Chapter 7
SEVEN
Out of the fire, into the frying pan. Or the ocean, as the case may be.
“This is crazy stupid,” Declan said even as the motor from his Jet Ski ate his words. Austen hung on behind him, her arms around his waist.
And okay, at least they weren’t still on the boat.
But they were far away from safety.
He slowed and glanced behind him. Just Steinbeck’s light, a pinprick in the darkness, but as far as Declan could tell, no one was following them.
Of course not. Because who would be insane enough to drive into the dark, increasingly choppy sea with no land in sight and who knew how much gas? The tank looked nearly empty.
It might get him five miles, max. But who knew how far land might be?
Yeah, the farther they got from the yacht, the more they headed into trouble. Which was why he slowed the Jet Ski and waited for Steinbeck to catch up.
In that space of time, he tried to reel back what had just happened. First, his steward had materialized as Wonder Woman and started shooting, taking out one of the Russian captors. And then Steinbeck had barreled into the salon, also guns blazing, and everything had turned to bedlam.
For a second there, it had looked like Steinbeck’s epic plan had crashed and burned.
The fact that it ended with them in the ocean, Declan on a Jet Ski with Austen behind him holding on, seemed like a crazy miracle.
Or disaster. And as Steinbeck came up and shut his engine down, Declan couldn’t stop himself.
“Of all the stupid escape plans, this has to be the stupidest. What were you thinking? Seriously!”
Steinbeck just looked at him, and Declan couldn’t really read his expression thanks to the darkness, but there was enough moonlight for him to grasp Steinbeck’s open-mouthed shock.
“What? I got you off the boat, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, off the boat and in the middle of nowhere. Where do you think we’re going to go?”
“My compass says that we’re heading due south. I figure we’ll run into land at some point.”
“You hope we’ll run into land. We could be headed out to sea.” He shook his head. “Maybe you should have taken one more second to think through this crazy plan.”
“It wasn’t a plan!” Steinbeck shook his head, looked at Austen. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She looked at the woman behind Steinbeck. “Are you okay, Belle?”
“Her name’s not Belle,” Steinbeck snapped. “It’s Phoenix. And it’s probably not even that, is it?” He glanced back at the woman.
“What are you talking about?” Declan said.
Steinbeck turned to him. “Really? I can’t believe you didn’t recognize Ashley. The girl nearly killed you in Barcelona.”
What? Declan looked at the woman but couldn’t make her out of the darkness. Still. “That was you?”
“We need to keep moving,” she said now. The girl he’d met in Barcelona had a small accent. This one spoke with a flat Midwestern tone.
He didn’t want to make a big deal about it, but the fact that Steinbeck thought he was a terrorist suggested that maybe he didn’t have the best of gut instincts.
Speaking of gut instincts —“We should go back to the boat.”
“Were you paying attention back there?” Steinbeck said.
Declan held up a hand. “I’m not suggesting we stick around once we get there. But we need better transport than these skis. Like the tender.”
“What tender?” Stein asked.
“The tender that’s stored in the swim-deck garage. It slides right out into the water.”
“Well, forgive me for not understanding the schematics of your boat, Declan,” Steinbeck said. “You forgot that little briefing in the tour of your floating estate and all your toys.”
“Hey. I’m not the bad guy here.”
“Seriously,” said Belle, or Ashley or Phoenix— whatever her name was. “Yes, actually, you are.”
“Not—I—” He stopped. “Forget it. This is not the time to explain what is going down on that boat. All I know is that we’re out here in the middle of nowhere with a half tank of gas in a couple of skis that are going to be nothing more than floaties on the current in about an hour.”
“Oh, no, we’ll be in the water sooner than that,” Austen said.
In the moonlight, he could barely make out her face, but her eyes were luminous and wide.
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re sinking.” She lifted her foot from the side of the Jet Ski. “The water is rising around us as we sit here.”
That’s when Steinbeck scooted his ski over. “Yep. Your hull looks Swiss cheesed. You’re definitely going down.”
“I feel like I’ve done this before,” Austen said.
Silence. Waves rocked the boat, and Declan turned back to see the yacht’s lights shining over the surface of the water.
“How far is land?” Phoenix said. “We have a nearly full tank. That’ll get us a hundred miles. The DR can’t be that far.”
“We’ve been heading east,” Declan said. “We’ll land in Haiti. Or we could go north and hit Turks and Caicos. It’s only a hundred miles between them and Haiti.” He shook his head. “But if you put four on your ski, we’ll be lucky to make it fifty miles.”
“Okay, listen,” Steinbeck said. “I had to get you off the ship—and fast—but I agree that I didn’t think this all the way through. We do need transportation.” He looked over at Declan. “Where’s that tender again?”
