Mitch took a couple of steps back up the stairs. “Answer the damn question, Drake. Is she your daughter?”
Liz froze. Held her breath. Stared straight ahead. Waited. Seconds that felt like minutes ticked by.
Drake cleared his throat, paused. “I don’t know for sure.”
She sucked in a loud-enough-to-be-heard squeaky breath, tried to step back into the shadows, but stumbled over a rope.
“Who’s there?” Jumping from the ladder to the deck, Mitch turned toward the side rail, and, fists ready, took a few steps then glanced up. His gaze met hers, and he stopped.
She pressed her finger across her mouth, bounced it for emphasis. This was too much, and she couldn’t face anything else right now. Pleading for his silence, she bit the corner of her trembling lip.
“What’s going on?” Drake shouted down.
Mitch glanced up at the wheelhouse deck, barely shook his head. “Guess it was just the wind. You’re right. I think I’ll get some rest. We’ll talk later.”
The murmur of Drake and Reese talking from above sounded as if they were near the control panel at the front of the wheelhouse deck.
Tugging her close behind him, Mitch stepped to the edge of the stairs going down to the cabins. “I can’t believe I just lied for you.”
“You’ll get over it.” She brushed the backs of her hands beneath her eyes.
“Liz? What are you…” he hoarsely whispered, then dragged his hand through his hair as he blew out a cheek-puffing sigh. “How long have you been standing there?”
Chapter Ten
How long had she stood on the deck listening? They both knew the answer. Knew what each had heard. Instead of answering his question, she reached out to touch his arm. “I’m sorry about Keith.”
The words didn’t seem to be enough. Keith was killed giving Mitch and her a chance to escape. And…Drake? Drake might be her father.
Doubt flashed across Mitch’s face. His nostrils flared. Shoulders straightened. Defiance appeared to shove angst and anger aside. As if he’d just been touched with a hot iron, he forcefully jerked back, shaking his head. Then, he stepped on the boat rail. Flexed his knees. And arched as he dove into the water.
She wasn’t sure what his reaction meant, but her words had been meant as compassion for his pain. He’d rejected her in return. That was okay. Right now, she wanted to reject the whole damn lot, including her dad, Drake, Mitch, and everything OPAQUE and Coercion Ten stood for. After hearing Mitch’s splash, she found herself alone. Lost in the shadows and alone.
“Hell, the damn SEAL’s in the water,” Reese shouted from the wheelhouse.
“Keep an eye on him,” Drake said, jumping down on the main deck. “Better grab one of the guns. Scare off anything big that decides to nose around for a fresh meal.”
“On it. I’ve already got him on sonar.”
A look of surprise covered Drake’s face when he saw her standing over at the side. She didn’t bother to brush the tears from her face. He opened his mouth to speak, but she impatiently waved him off.
“Before you ask…I heard everything. Everything,” she said with a strength she’d never known she had. “This has become one of the worst days of my life. In fact, except for the day my mother died, this is the worst day of my life.”
“Sometimes life’s tough, cookie,” Drake enveloped her in his arms, holding her tight. “Really tough.”
“Tough? People are dying because of me. My life has been nothing but a lie.” She pushed out of the hug. “And now I don’t even know who my father is. I’d say this is just a bit more than tough.”
All her thoughts and feelings and emotions seemed to have sunk into a giant sinkhole crashing through her chest. Fearful of falling over the edge herself, she longed to feel her mother’s arms around her once again. To hear her voice telling her everything would be all right. To snuggle against her side in the dark of the night, warm and safe beneath a blanket.
“I want you to know I loved your mother. And if things had only been different we…” Drake’s tone spoke of what-ifs. His expression was one of strength and regret. “You see we—”
“I can’t talk about this now.” Liz stared into his eyes. “Maybe tomorrow.”
He nodded.
She turned toward the cabin stairs to go to the galley then glanced back. “One more thing. I know there’s nothing we can do about Keith, but what about Cat?”
“I assigned Stealth to stay with Cat at the hospital until she can be moved to the medical center in St. Louis.” The corner of Drake’s mouth lifted. “Cat’s gonna hate having him there.”
