Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
DEAN
“Wait, the anchor, you’ll ruin the boat or dig us in.” June hops onto the catwalk. Her hands are shaking, and I bite back a curse. Running to the steering column, I start to lower the motors.
“They’re shooting at the boat, June, goddammit.”
“Don’t curse at me.” She makes her way to the bow, smooth limbs glistening where saltwater still clings to them.
“I’m not cursing at—” A bullet whizzes by my head. “June, get down .”
Fuck . She’s going to draw fire out there. June must’ve realized it too, because she flattens herself against the boat. Good .
“Brace yourself.” The motors drop into the water with a mechanical whine. “I’m gonna pull the boat around and give you some cover.”
“No! I’ve nearly got it.” She heaves once, twice, three times, and the anchor gives, the boat already drifting along the current out to sea. A bullet pings against the hull. Thompson’s boat roars to life, the white wake rolling towards us promising to send us careening.
This is it. This is going to be how I finally lose it. With this woman determined to put herself in danger. Counting to ten isn’t going to fucking cut it. Counting to ten thousand probably won’t either.
She heaves again, bringing the anchor onto the ship, dark gobs of silt and mud plopping all over the white hull.
“Get out of there!” I hiss.
“No, I’m going to put it back right, otherwise we’ll regret it later. Just fudging drive, Dean, I can hold on. Keep the motors light on the water or you’ll dig us in.”
A muscle in my temple twitches, and I slam the prop switch, tilting so the dual propellers barely clear the surface. I shake my head.
June is out there on the bow, exposed, and telling me how to do my job.
My entire job right now is protecting her. So far, I’ve fucked that up royally.
“Screw it.” I dip the engines lower, reversing the boat as fast as I dare on the sandbar.
June’s hair streams around her, tugging loose from the thick braid I watched her plait while she sat, serene, by the makeshift bonfire. Now, the inferno on the beach silhouettes her and she hangs on easily, winching the anchor cable back in place.
After what feels like a lifetime, we clear the sandbar, the white surf crashing over the dark rocks of the jetty in the distance.
The clock on the control panel shows the whole thing, from explosion to anchor, took less than three minutes.
“Let me drive.” June hops down from the catwalk. Water slicking her formerly clean shirt, the wet fabric clinging to her body. I drag my gaze back to her face, to the white pallor under the tan.
“You sure?” I almost add she doesn’t look so good—but even like this, clearly shaken, she is stunning. The wind tossing her hair around, a black halo in the night, her skin kissed by starlight and salt.
“It’s my boat.” The look she gives me would freeze hell over. But her hands betray her, still trembling. Something dark drips onto the deck, and I stare for a moment.
Blood.
June pushes past me, her hip grazing my upper thigh. She cradles her hand, using one to steer the Betty out to open water and the gulf.
“Bilge pump,” she mutters to herself, flicking a switch.
“You’re hurt.” The need to check her over, to tend to her overwhelms me. Catching me off-guard.
“Something’s bothering me.”
“Probably that cut on your hand.”
“It’s fine. Something on the anchor chain cut it.” Half turning toward me, her brow furrows in confusion. “What I want to know is how the hell they knew where we’d be? That wasn’t an accident, them showing up there.”
Even in the soft glow of the instrument panel, I can see how tight her uninjured hand is gripping the wheel. Her knuckles are white.
“Well?” Her voice has an edge.
“It’s the right question to ask.” A question I’ve been screaming at myself since the first rumble of the ATVs over the dunes. But the follow-up question, that’s the real problem.
Who betrayed our location?
“And?” Her lips are an angry slash across her face. A shiver rocks her, and she slumps onto the edge of the captain’s chair.
“I don’t know. But you can be damn sure I’m going to find out.” And I’ll make sure whoever fucked us over pays for it.
Another drop of blood splatters across the deck.
“June, your hand.” I reach for it, but she pulls away.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s bleeding. At least let me look at it while you drive.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“I think I’m capable of bandaging your hand.”
She shakes her head, dark hair streaming over her face. “No. That’s not what I mean and you know it. How can I trust your team? How do you know you can trust your team? I’m not an ex-Marine, but I am also not an idiot. Someone told them where to find us. Who else knew we would be at that beach, Dean?”
