6. Sydney
CHAPTER 6
SYDNEY
With a hop and a prayer, I run down the boat ramp. The tip of my left foot catches on the grooved cement, and I nearly tumble toward the water, but I catch myself at the last second. I leap onto the dock, racing toward the slip holding the sailboat.
Rubber Ducky is painted on the side in chipping blue lettering.
Once I reach the boat, I glance behind me at the sound of shouts. It’s either an irate fisherman—or a murderer.
I can’t see them yet but don’t want to waste time watching. Besides, they have lots of space to cover, and I can’t be sure they actually saw me running out of the RV park. They could be guessing where I am. Maybe I’ll have a fighting chance.
There’s about a two foot wide ledge around the boat and then the railing. Stepping onto the edge of the boat, I leap over the railing. I dive onto the deck and begin army crawling toward the cabin. The doors are open, and there’s a set of stairs leading toward what I at least assume is a cabin. I stay close to the railing of the boat as I make my way there, hoping they won’t be able to see me as I work my way to safety. As I crawl down the first step, I come face to face with…well, a face.
It’s a man with two screws hanging from his mouth, lining up a piece of wood against the wall with one hand while holding a battery operated drill in the other.
The only thing that stops me from screaming is the fact that he looks startled as well.
It’s the same man I saw working on the sailboat yesterday. The same one I’d been ogling. I’d completely forgotten the construction guy might be here.
I didn’t get a clear look at his face yesterday, but it’s as attention-catching as the back of him. He’s tan with dark-blond facial hair. He’s the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen.
My breathing is awkwardly heavy between the two of us. I sound like an asthmatic whale. “I’m so sorry. I just need somewhere to hide for two seconds. I promise I won’t be any trouble.”
He mumbles something, but I can’t understand what it is around that mouthful of screws.
“They’ll be here any minute.” I crawl down the last stair and brush past him. “Thanks so much. West Turner knows me, so it’ll be okay with him.”
More grumbling comes from behind me, and I hear a clink as he sets the tools down. I flinch when a large hand grasps the back of my neck. “What are you doing on this boat?”
The voice is low and sends a shiver down my spine—a different shiver than the witnessing-a-murder shiver.
“Please. I don’t want him to find me.”
He pulls me back until I’m sitting on my heels, looking up at him. He’s crouched down next to me, but he’s so much bigger than me. I realize that I’m entrusting my life to a complete stranger that has shown zero signs of being friendly.
Those gorgeous blue eyes are intense. “Abusive?”
It takes me a second to register that he’s asking about my pursuer. “Pretty sure he’s gonna kill me when he finds me,” I say, staring at his face. Blond. You don’t see many men with blond facial hair. The tattoos all over his arms are intricate scrollwork, though I’m not sure what it means. And on a second inspection, his face is still grim and handsome.
“I don’t want to get involved with anything,” he grinds out.
“Then don’t. Just let me go. Let me hide. When they’re gone, I’ll get out of here.”
A shout comes from down the dock.
His eyebrows lower, and he grunts—freaking grunts—before he lets go of me. He points to the bed. “Under the bunk,” he says then spins around, picks up the piece of wood and screw gun, and climbs up on deck, closing the cabin doors behind him.
The click of the door closing soothes my soul. Now, as long as they don’t search this boat…
I’ve never been on a sailboat before, and I unfortunately don’t have time to enjoy the experience.
I lie flat and shimmy under the bunk. Some clothes are kicked under the bed, so I shift them to be between me and the opening—as if hiding behind dirty sweatshirts will keep me safe.
Hopefully, when West gets back to the boat, he won’t mind that I’ve taken safe harbor here. I’m trusting Bodie on his character reference.
Raised voices reach my ears, and I start to shake. I hang onto one of the sweatshirts, burying my face against it. Please don’t find me. Please don’t find me.
I can’t understand anything being said, but there are some angry shouts and a thump before it’s all quiet. They probably killed the construction guy on the boat. The Viking .
Maybe that’s what I’ll call him at his funeral. Because that thump? It was probably his body hitting the deck.
I don’t know why I thought it would be easy to steal millions of dollars from the Italian mafia. I must have lost my mind or watched too many movies. Because this real-life version of seeing a dead body? It sure doesn’t feel like a Psych episode.
Braxton must have made a deal with someone else too. Maybe he was playing us against each other, wanting someone to offer to get the money and pay a higher percentage to him. Though I can’t imagine anyone else sharing as much as I was willing to.
I’ll never know how much Braxton told them. Possibly everything, maybe nothing. My only hope is that they don’t know I’m connected to the Monroe family. I could never live with myself if my parents or brothers were hurt.
I hear a few more thumps, quieter this time, but each one shoots through my center, making me forget how to breathe.
The door opens, and I’m grateful my lungs aren’t working, because it means whoever’s shoes I’m staring at won’t hear my panicking breaths.
The cabin door slams closed. Flashes of light fringe around my eyes as footsteps thump toward me.
I hug the sweatshirt closer. It smells like a nice soft cologne and engine grease—a surprisingly not-bad combination. I wonder if this will be the last thing I smell on this earth.