25. Sydney
CHAPTER 25
SYDNEY
West’s eyes widen, and he stops ranting about his boat.
His gaze is fixed over my shoulder at something behind me. I turn to see what he’s looking at just as West grabs me and jerks me to the side of the dock, pinning me behind him against the piling post. The forklift goes shooting past us exactly where we’d been standing a second before.
“What does he think he’s doing?” I try to look past West, but he’s busy trying to keep my whole body shielded from the man driving the forklift. The forklift comes to a screeching halt at the end of the dock. It doesn’t have room to turn around, but you never know—he seems to be drunk at the wheel. The driver might just put it in reverse. West finally steps away, grabs my hand, and starts running back up the small dock away from the forklift. “You suppose that’s just a driving accident?”
“No, I don’t. I think they’re here for you.”
“It’s just one little measly murder. Why do they care what I do? And they hired a forklift driver? That’s just straight-up desperate.”
“The mafia doesn’t like loose ends, Sydney. Besides, they’ve probably followed that flash drive here and know that you have it.”
“But I don’t have the drive. It’s in your pocket.”
“Shh.” West’s footsteps are sure as he marches up the dock. I’m having trouble keeping up, not because of the speed but because the whole dock is still rocking from the aftermath of a forklift careening down it. I watch my footsteps carefully, but that almost makes it worse. So I lift my head and pay attention to where we’re trying to go. A man steps directly in our path. He is wearing a dark shirt and jeans.
West pushes me behind him as the man at the top of the dock stops and looks at us, his hands grasping his suit jacket.
It’s the man with the knife in the hotel room.
My heart climbs into my throat as I grasp West’s hand. He squeezes mine in response—it helps remind me to breathe.
“We just want the girl and the flash drive, that’s all.” His manner is relaxed, as if he’s asking, ‘If you could please walk past us.’
Not as if he’s asking if he can have me so that he can then slit my throat. So nonchalant.
I should aspire to have that level of calm. But not today.
Today, my heart is beating rapidly in my chest. I’m hoping that I don’t lose it altogether and start screaming my head off. I was the one who wanted the adventure. I went out, and I found one. I grabbed life by the horns. I should be proud of this moment.
Yes, finding a new adventure that leads to your own murder has quite a satisfying feel to it.
“We don’t have a flash drive.” I cringe at my own words. Nothing says guilt faster than naming the thing they’re looking for.
“Not any kind of flash drive?” the man says with a small smile on his face.
Ha-ha, a wise-guy murderer.
“It’d be better for you to let us go by,” West says calmly. I rest a hand against his back, hoping his calmness will leach into me.
He reaches back to place a hand on my hip, trying to scoot me to the side of the dock, but I’m busy turning around to keep an eye on the forklift guy who is approaching from behind.
West senses my movement and glances behind quickly. His eyes darken as he sees how big the guy is. I’m amazed he could fit in the forklift. He’s like a real-life version of Mr. Incredible. “Can you swim?” West’s question breaks through my panic.
“Of course I can swim—” I don’t get to finish my sentence because he spins around and grabs me around the waist, his large hand grasping the waistband of my jeans, and the other hand is flat on my stomach.
His hands are only there momentarily before he throws me into the air. I shriek as I go flying over the open water.
The man has thrust.
The feeling of flying is surreal and rather slow. I have time to notice both men rushing West at the same time just before I belly-flop into the water.
I flounder for a moment before I break the surface.
I’m soaked and angry and furious. Furious and angry. Irate. He joked about tossing me in the bay in Florence. I didn’t think he’d actually meant it.
But he threw me in this nasty bay water. He thinks he’s saving my life.
Now I’m a wet, angry mop, and West is going to get himself killed by both of those men. I’m not going to let them because I would like that honor myself. Son of a goat, throwing me into the water. I’ll probably get sick. Yeah, I definitely get to kill West myself.
I see West punch the forklift man in the nose. He’s got quick hands, I’ll give him that. I didn’t even see him reach for me to throw me.
But the wisecracking murderer from the top of the dock is much quicker than the forklift man, and he lands a punch to West’s midsection. Let’s hope those abs of steel actually protect him from something.
I swim to the dock and reach up, grabbing the edge. It’s hard to hang onto the metal edge with wet hands. In that second, I contemplate turning around, swimming to the other dock, and getting safely away. It has its allure. But I don’t think I could live with myself if I left West today on a dock. Because of me. Because he took a risk saving me.
And that darn fool is sacrificing himself for me.
Well, now it’s time for somebody else to be the hero. I’m just waiting for them to show up. In the meantime, I’ll have to do what I can to make sure he lives a little longer. I swing my right leg onto the dock and roll up onto the wet planks. Wet tennis shoes are just about the worst feeling in the world. I feel sluggish now, which is going to slow me down.
Not exactly ideal for my first street fight. Dock fight? I don’t know what you would actually call this. A fight for your life? A fight for justice?
I’ll have to think about it later. I stand up, water dripping from my sweatshirt and leggings. I’m pretty sure I have a fish stuck up my shirt.
They have West down on the ground now. He still manages to swing up a kick at wise-guy’s kneecaps. I hear the thud. He’s good at a scrappy fight.
