by Cherry Adair
“Lock the door behind me and secure the windows.”
“Where are you going to be?”
“Up top. No one is taking my ship.”
She didn’t correct him, but the sleepiness left as her eyes hardened. “You’re paying professional military guys stupid amounts of money to protect us. Why risk your own life?”
“Because Tesoro Mio is my life right now. I have no intention of sitting twiddling my thumbs in my cabin if pirates decided to take my ship. I’ll protect her with everything I’ve got.” Protect you with everything I’ve got, he didn’t add. Which right now was precious fucking little.
He indicated the tray. “Sandwiches and other stuff, and a pot of coffee to keep you going.”
She wouldn’t starve in fifteen hours, he was perfectly aware. But he’d needed to see her. Needed to ensure her safety before the shit hit the fan. Of course he had an overwhelming need to touch her. He refrained.
“Thanks. The mini fridge is full of snacks and drinks, too.” She made no move to get out of bed. “I’ll be fine. It’s only fifteen hours.”
“Yeah,” he said drily. “Only. Wedge that chair under the door after you lock it. I brought a bulletproof vest for you. Put it on when you’re dressed. I’ll give my knock when we’re cl—Fuck.” The sound of gunfire peppering the glossy, navy-blue hull of the ship, made his heart trip. Addy flinched. “Up and at ’em, Addy! Now!”
She sat up, hand flat against her breasts like a Victorian maiden, holding the sheet over her chest. She jerked her head at the door, long hair slithering like pale amber satin over one bare shoulder. “We’ll discuss how you opened my bolted damn door. Late—” A loud explosion made the thick glass in the window knock. “Holy shit.” Her eyes shot to his face. “Go!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ry caught a flash of pale leg as she threw back the covers. “Lock it,” he yelled, running for the door and not looking back.
He paused on the other side for the seconds it took for her to engage the lock. “It goes without saying,” he told Oscar Vaccaro—the chief steward and Addison’s personal security guy—who waited outside in the companionway, “guard her with your life.”
“Always, boss.”
Rydell’s heart pounded as if he’d just run a marathon. “Anyone comes down here—”
“Shoot to kill. It’s what you hired me for.”
“Right.” Since he couldn’t be in two places at once, and since he’d vetted the three men he’d secretly hired and put in place for Addison’s protection, Ry hauled ass down the corridor, taking the stairs leading to the top deck three at a time.
His own Glock in hand, Ry paused at the top of the ladder to assess the situation. Wearing protective helmets and bulletproof vests, Tesoro Mio’s crew, stationed one deck below him, manned the fire hoses. Mounted on the railings, the hoses shot powerful jets of water alongside the hull from prow to stern to deter climbers. The sound was thunderous, yet it wasn’t enough to block out screams, yells, and the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire.
Ry winced every time a bullet struck the hull or gouged a path across the pristine teak deck. Thank God he’d opted for the steel-and-aluminum hull when he commissioned the boat. It had been the most expensive of the alternatives, but now, as the bullets pinged the sides, it was worth every goddamn fucking penny he’d paid.
Jesus, the pirates were determined. The banks of the canal, both fucking banks, were lined with men armed with rocket launchers, shotguns, rifles, and assorted other weapons. They were so close—thirty yards or less—Rydell saw the whites of their eyes. They hadn’t wasted any damn time.
“Stay down!” second engineer Jax Han yelled from his position beside the hot tub at the other end of the deck. “These suckers are relentless as hell.” He returned a volley of shots into the men running parallel to the ship.
On either side of the single-file convoy of ships large and small, the land was flat and sandy. Hardly any vegetation, but dozens of people followed the ships, shooting as they ran. Some were seated in lawn chairs, rifles across their laps, as if watching a hometown parade. Waiting.
Now they were up and motivated with the arrival passage of the sleek, 160-foot luxury megayacht.
Rydell’s high-priced security men were doing their jobs, picking off their attackers one at a time with precise and accurate aim. The shooters on board were outnumbered twenty to one, but they had the advantages of higher ground and expert marksmanship. When they shot, they killed.
