Chapter Twenty-Two
NATALIE FOUGHT TO stay calm as Wallace’s oversized mercenary held a camel brown gun to her brother’s head and nodded his head toward the rear of the boat.
She knew how to handle a firearm, and she could hit a target with reasonable accuracy, but she didn’t have the shape and features of every pistol on the market memorized.
She did know that the color of this one made its user a dickhead.
Erik sat rigidly, eyes wide, his normally tanned face stark white.
“Were you actually in the military, or are you just a wannabe?” she asked the asshole holding the weapon.
Her brother gave her a what-the-fuck look, which she ignored.
The goon’s chin rose a fraction. “Army infantry.” His deep voice was unaccountably filled with pride.
“So you were honorable once.”
A muscle in the man’s stubbled jaw tensed.
She pointed her thumb toward the man’s boss. “Old Mr. Wallace here has probably killed more people than you, and I know for a fact that the hardest thing he ever went through was his fraternity’s—”
“You think you’re amusing, but you’re not,” Wallace snapped. He rose and glared down at her, his cheeks and ears bright red. “Enough stalling.” He yanked her right arm, urging her toward the glass wall at the back of the room.
Against her will, she gasped, the sudden jolt of pain making the room spin. Wallace tugged her again, and she stood quickly to ease the strain, resisting the urge to smash her palm into his fucking nose. She couldn’t afford to be rash while Lear held a gun to Erik’s head.
Not too rash, anyway. Donning a Ford-like alter ego might keep her in check. Then again, chaos was her superpower. Her unpredictability and teasing personality led men to underestimate her. Perfect in her line of work, and useful now.
“Out.” Wallace marched her through the sliding door onto a patio-like space and down a short flight of stairs. They stood on a platform cantilevered off the back of the yacht several feet above the waves. He sat her on the lowest step, keeping a grip on her biceps.
Erik and Lear continued onto the wide deck, and her brother made a good show of resisting getting anywhere near the edge, only acquiescing when the gunman aimed his weapon at her instead. As directed, Erik stood within inches of the edge, facing her with his back to the drop-off.
Shoulder throbbing, Natalie scanned for a button or switch that would lower the platform—preferably taking their captors by surprise—but everything on this fancy floating deathtrap seemed to be hidden beneath a sleek panel or door.
Willing away the pain in her shoulder and the panic in her chest with a deep breath, she relaxed her muscles, as if defeated, as the gun swung back toward her brother. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” Wallace gave her a stern look as he balanced on the gently swaying platform. With his free hand, he set his phone on a small ledge and tapped the screen a few times. “But let’s start with who you work with. Besides Emma Gallagher. We know all about her.”
Nat’s shiver wasn’t just from the cool breeze. She had so many people to protect today. Or die trying. No doubt in her mind that Wallace would kill her and her brother as soon as he confirmed her information. The criminal asshat couldn’t afford to let them live.
She sighed. “We’ve been working with Jason Chin.” His involvement in the Switzerland fiasco and his relationship with Emma meant he already had a target on his back, but she still felt guilty throwing out his name.
Wallace scowled. “We know about him too, obviously. He was with Emma in Lucerne.”
“Right, but he’s been with us from the beginning.” Sorry, Jason.
The old man’s eyes gleamed as if she were confirming a secret suspicion he’d had. “How long?”
“Emma and I started FPP—the Free Pen Project—three years ago as a front for our…investigations.” She tried not to stray into territory that would piss him off too much.
Or veer too far from the truth. He needed to be engaged but somewhat pliable.
As relaxed as possible. “Jason and his team provided backup or intel when needed. I don’t know the full story of how he and Emma know each other, but I think they dated in college and stayed in touch. ”
Wallace nodded, his grip loosening as he became invested in her story. “What about journalists? And you must have a hacker or…something on staff. Who’s moving the money?”
Natalie caught her brother’s gaze and blinked three times, hoping he’d catch it in the dim light.
When his lips thinned, she knew he’d received the message, just like when they were kids.
She’d gotten them into plenty of trouble, but she’d usually gotten them out of it too.
This time the stakes were simply higher.
Turning her face up to Wallace, she sighed. “We have a hacker and a forensic accountant who’s a whiz at following the maze of shell corporations.”
