by KB Winters
“Check that boat over there. Make sure no one is harmed!”
The voice snapped me out of my terrified musings. I sat up straighter and peeked over the edge. A man in a police uniform was approaching the boat, flashlight raised, and his eyes scanning the bow intently.
Shit.
“Come on,” I whispered, pulling Jackson back towards the stairs. We couldn’t talk to the police. They’d want to ask all kinds of questions which would not only delay our departure but then our names would be on record, attached in some way to the explosion. Then, they’d want to see paperwork for the boat. TV News, it would be a disaster.
Jackson went first and I slunk behind him, making sure each step was silent and sure. Once below, we went back to our room and I closed the lightweight wooden door with a soft click. I pressed my finger to my lips and set Jackson on the edge of the bed. His eyes were wide with alarm and I hated myself more for scaring him half to death.
“Hello?” the man’s voice carried down the stairs. “Is anyone aboard?”
Jackson’s panicked eyes locked with mine. I shook my head slowly.
Footsteps sounded and I released a quiet exhale. Thank God. They were leaving.
Hours passed—or was it just minutes? —in agonizingly slow motion and I reached the conclusion that Chase wasn’t coming back. I crept upstairs—leaving Jackson below—and had seen the fire had dwindled and the people that swarmed the docks were dissipating. I didn’t check the time when the explosion happened, but it had to have been nearly an hour since the sound had shot out through the night, rocking the neighboring boat.
A sickening realization sunk in as I watched the rest of the rescue team leave a little while after that. The police were still there, taping off the charred and broken remains of the vessel that was very close to ours. If Henry’s people were in the city, this was the perfect chance to slip away, as no one was going to get beyond the police line without proof that they owned one of the boats docked there.
We had to leave. We had to go somewhere safe.
Even if that meant leaving without Chase.
Chapter Two
Melissa
“What the hell am I looking at here?” I asked myself in a frazzled whisper. I scanned back and forth at the control panels, trying to make sense of it, to find a clear beginning, but all it was doing was pushing harder on the limits of my sanity. Time was slipping away and I had to get away from the dock. So far, no one else had tried to board the boat in order to go sniffing through our belongings, but I knew that luck wouldn’t hold out. The next time a police officer came on deck, they’d come below and find Jackson and me holed up in the bedroom.
Even though my heart was threatening to tear itself to pieces at the thought of leaving Chase behind, I knew I had to go. I told myself that it’s what he’d want me to do. But even with that rationalization, I was still a mess over the idea. As I tried to make sense of the control panel for the boat, tears blurred my eyes. But I had to figure this out. No matter how bad I wanted to throw myself on the floor and cry out of sheer terror, I couldn’t give up.
Not for me–for Jackson.
I’d put the child-sized life jacket on Jackson and left him down in our bedroom watching a cartoon on Chase’s tablet, with Chase’s too-big headphones perched on his head. I’d hoped it would calm him down and drown out the noise beyond the walls of our boat. Once he’d settled down, I went up on deck again and went to the bridge to see about getting the engine started. I knew it wouldn’t be quiet—or particularly graceful—considering I’d be at the wheel, but if I did everything fast enough, I could get away. To where?
I had no clue.
My strategy was to worry about that part later and so far, it was working.
“Okay…this looks right…” I muttered, running my hand over the buttons and levers. “If I hit this one, and then that red one. Or, wait, not the red one? Is that just in spy movies? Oh, God. I don’t know.” I cursed myself for always getting distracted by the way Chase’s powerful hands gripped the levers or the sure confident motions as he turned the wheel, or made adjustments and sailed like he’d been doing it before he’d taken his first steps.
I should have been paying attention to which levers he’d used—and when. That would have helped, instead of just fueling pointless fantasies that had led to…well, no. I wasn’t going to think about that either.
Focus, Melissa. I gritted my teeth and stared down at the controls again.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered. I’d reach for one button, only to change my mind, and pull my hand away twice as fast. The longer I stared at the options, the less sense it all made to me. Damn it!
There had to be a manual around here. New cars have them, I wondered if boats did—well yachts. I opened the cover to a little glovebox-looking thing and rummaged around, hoping upon hope I’d find something useful.
“Need a hand?”
“Shit! Oh my God!”
My eyes flew open and a lightning bolt blasted through my body, lighting every nerve and cell. I whipped around and choked back a cry at Chase’s broad-shouldered form standing in the darkened doorway. “Chase?”
He was soaking wet, his dark clothes sticking to him, and his wet hair was standing up as though he’d just got done running his hands through it to remove the excess water. “Oh my God! Where were you? Are you okay? What happened over there?” The questions shot out at a machine gun pace, not leaving time for Chase to even attempt an answer, before I spit out the next one.
“We can talk about all that later.” He took a step into the room and I noticed he was limping.
“You’re hurt!” It wasn’t a question, more of a horrified statement. “Where? Let me see. I can help.”
“Not right now,” he grimaced and took another step. “We have to get out of here before the harbor master comes to pay us a visit with half a dozen of his buddies in blue. You shouldn’t even be here. It’s not safe!”