Ry ducked behind the bulk of the container of life vests and squeezed off a shot at a man wielding a rocket launcher like a pro. Skinny, barefoot, and wearing nothing but baggy jeans, the guy repositioned the rocket launcher on his shoulder, his focus the bridge behind Ry.
Without hesitation Rydell aimed and squeezed off a shot. His bullet was true, striking the man in the throat. Ry winced as the man fell to the sandy ground beside his ancient lawn chair, what remained of his head a gory mess. The fired rocket went wild, hitting several of the man’s fellow pirates, and missing Tesoro Mio by a few yards. In response, the men around the dead guy scattered like pigeons, yelling and gesturing wildly. Others ran along the banks, seeking new positions.
Forward progress? Painfully slow. A brief pause in the assaulting fire gave Ry an opportunity to look back at what he’d done to the guy with the rocket launcher. Bloody hell. His stomach twisted. He didn’t condone killing, and wholesale murder went against everything in him. Hell, the shooter’s ribs showed through his sunbaked skin. Emaciated, desperate—it was no wonder they were trying for the brass ring. But Rydell wasn’t going to allow his Tesoro Mio to be that prize.
The ship would be a trophy. But the pirates’ main objective was to capture hostages for ransom. They could not be allowed to board. Ry would die to protect Addison. Do anything. Kill if he had to. Nothing and nobody would ever hurt her again. And that included himself.
Even though he knew he’d had no choice, he felt like shit for killing a man. But it had come down to the pirate or everyone on board his ship. No contest.
Spray from the hoses misted over him. Eyes constantly scanning the banks for danger, he swiped water out of his eyes and scraped back his wet hair.
From his vantage point on the top deck, he had a bird’s-eye view of the action. On closer observation, Ry realized that most of the men running alongside the Tesoro Mio were merely going through the motions. Scattershot with little hope of hitting anything. Quickly separating the noisemakers from those determined to do the ship harm, he joined the security men’s effort in holding them off.
Ahead was the bulk of the barge carrying huge multicolored containers. Beyond Tesoro Mio’s wake, the narrow canal shone crystalline blue between the parched, sandy beige embankments.
He recognized the short-cropped black hair of one of his men, hunkered down beside the hot tub. Jax was one of the guys he’d hired a year ago to protect Addison. Ex-military, a sniper, and now in his element. Ry paused, crouching on his haunches behind his barricade as he tuned in on a new sound. Beneath the intermittent cries and loud bangs of battle, the throb of a small, powerful engine drew closer and closer.
“Hear that?” he yelled at Jax. Peering around the side of the metal storage unit, he scanned the deck for the behemoth with the crew cut, leader of the group he’d hired. Would’ve been damn nice if Klein had fitted him with one of the communications devices he and his men wore. Rydell saw him on the middle deck, midship starboard side. He and two of his men, protected by a barricade of sandbags, were firing at a group with a rocket launcher on the starboard side.
The air smelled of rancid smoke from something on the tanker ahead of them. Flames licked up the starboard side of the hull, quickly doused by their fire hose. The sound of radios communicating between the ships, men yelling—either in pain, or shouting rapid-fire instructions—added to the cacophony surrounding them. Gunshots and the periodic loud boom of a rocket launcher strike made the whole chaotic scene seem as though they were in a fucking war mov
ie without a script.
The three mercenaries had their hands full fending off the group of determined fatigue-wearing soldier-pirates with their rocket launcher. It didn’t look as though they’d seen the rapidly advancing skiffs coming up on their port side.
With the noise of gunshots, shouts, and hard pounding of the water jets, there was no way to communicate with Klein or his men. If he wanted to go down and yell in someone’s ear, it was ten feet from his position to the ladder and down to the next deck.
“Not fishing vessels!” Jax’s yell was almost lost in the noise. “Two skiffs, moving fast.”
“Yeah. See them. Coming to you.” Ry dropped to his belly and crawled across the warm teak deck toward his security guy.
The two small boats looked like fishing vessels, but their speed indicated high-powered motors. Hauling ass, they closed the gap, peppering the space between their boats and the ship with random bursts of gunfire. Automatic weapons. And limitless ammo.
Ry slid in beside Jax and, after a brief glance at his Glock, handed him a high-powered sniper rifle from the cache of weapons on the deck beside him. “Know how to use this?”
