Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Eyes squeezed shut, she first breached with her arm to keep from cracking her skull on something. Finding only air, she raised her head and sucked in a deep breath. She’d come up several feet away from the platform, which now rested just below water level.
On the far side of it, Lear wrestled with Erik, who’d somehow dispensed with his bonds. Alarm warred with relief that he was still alive. But he needed help. She gripped the back rail of the deck. If she could catch Lear unaware—
Something rough cinched around her neck, and her body jerked to a stop. What the fuck? Natalie looked up, her limbs going cold at the sight of Wallace standing near the steps, holding the other end of a rope.
His face lit with triumph. “Looks like I learned something useful at Archer’s ranch after all.”
Ford gripped the handle on the inflatable boat’s hull as Jason launched them through the shallow waves, heading straight for the port side of Wallace’s floating exhibition of greed.
As they closed in, a swell lifted the small craft, giving Ford a faintly lit view of people at the back of the yacht, right at water level.
Pressing his earpiece, he narrated what he could see for the rest of the team.
“Two men grappling on what is probably a diving platform on the stern.” He squinted.
“Possible movement behind them.” The angle was wrong and he couldn’t quite see.
One of the men looked over his shoulder at the approaching boat and the other took advantage, hitting him over the head.
“Shit.” The thinner one collapsed in a heap and the broad-shouldered figure raised his arms in a trained shooter’s stance. “Gun!”
Ford dropped to a crouch and waved Jason down.
A hole opened on the inside of the boat across from him. Oh, fuck. Was that a gunshot?
Steering from a low position as part of the boat sagged, Jason took them right up next to the platform and cut the motor.
Ford jumped up and slid over the side of the inflatable onto the wet surface, crashing into the armed man and slamming him to the deck.
He straddled him, pinning his limbs to the wet surface.
The boat lights were dim, but his stunned captive definitely didn’t look like the pictures Ford had seen of Harrison Wallace or Erik Nygaard-Brown. Probably hired muscle.
“Jason!” Emma called through the comms, extra loud now in the sudden hush.
“I’m fine.” His voice came in stereo, through both Ford’s earpiece and right behind him. “We found Erik. He’s alive, but injured. Head wound, probably a concussion. I’ll know more when I can examine him under better light.”
The man beneath Ford began to struggle. “A little help?”
Jason came to his aid, and they quickly subdued the gunman, binding him with reinforced zip ties and hauling him up the stairs to a padded lounge on the main deck. That threat neutralized, Jason returned to tend to Erik while Ford went looking for Natalie. And Wallace.
Chest tight, Ford jogged halfway up the port-side steps until he could see the entire flybridge. Empty. She was either on the lower deck or… Nope.
Ignoring the churn in his gut, he jogged through the main deck, past a galley kitchen, plush seating, and small banquet toward the main bridge.
After checking through the windshield to confirm the loungers over the bow were empty, he padded down the narrow, carpeted staircase that bisected the helm.
The door off the first landing sat open, and he put his back to a shiny wooden wall, listening intently. Hearing nothing, he glanced to his right down a short set of steps, and seeing no one, slipped into what turned out to be a bedroom suite.
Quickly clearing the spacious room, he crept toward the lower level at the front half of the yacht.
A shout came from behind the closed door leading to a space at the bow, but he took an extra two seconds to check the small bunk rooms to either side of the hall and another bathroom before turning the handle and throwing open the door to a large stateroom.
Nat lay on her side on a bed, a rope wrapped around her neck and looped around her body down to the ankles.
Anger, relief, and fear warred in his veins as she blinked up at him with wide blue eyes, her lip split and starting to swell.
Blood rushed in his ears, and he saw—more than heard—her gasp as he approached.
Her reaction snapped his hyper focus away from her and he turned in the direction of her gaze, looking over his left shoulder. Harrison Wallace rushed through a narrow doorway, holding a six-inch kitchen knife. The older man bared his teeth, and he might’ve been yelling, but Ford heard nothing.
Time seemed to slow as light glinted off the silvery blade. He flashed back to the night another man had attacked him with a dagger, remembered the pain as Tim Marinelli sank his RMJ Tactical Raider deep into Ford’s back, heard Natalie’s screams…
“Ford!”
Snapping back to the present, he dodged to the side and blocked the untrained man’s thrust. The knife flew into the far wall and fell soundlessly to the carpet. Wallace leaped at Natalie, grabbing for the rope at her neck.
With a yell, she brought up her bound feet and kicked him in the gut. Before he could retaliate, Ford yanked his collar and the asshole jerked back, falling onto his butt. Ford rolled the man onto his face and twisted an arm up between his shoulder blades.
“Ahh, fuck!” Wallace cried out. “Stop.” He bucked his hips.
Ford put his shin across the back of the man’s thighs to hold him down, and looked at Natalie, wishing he could ignore the scum beneath him and go to her. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.” Her cheeks glowed bright pink and her voice came out unusually tight and high pitched. “As soon as I get out of this bondage.”
“Can you breathe?”
“Well enough,” she said, jaw clenched. “Just make sure he doesn’t fucking go anywhere. It’s my turn to ask questions.”
God, this had to be killing her. Being restrained was literally her worst nightmare, but she was handling it like a champ.
The sight of the rope cutting into the tender skin on her neck made him desperate to free her.
He leaned a little harder on Wallace’s arm, earning a yelp from the human garbage who’d trussed her up.
Ford would relish returning the favor. If only he had some rope of his own. Sadly, he hadn’t even worn a belt and there was nothing useful within reach. He couldn’t take the chance of letting this bastard slip away.
The boat swayed gently and Natalie disappeared over the far side of the bed, followed by a soft thud.
“Nat? You okay?”
“Yep!” Her voice sounded remarkably chipper. “One sec.” Rustling noises and some low swearing floated his way.
Beneath him, Wallace continued struggling, and his angry stream of invective rang in Ford’s ears. Ford tuned him out and searched the man’s clothing for additional weapons as best he could while holding him down. He found nothing, but stayed alert.
Suddenly, Nat popped up holding a coil of rope and the double-edged knife he’d knocked from Wallace’s hand. “Would these help?”
Holy shit. Ford fucking loved this amazing woman. He grinned and took his first easy breath since she’d driven away from him two hours ago. “How are you with knots?”