“You will.” His thumb stroked my cheek. “I believe in you, Kate Lydecker.”
I caught my breath. Something was different in his eyes. The all-consuming fear wasn’t there, even when he was talking about imprisonment. I nodded. Then I turned to Weiss. “No deal,” I told him coldly. “You’re going to jail.”
Weiss’s face slowly crumbled as realization hit: he’d finally found someone he couldn’t buy.
At that second, the door burst open and a flood of men filled the room. I slumped in relief and turned to greet them.
And then I froze. The men weren’t wearing the bright orange of Coast Guard rescue personnel. They were in gray and black.
The helicopter overhead wasn’t the Coast Guard. It was Russian Navy. These were soldiers.
And every one of them was pointing a rifle at us.
69
Kate
One of the soldiers screamed something at me in Russian. I could hear others yelling the same phrase at Boone. I didn’t speak Russian but I got the idea pretty fast.
My gun clattered to the floor. Boone’s assault rifle followed an instant later.
One soldier stepped to the front, his rifle still pointed at us, and the others went quiet. He started throwing questions at us in Russian. “Does anyone speak English?” I asked helplessly.
Another soldier stepped forward and stood next to the leader. “I do. A little.” He looked at his leader. “This is Captain Yeltsev of the Russian Navy. I am his second in command, Bostoy. We are here to take you into Russian custody.”
My blood went cold. Across the room, I saw Weiss break into a grin. No. No, no no! As soon as he got to Russia, Weiss would disappear. Between his ability to offer multi-million dollar bribes and his friends in the Russian Mafia, I had no doubt it would happen. “I am special agent Lydecker of the FBI,” I told Bostoy. “This is Mason Boone, also a US citizen. That man,”—I pointed—“is Carlton Weiss, my prisoner. We need to return to the US.”
Bostoy translated in rapid-fire Russian. His boss shook his head and spat an order. “The ship is breaking up,” said Bostoy. Even as he said it, the deck lurched. “You will come with us. Now.”
No. No! A soldier grabbed my shoulder. I wrenched out of his grip and he grabbed me again, more roughly, this time. Boone stepped between us and shoved the Russian back. Instantly, six rifles snapped up to point at his chest.
“Get out of the way!” yelled Bostoy.
Boone shook his head.
Shit. They’ll kill him! I put my hand on Boone’s shoulder and gently shook my head, looking into his eyes as I did it. This was something that couldn’t be solved with raw power.
Boone nodded reluctantly and stepped aside. Okay, his eyes said. I trust you.
I wished I had as much faith in myself as he did in me. I swallowed and stepped forward, trying to make my voice calm and reasonable...and firm, despite my chattering teeth. “Please,” I begged. “I can’t let that man get to Russia.” Then I saw something through the yacht’s windshield and pointed up into the sky. “Look! There!” A second helicopter was approaching and this one was orange and white. “The US Coast Guard’s nearly here. They can lift us off!”
“You are our responsibility,” said Bostoy tightly.
Why was he being so immovable? This went beyond simple laws and jurisdictions. “That man cannot go to Russia!” I yelled in frustration.
Captain Yeltsev shook his head again, as if he’d seen enough, and barked orders in Russian. Soldiers rushed forward and grabbed Weiss. “You may wait for the US Coast Guard,” Bostoy translated. “But we must take Mr. Weiss with us. We have orders—” He broke off abruptly, as if he’d said too much.
I suddenly saw what was happening here.
Ralavich must have heard on the ship’s radio that both US and Russian authorities were converging on the yacht. He’d abandoned ship to save his own skin in case the US got there first but, now that he was safe, he was desperate to ensure Weiss got to Russia so that he got paid. The Russian Mafia had tentacles everywhere. He was screaming into a satellite phone right now as his launch sped him towards Russia. And some Russian Navy commander was in turn screaming over the radio to Captain Yeltsev.
