Chapter 6
SIX
Emberly had never wanted off a boat more in her life.
The only good news was that she’d been away from the galley when the pirates-slash-Russian-attackers had stormed onto the boat and invaded the lower deck, grabbing Camille and then subduing Jermaine and the rest of the crew. She’d been conveniently in the head.
Which was where she’d stayed as she heard the shouts and even the gunshots.
Yeah, if it wasn’t Steinbeck showing up out of nowhere to blow her cover, then of course it would be marauding Russians. Probably hunting for her .
In fact, she’d heard them saying things like “Where is she?” as they worked Declan over.
She’d gotten a good view of that trauma as she’d climbed up the interior stairway to get the lay of the land.
Five captors, all of them armed with H&Ks.
She didn’t recognize any of them, but they definitely had a Slavic accent to their tones.
Big men, they weren’t messing around when they asked Declan to find her.
Of course, Declan didn’t have the faintest idea who they were really looking for. He’d talked them into leading him to the pilothouse.
She couldn’t imagine why, really, but he was crafty. Or in cahoots—and didn’t want his passengers to realize his true affiliation.
She’d sneaked back down to the galley and tried to gather her thoughts on what she should do. She couldn’t let them find her, but then again, she also couldn’t, in good conscience, let innocents be gunned down.
She should have gotten off in Key West. She wanted to bang her head against something hard for not just pushing past Ivek with an “I’m out of here.” Especially when, forty-eight hours later, who should appear on the ship but Steinbeck. And looking good too.
She’d plunked coffee down in front of him before she’d realized her mistake and hustled away, her head down.
But she’d nabbed a good look at him. Tanned, his dark-blond hair highlighted with gold from the sun.
Muscled and fit, looking healthy, so clearly he’d recuperated from his bullet wound, just like she’d suspected back in Key West. Yes, fully recuperated and back to his bossy self, demanding that his sister get off the boat.
Who knew that Austen was such a fighter?
She’d done a good job of standing up to Steinbeck.
Emberly had to admit the woman had chutzpah.
She’d listened to their conversation from a distance, and then, when Steinbeck pulled Declan aside, she’d listened to that conversation too.
The one where he’d denied being a terrorist.
Yeah, whatever, whatever. She didn’t believe a word of what Declan had told Steinbeck, and she hoped Steinbeck didn’t either.
She hadn’t known what to think when he decided to leave the ship.
She’d wanted to jump off with him and say, “Take me back to the mainland,” but then again, any proximity to Steinbeck could only lead to trouble.
She’d barely extricated herself last time from the magnetic pull of his blue eyes and the way he and she seemed to be a good team. She worked alone, thank you. So she’d watched him disembark and resolved not to think of him again.
Instead, she kept turning Declan’s explanations over and over in her mind. Even though, sure, some of it could be plausible, she’d been watching this man for nearly eight months, and he had secrets. Secrets she already knew about, and maybe others too.
But someone had clearly forgotten to send the Russian team a memo letting them know that Declan was on their side. Or maybe it was just a show. Still, he’d looked pretty roughed up when she left him on the bridge.
An hour later, the sun had nearly sunk into the ocean, casting a bloodred glow across the waters. The Russians had moved everyone down to the salon, including Declan.
Emberly had hidden inside the galley, and the door remained locked from the inside, so for now, she was safe.
The time had given her space to plan. In darkness, she could get the crew and the passengers off the ship and onto the Russian boat, where they could take off and leave the Russians behind on the yacht.
If she could figure out a way to distract the guards.
There were flares in the hallway storage area—those could make a small distraction—but how to get all of the people out of the salon?
What she needed was something spectacular at the yacht’s bow that would draw the guards and allow her to leave the galley through the stairs and hustle people out to the boat.
And she needed a weapon.
Camille’s set of deluxe kitchen knives probably wouldn’t do the trick.
As Emberly was searching for the flares, she found the weapons locker.
Locked, of course, but inside it held two shotguns, a couple of handguns, and hello, mama, a Sig Sauer P226.
She spent about ten minutes getting the gun case open, grabbed the Sig Sauer, and found ammo.
Bam. It might be a crazy, desperate idea, but she couldn’t just let the Russians shoot them.
Not when it was her fault that they’d attacked.
