Chapter 5 #3
He needed both hands free, really, but if he did go for the gun, then what? Elise would get shot, maybe one of his crew?
Austen.
The thought clenched his gut, tightened his chest. He kept his voice low. “Listen. I want to do what you ask. No one, especially me, wants anyone to die.”
Don’t think about Tyrone.
“So help me help you. Let me use the radio in the pilothouse. I’ll contact my man in charge, and he’ll get that location.”
Sergei considered him for a long moment.
“C’mon, dude. Just... let me make a call. I will find out where she is.”
Sergei glanced at Igor, who walked over to Elise and Hunter.
“Not on your life, man,” Hunter said, not moving from his position in front of his wife. Igor hit him, but Hunter barely flinched, breathing hard, blood running from his mouth.
“Stop!” Declan shouted. Then he leveled a look at Sergei. “You hurt anyone else and you get nothing from me.”
Sergei’s eyes tightened around the edges.
Declan swept any hint of bluff out of his gaze. Yes, he’d give them the password to his vault, empty his bank account to keep them from hurting Elise or his crew or, most importantly, Austen.
No one moved, the sun hot on the deck as the boat rocked ever so slightly.
Then Sergei stepped back and barked at Igor, Boris, and the other comrades, Thugs One and Two. “Get them downstairs into the salon and lock it down.” He looked at Declan. “You. To the bridge.”
Declan glanced at Austen, who met his gaze, tight-lipped, her green eyes still fierce. “I’ll be okay. Just... do what they say.”
Boris grabbed her arm, but she yanked it out of his grip. “I can walk.”
Declan braced himself. But Boris didn’t react, just let her follow Elise and Hunter and his crew down the stairs. Thugs One and Two followed, Igor leading the way.
And then it was just Declan and Sergei.
“Let’s go,” Sergei said and gestured toward the pilothouse.
Captain Teresa had left the boat at idle, the motors still running. A large sofa stretched across the back, for those times when he joined Teresa in the bridge, watching her work.
Two captain’s chairs sat before the expansive console with the navigation screens and security camera that overlooked the foredeck and the stern. It also held the communications center and the steering helm. Now Declan walked over to the Sailor SSB radio and keyed open the mic.
Zeus would wonder why he was calling on the satellite phone instead of his cell, so that might help. Not that he had a small army to repel the pirates, but he did have resources.
Mostly, he just needed to get everyone off the boat—alive.
“Mariposa Base, this is Declan on the Invictus . Over.”
Static, and his gut tightened. What if the Bratva had already raided his house on Mariposa?—
“This is Mariposa Base, go ahead Declan. Over.” Zeus’s voice.
“I need the current GPS coordinates for the Nina . Just verifying position.”
“Copy. One moment, I’ll pull up the latest communication.”
He glanced at Sergei. “He’ll send them over EDCIS.”
“No tricks.”
Declan held up his hands.
Zeus came back on the line. “Coordinates sent. Over.”
“Thanks for the quick response. How’s the weather over there? Over.”
“Blue skies. But reports are there’s a weather front moving in. We’re watching it. You? Over.”
He didn’t look at Sergei. “Storm on the horizon, sailing right into it.”
And just to prove he wasn’t lying—although he hoped Zeus picked up his meaning—he pointed at the radar. Fuzz on the screen showed an incoming squall.
“Anything to worry about?”
“Not at this time. Just keep an eye on the front. Invictus out.”
“Safe travels. Mariposa Base out.”
Declan hung up, then went over to the electronic chart where Zeus had sent the coordinates and zoomed in on the Nina .
She sat in waters east of Haiti, on her way to the Caymans.
Sergei swore and Declan stepped back, hands up. He turned to Declan. “Where is she docking?”
“I don’t?—”
Another cuff. This one jerked him back, bounced him off the console.
And that was just it.
He ran at Sergei, slapped the gun away with both hands, then grabbed his throat in his hands. Slammed him up against the console, stepped up to him, holding tight. “You don’t get to hijack my boat, kill my people?—”
A blinding pain exploded in the back of his head, his knees buckled, and he hit the floor.