“Why?”
“They mix like oil and vinegar.”
“No, I meant why St. Louis?”
“Right.” Drake nodded. “OPAQUE headquarters is located about an hour outside the city. Makes it easier for us to keep her secure. Besides which, there are some mighty fine hospitals in the St. Louis area. She’ll be in good hands to get the rest she needs. Speaking of which, you should go get some food. Get some sleep.”
Everyone had been right; she needed food and a long, warm shower to wash off the salty ocean scent clinging to her body. “I will, but I’ve got something to say. Mitch was right about one thing. You need to be completely honest about why I’m so important to CT.”
“I agree.” Drake nodded and headed back to the wheelhouse. “We’ll all talk later today.”
She stepped down into the boat’s cabin, grabbing a small container from the fridge as she passed. The contents looked like chicken salad, smelled like tuna. Balancing a bag of pita chips, an orange, and sparkling water, she slid onto the cushioned seat of the built-in table for six.
Already, the first glow of sunrise skittered along the horizon, the water shimmering with the sun’s rays. Looked good from where she was standing. She had to admit there’d been a few times in the past hours she wasn’t so sure she’d see another sunrise. Take another breath. Have another ice cream or a drive along the California coast or a kiss.
Mitch had never doubted that they would survive. Maybe survival was all he allowed himself to believe. Only made it that much harder when life kicked you in the gut with cancer, bullets…or explosions.
She was ready to accept she was as safe as she could have ever thought possible. On a boat. In the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. With one OPAQUE agent, Reese, in the wheelhouse. Drake, the man her father told her to trust, telling her to go eat. And her own personal protector, Mitch, swimming around the boat like a shark closing in on its prey. She’d heard Reese call Mitch a Navy SEAL—that explained his ease with the water. Explained his fight and survival instincts, also.
All that time, she’d continually heard the almost silent splash of Mitch’s strokes. The rhythmic sounds could have belonged to a machine stamping out parts. He hadn’t stopped, hadn’t slowed, hadn’t varied his perimeter. If she knew how to swim, she’d go give him a piece of her mind. Yeah, he’d been upset about his team, and she understood why, but he’d pay for his comment about hauling her out of the water.
Hungry, she picked up the small bowl, then reached for a… Fork? Knife? Plate? She stretched to reach the closest cabinet drawer and luckily found the utensils.
Briefly, she glanced out the porthole as she heard Mitch swim past. His stroke was perfect, his line straight and smooth like a torpedo heading straight to its target. He was sleek in his cut through the waves, almost majestic. She wondered what he’d do if she jumped in the water right in front of him.
He’d save her. Again.
Because, no matter what he thought of her personally, she knew he’d never let anything bad happen to her on his watch.
…
Mitch shoved at the load of survivor guilt trying to overload his brain, pushed his aching muscles up another notch, and kept swimming. Two men had given their lives so he could live. First, his dad. Now Keith.
The vision of his father charging the thief holding him as a shield was indelibly etched in his memory, th
e blast of the robber’s gun recorded in his mind. Mitch could still see the look of surprise on his dad’s face as he crumpled to the floor. The robber had fled the scene and Mitch had run to his dad. Knelt and shoved his shirt against the wound to stop the bleeding. Listened as his dad gripped his arm and said “Take care of them…love…” Mitch had promised, and his dad had died.
Keith’s image floated into view. A fist bump of a plan. Promise of a beer at the Mariner’s. The roar of the Q40’s unmuffled acceleration—explosion—blast—
Silence.
Mitch’s mind fought the heaviness in the middle of his chest. One stroke after another after another, he swam round and round the boat. There’d even been a short time he’d forced all other thoughts out of his mind except himself. Swimming. Training. Survival. Results. In his mind, he’d put himself through the paces he’d learned when he first joined OPAQUE. Of course, nothing could surpass Hell Week years ago at the SEAL Academy.
At this point, though, he was tired. Tired enough to lose focus. Lose control. Lose his battle against caring. How long had he been out here?
