Saving the Girl Next Door

by Susan Kearney

  Steady.

  She aimed the gun. Tried to let her knees absorb some of the air turbulence.

  Tried to strengthen her grip. But as Jack brought the chopper lower, the wind jolted and jarred them until she felt as if she was inside a roller coaster.

  Jack checked his watch. “Forty-five seconds. Shoot.”

  She fired. Her shot resonated through the chopper and a tiny hole appeared in their windshield. A spiderweb of cracks radiated from the bullet hole and wind whipped through the opening. She had no idea if she’d hit the boat, never mind the gas tank.

  “Forty seconds. Empty the clip.”

  She kept shooting. But the only thing she knew for sure she was hitting was the windshield. More holes appeared. The plastic kept cracking. Then the force of the wind ripped the piece loose and it just missed her as it sheared off.

  “Get the door open,” Jack shouted, the wind whipping his words. “Thirty seconds.”

  She thrust an extra clip into her pocket, the gun into her jeans. Rain lashed and wind snatched at them through the open window.

  Jack fought with the controls, his hands and feet working the pedals and his stick. By wedging her feet against one seat, she wrenched open the door and created a wind tunnel so strong that the gust swept her off her feet.

  The chopper tilted.

  She screamed, almost fell out, clawed her way back to a seat.

  Jack shouted above the wind, but there was no panic in his voice. “Life jackets are under the seats.”

  She found them. The chopper pitched. Two bullets struck the ceiling. It took a full second for her to register that someone in the boat was shooting at them.

  “Twenty seconds. Toss the life jackets out.”

  Jack wedged his pack into the joystick. “We’re going to jump.”

  She looked down at the sea so far below and her stomach rolled. The massive waves stirred by the storm and the lightning flashing around them only emphasized their altitude. Wind and rain slashed at her clothes, ripped at her hair. And her gut twisted in terror. “We’re too high.”

  “Thirty-five feet.” Suddenly Jack was beside her. He grabbed her hand and the chopper rolled to one side, then another. “Ten seconds. Wait till she slides back. Then we go.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Jump.”

  He didn’t wait for her to comply. He simply dragged her out with him. And they were plunging…falling…diving…into a gray world where the water and sky were the same color.

  Gray above them. Gray below them. And the only thing solid and real—Jack’s hand holding hers.

  Above and about two hundred yards forward, the chopper exploded into fire and burning parts.

  Then she lost sight of the burning aircraft as wind clutched her clothing. Her hair slashed at her eyes. She clenched Jack’s fingers and tightened every muscle in her body preparing for impact.

  They slammed into the water. The waves closed over their heads. And they went down and down and down. Her lungs burned for oxygen and her eyes stung from the salt. Finally their downward momentum stopped.

  She kicked hard for the surface. And all the while she kept hold of Jack’s hand and he kept hold of hers.

  When her head broke the surface she gasped for air, and took in a mouthful of water as a wave slapped her face. She spat out the salt, coughed, choked, finally breathed deeply. Parts of the chopper still fell from the sky, but thankfully not on top of them.

  Somehow she was still holding Jack’s hand. Treading water with one hand wasn’t easy, but she didn’t let go. Instead she kicked off her sneakers.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’d be fine if I were a fish.”

  “Pretend you’re a mermaid,” he teased. Only Jack could joke at a time like this. “Before we went down I radioed our coordinates, but it may be a few hours until rescue arrives.”

  Hours? An optimistic and yet gloomy estimate.

  “Finding us is going to be like searching for a needle in a haystack.” And she didn’t think she could keep her head above water for hours, but she didn’t say so. In a critical situation like this one, staying positive was as important as inner strength.

  Despite her efforts to hide her apprehension, Jack must have sensed her doubts. “The life jackets have a radio beacon that will bring the Coast Guard right to us.”

  “But we aren’t wearing the jackets. You told me to toss them out.” And in this storm, the life jackets could drift miles away from them, leading rescuers in the wrong direction.