They weren’t going to take no for an answer. They were going to take Weiss and he’d get away with everything he’d done. Ralavich would get his multi-million dollar reward and expand into the US.
Unless—
I reached down and snatched up my handgun. Then I pushed in front of Weiss and pointed my gun at the soldiers.
There was a rattling sound as every single soldier cocked their rifle and pointed it right at me. Oh God, Kate, what are you doing?
“Agent Lydecker,” said Bostoy in a strained voice. “You are in Russian waters. You have no jurisdiction here. Put the gun down.”
I could hear my boss at the FBI yelling the same thing. This wasn’t the system. There were rules. I was shaking with cold, close to passing out from exhaustion. It would be so easy just to let him go. It’s not worth getting killed over.
But I’d had enough. I’d had enough of Weiss bribing his way out of trouble. I’d had enough of the system failing, the way it had failed Boone.
Sometimes, you don’t need the system. Sometimes, you need justice.
I summoned up everything we’d endured over the last few days, every moment of cold and fear and hunger Weiss had put us through, and I focused that into a voice of iron and steel.
“You tell your boss this,” I told Bostoy. “I am an FBI agent. This man is in my custody. Now maybe we’re in Russian waters and maybe we’re in US waters: we’re right on the border. But if you want to take this man from me, you're going to have to shoot me and if you shoot a US citizen in contested waters it's an international fucking incident and maybe the start of a war. I know you've got orders. I know someone’s telling you to bring this guy back no matter what and you’re going to catch hell if you don’t. But if you kill me you're going to have much, much bigger problems. Do you want to be the guy who started the war? Because that's what you're going to need to do to take this man because he’s mine and he is going to jail!”
I stared at him the whole time Bostoy was translating, refusing to budge. Then I had to wait while he thought it over. We stood there staring at each other, the rifles still all pointing at my head.
At last, Captain Yeltsev said something in Russian. I looked desperately at Bostoy for the translation.
“He said,” said Bostoy, “you have big balls for such a small woman.”
Yeltsev made a gesture and the rifles lowered. I let out a long, slow breath.
The Russians turned and left, heading back to their helicopter. Weiss’s smirk died on his face and he stood there gaping as the Russian helicopter lifted away and the US Coast Guard one took up position overhead. A few minutes later, a coastguard officer in orange rescue gear burst onto the bridge. “What the hell is going on down here?” he barked. “Ship’s breaking up. Russians made us keep our distance and then left without lifting you off. You need rescuing or not?”
“Yes,” I said very firmly. Now it was over, the adrenaline was sluicing out of my system and the shaking in my legs was spreading through my whole body. I was freezing and half-soaked and exhausted. I slumped against Boone, drawing strength from his warm, hard body. “Yes, we do.”
Epilogue
Boone
I knew it was only a matter of time, so I made every second count.
We had to be winched up to the Coast Guard helicopter separately but, as soon as we were on board and Weiss was restrained, I slipped my arm around Kate and hugged her close. I tried to burn it all into my memory: the softness of the side of her breast, the firm warmth of her thigh as it pressed against mine, the brush of that silken ponytail on my neck.
The two marshals were already on board. The Coast Guard had found Hennessey keeping Phillips’s head above water a short distance from the yacht, both of them exhausted and half-frozen. I persuaded the Coast G
uard to call the Nome police and Kate and I both relaxed when we found out that the preacher had delivered Megan to them safe and sound: she was already back with her parents.
When they unloaded us at the Coast Guard base, I tensed: I thought it was going to happen then. But no: I was granted another few hours while they took us to hospital and dressed my wounds. Sitting on the edge of a gurney while the doctor worked on me, I told Kate every damn thing I was going to do with her once we were together again. We talked about where to live and where to vacation, about where I’d work and where she’d work. And when it all got too much and the tears started to creep into her eyes, I leaned close and took her mind off it by whispering into her ear all the things I was going to do to her, on the day I got out. I could tell the doctor overheard some of it because the poor guy turned beet red, as did Kate. But the tears stopped.