He smirked. “I knew—”
She shot to her feet, and he took a startled step back.
Across the platform, Erik dropped like a dead weight and rolled backwards into the water with a faint splash before Lear could grab him.
As Wallace recovered and lunged for her, she juked toward the water. Her heart rate spiked at the thought of going in, but—
She came to an abrupt stop on the edge as someone yanked the back of her windbreaker. Choking from the pressure of the collar against her throat, she fumbled for the zipper. Stretched tight, the pull tab wouldn’t budge.
She quit fighting and leaned into Wallace’s pull, catching him by surprise as they crashed together onto the platform.
The pressure on her neck eased as his hold loosened.
Blocking out all thoughts of what lay beyond, she took a deep breath and slid right off her attacker, feet first over the three-inch lip and off the edge.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she inhaled deeply and anticipated the shock of going under as her feet plunged into the cool water. Instead, she jerked to a stop as someone grabbed her right forearm, leaving her dangling in the air with waves licking at her shins.
Nat screamed from the fire that lanced through her still-tender wound.
Mother fucker.
Her head spun, her body turned hot, and she nearly puked.
Looking up, she saw Wallace grimacing down at her, braced on his knees, gripping her arm with both hands. To her right, Lear was in a similar position, aiming his gun at the spot where Erik had disappeared.
Erik. She had to get to him, untie him so he could swim.
With her good arm, she gripped the narrow rim that ran along the back edge of the platform, easing some of the pressure on her right side.
Then, she swung her legs slowly up out of the water and braced her feet on a crossbar that must’ve been part of the hydraulic lift system.
When she bent her knees, her body shifted closer to the boat.
Misunderstanding her intentions, Wallace straightened a little, raising his center of gravity.
Wincing as all of her weight hung from his grip on her bad arm, Natalie grabbed his wrist and straightened her legs as if attempting a backwards dive. The move threw him off balance and he toppled forward, following her headfirst into the ocean with a shocked cry.
Cold water closed over her head as she sank into a forest of kelp.
Don’t breathe. She pressed her lips together, kicking and flailing against the massive plants, her heart threatening to bolt from her wounded chest as she fought to return to the surface.
Every stroke brought a wave of pain, but she gritted her teeth and kept kicking, toeing off her running shoes to make it easier.
A muffled pop came from above. Was that a gunshot?
Oh, God. Where was Erik?
She spun, trying to see, but the boat’s lights barely penetrated the murky gloom.
Dimly, she became aware of the muffled sound of a motor coming closer. Had Wallace or Lear called for backup?
With one more hard kick, she breached the surface and sucked in a breath, trying to remember how to tread water while moving her right arm as little as possible. Spinning, she caught sight of Lear shining a flashlight down into the water, gun in his free hand.
A few feet away, Wallace sputtered and cried out. “Help!”
Probably worried he wouldn’t get paid if the man drowned, Lear stopped his search and tossed his boss a life ring. Wallace hooked an arm through and waited to be pulled over to the yacht.
The sound of the motor drew her gaze toward land. A small boat sped toward her from maybe fifty yards away. From what she could see in the foggy glow, the occupants fit the same mold as the rest of the old man’s entourage—big, tall, dark clothing.
Using an awkward side stroke to move across the swells, Natalie swam under the diving platform and grabbed one of the large metal arms holding it up. In the faint light coming through the drain slits overhead she didn’t see any sign of Erik. Dammit.
Should she—
A low hum emanated from the wall of the boat and the metal arm beneath her fingers began to move as the deck lowered.
She let go and pushed herself sideways, ducking under water to avoid being forced down by the platform.
She held her breath as long as possible, following the hull around to the ocean-side of the yacht, away from the approaching reinforcements.
Popping out of the water about a third of the way toward the front, she caught the echo of a sharp bang off the ocean’s surface. Natalie’s heart dropped.
Please no. She paddled hard for the rear of the yacht, retracing her path. The swells tugged at her like a swarm of hands, attempting to slam her into the yacht’s gleaming white skin. I’m coming, Erik. She dove under the surface and kicked with every bit of her waning strength.
As long as she didn’t dwell on the fact that she was in the ocean, several football fields’ distance from shore—with sharks and eels and stingrays and who-knew-what-else swimming around in the dark—she was fine. One-hundred-percent fine.