  “They aren’t made to wear around the neck when jumping from that altitude.”

  “Jack.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you see the life jackets anywhere?”

  “No, but your shots must have hit and sunk the boat. I don’t see it, either.”

  She spit out another mouthful of water. “In these waves, we can’t see more than five feet in front of us. And I hate to complain…”

  “You love to complain.”

  “But my wet clothes weigh a ton.”

  Jack grinned as he treaded water beside her. “So take them off.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “But don’t throw them away. We can use them for flotation until we find the life jackets.”

  She wriggled out of her shirt. Not easy in the swells. “Uh, Jack.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know that boat you thought I sank?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s coming this way.”

  “DUCK UNDER,” Jack ordered.

  “I have a better idea,” she countered as she handed him her shirt.

  “What?” The boat seemed to be drifting toward them and he couldn’t hear an engine, but between dips in the waves and the heavy rain and thunder, he couldn’t be sure.

  She ducked under the water and came up with a clip with bullets in one hand and his gun in the other. “Will this shoot when wet?”

  She’d kept his gun. Cops hated to lose their weapons. But even most of them wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to keep their weapon when they had to jump out of a helicopter to avoid a bomb.

  “Yes, it’ll still shoot, and you’re amazing.” Jack carefully accepted the gun and rammed the clip home. While he worked he had to let go of her hand and his feet had to churn double time to keep his neck above water.

  “Change of plan.”

  “Okay.”

  He loved that she didn’t argue, just trusted his judgment.

  “We swim toward the boat.”

  She slipped off her jeans. “Do you think he’s spotted us?”

  “I doubt it.” Jack stuffed the gun in a pocket, took her jeans and tied the cuffs in knots. Then he raised the material, swishing and trapping air in the waistband, forming a makeshift flotation device. “The chopper’s explosion probably distracted him. If we’re lucky, he didn’t even see us jump.”

  “If we’re lucky, we won’t be eaten by a shark.”

  “They don’t usually feed in stormy water.” He handed back her jeans. “Here, hold your waistband under so the air doesn’t escape, and you can rest a little while you kick.”

  “You call this rest?” she muttered, but she kicked and stayed right alongside him.

  Jack could swim for hours. And several ex-SEALs in the Shey Group had taught him long-term flotation tricks that took little effort. He hoped they wouldn’t be necessary. He’d much prefer to climb aboard the boat.

  The most dangerous component would be insertion. When he climbed over the transom he would be most vulnerable to attack.

  One step at a time. First they had to reach the boat undetected. While the swells helped to keep them out of sight, the huge mounds of water made swimming difficult. Although they were steadily kicking, the boat seemed to be drifting faster than they could swim.

  Piper seemed to come to that conclusion the same time he did. She stopped swimming and floated on her inflated jeans. “You go ahead.”

  “I’m not l
eaving you.”

  “I’m slowing you down,” she protested.

  “Rest a minute, then we’ll try again.”

  “I could swim faster if I lost my jeans,” she muttered. But clearly she didn’t want to give them up.

  “How about I carry them and when you need a rest, we’ll stop and refill them with air?” he suggested.

  “Okay.”

  She didn’t waste her breath arguing and he wondered how much strength she had left. She wasn’t teasing or complaining. Not a good sign. And her skin was pale, her breathing strained from her efforts.

  She was expending too much energy. And telling her to relax wasn’t going to work.

  “If we do a hard sprint, we should reach the boat. Use all your energy in one hard burst.”

  “Okay.”

  She shoved the air-filled jeans his way and started stroking for the boat. Her arms chopped the water, and she kept kicking. He tied her jeans around his waist and tried to ignore their drag.

  Piper was slowly coming alongside the boat—the closer they swam to the hull, the safer they would be from being spotted. He tapped her shoulder and pointed to the stern—their best shot of climbing on board.

  The boat was a cabin cruiser with dual inboard-outboard engines. The low swim deck at the stern was the easiest place to climb aboard. With the motors dead, Jack grabbed the fiberglass. The boat caught a wave and jerked him out of the water. Somehow he held on and swung himself onto the platform.

