Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“I’d like to know how you managed to get this on board, but I’m afraid to ask,” he said, his voice trembling despite the fact that she was on the other side of the bathroom door.
He’d retrieved her wetsuit and snorkeling gear from behind the furnace and had found her purse where Beanie had left it—in the living area on the main deck.
Thank goodness the guys were all drinking on the top deck and no one had spotted him.
The bathroom door opened and she shrugged.
“I have my ways.” The black wetsuit fit her slim figure like a glove, though extra material bunched at her ankles.
Her breasts pushed out the chest of the suit, and he could see the outlines of her small, hard nipples.
Christ. He’d never been so turned on by a woman whose every inch was covered.
He grunted and took a step toward her, closing the gap between them. “If I ever see you on the streets, you owe me,” he said, as he flicked the zipper at her throat.
“What do you mean?”
It shouldn’t be so difficult keeping his distance, but something about her drew him into her orbit.
Maybe it was still the sympathy thing. When she’d thanked him for saving her from Beanie, protectiveness had swept through him.
He’d never gotten close to a victim, and sure as hell not one that was a known criminal, but that hadn’t stopped him from wanting to wrap his arms around her and comfort her.
His gaze skimmed over her face, now filled with hesitancy.
She’d placed a bandage on the cut above her eye, but her opposite cheekbone sported a purpling bruise—undoubtedly from Beanie.
Redness bordered her eyelids and her hair had shrunk into frayed springs while she’d slept—if she’d actually slept.
“You could be my informant,” he said with a shrug. His gut told him that at some point their paths would cross again, and if she ever wanted out of this life, he could offer her the same deal he’d struck with Milo.
She threw back her head on a laugh, showing off her pearly white teeth. “Ha, you wish. I’ll never rat out my friends. Can we go now?”
Maybe not. “Yeah.” He turned to the door, but his second phone, the one he used to call his team, vibrated in his pocket, stopping him. He pulled it out and checked the screen. “It’s my team. I’ve got to get this.”
Peyton nodded.
He swiped to answer. “Eric, what’s up?”
“You called earlier and hung up when I answered. You’re on speaker and Mandy’s here. Everything okay?”
“Sorry about that. I was interrupted. We’ve got a .
. .” He glanced at Peyton, who was watching him, and turned his back.
“Situation on board. A civilian is in trouble with Moretti and he wants her dead by morning. I’m getting her off the ship in a lifeboat and need you to arrange for her to be picked up by the coast guard. ”
A stream of curses left Eric’s mouth. He was a good agent, but he wasn’t good at rolling with the punches when something threw a case sideways.
“You realize how risky it is for us to get close? Christ, all it’d take is for one of Moretti’s crew members to see the coast guard tailing them and your cover would be blown. ”
Irritation sizzled between his ears. As much as he liked Eric, it irked him that the younger agent questioned his judgment.
“We don’t have much choice. I don’t think the lieutenant would be very happy if we stood back and let a civilian get killed, and I’m not willing to throw the case out the window either.
So if you’ve got a better plan, let’s hear it. ”
“I agree with Rhett,” Mandy piped up. “Our first priority is to protect civilians. Get her off in the lifeboat as safely as you can and give us the coordinates. In the meantime, I’ll get in touch with the coast guard so we can move in fast.”
“Good plan,” Rhett said.
“Give us your coordinates now in case something happens, so we have an idea what route you’re on,” Eric said, his voice thick with reluctance.
Rhett pulled out his other phone, the one Moretti had supplied, and went to the app that calculated his exact location. He rattled the coordinates off, disconnected, and then stuffed his phones in his pocket. “Ready?”
Peyton nodded and pushed her hair back with a shaking hand. “They didn’t sound happy. Will they come for me?”
He stepped closer, and her head tilted back. He pressed his palm between her shoulder blades and gave her what he hoped was no more than a reassuring pat. Her eyes, liquid gold, locked on his. Her body swayed with the boat, bringing her closer.
“You have my word.”
Her eyes lowered to his chest and she nodded. Hell, he couldn’t blame her for being shaken. They were a couple hundred miles away from the coast now, and even with a head start it’d take the coast guard and his team an hour or two to reach her.
“The lifeboat’s stocked with reflectors, lights, flares, and enough water and rations for six people for several days. Use the reflectors when you think you see a boat. Don’t use the flares until you’re certain.”
