Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rory’s eyelids fluttered against shards of bright light that may as well have been broken glass for how much they hurt. She snapped her eyes shut, blocking out the pain only to be startled by a loud noise, which jolted her into awareness and had her noticing she was bobbing back and forth.
It felt like a repeat of the time she was eight, and her brother had spun her around one too many times on the tire swing in their backyard, and she’d thrown up her lunch—yeah, that was how she was feeling right now.
“What’s going on?” Her throat was scratchy, her voice almost unrecognizable. Hoarse.
Chills swept over her clammy skin, and her teeth began to chatter. Where am I?
“Come on. You need to wake up.” Warm hands firmly cupped her face as the voice urged Rory to open her eyes.
“Too confused. Woozy,” she mumbled with numb lips. It was as if she were coming off anesthesia only much worse. Waking up from surgery after she’d been stabbed in the abdomen in Cartagena three years ago had nothing on this.
“The yacht is sinking. We’re taking on water.” Relief shot through her when she suddenly recognized Chris’s voice.
Yacht? No, that can’t be right. She had to get her eyes to stay open. For him, she’d do it. “Wh-what?”
“I gotta move you again. Can’t stay here any longer.” His tone was deep, insistent.
Again?
She combed the area overhead as he lifted her from a soft surface, and she glimpsed down to see she’d been on a couch beneath an overhang with a too-bright spotlight.
When she turned her head as if in slow motion, she saw the sheets of rain surrounding the vessel.
Chris clutched her tightly as they walked by the wraparound gangways leading to the fore-deck of the yacht, and it was then Rory felt the intensity of the rain. It struck them hard, but he never lost his hold of her.
“You’ll be okay.” Chris’s words pulled her focus to his face, and she blinked, trying to keep her eyes open in the rain.
“We found the emergency boat. It’s got a motor, but the water is choppy. I don’t know if we’ll make it to the island.” Was that Harper?
Rory twisted her neck to follow the voice and saw Harper in a bright yellow rain jacket, hood covering her dark hair.
Emergency boat? “Where are we?”
“We’re in the Caribbean,” Chris said quickly as if that weren’t shocking news. “Somewhere off the coast of Puerto Rico according to the radar.”
“Puerto Rico? We were just in D.C.” Rory finally managed to wrap her hands around the back of Chris’s neck as he sidestepped a body.
Wait, a body? There was a man lying on his side, unmoving in the downpour, but was he dead?
She strained her eyes, trying to make out the tattoo circling his neck. A green serpent.
A jagged scar shaped like the number seven, next to his right eye, had a memory trying to surface, but it never materialized.
“D.C. was yesterday.” Another voice. Roman?
Oh . . . the elevator. It hadn’t been smoke. Gas! We were knocked out. But, no. Oh, God. Her thoughts were sluggish. Drugs had to be in her system and still affecting her, but she was starting to put two and two together.
They’d been gassed and taken out of the hotel, hadn’t they?
We shouldn’t have gotten into that elevator. This is my fault.
“The yacht is going down. This piece of garbage they probably chartered is worthless, which is why I’m guessing the owners have on board a top-notch emergency boat,” Roman yelled out over the thunder, which rolled overhead like bowling pins scattering after a strike.
Standing strong against the wind and rain pounding them, Chris glimpsed down at her. “We gotta get off. No choice. I got you, I promise.”
She nodded, giving him her trust. “I think I can walk now.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” she said, and he slowly set her down but held on to her hip, waiting to see if she had her balance.
“Gotta get to the stern.” He looped an arm around her back as they made their way to the lower deck to get to the back of the yacht to disembark.
“What about whoever took us? Anyone alive?” Rory tossed a look over her shoulder and nearly slipped and lost her balance, but Chris stopped her from falling.
“They’re all dead now.” Chris tipped his chin, signaling to the dark sky, the cracks of lightning in the distance. “The emergency boat won’t have a chance of making it to shore if we don’t get the hell off this yacht right now. We’re anchored not too far from an island.”
“You help Roman. I’ve got her.” Harper motioned for Chris to get a move on, and he looked to Rory for permission.
“Go,” Rory mouthed.
Harper helped Rory into an oversized raincoat, then offered her a life jacket. “These won’t do much good if we wind up in these waters, but better than nothing, I suppose.”
