Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Rhett curled his hand around the phone and pressed his fist to his forehead.
Motherfucking sonofabitch. He’d been stupid to think Moretti wouldn’t kill the woman for trying to steal from him.
Moretti hated to be threatened, and letting the woman go would show weakness.
Shit had just gotten bleak. There was no way out of this.
He couldn’t stand around and let a civilian be killed.
He’d have to call in his team. They’d surround the yacht with helicopters and boats before he could blink.
They’d have Moretti on charges of intent to kill, but it wasn’t enough.
Sure, it would help the FBI’s case, but that didn’t mean he’d been involved in the murder of Raquel, and it wouldn’t help take down the corrupt cops and judges he planned to pay off.
He’d get a slap on the wrist instead of being incarcerated.
“What’s wrong?”
He flicked his gaze to the person who’d started this whole mess. Her voice was small. For the first time since he’d brought her to his room, her voice held a note of fear.
“Moretti wants you dead, that’s what’s wrong.
” He tossed the phone on the bed and got to his feet.
She widened her stance, as if preparing to fight him off, and he grunted.
He didn’t even have the energy to be amused.
He paced the room and warred with his thoughts.
He knew what he had to do—he just didn’t want to.
Didn’t want to end the case. But there was absolutely no other way out of this.
She—how the hell had he not gotten her name yet?—cleared her throat. He snapped his attention to her stark white face.
“You could let me go.” She shrugged. “I’ll take the lifeboat and you can tell them I escaped while you were sleeping.”
He scoffed and dug his hands into his now-wrinkled slacks. Actually, it wasn’t a bad idea. At the very least, it’d save her life without him having to call in his team.
But he knew her kind. She’d be back for whatever it was she wanted. He strode to the chair and propped his knee on the seat. He took in the delicate fingers curled around the back of the chair then dragged his gaze up to her shoulders.
“If I do that, I need something from you in exchange.”
Her chin lifted and her honey-hued eyes blazed with fire. “Go to hell, you perv.” She grabbed the lamp on the nightstand, but it was bolted to the surface. She huffed and spun on him. “How dare you suggest—”
“Suggest what?”
She propped her hands on her hips. “Proposition me for sex to save my life.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“You’re a crooked cop. I don’t think that’d be beneath you.”
He crossed his arms in front of his chest. Annoyance thickened in his overtired brain, but he held back any response that would blow his cover. “What’s your name?”
Confusion puckered the skin between her eyes. “You’ll let me go if I tell you?”
She wasn’t getting off that easy, but once he got his focus off who she was, he’d be able to think of a logical way out of this. He lifted a shoulder. “It’s a start.”
She twisted her mouth to one side then the other. Then, probably discerning there wasn’t much threat in revealing her name, since he already knew her friends, she shrugged. “Fine. It’s Peyton. Peyton Risk.”
He lifted an eyebrow. Peyton. Crap. He’d heard plenty about Peyton Risk. She wasn’t exactly a wanted felon, but her name had come up more than once in association with other criminals. Max-something stuck in his brain.
“You’ve heard of me?” Her dry tone brought up the edges of his mouth.
“You could say that. You’ve got a pretty risqué résumé, if memory serves me right.”
Her head tilted. “Cute. I’ve heard worse.”
“Hmm. Like Priss? Isn’t that what friends call you?” He liked the name Priss. It suited her. “Peyton” made him think of someone uptight and refined, not like the short, feisty beauty who tested his every nerve.
“You’re awfully clever for a cop. What else do you want from me in exchange for my life, oh master?” Her tone had become downright snarly.
Once again, he opted not to take the bait. He rocked his knee from side to side and her gaze dropped to his leg then traveled up the inside of his thigh and stopped on his crotch. Her throat bobbed on a swallow and desire stirred his blood.
A delicate blush touched her cheeks, and he didn’t even try to stop the hardening of his cock. He cleared his throat. Her already lightly pink cheeks turned a flaming red, the color intensified by the fair hair framing her face.
“Why don’t you get some rest?” He nodded at the bed.
“Give me a couple of hours to figure this out. And if I can, I’ll get you to the lifeboat and distract the captain so you can get away.
” Even as he spoke the words his brain rejected them.