When they’d patched me up, I knew it would be any minute. So as soon as the doctor left us, I grabbed hold of Kate and pulled her close. I buried my nose in her hair and inhaled the scent of her, committing it to memory. I knew it would be a long time before I smelled it again. I ran my hands up and down her back, wishing I could magic away all the damn clothes, and tried to build a perfect model of her in my mind, one I’d be able to conjure up on long, cold, lonely nights.
I heard boots tramping down the hallway, the footfalls in perfect rhythm.
“It’s about to happen,” I whispered in Kate’s ear.
She pulled back from me. “What?” She looked over her shoulder as she heard the boots, too. “No!”
“It’s okay,” I told her. “It’s time.”
She shook her head. “No!” She cast her eyes desperately around. “There!” She pointed. “There’s a fire exit right there.”
I shook my head solemnly. “No.” I wasn’t even tempted. Not now. With the fear gone, I could see clearly and she’d been right, back in the mountains. My whole life was waiting for me. It was time to take it back.
“Run!” Her eyes were shining with tears. “I’ll slow them down!”
That made my heart swell like a goddamn balloon: the tears told me how she felt about me, but she was willing to give me up, to never see me again, if it meant I could be free. “No. I’ve been running long enough.”
The boots were almost at the corner of our hallway, now. Kate grabbed my arm. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get you a retrial! What if it doesn’t work? What if they find you guilty again?!”
I stared into her eyes. “If they do, will you wait for me?”
She gaped at me. “Yes! Yes, of course yes! But—”
“Then I’ll be okay,” I said. “Now, quick, let me kiss you—”
“But—”
I didn’t have time to argue. I picked her up under the arms and just lifted her to meet me, my lips coming down hard on hers. She groaned and shook her head and then gave herself up to it, flowering open under me, and I growled in pleasure as I traced the tip of my tongue against hers and then plunged deep, exploring her warm softness. I slid one hand under her ass and squeezed and she yelped, a hot little pant into my mouth, stubbornness and outrage and urgent passion: everything I thought of as Kate.
“Mason Boone?” A hard, no-nonsense voice. I had my eyes closed. I didn’t have to open them to know who it was.
I kissed Kate for another few seconds, wanting nothing more than to just fall into that warm, sweet softness forever. But then I forced myself to pull back. I wanted to end the kiss on my terms, not have them rip me away from her. “Yeah,” I said. “Right here.” I set Kate gently down on the floor.
She opened her eyes. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Please.”
I stood up. “It’ll be okay,” I told her. And then I offered out my wrists so that the military police officers could cuff them. When the steel closed around my wrists this time, there was no triggering. Things had changed. Instead of the coffin being the only real thing and everything else being an illusion, now my life with Kate was real and my imprisonment—however long it was for—was just an interruption. And the coffin? That was on its way to being confined to my nightmares, fading a little each day.
“I’ll contact you as soon as I have news,” Kate said, her voice shaking.
I nodded. Reached out with my cuffed hands and wiped away the tears that had started to run down her cheeks. Depending on how things went, it might be months or even years before I could see her again. But she was part of me, now, in my head and in my heart. That meant I could survive anything.
They led me away. A nurse was coming the other way down the hallway and she slowed as she passed, staring at my handcuffs. I strode on with my head held high. Behind me, I heard the nurse ask Kate, “What did that guy do?”
Kate drew a deep, shaky voice. “The right thing.”
Kate
I got used to a lot of phrases. No one gets a retrial. The Navy doesn’t do things that way. And in particular, you’re wasting your time.
They didn’t know who they were dealing with.
For every letter the military ignored, I wrote two more. For every meeting they cancelled, I requested another three. I took all the vacation time I had coming from the FBI and dedicated myself full time to the cause. I didn’t give them a choice. I kept at them until they had to listen.
