the alarm wasn’t as loud outside, so he could hear the helicopter had moved on. He could, however, still hear it out in the distance. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was getting closer again.
Weird.
He checked the stairs that went up toward the wheelhouse, where the men had come from, and when he moved his shotgun around, it felt like slow motion. Xander knew his reaction time wasn’t up to his standard, and it was at that moment that he decided waiting for them to make a move would be a massive mistake.
He needed to go on the offensive.
Just as that revelation washed over him, a man walked around the corner and Xander blasted him with twelve-gauge power. The jolt of the slug against the man’s protective vest was so hard it blew him off the side of the boat. A moment later, Xander heard his splash.
A full half-second slow. Xander internally assessed his reaction time of that shot. He knew that much delay could be just long enough to get himself killed.
“Put gun down, Xander King!”
Xander couldn’t see anyone, but he certainly heard the Russian in the man’s accent. Xander racked the slide on his shotgun and moved toward the long walkway down the side of the yacht where the first man had come from.
“Put gun down now! Or friend dies!” a man’s voice shouted from above Xander.
They have Kyle.
Just then two more men came out from the living room and pointed their Uzis at Xander. Pops from their guns clamored through the night air, and Xander dove for the walkway around the corner. On his way down to the ground, he felt a burning pain sear through his left calf muscle, and he fired his shotgun at the man who had been waiting for him on that side of the yacht. The dark-haired man’s head disappeared in a pink mist. At least he thought it was dark hair. He didn’t have long enough to take it in before the man’s head blew off in pieces on the walkway behind his now headless body. The two men behind Xander continued to fire as Xander checked for a hole in his leg. His left hand found it, and the blood on his fingertips offered a sobering moment.
Two dead, two firing at me, and at least one more holding Kyle—or someone they shouted as my friend—at gunpoint.
The gunfire stopped, but the thumping of helicopter rotors grew louder and louder. If there were more coming, he had to get rid of the men already on the yacht.
Right now.
“All right! All right, I give!” Xander shouted, giving him a moment to pull two spare shotgun shells from his pocket and load his gun. He then rounded the corner and shot both gunmen dead where they stood on the back deck. Xander heard Kyle scream his name; then three pops from a pistol come from the direction of the sliding doors.
It was too late.
A bullet ripped through Xander’s stomach and blew him back against the half-moon lounge chair he’d been partying on a few short hours ago. He managed to hold on to his shotgun, and through the pain he pointed it at the man holding a gun to Kyle’s head. Hot blood leaked from his stomach, and sharp, burning pain singed all the way to his back.
At least his leg didn’t hurt anymore. Silver linings.
With everything he had, he forced himself up and over the back of the chair and took cover behind it. He maintained his shotgun po
int toward the man holding Kyle.
“Let him go!” Xander shouted. His voice didn’t carry the weight he would have liked it to. It’s difficult with a hole in your belly.
The man walked Kyle forward into the yellow light. He was about the same height as Kyle, but unlike Kyle he was wearing more than board shorts. He was in full military gear, all the way up to his hideous buzz cut. Xander wasn’t sure if God made a mistake and put his legs where his arms were supposed to be. Or they could have been tree trunks.
“I make demands now. You are in no position.”
“Who sent you?”
“Still with the questions. You don’t listen so good.”
Clearly he was Russian, but what the hell were Russians doing invading his yacht in the middle of the night, in the middle of the ocean? Four more men walked out onto the deck and spread out, two to the left and two to the right. Xander never would have guessed nine men. And in a matter of seconds, God only knew how many more might be coming out of that second helicopter. Xander could feel himself becoming weak. He glanced down and couldn’t believe the amount of blood that had pooled beneath him.
“W-what do you want?” Xander managed. His voice was losing steam fast, as was the rest of him. He could feel a wave of blackness coming over him.
He was going to pass out.
“You. My boss would like word with you.”
