by Amari, Nina
Danielle was ushered into a dark SUV very much like the one back in the states. Only, this one bared little resemblance in the rooftop storage decking sandwiched atop the metal bracing.
The driver pulled around the curb and headed west, spiraling a vapory trail of smoke into lush countryside. Sandwiched between the two husky muscle made her every breath struggle for air in the packed SUV that might as well have been a sardine can.
It was barely twenty minutes before they arrived at the dock. She'd just about burst from the pressure barreling down on her ribs and thighs when they turned down the main boulevard toward the Thames. She saw little of it. The tackle and gear shops, parlor, haberdashery, and city newspaper-- all passed in a blur.
The suffocating air, or lack of it was mangling her nerves. Honestly, eye-opening suspicion and curiosity kept her from throttling their groins and tearing their flesh with her fingers.
A few minutes later, they were barely down the dock when she heard one of the muscle call out, "Hey, boss... want us to throw her over?" they chuckled. Barton daggered his eyes at them and they instantly swallowed and stiffened.
She was barely over the plank toward a small submarine when she cringed. Something was starting to feel familiar. The same thing she was running from, the sense that she couldn't trust a man as far as she could see him.
Lying scum was all that kept surfacing her mind thinking about the betrayal of her ex-fiancé, Roman and now another man whom she'd trusted had just completely blown her mind. Jaw-dropping. Eye opening was the hoax of her love life, matter of fact life as a whole.
She'd been a fool to love. She had the audacity to think she was capable of finding Mr. Right that always seemed to turn out to be Mr. Wrong. Mr. Absolutely Not Her Type Fear of Commitment. Cheater. Wrong.
She'd been nothing but a fool at heart and in love. It had all been a mistake to her. A mistake plagued in ridicule and her stupid choices for men that could and never would live up to nearly half of her standards or expectations.
Chapter Fourteen
Danielle's gaze flew to Barton's scowling face, the moment she'd heard him say, "Tie her up. Hurry up, we've got to get moving." Barton smoothed his hand against his lapel and straightened a fresh handkerchief to his pocket, as his crew of brutes moved toward breakneck speed at his command.
The heavy weight of the thick twine crushing her wrists and squeezing her torso started to crease deep dimples in the white leather of her motorcycle jacket. Even so, Danielle still hadn't completely succumbed to the reality of the situation, despite her body reminding her that she was thrown a serious curveball.
But then, something had to smack a bit of sense back into the delusion that had apparently impacted her resolve. Suddenly, a burst of wind flew her long curls over her cheek, just before she blew her hair out of her face to see where the brutes were muscling her onward.
Trembling from head to toe, the sturdy rope wounding her wrists and torso mummified her waddle to the yacht tender, the watercraft docking itself a modest vessel along shore. With her arms shellacking herself, she stiffened a turn to the water, as the motoring of its engine stalled just as Barton and his two brutes boarded the twenty-six-foot transport.
As the boat submersed before it jetted off, it looked huge in comparison to a modest fishing boat ashore as gentle waves rocked it from the dock into rolling waters. Except for the occasional seagulls or small watercraft clapping the pilings at the pier and seesawing at their moorings, little could be heard.
The conversation muted against the roar of the engine slapping the waves a few miles down the shoreline. Glancing over the water, Danielle noticed there was a glittering string of vessels that sifted into focus. Then, suddenly the roar silenced.
A great white behemoth rose from the water like an immense monument, soaring its drama sky-high, dwarfing everything and everyone in its path. Rivaling any aquatic vessel on open waters. Its radiance piqued virulent power and dominance, dwindling a seven-foot man soldiering its cavity into a stick figure statue.
Instantly, a lower deck sea terrace door flapped open, as the yacht tender vessel sprung into port at water level. Danielle felt her stomach drop five stories, when she saw Barton look over at his crew before he'd disembarked. She could hear his wingtips slicking their way along the floor before he'd called over his shoulder to the beastly brute saying, "Throw her in the pit."
Danielle frowned when she'd noticed he'd ordered the same meaty muscle from the ordeal at the cobblestone trail.