He had no idea, but it wasn’t near long enough to make amends for the words he’d blasted out at Drake and Reese. They knew how he felt, because they’d had their own share of regrets somewhere along the line. Their own assignment that had ripped their insides to shreds. Or, the kind of news that left a scar ten feet long on your soul. They’d give him a pass on the rant.
Liz was another story. He’d lashed out not knowing she’d ever hear his insults, not even realizing what he’d said until he’d heard the words himself. She’d overheard. He’d hurt her. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget her shocked expression, the tears streaming down her cheeks, the tremble of her chin.
He slowed his strokes. Hell, he’d drag her out of the water for the rest of her life if need be. And not just for the job. Something about her made him root for her. She didn’t give up when times got hard. Sure, she might look scared as hell, but she kept her chin up and focused on survival. Even seemed to trust him.
And she’d heard everything Drake had said, also. She’d already been hurting with the news of Keith’s death and Cat’s injury when he faced her on the deck. Instead of reaching out to her, he had jumped in the water.
He’d run away, like every other time something personal threatened him. Running was the only weapon he had. First time had been when his dad was killed. Second time, when his mother died. Third time, to save his siblings. But this…with Liz…this was different.
From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d known he’d give his life to save her. But she was just his assignment. That’s all. An assignment. So why the hell did everything about her twist him in knots? Like the kiss she’d given him—all sweet and caressing and tender. She’d triggered something inside him that he’d never before felt.
For once in his life, he realized he might have a weakness.
In his line of work, weakness was a danger. Vulnerability a hazard to everyone involved. The thought that Liz could be in danger because of his line of work didn’t sit well. She was already in danger from Coercion Ten. That’s why he’d been assigned as her protector. So, what were his choices? Fight his feelings? Give up the assignment to a different agent?
What had happened to his nicely regimented world?
Flipping out of his smooth circle around the boat, he dove straight down. Maybe the change in pressure would shake his questions back in line with the answers. Something had to, otherwise he’d go crazy doubting his decisions.
He dove deep. Deeper and deeper, trying to shake her face from his thoughts. Shake the warmth of her body against his as she leaned against his chest on the Q40. Shake the ache deep in his core. He deserved every bit of anger she had to be feeling. Because he was nothing but a low-life bastard who—
Suddenly, the water around him glowed with a purple hue. The alert system built into the bottom of the boat had been activated. Immediately, Mitch regrouped and kicked for the surface. Red meant human danger above. Blue, human danger below. Purple, get the hell out of the water—now!
His peripheral vision caught sight of what appeared to be a ten-foot, great white shark bearing down on him. Close to a thousand pounds of eating machine, teeth looking mean as hell, just cruising by, scooping up everything in its path. Didn’t see them in the Gulf of Mexico all that often. Leave it to bad luck that OPAQUE had decided to cut its engines and drift in the same location.
The purple glow disappeared, followed by a bright light illuminating a circular perimeter about a hundred-foot radius from the boat. Hopefully that caught the shark’s attention.
In the semi-darkness of the depth, all Mitch could do was take the final kicks upward while foot by foot, the water became clearer in the morning sun. He grabbed the rope ladder hanging from the side of the boat just as the shark brushed Mitch’s arm. The side of a sharp tooth grazed along his leg as he hoisted himself on deck.
“Did he get you?” Reese shouted down from the wheelhouse.
“Only a scratch.” Sprawled on the deck, Mitch shook his head. He’d let himself get lost in his thoughts down there. A dangerous path when diving. If it hadn’t been for the alert thinking topside, he’d have been an early-morning breakfast. “Thanks for the head’s up, Fly Boy. I owe you one.”
“No problem. I’ve always got your six.” Reese jerked his thumb in the direction of the bow.
Mitch jumped to his feet, swiping his hand through his hair, then noticed Drake pacing along the starboard side. A spear gun in one hand. A long gun in the other. He tossed both to Reese. “Rerack those for me.”
“Sure thing.”