Xander tried to ask who his boss was, but it wouldn’t come out. The men moved in closer. He took a deep breath and a long blink. The helicopter hovered above them now. He had failed. The Russian started to say something else, but all Xander could hear was a very distinct and unmistakable voice.
“WHOOP WHOOP!”
Sam.
Xander looked back up at the Russian just before a bullet blasted through the side of the bull of a man’s head. Everything moved in slow motion as Xander lost his grip on his shotgun. He fell onto his side and could only watch what was happening in front of him. The man who had been shouting at Xander and holding a gun on Kyle collapsed, and Kyle fell with him, the man’s blood splattered all over him. It looked like Kyle was screaming, but Xander could no longer hear.
He was going into shock.
The four remaining gunmen turned their attention to the helicopter when a flash bomb popped in the middle of them. As they shielded their eyes, Xander watched as a figure dressed in all black, complete with long blonde hair, rappelled down and landed on one of the gunmen, putting a bullet in his head. Immediately after that a brunette hit the deck, did a front roll, and shot the gunman crawling toward Xander. Blood sprayed like an open fire hydrant from his throat. Xander blinked again and saw the brunette bend down over Kyle as the blonde shot the other two—still stunned—gunmen in the head.
As the blonde walked toward him, he could swear he had seen her somewhere before.
Then everything went black.
4
Is This a Bad Time?
“Sam?”
The only thing in front of Xander was darkness. Pure black. Had he actually said her name out loud? And what was that beeping noise? Xander tried to clear the darkness, but it was like his mind was hunting for the light switch. Unsuccessfully. The last thing he remembered was being on the yacht, watching Sam and some blonde-haired woman take out the Russians who had—for whatever reason—invaded his yacht.
Sarah Gilbright.
He remembered the blonde’s identity. What in the hell were Sarah and Sam doing together? How had they known to come to the yacht? Wait, was he still on the yacht? Are they still fighting the Russians?
They need me.
Xander tried to use the muscles that it took to get up from the ground––specifically what it took to get up from the deck of a yacht with a hole in your stomach. However, nothing changed. He tried again, his mind willing his body to move. What if Sam, Sarah, and Kyle needed him? He remembered dropping his shotgun just before he fell. It must be close. He reached out. He felt something—definitely something—but not a shotgun.
A hand?
It was definitely a hand, and he felt it squeeze around his.
“Xander?” he heard from some far-off place. “Xander, it’s all right.” The voice closer—British.
“Sam?”
“Xander?”
Xander’s eyes opened and found Sam’s face staring back at him, surrounded by a hospital room. The look on her face was different. Happy.
“What’s with the look of love, Sam? It looks good on you.” Xander didn’t miss a beat.
“You sarcastic son of a bitch. You scared the hell out of me. Out of all of us.” Sam held her smile.
“All of us?” Xander sat up. Surrounding him were all-white walls, an out-of-date television hanging in the corner, and a steady beeping coming from his hospital monitor. At the back of the hospital room, in two separate chairs, a beautiful blonde was asleep in each one.
“Yes, all of us. Seems you make quite an impression on hopeless romantic—well, hopeless—young women. It’s been quite a contentious week, neither one of them wanting to leave your side in fear you’ll see the other first.”
“You know you’re the only girl for me, Sam.”
“Right. I’m just glad you’re all right.” Sam rubbed his hand.
Affection? From Sam? Vegas Kelly was asleep in one chair and Special Agent Sarah Gilbright asleep in the other. Both looking like angels. It must have been pretty bad. How did—
“Wait!” Xander shot up in bed, almost ripping the tubes from his arm and the stitches in his stomach. An awful pain drove through his belly like a train through a tunnel. “Did you say contentious week? I’ve been here for a week?”
“I’m afraid so. You lost a lot of blood. It was touch and go for a while.”
Xander began to rustle in the bed. So much so that Sam had to hold him down.