“We’ll soon find out, won’t we?” Ry peered through the sight and picked off a man in the back of the skiff on the left. Jax mimicked his action, taking care of the occupants of the skiff on the right.
From the deck below, Klein’s men did their job in lightning-fast succession, dropping the remaining pirates in each small boat with mind-boggling speed.
Between Ry, Jax, and the small military group in the stern position on Tesoro Mio, they made short work of the approaching danger.
Driverless, the two skiffs careened up onto the bank, plowing through sand and vegetation and scattering the men running along the bank. Amid yells and large dust clouds, the two boats burst into spectacular flame on impact.
Jax shot him a grin as they exchanged a fist bump. Like Ry, he was doused in water. “Fucking awesome, right?” His second engineer leaned back against the hot tub surround looking completely relaxed, yet his gaze strafed the banks of the canal. The pirates who’d been following the ship on foot had dropped back as the burning skiffs sent plumes of acrid black smoke into the clear blue of the sky.
Ry set the borrowed sniper rifle down between them, but rested his hand on the stock just in case he needed it again. Heart knocking, sweat mixing with droplets of water on his skin, he felt more alive than he’d felt in over a year.
* * *
Tempted to push aside the drapes to see what was happening outside, Addison refrained. The loud sounds of bullets hitting the side of the ship, and the manic shouting of the pirates, told her what she needed to know. She didn’t need to actually see events as they unfolded.
She paced. Dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt, and her favorite running shoes, with the bulletproof vest on but hanging open, she walked from bedroom, to sitting room, to closet, to bathroom.
It was with relief that she snatched up her cell phone when it rang. If nothing else, reception was good. She sat on the tub surround to take the call.
“Addison.” Prince Naveen Darshi always said her name as if he were king to her serf. Mostly it amused her, but not freaking-well today. “What’s this I hear about you departing without us?”
A loud bang caused Addy to flinch. “This isn’t a good time, Naveen.”
“What was that noise?” Clearly alarmed, his voice rose several octaves. “What on earth’s happening?”
“We’re transiting Suez.”
There was a particularly long pause before he said coldly, “So Hollis was right. What impulse precipitated this, Addison? It’s extremely inconvenient to change my plans at this late date.”
Not: Oh, my God, are you safe? Her mother’s priorities were apparently rubbing off on Naveen. It was no more attractive on him than it was on her mother. “You don’t have to change anything but your flight destination, Naveen.” Addison kept her tone cool with effort as she glanced around her luxuriously appointed bathroom. Warm creams and crisp whites. Marble and glass sparkled and shone, enveloping her in calm luxury. The thick fluffy white rug underfoot had been purchased a lifetime ago with the thought of after-shower hot, wild monkey sex with Rydell.
“You and Hollis are welcome—” Not really. “—to meet the ship in Mangalore tomorrow if you like,” she told Naveen, who, like her ex-husband, had never had the opportunity to roll around on the thick, fluffy rug. “Or you can go ahead and met me in Sydney in a couple of weeks.” She hoped to hell Rydell was telling the truth about this dive. She knew from experience that a salvage operation frequently took anywhere from several weeks to several damn years.
“Have you forgotten,” he said, sounding extremely annoyed and very upper-crust British, “I brokered the deal for the sale of Tesoro Mio, and we’re meeting the buyer in Sydney, in a week?”
She got it. There was a broker fee, a lot of money even for a man of Naveen’s vast wealth. Still … There was a great attraction to alpha men. But there were many detractions that went along with them. “I’m sorry. But we’ll have to postpone that meeting.”
Time she’d need to convince Rydell that selling his half of the Tesoro Mio was in both their best interests. Addison ran a finger under her edge of the bulletproof vest where it chafed against her throat. She cocked her head to listen. The shouts and sounds of gunfire were petering out. Was it over?
“You’re going to stand up someone willing to pay you your asking price,” Naveen said, impatient and getting more annoyed, “in cash? On a bloody whim?”