The brute nodded, "Got it boss." The gravelly snarl in his voice made her skin crawl like a grimy scum had crept its way all through her. She was livid about it. Absolutely livid. Just then, she felt the chokehold take its grip again as he flung her over his beastly back like a rag doll.
Barton ordered the other brute in the dark glasses, "Come with me," and then he gestured for the seven-foot man that was soldiering the yacht's cavity to follow.
Danielle managed to weave her hand through the thick twine as she gavel-fisted his burly back with the force of a brick. His back was nothing but thick flesh, as if he'd barely felt anything but a feather prickling. She'd squirmed every which way, but his arms clamped down on her like a magnetic nutcracker.
His meaty grapple pinched her veins turning her light tan to purple, as he snaked her along the towering spiral staircase winding down the lower deck levels.
Turning the key in the lock, he swung open the door and tossed her onto a corner porthole seat nestled at the rear of the ample-sized cabin. After the brute turned the key in the lock and left, her torso still weighted the heaviness of a ton of bricks. She inhaled a deep gasp of fine wood polish, and the pungent aroma of cedar mingling with garlic, as she blinked her eyes and sighed hugely.
Danielle hadn't expected to feel serious danger if she hadn't felt even more or less alone with Barton and his crew, but she did. Still, she pushed herself to shift toward a daring strategy, once she'd calmed her nerves.
From her vantage point all she could see were the foamy crests of waves rippling through a pool sapphire, as the yacht anchored the shoreline. The waves were quick to stir her nerves as they burst against the cubby sized windows in a splash of rhythm, riling her into a deeper state of worry.
Danielle propped herself up against a row of portholes that anchored a wall of shallow window seats, blinking her eyes to focus. There was a silent gloom looming the mystique of the stunning and massive billionaire's floating castle.
The emptiness was overwhelming. In all that had gone on, she hadn't once thought about Roman, which was odd. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe, she didn't want to. She'd end up playing the blame game and hating herself for not realizing the truth earlier-- and for not guarding her heart against men of the-- Loathsome. Loser. Lying variety.
But mostly, she'd blame herself for not ending the relationship with Roman sooner. Regardless of the tenderness in his kisses that he'd snapped back faster than she could fully taste them. There was sheer finesse, whether she'd wanted to realize it or not. Whether she'd wanted to realize he was the only one who'd ever made her smile from the core depth of her soul rather than its surface.
But, all that she'd dwelled on was the mere fact that Roman had no place in her mind. Not at this time anyway, as she debated what to do about the mess she'd gotten herself into.
She'd remembered something she'd forgotten in all the excitement-- Trumball's strange behavior-- of banning any further discovery of a fraud investigation she'd been assigned involving Barton Industries and a slew of mergers and acquisitions.
Three months before he'd retired, she'd managed to discover months of back listed reports and confidential statements that he'd authorized in which there was a surge of challengeable theory between the accounts involving not only Barton Industries, and its subsidiaries, of which there appeared to be a hidden conglomerate targeting the source of operations.
Danielle knew Finch wouldn't have the guts to call Barton's bluff and trump Trumball's crazy decision to
ignore her claims. Oliver Trumball was a coward who acted in self-interest and force-fed Finch his smug reporting backed by a confidence that he could swing another "Members only" invitation to the most exclusive putting greens.
The firm garnered its reputation on confidentiality. Results were never guaranteed to be recession-proof, although it leveraged its results with an unconditional and proven guarantee of privacy, discretion and protection.
It ran the conservative, old-school traditions. Clients were their bread and butter, and they'd always sought excellence and valued client satisfaction since the turn of the century. But ever since Finchley senior's retirement, the firm's mission teetered in jeopardy with his son's brazen strategy to surge profits, which also reduced the company's capability to hone up to their proven ethical standards.
Another yacht was approaching the dock, drawing a flock of seagulls overhead. She felt a jolt suckling her to the seat cushion. The emerging vessel dwarfed the skipper standing ashore as Danielle shimmied in an attempt to gain her bearings underfoot.