The only time I took a break was to fly to Fairbanks and finally track down Michelle Grigoli—the witness I’d been going to see when this all started. She made a positive ID on my suspect which meant all we had to do was catch him again. I was terrified that he’d attack another woman before that happened...but to my relief, we picked him up in New Orleans and put him away for a long, long time.
In the evenings, when I’d done everything I could for the day, I wrote to Boone. I told him how much I loved him and how much I missed him. And then, nervously and with a lot of blushing, I started telling him what I wanted to do with him, when all this was behind us. As I gradually got more confident, the letters got steamier and so did his replies. I’d get one in the mail before work and then have to wait all day to run home and open it because I wanted to be alone when I did.
We finally caught a break when I got a meeting with the DA who was handling Weiss’s case. It was a career-making case for him and it wouldn’t be happening had I not brought him in. When he heard my story, he started talking to a few retired admirals he knew and they in turn sent ripples down through the Navy. And finally, three months after Boone went to jail, there was a retrial.
“All rise,” intoned the officer of the court.
I bit my lip as I stood. I was the only non-military personnel at the court martial. The military judge caught my eye as he took his seat, warning me that I was there under sufferance. I’d had to pull a lot of strings to gain entrance.
When I’d first seen Boone walk into the courtroom, I’d had to do a double take. They’d trimmed his long hair down to a more appropriate military cut and he was clean shaven. He looked like a soldier again.
Throughout the whole six day trial, I hadn’t been allowed to talk to him. Our only communication was through looks. He gave his side of what had happened on that fateful mission and, when he reached the part about the family and faltered, I caught his eyes and told him he could do it. He told them about how the insurgents had chained and buried him and my eyes filled with tears, and he looked at me and told me that it was okay, that it was just memories, now, that couldn’t hurt us. And every day, when he was led into the court as a prisoner, I met his eyes and I damn well let him know that I was his, whether they found him innocent or guilty, and I’d wait for him no matter how long it took because I knew the truth.
“Has the jury come to a verdict?” asked the judge. The “jury” was a panel of just three military officers who’d sat, stony-faced and unreadable, throughout the trial.
“We have.”
Boone turned in his seat and stared at me. Our breathing seemed to fall into sync, the rest of the courtroom fading away.
�
�How do you find the defendant?”
I dug my nails hard into my palms, my whole vision filled with Boone’s Alaska blue eyes.
“We find the defendant, Mason Boone, not guilty on all—”
I didn’t even let him finish talking. I was up and running across the courtroom and throwing myself into Boone’s arms and he was hugging me to him, chains and all. The judge banged his gavel and called for order but I didn’t care. He could find me in contempt or throw me in the stockade or whatever they did but I wasn’t ever letting go of my man again.
One Month Later
I took a deep, slow lungful of mountain air and smiled. I was getting to like Alaska.
Boone tightened his arms around me and nuzzled my neck from behind. His hair was longer and his stubble was back, now. I was still trying to make up my mind about which I preferred: smooth Boone or wild Boone. Both were pretty awesome.
Both of us were naked under the blanket and we were sitting on the porch of his cabin, watching the sunrise, just as we had that first morning after he’d taken me there. Except now, everything was different.
We’d talked for a long time about where to live and what to do. Boone couldn’t leave Alaska any more than I could leave the FBI so, eventually, I’d hit upon the idea of transferring to the Anchorage branch. I’d sold my apartment in New York and, with the money, we could afford a pretty nice house in Anchorage and keep the cabin for weekends like this one.
Working for the FBI in Anchorage was very different to working for the FBI in New York, but I was already loving the challenge. With such a big area to cover, it meant a lot of travelling, sometimes for days at a time. But with Boone on retainer as a local guide and expert, he could accompany me most of the time. He was also going to help supplement our income by running wildlife-viewing trips, taking photographers to the best places to see bears, caribou and moose.
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