“It’s not a whim,” Addison informed him tightly. She didn’t like his dictatorial tone; nor did she appreciate being taken to task by yet another high-handed male. Nor was she prepared to explain herself to anyone. “Rydell needs the ship for a quick salvage in the Maldives. The buyer can wait a couple of weeks, surely?”
“You permitted your damnable ex-husband to hijack you?”
Naveen was still furious and resentful that Rydell had stolen her away from him the first time. Addison knew he wouldn’t be happy about her ex’s return into her life. “Not me. His ship was hijacked, and this treasure is easy to salvage. It’ll be a quick side trip.”
“I won’t have it.”
Oh, really? “Not your cal—” She angled the phone so she’d lose the connection in the marble bathroom.
“Addison? Addison?”
“—ear e-ou,” she faked. “Mayb—” Always cut someone off when you were the one talking. It sounded more believable. With a devilish smile she disconnected him, midword.
“I hope you do meet me in Sydney,” Addison told the absent prince as she got to her feet and returned to pace the bedroom. “Having you and Rydell on board together for several weeks will make me either suicidal or homicidal.”
Going to her desk, she took her laptop to her comfortable easy chair across the room. Annoyingly, the chair smelled of Rydell. “Damn it.” He didn’t use cologne as Naveen did, but Ry’s skin had always had a distinct fragrance that used to make her hot and bothered and want to nuzzle him. All over.
Not now of course. Now the sight and smell of him made her blood boil in a whole other way.
Annoyed, Addison got up and moved to her rumpled bed. There she settled in a nest of pillows and opened her laptop.
Might as well write a couple of blogs while she was holed up in her cabin. She was too distracted to go back to work on the book. But several short pieces would keep her mind occupied until she got the all-clear.
The weekly fashion blogs had become syndicated last year, and she’d built up a sizable following worldwide. Which in turn had placed five of her Treasures Of books on the New York Times and USA Today best-seller lists.
She’d made a life for herself. “A good life, damn it.” Addison scowled at the blinking cursor on the screen; it was called a cursor for good reason. “It’ll be odd not coming home every night to Tesoro Mio,” she murmured to herself as her laptop booted up. But also liberating to fin
d a lovely apartment. Milan? Perhaps Paris? Put down roots. With Naveen? He was certainly pushing for the happy ending he believed Rydell had stolen from them.
Hands resting on the keyboard, Addison pushed that aside for now. She’d promised him a decision after the ship was sold, buying herself a couple of weeks. It wasn’t fair to string him along. He was a lovely man. Handsome, wealthy, titled, and amusing.
Midmorning sunlight, diffused by the soft white drapes, streamed through the large window. She loved early mornings. She and her ex-husband had had that in common. Naveen used to like waking up slowly, wanting a quickie before rolling over and going back to sleep. By the time he woke up again, Addison had already completed her five-mile jog, showered, started breakfast, and was well into her day.
Maybe he’d changed in the intervening years? She hadn’t woken up beside him since first meeting Rydell, even though he was pushing her to resume their intimate relationship. He’d been doing his best to persuade her for the past year.
They’d have to work that out when they lived together—if they lived together. They’d have to—she grimaced—compromise. With Naveen there’d be plenty of those. Which was what had prevented her from marrying him the first time around.
A loud volley of gunfire, seemingly close, made her unable to concentrate on creating new content on her blog. She switched gears and went to her bookmarked news pages. Usually she started with the style pages, but a headline popped up, snagging her interest. She’d been following this particular news story for years, and was absolutely fascinated by it. The report was a week old, but news to her.
PROCIONI STRIKES AGAIN. FOUR PAINTINGS VALUED AT OVER €168 MILLION. BIGGEST ART HEIST RECORDED IN DECADES.
A van Gogh, two Monets, and a Degas were stolen from the home of Brigita and Emil Fousek in Devjice, one of the most affluent neighborhoods outside Prague.
The loss of the artwork wasn’t detected for what could’ve been several weeks …
“Oh, shit! This is what Hollis was bitching about when I spoke to her in Genoa the other day.” This time Procioni had struck close to home. Addison knew the Fouseks. They were good friends of her mother’s. She and Naveen had accompanied Hollis to the Czech Republic for the wedding of Brigita and Emil’s oldest daughter, Eliska, a few months ago.