“Why don’t we just take back the yacht?” Phoenix said. “Come on, Steinbeck—there are four of us. I know Declan knows how to handle a weapon, and I’m sure Austen can figure it out.”
“Have you lost your mind? No, I’m not gonna let my sister get killed. Stop talking. You don’t get a say in this.”
“What vote did I miss that put you in charge?” Phoenix said.
Declan looked at her. Maybe she was Ashley. Which meant what? How did she ? —
“I can handle a gun,” Austen said. “Hello—Dad took me hunting too.”
“Big difference, sis?—”
“It doesn’t have to be a firefight,” Declan said. “We sneak onto the beach deck and?—”
“Stop!” Steinbeck said. “Declan. Have you asked yourself how the Russians knew where you were?”
Declan went silent, his mind sifting through ideas. Maybe they’d gotten ahold of Zeus back at his compound in Mariposa... But he’d talked to Zeus, and no, that didn’t make sense.
“Captain Teresa,” Phoenix-Belle-Ashley said quietly.
Stein nodded. “It had to be an inside job. Somebody who could give them coordinates. Where is your captain from?”
“Portugal,” Declan said.
“When did you hire her?” Steinbeck asked.
“Just recently.”
“You do know that Portugal is a hotbed for Russian mobsters—” Phoenix-Belle-Ashley started.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Declan said. “The entire world is a hotbed for Russian mobsters.”
“Yeah, but she was the one at the helm, so my bet is on her,” Austen said. He glanced at her, and she wore a frown.
Weird how she wouldn’t take his hand in the salon. Wait—she didn’t think ? —
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Steinbeck said. “Phoenix and I will go back to the boat, grab the tender, tow it out, then we’ll all go on our happy, merry way.”
Declan shook his head. “Are you just making this up as you go? That’s a terrible idea.”
“Absolutely,” Steinbeck said, “and why ?”
“Because we’re going to sink. Have you ever tried to find someone in the ocean in the dead of night?”
Austen lifted her hand. “I, for one, do not recommend. Zero stars.”
Declan wanted to smile, but she didn’t seem to be kidding, so, “Stein—you and I will go back to the boat while the ladies limp back with the Jet Ski.”
“No. I’m not staying out here on a sinking Jet Ski!” Phoenix-Belle-Ashley said.
“Me either,” Austen said. “Why would you suggest that?”
He said nothing. A beat went by, then Austen turned to him. “Because we’re women?”
He cocked his head. “Listen?—”
“You listen,” Austen said. “We’ll all go back as far as we can on our ski, then transfer to yours. Steinbeck, you do some sketchy SEAL stuff while Belle and I stay with the Jet Ski and Declan gets the tender.”
“Sketchy SEAL stuff?” Steinbeck said.
“Whatever it is you do.”
“And I’ll make sure that no one kills Declan—or Steinbeck—while they’re getting the tender,” Phoenix-Belle-Ashley said.
Steinbeck turned, looked at her. “And we’re going to trust you?”
“Good point. Get off and we can part ways.”
Steinbeck pressed his hand to his forehead. “Fine. Sorry.”
She sighed, looked at Declan. “For the record, I wasn’t trying to kill you?—”
Declan held up a hand. “Fine. Whatever. We need her, Stein.”
“Okay, we go back together,” Steinbeck said. He looked over at Declan. “I’ll think of something between here and there.”
“I can’t wait.” But the guy had gotten him off the boat. It just irked Declan that somehow he’d turned into the bad guy, at least in Steinbeck’s eyes.
And maybe Austen’s.
And, of course, Miss Clandestine’s on the back of Steinbeck’s ski.
So, yes, everyone’s.
Declan glanced at Austen. “We’re going to be okay.”
“Oh, I’m having the time of my life.” But she gave him a thin smile.
He didn’t know what to think as he took off, Steinbeck following behind.
They kept their lights off, using the light from the yacht to guide them. Austen held on as they slammed over waves, down into troughs. The water sprayed around him, chilling his bare skin.
How could Teresa have betrayed him? But the explanation from Austen and Phoenix made sense.
He’d add that to his list of epic mistakes, along with trying to divert the obsidite from the Bratva, because that had been a super-great idea.
And as long as he was cataloging mistakes, maybe he should go even further back and list the mistake where he’d believed the government when they’d said they’d watch his back.
So in the end, this wasn’t on Steinbeck but on him, and he planned to get them out of this. No matter what it took.
Declan stopped a hundred yards from the yacht, which was still moving in the water, although barely.
Steinbeck pulled up beside him.
“So, what’s the plan?” Water sloshed over Declan’s ankles, and the ski struggled to stay afloat.