“What are you doing? You’re in no condition—”
“Let go of me, Sam. I’ve got to get out of here.”
“Xander, sit back, the Preakness Stakes is already over. I’m sorry, but you’ve missed it.” Sam already knew Xander’s concern.
In front of him, Kelly and Sarah were awakened by his panic. But the only thing Xander could think of was his horse. He had missed the second leg of the Triple Crown. He missed King’s Ransom’s big day. The Preakness was always the second weekend after the Kentucky Derby. This year, it came after the Kentucky Derby that his big black thoroughbred had won just two weeks earlier. He was supposed to go straight from the yacht in St. Thomas to watch him win in Baltimore. And he missed it? He looked at the ladies who were now standing at the foot of the bed, and then to Sam; she could see the question in his eyes.
Sam delivered the good news. “He won, Xander. King’s Ransom won the race.”
Xander didn’t know why, but hard emotion ran through him. Unexpected emotion. Tears welled in his eyes. He knew that horse meant a lot to him, but it wasn’t until that very moment that he understood just how much. It was—horse racing—his last ongoing connection to his lost father. Hearing the news that Ransom had won made him so proud, and he knew it made his late father proud as well.
“There he is!” Kyle shouted as soon as he walked through the door and saw Xander sitting up. He noticed the emotion on his friend’s face. “Everything okay?”
“He won?”
“Who—oh, Ransom? Of course he did!” Kyle set a couple of coffees down on the bedside table and walked over to Xander, giving him a hug. “Don’t ever do that to me again. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”
Xander, either high on the news of his horse winning or high on morphine, felt a rush of adrenaline from the surrounding love.
“Looks like you’ve got a lot of people who love you, Xander. You are a lucky man.” Kelly rubbed his foot. Her smile still had the ability to melt steel.
“Yeah, maybe too many people.” Sarah shot Kelly a look. She may as well have urinated on Xander; it wouldn’t have been any less subtle a way to mark her territory. Kelly retu
rned Sarah’s look of disdain with one of disgust.
Sarah walked around the bed, and Sam let her pass. She took Xander’s hand in one of hers and began to stroke his hair with the other.
“I’m glad you’re okay, Xander. We almost didn’t make it to the yacht in time.”
Xander took her hand.
“But you did. Thank you. You saved my drunk ass, and Kyle’s and Kelly’s too. I’ll never be able to repay you what you deserve.”
“It was nothing.” She smiled at him. Then she turned that smile into a boasting sneer as she looked back at Kelly.
Kelly rolled her eyes and walked over to the other side of the bed, bumping Kyle out of the way. She put her hand on Xander’s cheek, stroked it, and leaned in for a long, passionate kiss. She pulled her head back and gave him the most sincere look.
“I’m so glad you’re all right. I was so worried about you. You saved my life, and my friends’ lives, by getting us down to the bottom of the boat.”
Kelly gave him another open-mouthed kiss, and as she rose, she gave Sarah a “take that” sneer in return.
“Raeer!” Kyle gave a cat growl from behind them, mocking the two women vying for Xander’s attention.
Sam was utterly revolted. “Okay, ladies, get a fucking grip. Jesus,” she snapped at them. “The man’s been awake for all of two minutes and you are already smothering him. You think that’s gonna keep a man like Xander?”
“All right, all right.” Xander lay back down in the cramped hospital bed. “Sarah, thank you so much, but I’m sure you have some special agenting to do. And Kelly, don’t you have to get back to California?”
“We are in California, baby.”
Xander shot a look at Sam.
“I thought it best to get you out of Lexington. Horse country is abuzz about what happened to Xander King, the owner of their beloved King’s Ransom. We are at Scripps Mercy Hospital in San Diego. We’ve all been taking turns at the beach house until you came ‘round.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” Xander could only imagine the buzz in the racing world. A scintillating scandal with the owner of the horse going for the Triple Crown. The stories practically wrote themselves.
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