Mitch and his boss had had their share of shouting matches, but this one had gone to a whole different level. He wasn’t sure he still had a job. Worse yet, he wasn’t sure he still had Drake’s respect.
“Thanks for chasing him off.” Mitch offered a handshake. “Guess I let my guard down.”
Drake stared at the offered hand then grinned and grabbed Mitch’s forearm in a brothers-in-arms shake, pulling him close enough to prop his other hand on Mitch’s shoulder. Immediately, everything felt right between them again.
“Besides, I didn’t want that old shark there to take a chunk out of you.” Drake headed up to the wheelhouse. “That hard head of yours might break his teeth.”
“Kind of like the barracuda that got you a couple years back?”
“Yeah. I’m still leery when I’m close to those underwater hidey-holes.”
Swallowing the lump of thankfulness that had settled in his throat, Mitch realized making amends to the guys usually ended up as more of a testosterone-filled damn right to a hell no, all the way to fists and black eyes. This time had been damn right. That was good.
Something told him Liz wouldn’t be so easy. For one thing, she didn’t have that testosterone mentality. Second, he’d been wrong.
Drake glanced over the wheelhouse rail. “Hey, you need to grab something to eat and get some sleep. We’ll all talk this afternoon. Time to get everybody’s questions answered.”
“Sounds good,” Mitch responded, ready to admit he needed some rest. “Hey, I…uh…loaned Keith my tech-band when we headed in different directions back in Florida. His had gotten smashed in the first attack. Got any extras on board?”
“Sure thing,” Drake said. “I’ll get one powered and synced. It’ll be on the counter downstairs.”
“Thanks.”
On the way to his stateroom, he grabbed an MRE (Meals Ready-to-Eat) from the cabinet and a couple more electrolyte drinks and tossed them on his bed then closed the door. He’d eat after he showered. After that, he planned to sleep for at least three hours, five at the most.
The door to the stateroom across the hall opened with a squeak. A short time later, he heard it close again. Had to be Liz. Should he wait till later or talk to her now? Talk? Wrong word. Grovel would be more like it.
He had no idea what to say. Maybe she’d say it a
ll, and he could agree. They’d smile, maybe shake hands, and that would be that. They’d move past this incident just like Drake, Reese, and he had moved on. Sounded like a foolproof plan. Dealing with her wouldn’t be as hard as he’d thought, so he opened his door and stepped in front of hers.
Tap, tap.
“Liz, we need to talk,” Mitch said.
“Go away. I’m trying to sleep.”
“You’re not asleep or you wouldn’t have heard me. So, let’s—”
She jerked open the door to her stateroom and glared into his face. Standing there with her hair still wet from a shower, he ached to push an errant strand from her cheek. But he didn’t.
“What do you want, Mitch? Exactly what do you want from me?”
What did he want from her? He hadn’t expected that question. Didn’t exactly have an answer.
Even if he did, he was trapped in her scent of gardenias, the kind that grew in Hawaii, sweet and beautiful, blooming like velvet on a breeze, welcoming and sexy on a woman’s skin. The flowers that had given him a will to live when the thugs around him had figured otherwise.
She cocked her head in front of his, forcing him to concentrate on her, then waved her palm in his face. “Hellooooo, you said you wanted to talk. I’ve opened the door. Now, what do you want to talk about?”
His plan was not working. Besides, the dark circles under her eyes made him think twice about a smile and a handshake. Even through her tan, she seemed pale, looked physically exhausted. Or was that emotionally drained? Didn’t matter, he’d caused a lot of what she was feeling. She deserved more than his plan. “I…uh…”
His gaze traveled from her face to her toes. It would be so easy to reach out for her, pull her close, and finish what she’d started back on the Q40 with her kiss. But he didn’t. Instead, he skimmed back upward to the roundness of her breasts, her nipples clearly taut against the material.
“Hey!” She slammed his shoulder with her hand.
He looked up, and she gave him the two-finger your-eyes-on-my-eyes signal. Then, starting to close the door, she took a step backward into her room.
Dangerous Lies (Shades of Leverage) Page 9