  After securing a grip on a cleat, he pulled Piper up beside him. He gave her back her shirt and jeans, then removed the gun from where he’d tucked it into his slacks.

  “Stay here.” He spoke in a whisper.

  She nodded and slipped her wet shirt over her head—not an easy task while hanging on to the rocking boat.

  Jack peeked over the transom. The stern’s deck was empty, except for seawater that washed over the side and sloshed into scuppers that filtered the water back into the sea. If Aaron was aboard, he was obviously holed up in the cabin where he could stay warm and dry—but not safe for much longer if Jack could take him by surprise.

  The cabin had a door and windows, but the view was blocked by curtains. Good for him. Bad for Aaron.

  Jack inched his way across the deck until he’d plastered his body against the windows, then tried to peer through the curtains. He saw a silhouette with a wrench in his hand, hovering over an open compartment that probably led to the engines.

  With waves slamming the boat, the task of fixing a motor seemed next to impossible. Aaron should have thrown out an anchor, turned the boat into the wind to prevent it from turning sideways to the waves. If the storm worsened, the boat could roll over.

  Jack wished he could throw an object to distract Aaron’s attention from his entrance, but even if he could conjure a baseball out of thin air, it was unlikely Aaron would hear it strike in this wind. However, once Jack opened the door, it would be like letting a roaring lion into one’s bedroom.

  He had no choice.

  Gun in hand, Jack kicked open the cabin door. He went in low and hard, rolling to port as the boat rocked into the trough of a wave. He skidded on the indoor-outdoor carpet and lost some skin, but ignored the pain in his shoulder.

  He’d figured Aaron wouldn’t be happy to see him, and he’d figured right. Aaron threw the wrench at Jack’s head. He ducked, and the boat rose out of the trough, rising on the next crest and upsetting his calculation. The wrench slammed into his temple and sliced off skin. Stunned by the blow, Jack saw bursting stars, and his vision darkened. For several critical seconds he couldn’t see or move his limbs. Then he found himself on his back with Aaron sitting on his chest, pummeling him with his fists.

  And his numbed fingers had dropped the gun.

  ON THE SWIM PLATFORM Piper finally gave up on putting on her wet jeans. More concerned over Jack’s welfare than preserving her modesty, she’d watched him barge into the cabin. From her angle she’d seen nothing else. Heard nothing more.

  Jack might need her help. Yet he’d told her to stay there. He would expect her to listen…and yet…she needed to make sure he had everything under control. If she was careful, she should be able to sneak up to the banging cabin door and peek inside without him noticing her.

  She edged toward the cabin. Peered inside.

  Jack lay flat on his back. Too still. Unconscious? Blood gushed from a head wound. And Aaron had climbed on top of Jack. Her first reaction was to rush in to help.

  She took a quick step forward. Stopped. If she could use the element of surprise to her advantage, she would be more effective.

  Should she hurl herself at Aaron? She’d get only one chance. She had to make it count.

  And from hand-to-hand combat drills at the police academy, she knew her strength couldn’t compare to a man’s. So she had to be faster, more accurate and employ impeccable timing. Her muscles tensed, ready to launch her into the cabin.

  As she gathered herself, Jack shifted his hips and tossed Aaron off his chest. She pulled back. Jack was conscious. But he didn’t get up. He just lay there, almost as if he was too hurt to move, and her thoughts raced.

  She had to do something.

  Where was the gun?

  She forced her gaze from Jack to the cabin. She needed to find a weapon. Any weapon. A bloody wrench had tumbled between the stairs and a bunk, but Aaron would see her way before she could reach it.

  Pillows, charts, nuts and bolts. Nothing heavy and loose. Jack groaned, yet as if his nerves had reconnected with his limbs, he sat up, blinking.

  Where was his gun?

