Chapter 3
Chapter Three
She had to have lost her mind. She was showering in one of Moretti’s guard’s cabins.
Lord almighty. Her hands trembled as she worked shampoo through her hair at rapid speed.
He hadn’t tried to open the door, but a flimsy little lock wouldn’t stop him if he wanted to.
Steam billowed around her, and for a second she inhaled deeply, sending warmth through her bones.
She’d never been so cold in her life, and she couldn’t fully shake the chill.
Whether it was from the rain, shock, or just plain terror, she didn’t know.
Tears built in front of her vision and her throat thickened.
She couldn’t—wouldn’t—think about what had almost happened on the deck.
Mortification heated her cheeks. She rinsed her hair then scooped up the bar of soap and worked it ferociously over the skin Beanie had touched.
A sob broke through her lips, and she pressed them together as a river of tears sailed down her cheeks.
She had to get a grip, but if she didn’t let out some of the fear and panic that had frozen her only minutes ago, she’d turn into a mess.
Knock, knock, knock
She jumped. The bar of soap flew from her fingers to bounce at her feet.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the guard said through the door. “I’ve got some dry clothes here. I’m going to pop the lock and toss them on the floor. I won’t be able to see anything, I promise.”
She pressed her lips together again. Now the flimsy lock didn’t even provide the facade of protection. No sound reached her ears. She swiped her hand over the shower’s glass and stared at the door. It didn’t move.
“Uh. I can leave them outside the door if you want, but I just thought you’d rather not have to open the door when you’re”—he cleared his throat—“done.”
She weighed her options. Either way she was vulnerable. But if she opened the door in a towel, he’d get a closer look at her than he would if she stayed behind the frosted glass coated in steam. The fact that he was giving her the choice showed a glimpse of chivalry.
She swallowed. “The bathroom floor is fine.” She shook her head. Had that even made sense? She heard the sharp ping of the lock popping, and then the door opened and his long arm stuck through the crack. He tossed the items to the floor and closed the door.
One brownie point for the guard. She bent to pick up the soap, finished scrubbing, and then turned off the water.
She snagged a towel from the cupboard and dragged it into the shower stall with her.
After drying off and wrapping the towel around herself, she advanced on the door and locked it again.
She hadn’t gotten a good look at the guy, but something about him had struck her as different from the other doofus-y guards, who hung on Moretti’s every word.
Shaking out the clothes, she held up a black T-shirt and navy-blue sweatpants.
Her dress and underwear were soaked and ruined, and now that Beanie had touched them, she didn’t want them back on her skin anyway.
Going commando in a strange guy’s sweatpants would be a first, but at least they were dry and warm.
She dressed quickly, worked a towel through her hair, and then opened the door.
The guard sat on the end of the bed, his fingers laced together and dangled over his knees, his stare on the floor.
The top two buttons of his shirt hung open, revealing the lip of an undershirt and the olive skin of his throat.
His eyelids lifted, and steely gray eyes stabbed into her.
Embarrassment flamed beneath her skin. She rolled her lips together and knotted her hands at her sides.
“Thanks for the clothes.”
He gave one nod. She shifted her gaze to the chair. What was she to do? He sure wasn’t treating her like a prisoner, but the night was young.
“Sit.” He nodded at the chair.
She did as he directed, curling her feet under her.
The mantra she and Dani had lived by scrolled through her mind: Don’t ever give more information than you have to.
The phrase had carried her through life long before she fully understood what it meant.
And she’d practiced it. From foster home to foster home, she’d always kept her hand close to her chest. She never let anyone get too close and always did what she wanted, when she wanted.
When she’d met Dani, at only nine years old, she’d met someone with equal pain in her heart.
Dani had become her other half and had taught her how to live without depending on anyone.
Thanks to Dani, stealing had become second nature by the time she’d gotten her first period.
In their business—her business now—there was always the possibility of getting caught, either by the cops or the target. Giving only the minimum amount of information was key to getting off. She wouldn’t make an exception for this dude.
She moved her gaze over his body. A muscle jumped beneath the smooth skin at his jaw, where a black five-o’clock shadow was forming. Impatience sizzled through her. A clock ticked somewhere in the room, tightening her nerves into springs.
“Well?” she asked.
He moved his hand, lifted a glass from the nightstand, and took a swig of golden liquid. “Want a drink?” he asked, putting the glass down and nodding at the mini fridge.
She wrinkled her face. “Do I look stupid enough to take a drink from one of Moretti’s guards after what just happened upstairs?”
He rocked his head from side to side. “Nah, you don’t look stupid at all. Yet here you are, on Donatello Moretti’s yacht, caught trying to steal.”
She opened her mouth but he held out a finger.
“I need to know what happened before I got there.” The statement came out hard, determined.
She frowned.
“Beanie. What did he do to you?” His stare fixed on her like a laser in the dim room. Familiarity tickled her memory, but it slipped away before she could place him.