Loneliness paid off all those days she'd straddled herself on the slatted porch of her farmhouse practicing magic tricks. Slip knot. She held back a smile, knowing she could untie the rope with her eyes closed. But, she knew it was only a matter of minutes before they'd notice she was gone.
The heavy twine grazed her white leather, as she pushed a hand through the web of coiled tangles. She had to move quickly, as the threads grated her delicate skin. But, she knew that she had to concentrate and focus.
Her hands were still shaky as she seesawed, pulled and stretched the tight rope squeezing with every twist and turn. Steady. Danielle groaned, as she'd slid her wrist through a tight corkscrew knot. With each second, she fought the tangles like a constricted mummy until little by little, the rope loosened.
Focus. She coached herself in echo. Until suddenly, she murmured, "Got it," as she spiraled out of the last loop enfolding her arm. Danielle creased a relieved smile, but in the next moment, she knew that she wasn't out of the woods yet. Still uncertain the brutes would discover her, that unyielding peril seemed to echo too many unfortunate and unpleasant reminders.
Danielle pressed her ear to the cabin door. Standing near the porthole window, she could see the mirage of finely chartered vessels lining the waterfront, as she pushed a hand through her long dark curls, sighing.
The burly brute soldiering the corridor had barely noticed anything but the neighboring ship reeling its way toward the dock. Fortunately, he was modestly overcome with hunger when he jammed a handful of toasted hazelnuts in his mouth and chomped them down in two seconds.
Hearing his chomping as a perfect distraction, she'd discreetly poked her head into the lower deck corridor to make certain no one else was in the hall, as she tiptoed her way out of the cabin just after jimmying the door.
As she'd slipped past his thick beastly body, she was careful not to make a sound as she headed toward the main deck. But one thing was for certain; she could see he'd craved hazelnuts almost as much as she'd craved a taste of something sweet or juicy-- since it had been hours since she'd eaten.
Taking a deep breath, her walking turned brisk as the scent of an open-air fruit tartlet bazaar wafted in and out of her mouth with each and every breath. The smell of freshly baked bread, vanilla bean and amaretto made her suck in a breath so fast. But, it was at least another few yards before sinking her teeth into anything but air and saliva.
Her hands smoothed three hundred feet of ethereal fantasy as she slid along the maple and macassar ebony wood past a host of cabins. At that moment, she noticed a crew-only staircase on the port side of the lower deck near the service entrance.
Danielle's gut pricked a familiar sentiment-- She could trust no one-- not even the crew on board. She'd blended in the chaos and busyness, as if she were invisible. Seamen in navy pea coats adorned in epaulettes hurried up the crew-only lifts connecting to the galley and upper decks.
The beastly grinding all but became silent, aside from her empty stomach growling as she trekked the three guest decks above.
The engine hummed, muting the clicking of her heels on the marble mosaics, as she stumbled through the decks that were like an immense labyrinth. Her meandering led past a huge lounge space with sofas, armchairs and a grand piano poised in an ample niche overlooking a patio and formal dining room. Suddenly the scent of toasted pastries, chocolate, and garlic fused her bones in a heady redolence.
She turned her step toward the scent infusing her palette like she was anchored in a chef's delectable kitchen. It was mouth-watering, salivating her tongue to draw itself closer by the second.
Oh, my god... maybe just one. Baked goods ruffled her leather and whisked the hull of the winding atrium toward the galley. There was a granite counter full of porcelain platters layered in crostini with brie and toasted walnuts, foie gras, chorizo stuffed with piquillo pepper sauce, hazelnut torte and chocolate mousse with a raspberry sauce.
Danielle eyed the lavish dishes with interest. She looked around, "Maybe just a couple," she said, hungrily eyeing the platter that by now had a handful of sandwiches, and a few crumbs scattered of what was left of the pastries.
By this time, Danielle was certain they'd already noticed she was gone. But, once she'd grabbed a handful of dark chocolates and bit into the crunchy decadence, she had lost all sense of time.