She’d worked out the plan in her head. She would fire off the flares in the bow, scurry back through the galley, then through the stairs to the salon, and dispatch any of the remaining guards.
By that time, hopefully, the captives would be on their feet, and they’d all escape.
It could turn into chaos. Probably chaos.
And maybe people would get hurt, but if all went right, they’d escape on the other boat.
Which could move much faster over open water than a hundred-twenty-foot yacht.
She just needed the cover of darkness.
And of course, in the quiet of the hour as shadows fell through the windows, memory stirred.
Krakow three years ago, at the tail end of an op where she’d been trying to liberate a Ukrainian man named Luis.
She’d gotten tangled up with Steinbeck and made the crazy decision to drag him to her safe house, where they could regroup.
In truth, she’d been buying time, hoping that she could figure out how to get Luis away from Steinbeck’s grip, because the SEAL wanted him too.
But she and Steinbeck had formed a sort of alliance, and that night, after they’d sneaked out to make contact with his team, they’d returned to the flat, checked on Luis, who was locked in his room, and let night fall around them.
Maybe she’d let down her guard too much, but when Steinbeck had come into the room with a bowl of ramen noodles, set it down in front of her, and picked up his own ramen noodles and a pair of chopsticks, it had felt like they were a couple of—well, maybe frenemies having dinner.
“You never told me where you were from, Phoenix,” he’d said.
She’d looked at him and laughed. “No, I didn’t. Where are you from?”
“Originally Minnesota. My family runs an inn. It’s a Victorian house that used to be owned by my great-great-grandfather.
He also built two other houses for his sons and a carriage house.
I grew up in the carriage house while my parents rented out the other homes to guests. It’s called the King’s Inn.”
At that moment, she hadn’t wanted to tell him about her past. The one that included a mom who’d tried but couldn’t get off drugs, sleeping in cars, makeshift homes, and abandoned buildings, and how she and her sister Nimue had pledged to never, ever, ever live like that when they got older.
At least one of them had kept that promise.
So when Steinbeck had looked at her and said, “Okay, now you,” she’d simply shrugged and said, “Yeah, something like that.”
He’d studied her with those blue eyes, and she’d felt weirdly naked.
She didn’t normally care what people thought about her, but he’d grown on her, gotten under her skin over the last thirty-six hours.
So fine, she’d put down her ramen noodles.
“Okay, that’s not entirely true. Single mom. We moved around a lot.”
“We?”
Oh, he had a devastating smile. “I have a sister too. She’s a few years younger than me. Really smart. She’s into computers and hacking.”
“She a Black Swan too?”
Oh, that’s right, she had told him about her organization—the fact that she worked for the clandestine international all-female group that helped stop terrorism around the world.
“No,” she’d said, “She has a job working for a company that does white-hat hacking. From home. In her pajamas. She lives in Florida, has a normal life.”
“I’m not sure what that looks like.” Stein had finished his soup and set it down. “I’ve never thought about leaving the teams.”
“What made you want to be a SEAL?” she’d asked as she finished her ramen.
He’d also brought out a couple of cold Fanta drinks and uncapped them. She reached for hers.
“My grandfather was in the Navy and spoke highly of the spec ops team. When I got older, I just wanted to test myself and see if I could make it.” He’d picked up his Fanta.
“I did. The fact is that I like being on a team, working with people that have a mutual mission. We have each other’s backs, and it reminds me a lot of my family. ”
“What, you have stubborn, tough, and a little bit arrogant siblings?” She’d laughed then, and he’d responded with a chuckle. A deep sound that had tunneled right into her skin and bones.
“Yeah, actually, I do. That includes my two sisters, Austen and Boo. My three brothers are just as, what did you say?—stubborn, tough, and...”
“Arrogant.”
“Right.” He’d leaned back and put his ankle up on his knee. “So, is your sister like you?”
“Like me?”
“Um, sassy, smart, and maybe a little bit pretty?”
Oh. She hadn’t had words, so she’d looked out the window, and her reflection had looked back at her. Short dark hair, big gray-green eyes. Fit, yes, but petite. Unremarkable. Hence, she excelled at blending in.
“Let me amend that,” he’d said. “Let’s try surprising.”
She could accept surprising . She’d looked at him. “No. She’s not like me. She’s steady, solid, and incredibly smart.”
“Incredibly smart. I did say smart.”