She shook her head. “He didn’t . . . he didn’t finish.”
His chin drew back and he straightened. His shirt stretched across his chest. “He started? He raped you?”
She sucked air down her throat and shook her head. Fresh tears stung her eyes. She shook her head vehemently. “No. No, he didn’t.” The words came out strangled.
“He touched you?”
“Just what you saw.”
His jaw worked in a back-and-forth motion.
“Can we not talk about that now?” She hated the smallness in the plea, but if she spent one more second thinking about what Beanie had done, she’d break down.
His Adam’s apple bobbed and he nodded curtly. She loosened her death grip on her forearm and forced her back to relax against the chair.
“You know it doesn’t end there, right?”
New tension firmed her muscles. No. As difficult as talking about what Beanie had done was, that wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. She squirmed in her seat. She needed a story—and fast.
“Who are you and why the fuck are you on this ship?”
Insisting the woman shower hadn’t done anything to clear Rhett’s head.
What Beanie had done to her remained etched in his mind’s eye, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t shake the image.
He shouldn’t have asked. Seeing her eyes mist with tears and her body fold tighter only made him want to hurt Beanie that much more.
He had to push it from his mind. Beanie wasn’t the reason she was here, and he couldn’t afford to arouse Moretti’s suspicion. As difficult as it was, he had to see past the enormous, innocent-looking eyes and find out who’d sent her.
She looked away. As an agent, he’d seen that look a million times before lies spewed. She opened her mouth and he raised his hand. “Don’t bother lying. Neither of us has the time to waste. The sooner you tell the truth, the easier I can help you get off this boat alive.”
She pursed her full lips and brought her knees close to her chest. “You’re not stupid,” she countered. “Why do you think I’m here?”
“To steal.”
“See. Smarter than you look.”
He clicked his teeth together and cocked his eyebrow.
Cute. Funny. Getting information out of her was going to be a pain in the ass, though.
Her hair was beginning to dry, and the light locks that reached her chest curled at the bottom.
With her face now free of smeared makeup and blood, something about her sparked recognition.
Hell, she was a criminal. Surely her picture had passed his desk at some point.
The ship rocked precariously beneath them, and he caught the nightstand to steady himself.
The woman held the chair’s armrests, her skin a shade whiter than it had been a second ago.
Lightning flashed and thunder cracked the sky.
The rocking slowed, and he turned his attention back to her. “What are you after?”
A coy smile played at her mouth. “That’s top secret.”
“Who hired you?”
“A friend.”
“What’s their name?”
Silence.
“What’s your name?”
Silence.
He sighed, propped an elbow on his knee, and pinched his temples between his thumb and forefinger.
He couldn’t bully her. If a guy were sitting in front of him, he’d do whatever needed to be done to get the information to Moretti and save the case the FBI was building against him.
God was playing some kind of sick joke on him.
“Listen. If I don’t get the information Moretti wants, he’s going to get someone else—probably Beanie—to get it out of you. There’s only so much I can do to help—”
The boat swung side to side and the woman leaped to her feet.
Her hands dug into the arm of the chair that, like every other piece of furniture on board, was bolted to the floor.
Rhett caught the nightstand again as his weight was thrown backward.
He planted his feet but the woman careened past him.
He caught her around the waist and secured her to his knee with one arm.
Her ass landed on his thigh and her fingers bit into his shoulder as the yacht continued to toss around.
He cursed and hung onto the nightstand with his free hand, anchoring them. A siren blasted from the hallway and his radio crackled from the waistband of his pants.
“All hands on deck!”
Shit. He couldn’t hide out below deck while the crew was in turmoil. He got to his feet and deposited her on the mattress.
“Hang tight and don’t leave this room.” He turned to leave, but she caught his shirt.
“You can’t leave me here!” Panic lifted her words to a scream, and dread bloomed in his chest. If he left her alone and she escaped his room, he’d be in shit from Moretti. Not to mention what the other guards would do if they got their hands on her.
He had no choice but to secure her. He grabbed her wrist and towed her off the bed. The room tilted like a fun house. He planted her in the chair and she clung to the armrests again.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked.
He crossed the room. Each sway of the yacht threw him off balance. Opening the top drawer of the dresser next to the bathroom, he pulled out a necktie and then returned to her. He peeled her hands from the wood and secured her arms behind the chair.
“Wait, stop! You can’t do this.”
She struggled and squirmed, but he easily held both of her slim wrists in one of his palms while he wrapped the tie around them.
“You bastard!” She kicked at him when he stepped from behind the chair, and her bare heel struck his calf.
“Stay quiet. I’ll lock the door.” He pulled the door shut, fit the key into the lock, and headed for the stairs.
This job was going to be the death of him.
No. The woman with the fiery temper and honey bedroom eyes would be the death of him. He wasn’t backing down—when he finished with whatever the captain needed upstairs, he was going to show her who was boss.
Or at least find out her damn name.