"Better save some for later," she said softly, jamming a few chocolates into her jean pockets, as low chatter permeated the atrium. The voices spiraled toward the upper deck swimming pool, as she sucked the last morsels sweltering a pool of sweetness beyond her tongue.
"I've got to find out what's going on, if I could just--" she swallowed, as the last trace of chocolate left her mouth. Danielle gingerly enfolded the immense central atrium, as she spiraled the stunning cylindrical drama of silver leaf and mother-of-pearl appliqué on the glass elevator. It was a stunning classical mansion at sea, rivaling those docked on the Mediterranean for regatta races.
Danielle traversed onto travertine walnut, as she glided her way to the upper deck. She could hear seesawing conversation. She gingerly crept towards the pool as the cadence became more pronounced.
Danielle couldn't forget that burly back anywhere that had already slung her in a dual chokehold. She'd wondered why he wasn't still guarding the supposedly locked cabin. That was, until she saw what would answer that question.
She'd noticed the brute grappled several corrugated boxes and clamped them under his meaty armpit oozing watery beads of sweat. Danielle twitched her nose, relieved of the fact that she was out and about, soaking up the airiness rather than in his smelly clutches.
She'd crept out of sight looking for someplace to hide, to get a closer look at their clandestine operation. And then she'd spotted an unstaffed poolside bar under a shaded patio scattered with lounge chairs and tables for dining al fresco. Danielle quickly moved toward the tall cubbyhole that flanked a curved countertop as she tucked discreetly beneath it.
Her gaze narrowed when she zoned in on Barton's left hand. Shellacked to it was a slick metal briefcase he clutched with a grip that tore his nerves, as his knuckles turned hastily from pale to red.
Seconds later, the seven-foot brute dollied a keg-sized barrel behind them.
She looked back at the flanking yacht in time to see it motor closer, as it moored along shore with its glittering strings of light fading into a sea of burnt orange and crimson.
As Danielle knelt, the third muscle sporting his usual dark glasses, joined the two brutes as they soldiered pilings of boxes and barrels toward the lift shaft. Watching the behind the scenes unfold, her eyes darted to some cognac perched under the bar counter.
Danielle's eyes widened with insatiable thirst. It had been hours, since she'd craved the hydration aside from her earlier snack fest. But the chocolate kindled some moisture meltdown to quench her parched mouth at the time-- that now yearned for something smooth. She took a couple swigs that incited her brea
stbone ablaze. Her skin was warm everywhere, as she groaned a little bit of bliss the moment after she hiccupped.
As the cognac settled, her eyes drew languid as she merged the familiar. They're loading this stuff to the other yacht, but why? And what's in those crates. I bet it's the—
Her thought was interrupted when suddenly a roar ripped through the ascending moon. Barton's light brown hair whisked around like hay in a wind tunnel, while the pleat in his plaid overcoat started to ripple.
Barton glided his way up to the helipad with his briefcase still groped to his left hand.
Danielle ambled to the next deck for a birds-eye view. Her long curls whisked a rhythmic dance in the air, as she'd tried to bottle her breath blending the smoky vapors. Her cheeks swelled to a choking cough as she'd impulsively wrenched her arm over her mouth and nose the very next second.
Instinct told her to wait, as their scheme unfolded. What she didn't know was that she enfolded the central main mast, several feet above them.
Barton and his crew now looked like scavenger ants. She'd managed to tuck behind a large steel platform, still wrenching her arm, as the wind submerged her into its breezy tunnel-- until the force suddenly stopped.
Barton's phone beeped discreetly, the moment he and his crew reached the helipad. Just after his call, she'd overheard Barton when he'd said, "It's time." Barton's snarling climbed the summit of the yacht where Danielle stood, as she clung to the mast, just before she saw him gesture underfoot. Danielle's eyes widened like saucers, as she unshielded her nose and shook off a lingering shiver.
Danielle knew it was a matter of seconds before they'd discovered she had escaped. So, she had to think fast. But, what good would it have done knowing she'd be hung out to dry without proof. She needed evidence to sink those scum to the depths they'd belonged, and she wasn't about to leave empty handed.
Chapter Fifteen