7. Sydney
CHAPTER 7
SYDNEY
“If you’re done sniffing my sweatshirt, you can come out from under there.” A tattooed hand is pulling away the sweatshirt from my face.
The Viking’s hand grasps mine, and he helps me wiggle out from under the bunk.
“You’re okay,” I gasp and clutch my leg that has a cramp in it.
“I tend to survive a lot of things.” He doesn’t sound thrilled with this ability of his as he stares down at me.
“That’s great.” I stuff the sweatshirt back under the bed then sit there, kneeling on the hard floor, pressing a hand to my chest as my lungs fill with air. “I was worried about you. What was that thump and yelling?”
“I threw a burned plank onto the dock and nearly knocked one of them into the water. We argued over whether they were the boat mechanics I’d hired,” he explains.
“Wow. And they just left you alone?”
“An angry guy just trying to get a boat fixed? Yup. They left.”
I need some time for my heart rate to return to normal. Right now, it feels like it’s trying out for band with the enthusiasm of an offbeat middle schooler. “They’re gone?” I finally manage to look up at him.
With my position on the ground, it takes an extreme amount of neck craning to look at his face.
He’s standing with his legs planted shoulder-width apart. His arms are folded across his chest.
And holy mother of pearl, those are some arms. And I know good arms when I see them. I lick my lips before I realize what I’m doing and jerk my eyes back to his. He doesn’t look too surprised by my perusal.
“They’re gone.” He taps his fingers against his bicep. “Exactly what kind of trouble are you in?”
I shake my head slowly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but I need to get to the police.”
The man takes a step back and leans against the door. “If you have something that’s theirs, they’re going to kill you.”
This is a tiny cabin. I had always pictured sailboats as large, roomy things. Or maybe I was imagining a yacht. Because this is anything but roomy. Then his words register. “Wait, how do you know they’ll kill me?”
He reaches up and rubs his knuckles along his scruff. “Because I know who they are. And if you’re running from them, either you know exactly what you’re running from, or you don’t know who you’ve messed with.”
“Can it be a mix of both?” I squeak.
“Explain.”
One word. This complete stranger expects me to blurt out everything based on a one-word command. He needs to get himself a dog. Possibly a robot vacuum. Something that will obey him right away, because that definitely is not me.
I stand up, my ankles and knees popping. I ran too far today. It was a poor decision, but I’d been enjoying the pleasant morning. I should have anticipated I would be sprinting for my life today and conserved as much energy as possible. My legs feel like Jell-O, but I manage to remain standing once I get there.
“Look, I really, really appreciate you letting me hide in here, especially when it could have gotten you in trouble too. I’m just going to sneak on by and find myself a nice little police officer. Buh-bye.” I take a step toward the door—that he’s leaning against.
He doesn’t move.
A panicky thought crosses my mind as I wonder if I’ve accidentally jumped onto a boat with a serial killer.
“The police aren’t going to be able to help you.”
I take a quick step back and scan the cabin for a weapon. Just my luck. I walked from the frying pan into the fire. Killed on a boat by a beautiful man. You can never trust the good-looking ones. My eyes land on a knife sitting on the small table, and I take a step toward it.
“Oh, jeez. I didn’t mean me.” The man grunts and steps away from the door, dropping his hands to his sides. “You’re free to leave. Don’t try and stab me. I was talking about the two men chasing you. They’re part of the mob.”
“Mob? I promise they weren’t rioting.”
I’m about to riot. I want to go back to bed, start this day over, never see a dead body, and get a large coffee at the bed and breakfast.
He waves a hand through the air. “Not mob. My bad. The Italian mafia.”
“Ha.” I snort and then reach for the door. “That’s impossible?—"
I freeze with my hand on the door that he must have shut when he entered the cabin.
Dead body. Check.
Determination to catch me. Check .
Tattoos. Check .
It wasn’t another secret partner that Braxton had. It’s the people I’m trying to steal the money from.
How would they have found out so fast?
I pull my hand away from the door and spin to face him. “You know this how?”
“I’ve dealt with them before.” The Viking takes two steps across the room and sits down on the bunk. It creaks beneath his weight, and he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he studies me. “Listen, I don’t know you. I don’t want anything from you. But it’s only fair you know what you’re dealing with out there.”
I glance around the cabin then back to him, the puzzle pieces falling into a messy picture. “Are you West Turner?” He’d said something about me sniffing his sweatshirt, so wouldn’t that make him the man who lives on the boat?
He’s way too young to be retired. And he doesn’t look like someone who works on a computer for a living.
“You can’t be West Turner.” I shake my head as though that will take care of it.
He scowls at me, studying my face for a minute before he lets out a loud and long list of swear words in a creative order.
“Who told you to look for me?”
“So, are you confirming or denying that you’re West Turner?”
“I am West. Now I need to know who sent you.”
“Bodie King did,” I reply quietly because he’s getting angrier by the second, and I’m having trouble realigning my mental image of this man with reality. Not old. Not haggard.
Apparently, dropping Bodie’s name is key. West’s scowl disappears, and now he rubs a hand against his forehead, looking tired as can be.
“You’re the translator.”
I nod once and wait for him to say something else. When he doesn’t, I fill the space.
“I’m sorry to surprise you like this. I really hadn’t planned on meeting you here early, but things have seemed to have gone sideways for me ever since I woke up this morning.”
“What’s your name?” He asks it like he doesn’t want to know the answer.
“Sydney Monroe.”
He points out the small window in the direction of the boat ramp. “How did this happen?”
Maybe it’s a rhetorical question because he’s more focused on what’s going on outside, but I give him an answer anyway. “I saw a dead body. And now I need to go to the police.”
He ignores me and continues as though he’s talking to himself. “I hate to see the dumb ones get killed.”
I think he’s referring to me. This guy and his compliments.
“Do me a favor, and don’t go straight to the police here. You need to take this to an organized crime unit that is already dealing with them. Or better yet, duck your head and disappear from here.”
I pull my shoulders back and scowl at him. “So, basically, you think my only options are to hide or to go into witness protection?”
He looks at me, his eyes flicking back and forth across my face. He steeples his fingers together and says, “Yup.”
A man of profound words.
“I don’t know how to disappear.”
He stands up, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. “Then you better find the organized crime unit. I’ll give you a name you can trust.” He walks to the small cabinet and opens the door, rummaging around in there.
Maybe he keeps a gun in there. Maybe he’s about to shoot me and throw me in the bay. Ha. With arms like his, he wouldn’t have to waste the bullet. He could just snap me in half.
“Call this guy if you survive long enough.” He holds out a piece of paper that he’s scrawled a name and a phone number on.
“You’re just a happy ray of sunshine, aren’t you? I could really use some confidence right now. Maybe something like, ‘Hey, you can do it!’ Or, ‘You’re definitely going to make it!’”
His face is expressionless as he tells me, “I don’t lie to people.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and turn to go. I guess I’ll take my chances since there’s no other option.
I don’t even think to mention the flash drive that I’d wanted him to unlock for me.