Rory clutched Harper’s forearms when the boat suddenly pitched and nearly sent them careening into the wall.
“You good?” Harper asked, and it was all so strange. Rory was usually the calm and collected one. The fighter who ensured everyone else was solid.
Her head was spinning while her body swayed softly side to side with the force of the waves striking the yacht like God himself had dipped his hand down and was swirling the sea around.
She wasn’t sure the time of day given the storm-darkened sky, but she’d venture to guess it was evening.
Damn drugs or whatever they gave me.
“It’s a six-seater,” she overheard Roman saying when Harper helped Rory get to the lowest deck.
“And it has an Intex trolling motor.” If the boat was similar to those Rory had used in the past, it would auto-inflate using carbon dioxide or nitrogen.
“Should give us a better shot at getting to shore.”
“Let’s hope so.” Chris stole a look at Rory and reached for her. “Roman’s going to get in the boat first, and we’ll help you both in next.” Chris gave Rory’s arm a gentle squeeze. Why didn’t the guys have on life jackets or vests?
Based on the rickety-looking yacht, and given it couldn’t endure the storm, it clearly wasn’t up to code.
“We’ve got this, okay?” Chris held her eyes as the rain tapped at her hood. “We focus on what we can control.”
Roman reached through the rounded opening of the canopy he’d already attached to the bright yellow lifeboat, securing his hands around Rory’s hips and helped her board.
The canopy would shield them from the harsh environment, which was a plus.
And most emergency lifeboats were equipped with water, food, oars, a knife, and a flare gun.
Rory scooted to the other side of the boat and hugged her legs to her chest as Roman helped Harper on board. Chris came on next, and Roman pushed off, the hum of the motor barely audible over the cracks of thunder.
She couldn’t stop shivering as shock tore through her. And it was only then she was coherent enough to realize she and Harper were no longer in their evening wear.
Before she could put her thoughts together to ask about her clothes, Chris distracted her by opening a small silver package.
He unfolded the emergency blanket, which looked like a piece of aluminum foil.
These blankets had saved her ass from freezing to death on multiple occasions in the past. “Thank you,” she whispered as he covered her, teeth still clicking as she shared the blanket with Harper.
“We’ll be okay.” Harper’s warm tone was almost comforting.
Rory glimpsed at Roman. His gaze was fixed out of the canopy entrance as he navigated the trolling motor. The oars wouldn’t do much good right now, but the last thing she saw from aboard the yacht was land—assuming she hadn’t been hallucinating.
“We’re not far.” Chris held a GPS device in his palm and pointed to a small island. “I was one of the best trackers on my SEAL Team. We’ve got this.” He reached beneath the emergency blanket and squeezed Rory’s leg with his free hand, trying to reassure her despite the hellish conditions.
“He wasn’t nicknamed The Hunter while in the Navy just because of his last name,” Roman commented, and had Rory not been so nervous, she would’ve smiled.
“Did you manage to grab anything of use off the vessel before I woke up?” And how the hell did y’all escape?
“A few cell phones, but they’re not working right now. No signal. Maybe when we reach the island, we’ll have better luck. The radio was shot to hell,” Chris explained. “I didn’t have time to search for our belongings, though.”
“And how’d you escape?” She peered around at everyone, still shocked at what went down while she’d been Sleeping Beauty.
“Roman and I regained consciousness around the same time.” Chris’s eyes fell closed for a brief moment, and he expelled a deep breath. “You and Harper weren’t with us. I thought . . .”
She pulled her arm free from the blanket and reached for his cheek as a reminder whatever he thought hadn’t happened. She was there and alive thanks to him.
“We overtook one of the guards,” Chris went on. “Used my tie to put him to sleep.”
That tie . . .
She’d had plans for that tie last night, plans that involved sharing her life, her past, her everything with him before they lost themselves in each other for the rest of the night where that tie would’ve had a starring role.
Yeah, they would have most likely made love before she’d spilled her truth, unable to resist their desire any longer than absolutely necessary.
Now it was too late. And it was her fault.
She’d jeopardized his life. Roman’s and Harper’s lives as well. All because she hadn’t come clean, foolishly thought that remaining silent would keep those she loved and cared about safe.
“Harper took out her guard before we got to you two,” Roman added, “but she couldn’t wake you up.”