He kicks up, catching the murderer in the ribs.
Dang, he might not even need my help.
Pretty sure my heart is beating in my throat as I approach the group and take a flying leap through the air, bringing my elbow down onto the forklift man’s brachial plexus nerve. He shrieks and collapses to his knees.
Wes doesn’t waste the opportunity and sweeps the other man’s legs out from under him while he’s turned to see what’s happening, right as I give the forklift man an extra-big shove, toppling him into the water. The splash is so big it comes up and soaks West and the wise-guy.
West shoves him off the other side. He grabs my hand, and we sprint up the dock together while both men shout and splash in the background. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“My mom.” He snorts and drags me over to a conveniently running SUV. It’s the same one I saw waiting for me outside of the Newport police station. They must have driven down the coast to find us here.
I hear a shout and glance back at the dock and see that the men are having the same trouble I did with getting out of the water and back onto the dock.
“Get in the car!” West yells. We climb into their SUV, and he takes off.
“Your mom taught you?” West asks as he reaches over and punches on the seat heater button. He screeches past a crane, a trailer, and something else I didn’t have time to see.
When we reach the parking lot where we parked the rental car, we jump out, leaving their SUV running. I don’t usually wish ill on people, but I hope someone steals their car. It would serve them right.
“I’m glad we left our bags in the car,” I say as I look in the backseat to see that his laptop is still safe in the satchel.
“That was a little too close,” West finally says as he backs out and sets records as he makes his way toward the highway. “Fletcher needs to get his ass in gear. We need to get you somewhere safe.”
“Are we going to talk about the fact that you just threw me into the water?” I ask as I roll down the window and lean out, trying to wring my hair out—as if that will make me warmer. My clothes are soaked.
I roll up the window and crank the heat. I reach around and point all the vents toward me. It’s not that it’s especially cold out, but the water temperature is still low.
“You were supposed to swim away and get to safety while I held them off.”
“I thought you said you weren’t a hero.”
“And if I’d known you could handle yourself like that, I wouldn’t have thrown you off the dock. Maybe it’s time you stop keeping secrets from me.” He raises both eyebrows at me, and I grimace, feeling guilty. “You can fight.”
“I can hold my own,” I counter.
He smirks. “I’d say you held your own and then some. You did just fine. You incapacitated the bigger one all by yourself.”
West leans over, his arm brushing against my leg as he reaches for the Coke can rolling on the floorboard at my feet.
"So, what do you mean your mom taught you?" he asks as he cracks open the lid on his Coke.
The fizzy sound echoes through the car cab.
"I told you I could take care of myself."
He doesn't bother to grace that with a smile, a laugh, or any form of acknowledgment. In fact, he’s back to scowling.
"You were supposed to run. I told you to run. But no, what did you do? You came back." He glares at me before he focuses on the road again.
"Well, really, how was I supposed to run when you threw me in the water? I'd like you to explain that one to me. Because I had to swim back to the dock to save your sorry butt."
"You could have just as easily had your neck snapped."
"I didn't."
"You could have, if you hadn’t known how to do that neat little trick," he practically growls at me. “Next time, tell me what you’re capable of so I don’t make assumptions.”
“Well, maybe this will teach you to not make dumb assumptions.”
He glares at me but doesn’t say anything more, just takes a drink of that Coke and focuses on the road. “We need a hotel for tonight. It’s getting dark, and I’m tired. We’re not much good if we wrap this car around a tree, and you’re freezing.”
“Good thing we bought some clothes earlier.”
He’s got a cut on his jaw. More like an abrasion. I reach over and gently catch the blood drip on my wet sleeve.
“What are we going to do about the flash drive?”
“Flush it down a toilet. I don’t know. Or send it with a mail carrier to the organized crime unit because what better way to drag them off our trail?”
“I like the way you think.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. It’s completely zapped. It did not survive the swim in the bay. “You killed my phone too.”
He turns to look at me, making me nervous since he’s driving the vehicle.
His lips twitch to the side a little as he asks me, “You’re not grumpy, are you?”
“Oh no, no. Not at all.” I narrow my eyes at him. “But you definitely threw a cloud in front of my sunshine.”
He almost cracks a smile. But that stern, strong will of his reins it in before he displays an unforgivable amount of emotion.
“We need to ditch this car somewhere and find something we can drive to get out of here.”
“But if it’s not Half Moon Bay, California, then where are we going?” My back is nice and hot now, thanks to the seat warmers, but I’m ready to get into some dry clothes.
“We’ll get a hotel room, then find out what we can,” he says firmly.
“So, does this mean you’re not abandoning me here?”
“Honestly, I’m afraid if I tried to search without you, you’d come with me anyway.” That little annoying, amused look is back on his face, making me laugh.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t give you much of a choice, did I?”
He shrugs. “You saw how easily I threw you off the dock. You wouldn’t have been on my boat if I didn’t want you on my boat.”
I don’t know if anyone else’s words have ever meant so much to me.
Some people say, ‘I love you .’
West says, ‘ I didn’t throw you off my boat .’
It’s pretty much the nicest thing anyone has said to me.