Instinct made him put his hands over his head to protect himself as Igor stood over him, holding the butt of his semiautomatic, an HK G3 probably pulled off a NATO soldier fighting on some Russian battle line and sold in the black market.
And why that thought swept through Declan’s head, he didn’t know. Just— yeah, it left a mark on him. Gray dots speckled before his eyes, his head spinning.
Igor grabbed him up just in time for Sergei to add his fury. His punch hardly registered, however.
Still, Declan tasted fresh blood as Igor hauled him out of the captain’s roost, nearly pushed him down the two flights of stairs, then flung him headlong into the salon.
His blood probably wrecked the white carpet. His bell had certainly been rung, because the world tilted even as Igor grabbed Captain Teresa and forced her out of the room.
Probably back to the helm to chase down the Nina .
Too bad they were tracking an empty ship.
Declan had about thirty-six hours before things got really ugly.
Hands found him, helped him up, and he focused on Austen, her eyes reddened, her jaw tight. “Are you okay?”
He nodded.
She shook her head.
“We’ll figure a way out of this. I promise.”
He’d gotten them into this. He’d get them out.
* * *
The moment the body dropped into the water, Steinbeck knew his gut had been right.
He set down his binoculars and sat hard at the helm of Hawkeye’s dinghy.
It didn’t look like Austen, but he couldn’t be sure, could he?
He should probably turn around, get back into radio range of Hawkeye’s boat, but he’d lose precious time, not to mention the opportunity to sneak on board and end whatever had gone down on Declan’s yacht.
The twelve-foot boat listed in the gentle water. No way he’d have taken the dinghy off Hawkeye’s boat if the sea had been running angry. Well, maybe...
Aw, he should have never left. He didn’t care what Austen said—he shouldn’t have let Declan’s explanation soften his resolve. Even if he had dropped his cell phone into Austen’s bathrobe pocket, in case she needed him.
It hadn’t been enough, because the minute he’d stood at the rail of Hawkeye’s boat, watching the yacht disappear, his gut had clenched, something niggling at him.
Hawkeye had noticed. “What’s eating you?”
Maybe it had been the way he stood, the wind flapping his shirt, his jaw tight. The external version of the knot in his chest. “I don’t know,” he’d said, and he wasn’t lying. Just, “Something doesn’t feel right.”
Hawkeye had sat in the high captain’s seat, glanced over at him through his aviator sunglasses, his hair curling out from under his backward gimme cap. He’d worn a sleeveless shirt, the name Ocean Adventure Divers on the front, and a pair of shorts and flip-flops.
Not unlike how Steinbeck had looked a year ago, working as a dive instructor in St. Lucia. An easier, simpler life, albeit aimless.
It felt years away now. Declan Stone had changed that. Given him back a taste of the life he’d lost.
Oh, how he wanted Phoenix to be wrong, but his conversation with the operative two months ago as they were fighting for their lives just wouldn’t leave him.
“Declan Stone is a terrorist, Stein. I’ve seen the proof.”
And then, of course, she’d spent the better part of five hours laying out that proof.
Declan had eliminated all of that with one sentence: “I’m a patriot, and when the DOD came to me and asked for help, of course I was going to do what I could for my country.” Except, he seemed to have good reasons for everything, didn’t he?
“Stein? Really, what’s going on?”
Austen seems to trust Declan.
Stein had glanced at Hawkeye. “I dunno. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Aw, man, she’ll be fine.”
“I know.” He’d walked over to the cooler and pulled out a cold bottle of water. “It’s just that she always has a way of...”
“Standing up to you?” Hawkeye had grinned. “You and the rest of the world. Sea creatures and men alike.”
Stein had glanced at Hawkeye. Once upon a time, the Hawk had had a crush on his sister, had asked her out.
She’d shut him down. And maybe Stein would never have known about it, but he’d walked in on the tail end of the conversation a couple years ago while visiting her.
He’d felt kind of bad for the Hawk, but it wasn’t personal.
She had her reasons.