I nearly flinch back at the venom in her voice. Anger rises in me, bitter and heavy, hot and fast. Not at her. At the fact she is right. Unless… unless she is the one who made contact. Maybe when we stopped for gas, she’d been seen on the boat. It was possible.
Unlikely . But possible.
“It wasn’t my team. Thompson and Thorne got away clean, went the opposite way. We’ll meet up with them when it’s safe.” I grab the first aid kit from where it’s perched precariously on top of the instrument panel. White gauze, saline, antibiotic cream, tape. She doesn’t pull away when I reach for her hand, making quick work of it.
“Then who?”
“We should sweep the Betty for new trackers.” Something I need to do now.
“What do you even mean, trackers? What are you going to do, crawl around and look for something?”
I stare at her, and she stares back.
“Maybe. I’ve already swept it once.” The admission comes out before I think better of it.
Something in June’s eyes shutter. “You have to know how creepy that is.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
She clutches her hurt hand to her. “Fine. Do whatever.”
Nodding, I reach under the control panel, feeling around. My arm ridiculously close to her body. The warmth of her skin sears me, even though I take care not to touch her, even though every fiber of my being cries out to take her in my arms, to set her down and make sure she is okay.
My hands feel along the grooves and channels of the navigation instruments, the fish finder, the steering column, the speedometer.
My fingers find purchase, calluses catching on something hard.
“Do you know what this is?”
June looks down and shakes her head.
“I wanted to make sure before I pull it out.” Maybe not the best word choice. “Pry it out.”
She doesn’t seem to notice, her eyes round as saucers. “What is it?”
“It’s a GPS transmitter. I fucked up. Ahh. I fucked up.” I rake a hand through my hair, sick to my stomach.
And I thought… for a moment, I thought maybe June was the one who signaled the cartel. But here I am, clearly shit at my job.
The black tracker is small and insignificant looking. I crush it in my hands, leaving nothing but plastic shards.
“Okay, Rambo.” A high, hysterical laugh follows.
“Rambo?” I cock my head at her. “I wasn’t the one who blew up the propane tank with one shot.”
“That was better than a James Bond movie,” she laughs.
“I didn’t know you liked James Bond, professor.” I smile at her and kick myself again for thinking she leaked our location. “But you don’t get better than him.”
“Nah. That felt like revenge. Payback. Bond. June Bond.”
I sweep the rest of the boat, taking my time to explore the cabin, the few nooks and crannies where it would be possible to stow a cheap tracker.
“It’s clean.”
“Are you disappointed you can’t crush another tracker with your bare hands?”
Sweeping her into my arms, I chuckle as she lets out another laugh. And then shivers.
“Dammit, June, let me drive.”
“No.” A soft smile.
I look to the sky as though the high, wispy clouds blocking the moon will somehow have the answers.
“Can I at least I warm you up?” God, I want to. Want to take her in my arms, press her body against mine until my heat seeps into her.
She nods and I duck into the cabin and find the fleece blanket.
The soft fabric smooth against my hands. Placing the blanket around her, I release my grip reluctantly. June’s teeth quietly chatter; her eyes so large they swallow the starlight.
“Adrenaline.”
“Huh?”
“You’re shaking again. It’ll stop soon. Try and breathe. Deep breaths.” I cast a look back at the receding flames billowing on the beach.
“Try and breathe? I was planning on continuing to breathe, thank you so much. Certain functions tend to cease if I stop.”
I step back, relief at her sass making me weak.
I care about her. I want her more than I thought possible. The thought overpowers me. Staggers me.
I always get what I want, sooner or later.
And I want June. All of her. Not just now, but for as long as she’ll have me.
A slow, deep-sounding laugh escapes me, and she turns, her lips curving up in automatic response.
“What?” she asks, bemused.
“Just thought of something funny, that’s all.”
“What?” she insists.
“You’ll see,” I say, raking my gaze over her, smirking when she quirks an eyebrow and lets out an exasperated sigh.
She will see. She’ll see me. All of me.
I’ll let her in.