Her eyes grew even larger, and her skin tightened beneath his palm.
Regret became deadweight in his gut. Mandy had said their first priority was to protect civilians—how the hell was he doing that by sending her out in a lifeboat by herself in the middle of the fucking ocean?
He pulled his hand away from her and rubbed his palm over the back of his neck.
His gut screamed at him that this was wrong, that he should pull the plug and bring in the SWAT team to end this now and get her on a helicopter.
But he couldn’t.
A firm grip caught his bicep. “Rhett, I’ll be fine. But we need to hurry. We’re getting farther and farther from the coast, which means it will only take longer for them to find me.”
He brought his hand down. “All right. Stay close and don’t make a sound.”
She kept her hand on his arm, and her hold burned through his dress shirt. He opened the door and her fingers fell to tangle in his. The satiny smooth skin against his made his nerve endings sing. He ached to offer her more comfort, but time was limited.
They moved through the lower level and up the stairs to the main deck.
Dim lights shone in the direction of the galley, but no voices sounded.
Dammit, he should’ve swept the deck first to see if the guys were still upstairs.
He itched to drop Peyton’s hand and grab the Glock at the small of his back, but his walking around ready to shoot would only put anyone he came across on high alert.
Worst case, he’d say Peyton had come clean and was ready to spill her guts to Moretti.
He turned, grabbed Peyton by her upper arm, and propelled her alongside him. Panic filled her eyes, and she struggled against him.
“What are you—”
“Shh. If someone stops us, we need to have an explanation,” he whispered next to her ear. “It’ll look a hell of a lot better for both of us if it doesn’t look like I’m sneaking you around.”
The deep lines etching her forehead smoothed, but she cocked an eyebrow. “And it won’t look suspicious that I’m in a wetsuit?” Her dry tone made him huff impatiently. At least she was no longer resisting. He moved swiftly to the ship’s stern.
“Sure, it will. But I can say I found you trying to escape.” Cold air whished through the door leading to the outer deck as he opened it, and salty sea air misted his face.
He moved her to a corner and pressed her back against the wall.
“Stay here and don’t move,” he said, speaking over the noise of water splashing against the side of the yacht.
“I’m going to get the inflatable lifeboat and scope out where the guards are gathered. ”
She curled her arms around her stomach and looked out at the vast, turbulent sea around them. A lead ball of guilt pulled at the pit of her stomach. He reached behind his back, pulled out his gun, and held it out to her. Her eyes widened, but instead of pulling away, she reached for it.
Her hands circled the weapon as if they’d done so a million times. She checked the chamber and then held the gun at her side. “Thanks.”
“Don’t fire unless you have to.”
She twisted her mouth in a no shit expression, and he turned and walked away. The wind howled over the ocean and he curled his hands into fists. Every step made the guilt heavier.
With the weight of the Glock in her palm, Peyton felt some of her unease ebb away, but she hoped Rhett would hurry the hell up.
The top deck held the outside sitting area, where Beanie had restrained her.
If Rhett was trying to locate the other guys, he’d either have to go to the bow of the main deck to try to hear their voices above, or go inside and take the stairs to the top deck.
He had a team offshore. Did that mean he was working? Was his team comprised of fellow agents or others working for Moretti? He’d referred to her as a civilian, and he’d instructed his people to contact the coast guard. Maybe he wasn’t a dirty cop.
Footsteps scuffed over the deck and shoved the analysis from her mind. She rolled her shoulders back. That hadn’t taken Rhett long at all.
Then the beam of a flashlight bounced around the corner of the boat and landed in front of her feet.
Fear paralyzed her. Rhett didn’t have a flashlight.
The heavy clunking of the guard’s advancement grew louder, bouncing off her eardrums. She tightened her hold on the gun but kept it pointed at the ship’s deck.
The light came around the corner and hit her in the face, searing her retinas. She turned away quickly.
The footsteps came to a halt and a rough hand seized her shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing out here?”
White spots floated in front of her vision, blocking out Beanie’s face, but she recognized his voice. Terror raced over her skin. She shifted her hand behind her back, concealing the gun. “I . . . I’m lost.”
He moved his face close to hers, and his hand gripped her throat. “Yeah, I bet. Where’s your bodyguard, huh? Does he know you’re sneaking around?”