Chapter 7 #2
“Austen, you climb on behind Phoenix. Declan, I’m coming over,” Stein said. “I’ll drive you close and let you off, and then I’ll do some sketchy stuff.” He glanced at Austen and added a brief smile. “I’ll create a distraction, and you work on getting that tender out.”
“What kind of distraction?” Declan asked.
“Just pay attention.” Stein looked at Austen. “And you stay alive. If they start shooting, put the Jet Ski between you and the shooter—but even better, get out of range completely.”
“Steinbeck—”
“I’ll be back, sis.” He looked at Phoenix then. “Don’t even think about ditching us.”
Her mouth opened. “Where am I going to go?”
He shook his head, gave a small snort.
Interesting.
They changed places and Steinbeck took the helm. “Ready?”
“Go.” Declan held on to the bench as Steinbeck puttered through the darkness, all the way to the swim deck. He pulled up and Declan rolled off into the shadows.
“Get that tender out no matter what happens.” Then Steinbeck gave him a thumbs-up, and for a second, it hinted at a friendship Declan had thought they had.
Stein sped off into the darkness.
Declan ran over to the garage, where his tender sat under the main deck. He punched in the key code, and the garage door opened. The tender sat inside on rollers. He unhooked the security straps, and the tender started to roll out.
He pulled it, then got behind it and pushed.
An explosion thundered into the darkness. He looked up and the sky lit with flames.
Hello, distraction.
Gunshots, then shouting sounded from the bridge, and Declan kept his eyes on the tender. The six-seater speedboat should have enough gas to get them the one hundred miles to shore. Which shore, he didn’t know, but the boat had GPS and hopefully extra fuel.
Operation Escape the Yacht accomplished.
Almost.
The tender slipped into the water, and he jumped onto the back deck, letting the boat float out to sea.
Gunshots pinged the water beside him, and Declan rolled down behind the bench, then crept up to the captain’s seat. The key hung from the ignition and he turned it. The motor gurgled and spat. Died. More shouts erupted behind him, and he spotted one of the remaining gunmen running down the stairs.
He turned back to the ignition. “Come on, baby. Help a guy out.” It spat, choked, and then caught.
Gas fumes clouded the night. He gunned it.
The boat’s wheel nearly shot out of his grip, but he kept hold and righted it, then headed out into the darkness where he’d last seen Austen and Phoenix-Ashley— whoever.
From the yacht, gunshots still rang out.
Glancing back, he spotted flames in the ocean. Steinbeck had somehow set the sinking Jet Ski on fire.
Had probably taken off the fuel line, used the spark plugs to ignite it. Smart.
He turned around. Searched the night for the other Jet Ski. He spotted it, a winking light in the darkness. He motored toward it, shots still echoing from the yacht, but he kept his light off, the other guiding him.
Pulling up beside it, he’d barely throttled down when Austen pulled herself onto the back of the boat. “Where’s Steinbeck?”
He shook his head.
“He’s in the water!” Phoenix said. She turned her Jet Ski, stood up.
A fist formed in his gut.
“In ten minutes, turn your light on,” Phoenix said, and shot off toward the yacht.
Austen sat on the side, her expression unreadable in the darkness.
“You okay?”
“Too early to tell,” she said. “But I think I’m over the three-hour tour.”
The what?
“ Gilligan’s Island ?”
Right. “Who am I?”
“The professor.”
“And you?”
“Mary Ann.”
He laughed, and it released the knot in his chest. “You sure you’re not Ginger?”
“Yes. And I’m diving overboard if you suggest I’m Mrs. Howell.”
He turned the boat around, searching for Phoenix’s Jet Ski. “The professor, huh?”
“You always have everything figured out.”
He gave out a sound that held nothing of agreement. “I wish.”
“Really?”
“Trust me. I spend most of my time trying to stay one step ahead of my mistakes. There they are.” He pointed to a white hull just outside the light of the yacht. Flicking on his light, he let it shine for a moment, then turned it off.
In the flash, he spotted Steinbeck seated behind Phoenix, the two of them slicing through the water.
As if they belonged together. Interesting.
Phoenix pulled up, and Steinbeck climbed onto the boat. Then he threw her a line. “C’mon!”
But she just looked at him.
A beat. Two.
“Phoenix—”
She gunned it, jetting into the darkness.
What—what ?
“Phoenix!”
Steinbeck stood there, his expression unreadable as he watched her disappear.
“Where is she going?” Austen said.
Steinbeck shook his head. “I didn’t see this ending like that.”