She was injured, vulnerable. Setting her out to sea alone in a lifeboat miles from shore just might be the stupidest thing he could do.
But for now, if it kept her quiet and pacified, he’d go along with it.
She eyed the bed and wet her lips. The slick edges of her tongue prompted a million scenarios to play out in his head.
“What about you?”
He glanced at the double bed pressed against the wall. “I have some calls to make so I’ll be upstairs.”
She removed her hands from the chair and drifted past him. As she moved, she didn’t take her gaze off his form, as if she expected him to jump her.
“Can I trust that you won’t leave this room?”
She pulled up the comforter and dropped it over her knees. “There’s not really anywhere for me to go, is there?”
“Not safely.” He shoved a hand in his pocket and measured his words. He didn’t want her terrified, but he also didn’t need her sneaking around the boat looking for trouble. “If one of the guys finds you, there’s not much I can do to help you.”
Her lashes fluttered as she leaned back onto the pillow—his pillow.
“Okay.” She covered her mouth with a yawn and settled deeper into the mattress.
He sighed, shut the door, and locked it.
Why did it feel as though he’d just locked up a wildcat in a paper cage?
Peyton lifted her head from the pillow and glanced at the clock. She’d slept only an hour, but there was no way she’d fall back asleep. Had the cop returned while she’d been out cold? She mopped up a dribble of drool on her chin. God, she hoped not.
She sat up and rubbed the heel of her palm between her eyes. In most circumstances, she’d be as lucky as a flying pig if someone caught her stealing and let her go—but this wasn’t a normal circumstance. She couldn’t leave the boat without getting the location Max needed.
She threw back the covers and the scent of man and sandalwood drifted away from her nostrils, stealing the comfort that had relaxed her enough to sleep. He couldn’t be that dangerous—he’d rescued her, and his watchful stare had looked concerned as he’d cleaned up the cut above her eye.
Tiptoeing to the door, she cracked it open and peered down the dark hall.
Empty. It was after midnight. She doubted everyone was sleeping, but at the very least the guards and Moretti would be drunk or high.
She turned and scanned the cabin. No weapons caught her eye, and anything that could be used for self-defense was bolted to a surface.
She rummaged through Rhett’s drawers, shook out his clothes, and checked the pockets of his pants hanging in the closet.
Nothing. Dammit, he wasn’t stupid enough to leave a weapon available for her to find.
The wind rustled outside the window aggressively, but at least the boat was finally stable.
She returned to the door and slipped into the hall.
Pressing her bare toes against the smooth, freshly polished wood floors, she passed two other closed-off cabins.
No noise sounded from inside the rooms and no glow illuminated the cracks between the doors and the floor.
Please, God, let all the guards be drunk somewhere on board and not on their way to their rooms.
Light from the main deck shone down the stairwell and pooled on the floor near the wet bar, and a standing lamp lit the corner of the seating area.
Where the hell is Rhett? Her gaze traveled to a short hallway behind the staircase.
She skirted to it and pressed her back against the wall.
One room sat tucked away, its door ajar.
She moved closer and listened. Not a sound.
She’d need a flashlight before entering the dark space.
Making her way back to the wet bar, she stopped at a bifold closet door.
As the springs popped she winced and closed her eyes, breathing a curse. She waited a few beats, but no one came to investigate. Pushing the door open far enough that the light from the staircase hit the shelves inside, she raked her gaze over the contents.
First aid kit, rations, bottled water . . . and a flashlight. She picked up the thick, waterproof handle and returned to the hallway. She slipped inside the room, shut the door, then flicked on the flashlight.
A wide wooden desk ate up most of the space.
A wingback leather chair and a wooden bookcase sat behind it.
Moretti’s office. Thank god. If the white envelope holding Jenny’s location was in this room, she’d find it.
Unless he’d taken it to his room—then she was screwed. She didn’t have time to search both.
She swung the globe of light over the shelves and rounded the desk.
Sitting in the chair, she tugged on the top drawer.
Locked. Shit! Without her lockpick set or the key, trying to open it would be useless.
If she didn’t get back to Rhett’s room before he did, she’d be in big trouble, so searching for a bobby pin or something small enough to pick the lock wasn’t an option.