His criticism cut to the quick and I pulled away from him. My cheeks flooded with heat and I gestured frantically at the controls. “I was trying, but I don’t know how to get this thing going,” I confessed, my voice soft, almost shamed.
“You know, they don’t have a self-destruct button on these things.”
I threw my hands up in the air. “You’re welcome for waiting on you!”
“You should have left me behind as soon as that explosion sounded,” he growled back.
“Well excuse me for giving a shit!”
Chase shook his head and turned his attention to getting the engines running. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re going. Now.”
“Well, we’re not going to get very far if you bleed out on the way,” I shot back, turning my attention to try and assess the damage to his leg. A task made impossible in the low lighting and the nasty vibes rolling off his hunched back as he got us pulled out of the marina.
He glanced over at me, his eyes dark. “It’s not that serious.”
“How do you know? Have you looked at it?”
He shook his head. “I’ve gone through worse.”
“Oh, well that’s comforting.”
Chase sighed. “Fine, if you want to go get the first aid kit, I’m going to work on getting us out of here.”
I gave a curt nod and spun on my heel. Without another word, I flashed from the room and bolted down the stairs. With shaking fingers, I retrieved the white box with the red plus sign on the front and hurried back up the stairs, nearly losing my balance as the boat jolted. I changed course and swung into the bedroom where Jackson was sitting up in bed. He reached for the headphones, his eyes wide, and pulled them off of his head.
“Hey, sweetheart. Chase is here!”
“He is?” A bright smile washed over his worried face. Chase was rapidly becoming his hero.
“Yeah. So, I need you to stay here while I help him get us out to sea. Then you can come up and say hi, okay?”
Jackson looked disappointed, but nodded. “Okay
, Mama.” He sighed. I planted a kiss on his forehead, ruffled his hair, and then left the room. I had no idea how bad Chase’s injuries were, but I didn’t want Jackson seeing him battered and bloody. I also had a bazillion questions I needed answered. Most of which would be impossible for Chase to answer if Jackson was sitting three feet away, listening in on every word.
I hustled back up the stairs and went to the bridge where Chase was leaning over the controls, tapping at different monitors and gauges. “Everything okay?” I asked, tamping down my previous frustration. I turned to peer over my shoulder to see that we’d made progress away from the shore.
“Yeah.” Chase looked over and saw the first aid kit clasped in my hands. “You got any painkillers in there?”
“Of course!” I popped the box open and in my haste, managed to spill some of the contents to the ground. I stooped over and retrieved everything, stuffing it back inside, before straightening and finding a packet with two pain tablets. “Here,” I tore the packet open and dropped the pills into his open hand. “I’ll go get some water.”
“Don’t bother,” Chase said. He dropped the pills into the back of his throat and swallowed. He stared out ahead and I fidgeted, shifting back and forth.
“What happened back there? With the explosion?”
Chase glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t worry about it, okay? We’ve got to focus on getting as far away from here as possible. That’s all that matters right now. Got it?”
His gruff tone riled me all over again. I planted my fists on my hips and leaned toward him. “No, I don’t got it, Chase. This is my life! My child’s life! I deserve to know what the hell is going on!”
He stared at me for another beat and then tore his eyes away and locked them on the dark waters ahead of us. The eyes that were normally so warm and entrancing were cold—like steel. Unfamiliar and jarring. A thick tension settled in the air between us as I tried to find a way of demanding answers in a way he’d be forced to agree to. But I couldn’t think of anything. He wouldn’t respect whining. I’d already tried arguing. And cold silence appeared to be what he wanted, which ruled out the silent treatment.
Perfect.
The one man who made me feel like I wasn’t alone, had now left.
I spun on my heel and stalked off, only to stop halfway back to the stairs, realizing that I was still holding the first aid kit in my hands. With a sigh, I pivoted again, and went back to the bridge. “At least let me see your leg,” I said, my tone firm.
Chase hit a few more buttons and then sighed. “Fine.”
He stood up from the chair and flicked on the overhead lighting. Without any warning or hesitation, he dropped his pants. I sucked in a breath, both at the sudden assault of memories from the last time he’d removed his clothing for me, but it sharpened at the sight of the large injury and the amount of blood coating his shin on his left leg.
“Chase—” I breathed. “What happened?”
I squatted down in front of him, focusing my eyes on his leg—and only his leg—to get a closer view of the cuts and gashes. “Let me get a bottle of water and some cloths. We’ve got to get this cleaned up before I can see the damage. Luckily, it looks like the blood is slowing, so the wounds are clotting on their own.”
I pushed off my heels and hurried from the room before he could argue with me further. I grabbed the supplies and slipped back in. He sat back on the chair and propped his leg up on the seat next to the captain’s chair. He grimaced as I started to clear the blood away with gentle swipes. When my hand stopped, he prompted me to continue. “Get it over with,” he growled.