He’d slid into the co-captain’s chair. “I guess. I just worry about her. Even more than about Boo.”
“Is it the twin connection?”
He’d taken a sip of water. “Maybe.” Even though they were fraternal, they seemed to think alike. React alike. In truth, that’s what scared him. “I can’t help but think Austen is walking right into trouble, refusing to see danger.”
Hawkeye had glanced at him. “Danger? You mean falling for some billionaire? Yeah, you should warn her off.” He’d grinned.
Stein hadn’t.
“Listen. Your sister literally swims with sharks. I think she’s got this.”
“Yeah, probably.” He’d taken another drink. The fist in his gut hadn’t loosened, however. Something had nudged at him, a slow burn in the back of his head. He just couldn’t?—
Wait.
He’d stood up, turned to stare out the back as if he could see the yacht, probably fifty miles away by now. “Phoenix.”
“What?” Hawkeye had said.
Aw. He’d drained the water, dropped the bottle into a recycling bucket near the helm. “We need to go back.”
Hawkeye had frowned. “Why?”
“Because”—and even to his own ears, his explanation had sounded crazy—“I think there’s an assassin on Declan’s yacht.”
Hawkeye had pulled his glasses down. “What?” He’d pushed them back up with his finger. “Did you see his security? That Swede looked like Thor’s younger brother.”
“Yeah, I did. But she’s... sneaky and...” He’d run a hand across his mouth. “I don’t know why she’s there, but she’s trouble. And if Phoenix is on the boat, then there is something going down.”
Hawkeye had slowed, the boat settling in the water. “Dude. Listen. I’m half a tank away from dry—I don’t have the fuel to turn around and make it back to harbor. We’ll land in Turks and Caicos and you can call the Coast Guard.”
“I gotta get back on that boat, Hawk.”
Hawkeye had scrubbed his hands down his face. Sighed. “I’m sorry, Stein. It’s a no go. I can’t turn into a bobber in the water.”
Stein had walked to the back of the boat. “I’ll take the tender.” He’d pointed to the twelve-foot dinghy that hung off the back. “You have extra gas?”
Hawkeye had put the boat into neutral. “Yeah. A couple cans.”
“Will it get me to the yacht?”
“Yes, but... Steinbeck, the sea is calm now. If a storm rolls in, you’re in trouble.”
He’d looked up at the cloudless sky. “I’ll chance it.” Then, “Do you have a lifeboat, if something happens?”
“Of course.” He’d pointed to a box attached to the end of the boat, then sighed. “Take the EPIRB. If you have trouble, at least it can send help.”
Which was how Steinbeck had ended up at the helm of the tender, cutting through the water, beads of spray landing on his skin as the sun dipped toward the horizon.
He’d also taken the binoculars and called up the GPS coordinates from the phone he’d given Austen.
She hadn’t called. Hadn’t pinged the emergency button. So maybe he was overreacting. No, most definitely he was overreacting.
But he very, very clearly remembered now the server who’d appeared on the deck delivering orange juice and clearing the table. Short dark hair, wearing a white uniform, her eyes averted.
Maybe she’d seen him too. But he’d been so absorbed in Austen and her stubbornness...
Clearly, he was losing his edge.
He’d stopped a half mile out, searched for the Invictus on the horizon, and spotted her.
A speed boat was tied up to the stern, and when a gunshot had reverberated across the water, he’d wanted to hit something.
He’d spotted a group of attackers on the spa-lounge level just as they dumped a body over the edge, firing into the water after it.
Now, he scanned the stern as the attackers forced their captives down the stairs.
He nearly groaned, part relief, part fury, when he spotted Austen, her hands tied, descending to the main level.
Alive, for now.
He didn’t see Declan among them, however.
Or Phoenix. He couldn’t, just couldn’t believe she might be one of the pirates. Instead, knowing Phoenix, she’d resisted capture. And despite their history, he had to put the binoculars down, grab his knees. Blow out a few breaths.
Okay. Think.
Turn around, get help.
Or get on that boat.
He glanced at the fading sunlight. An hour to sunset, max.
Okay then.
There was only one choice.