Declan either. But he was tired of being blindsided. And betrayed. “Let’s find out,” he said.
And took off after her.
* * *
All she wanted was her boat. And maybe a warm bed.
Okay, dinner too. A pizza, with lots of pepperoni and mushrooms.
Mostly, Austen just wanted off this danger train.
She sat on the bench of the boat, Steinbeck now manning the wheel as he followed Phoenix or Belle or whatever her name was west into the moonlight.
They’d slowed in the darkness and the churning sea and hadn’t been able to catch Belle, losing her now and again in the swell. Somehow, they’d managed to stay on her tail, despite the darkness.
Declan sat next to her on the bench, looking a little undone and beat up by the events of the last few hours.
His face still bore the bruises, but now he also wore a hint of dark whiskers, and it turned him into a rogue.
Fact was, she felt a little bit like she’d been kidnapped and set into some action-adventure movie where everywhere she turned, she was running.
Literally, not metaphorically, so that was a change. “At least I’m not in the ocean,” she said mostly to herself, but Declan cocked his head at her.
“I’m just saying, it could be worse.” She turned her attention to Belle. “Where do you think she’s going?”
“She’s trying to get away from me,” Steinbeck said.
“Why you?”
Austen’s brother had been standing as he drove, and now he sat down on the back of the seat, his feet on the cushion.
Austen guessed they’d eaten about an hour since they’d left the yacht, which put the night nearly at midnight.
No wonder she wanted to lie down and sleep.
She simply wanted to stop thinking about the escape from the yacht, and even before that, about being taken hostage, and even before that, about seeing Declan get beat up.
She’d also like to erase the sight of Steinbeck leaping off a boat with bullets flying around him. And the terrible clench in her gut when Belle had gone off into the darkness to find him.
Yes, Austen really just wanted her boat and her very quiet, normal life back.
Especially since she was no closer to landing on a decision about Declan.
She didn’t know what to think, and his words on the yacht about double-crossing the Bratva didn’t help.
But it made sense why they’d come after him. And that made him a good guy, right?
The stars scattered above them, the moonlight rippling on the water. “‘Whom do I have in heaven but you?’” she said quietly. “‘For you know my coming and my going. You are my strength and my shield, and you I will trust.’”
Declan looked over at her.
“It’s a bunch of verses from the Psalms, in the Bible. Talking about how we can’t hide from God, no matter where we are.”
Declan looked away, and it seemed she’d hit a nerve.
“Declan?”
He sighed. “Do you ever wonder if you’ve walked outside of God’s favor? Done something to set yourself at odds with Him?”
“We set ourselves at odds with God all the time. Whenever we take control of our own lives and say, ‘Thanks, but I’m in charge now.’”
She glanced at the boat in the distance. “There’s a verse in James that talks about how doubting God’s love, his faithfulness, is like being a wave tossed by the sea, driven by the wind. Out of control, no mooring.”
Steinbeck hit a wave hard, and she grabbed the edge of the boat.
“Doubt keeps us from having a firm foundation when the world erupts into chaos.”
Silence, but he nodded.
Declan moved to sit next to her. “I’m sorry I got you into this. I thought I was outsmarting them. Clearly, I didn’t count on them coming after me. Or you.”
Sweet. She didn’t know what to say except, “It’s not your fault.”
“It is totally his fault,” Steinbeck said, looking over at her. “Completely, one hundred percent his fault. We would not be out here fleeing from the Russian mob and chasing down a spy if it wasn’t for him.”
“She’s a spy ?” Declan said.
“She’s a Black Swan,” Steinbeck said. “She works for an all-women clandestine international agency that helps thwart terrorists around the world.” He stared at Declan for a beat before turning away.
Terrorists ? Steinbeck had called him a criminal, not a terrorist . She looked at Declan. “Is that true? Are you a?—”
“No,” he said, glaring at Steinbeck. “It is not true.”
“When you create something that could put America in danger and blow up the entire world,” Steinbeck growled, “it’s called terrorism.”
“Listen,” Declan said, “I can’t control how people use the technology I give them.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have made it in the first place.”
Declan held up his hand, clearly schooling his voice.
“It’s also used for self-driving cars for people with disabilities and for robot dogs that can serve as security and even assist the vision impaired, and frankly, it could be used in nanotech to target and destroy cancer cells.
I’m working on all sorts of adaptations to this AI program, so let’s not start calling people names. ”
Steinbeck’s jaw tightened.
But what Declan said made sense. The word terrorist felt like a reach.
“I don’t understand. Why does he think you’re a terrorist?” Austen said.