I nodded and continued to clean, doing my best to go slow and carefully over the wounds. The cuts were shallow and I doubted any of them would require stitches. Mostly, they appeared to be scratches and shallow gashes. The entire time I worked on cleaning and bandaging the area, the questions in my mind got louder and louder, but I kept my mouth shut. Chase was in a surly mood and had already made it clear he wasn’t up for conversation. I resigned myself to trying again in the morning.
“Are the pills helping any? I have more.”
Chase shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Let me get you an ice pack or a bag of frozen peas or something. That should help with any swelling and numb it at least a little.”
Chase grunted and lowered his foot back to the floor. “I’m fine, Melissa. Really.”
I stuck out my lower lip and crossed my arms. “Chase…”
“Go get some sleep,” he said, his tone quiet but firm.
“I’m not going anywhere. Do you really think I could sleep right now anyway?” I flung my hands into the air. “Just to recap, for those playing at home, you came into my room in the middle of the night, told me a pack of crazy assassins from my ever-so-loving husband were on the way to get us, we ran like hell through the night to get away, and just as we’re about to go, you take off with hardly a wisp of an explanation, and the next thing I know, the fucking boat next door explodes and you’re nowhere to be seen!”
Chase didn’t look amused by my dramatic retelling. “Seems to me you should be exhausted. Sleep would be a gift.”
I stared him down, absolutely baffled by the man sitting before me. Where was the sweet, humorous, protector who had started this journey with me?
“Yeah, you know what, you’re right. I am exhausted. I’m tired of running for my life, tired of living in fear, and right now, I’m really fucking tired of talking to you!” I stalked from the room.
“Melissa!”
“Fuck you!”
Chapter Three
Chase
“Fuck.”
Everything ached. My head rang with the aftermath of the explosives. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d nearly been blown to bits, but I’d obviously blocked out the absolute agony. The entire scene played back through my head like a slow motion movie scene. The man with the gun had been easy enough to take out. With him out of my way, I bolted down the narrow hall, clotheslined another thug, and dove over the side just as the explosion ripped the bridge apart. My leg was in the worst shape, as pieces of the boat ripped through my cargo pants and tore into my skin. Melissa had done her best to patch me up, but the pain pills weren’t even scratching the surface.
And now, on top of everything else, she was pissed off at me.
Great.
Not that I could blame her. I’d been an asshole. Between my throbbing headache, the aftermath of the adrenaline crash, and the cuts up my leg, I was in no mood for company. Even hers. Hopefully she could forgive me.
I shook my head to myself and forced myself to focus on my job. That’s what this was. A job. Melissa was not my lover or my friend. She was my job. Protecting her and Jackson was all that mattered. I reminded myself of that cold hard fact and pushed the throttle to drive us forward—and farther away from the shore—as quickly as humanly possible.
All of our lives depended on it.
One nagging thought ricocheted back to me in the relative silence of the bridge as I pushed us farther away from the shore. Luckily, everyone at the dock was consumed with getting the fire put out and no one had come after us. If we kept going, and kept a decent pace, we’d be far enough away by morning that no one would ever know we’d been in Cabo in the first place.
And with O’Keefe’s men dead…or at the least, incapacitated…we should be in the clear. Replaying it all brought back the question that wouldn’t leave me alone. How the hell had O’Keefe’s men found us in Cabo? We were so careful back in California. I’d found the tracker in the money bag she’d been carting around and I’d made sure every device with any kind of GPS stayed with the vehicle. Hell, I’d even gone so far as to make Jackson leave behind his iPad, in case there was some way to track it. Paranoid? Sure. But that was why I’d never lost a client before.
So, how? How the freak did O’Keefe’s men track us?
It didn’t make any sense to me, and my head was ring
ing and pounding too much to concentrate on figuring it out.
The first aid kit was sitting on the co-captain’s chair and I dug around until I found two more painkillers. I downed them just like the first pair, and then set the boat on cruise control so I could go down and get a bottle of water from the kitchen. If I was going to be able to stay up all night, I needed something in my system. Sheer will and determination weren’t going to get me through the night all by themselves.
Melissa was standing in the kitchen, wearing a long t-shirt, and I stopped in my tracks. She turned her head at the sound of my footsteps on the stairs. I forced my eyes to stay on her face and not linger on the curves of her breasts and soft flare of her hips.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, her voice casual, like nothing was wrong.
I swallowed hard, my throat like sandpaper. “Yeah. I just need some water.”
She opened the fridge and bent forward—sweet Lord—and retrieved a bottle for me. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I took it from her, careful not to let our fingers touch. I was on red alert in so many ways. A gentle touch was all it would take for me to lose control and take her right there in the kitchen. It would take the edge off for sure and after the way she’d argued and bickered with me, I wanted to make her close that sweet little mouth, and listen to everything I said without argument.
“I’m going to bed,” she said, obviously not as distracted and tortured by my presence as I was hers. “If you need anything, let me know.”
I nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be all right, though.”
She stared at me for a long minute, her eyes searching mine. What is she looking for?
Before I could decide, she turned and padded back to the room she shared with Jackson, giving me one last look before closing the door. With a grunt, I turned and plodded back up to the bridge. I’d fix things with Melissa in the morning.
In theory.
* * * *