  When Aaron charged again, Jack punched twice, his first blow missing as if he was a blind man trying to fight—or maybe he was just seeing double. But his second strike connected, ramming into the man’s stomach. As Aaron fell on him, Jack brought up a knee into his groin, but Aaron twisted just in time to deflect Jack’s blow.

  Neither man had seen her.

  With no weapon handy, with Jack down and Aaron’s back to her, she launched her body at Aaron. Her arm went around his neck, under his chin. She tightened her hold on his throat. Fought to choke him out before he dislodged her.

  Like a mangy dog flicking off a mosquito, he tried to shake her off. But she refused to be swatted, clinging as they rolled, her knee banging something hard. She gritted her teeth as fiery pain shot down her leg.

  “Let go, or I’ll shoot him.” Aaron had found the gun, and he had it aimed at Jack.

  Somehow Jack had pulled himself to his feet. Blood matted his hair and dripped into one eye. He staggered like a drunkard as he clutched a fire extinguisher.

  Brandishing the fire extinguisher like a club, Jack knocked the weapon aside. Aaron’s shot fired harmlessly at the ceiling before he dropped the gun with a roar of pain and anger.

  Piper tightened her choke hold around his neck. And then Aaron went slack.

  A trick?

  No, he was out. And Jack had slid down against a bulkhead. He sat on the floor, the gun aimed at the unconscious man. “Find some line. Tie him up.”

  She found rope in a locker and tied Aaron’s hands behind his back. She bound his feet, then tied his hands to his ankles. She wasn’t taking any chances that he could free himself.

  Then she turned her attention to Jack. “Let me see if I can find a first aid kit.”

  “No.”

  She paid no attention to his protest. However, the boat was rocking and rolling, and walking without holding on to a bunk or rail was impossible.

  She knelt beside him. Didn’t like Jack’s pallor. And he’d lost a lot of blood.

  And the moment she’d finished tying up Aaron, Jack had allowed the gun to drop from his hand. She reached to take his pulse. He jerked his wrist away.

  He was weak, barely conscious. Yet he was still giving orders. “Get the anchor down. Radio for help.”

  “Okay. Okay.”

  The moment she agreed to do what he’d asked, he closed his eyes and slumped to t
he floor. She removed her T-shirt and tied it tightly around his head wound. The bleeding seemed to slow, but she couldn’t take comfort in that fact. He’d lost so much blood. Too much.

  The next hours were the worst ones of her life. Head wounds could be tricky. Fatal. That Jack had held on to consciousness with superhuman strength while injured gave her hope that he was now passed out due to blood loss and not a serious brain injury.

  Somehow she got the anchor down. And she let out lots of line.

  She ignored Aaron. Didn’t try to open his briefcase. She just hoped the Shey Group would find their boat before Aaron’s contacts did. If he’d been trying to meet them on the water, his contacts could be out there waiting for the storm to end.

  She checked the gun. She had twelve bullets left. And a flare. It would have to be enough. She could do a lot of damage with those weapons.

  And she vowed that if Aaron’s contacts came, they wouldn’t get his briefcase—even if she had to throw it overboard. She might not know what he had stolen, but she was prepared to defend it with her life.

  She tried the radio, but either it was damaged or no one could hear her in the storm. She found blankets and wrapped them around Jack, trying to keep him warm.

  He didn’t look good. His breathing was shallow, his skin clammy.

  She wanted to hold him, warm him with her own body heat, but she remained beside the radio, trying to make contact with the Coast Guard. No luck.

  The static mocked her.

  And when she finally heard an engine, she climbed onto the deck and sent up the flare. Jack needed immediate medical care. If help was out there, she needed to call attention to their location.

  And if it was Aaron’s friends, she tightened her hands on the weapon. Then she and Jack would die together.

  Chapter Fourteen

  At the sound of a baby crying, Jack opened his eyes. “Piper?”

  “She’s fine.” A woman in doctor’s scrubs hovered over him, her eyes full of concern. She lifted his eyelids and checked his pupils with a penlight.