Straight Shooter

by Samantha Keith

“Holy cow,” she said on a croak, watching the lifeboat inflate. The base of the raft filled and the tent over top sprang into position.

  “See the door,” he said, pointing to the hole in the tent with a ladder climbing the base, leading inside. “That’s where we need to go.”

  She jerked her head toward him. “We?” she croaked.

  He rocked his jaw. Fuck it. He didn’t have a choice. If she jumped into the water, she’d be at risk of hypothermia regardless of the fact she’d just lost a lot of blood. If she made it inside the raft, she’d probably pass out again, and it’d be next to impossible for Eric and Mandy to find her. Besides, he couldn’t stay on the ship after knocking out Beanie, especially since he’d helped Peyton escape. If he left now, they’d think he’d just decided to leave with her and probably wouldn’t jump to the conclusion that he was undercover.

  Lieutenant Jackson wasn’t going to like this one fucking bit.

  He reached for the life jackets secured in a box, fit one over her head, and tied the sides. Then he put one over his own head and secured it.

  “Rhett.” Her voice rang with impatience.

  “Yeah, I’m coming with you.” He turned his attention to the rapids, grabbed hold of her life jacket, and towed her to the railing. “We need to jump in the water first, then climb into the door.”

  Her eyes became large saucers.

  “How’d you think we were getting inside?” he said dryly.

  “I don’t know. A slide or something? That’s what they do on airplanes.”

  He huffed out a laugh and caught her hand in his. He wrapped her fingers around the strap at his waist. “Whatever you do, don’t let go of me. Got it?”

  Her body went rigid.

  “I’ll hang on to the tether and cut it once we’re in the water. As soon as I cut it, swim to the ladder. You’ll need to reach inside as far as you can to grab the rungs, so it’s easier to pull yourself in. If something happens to me, don’t come looking for me. Just get inside. All right?”

  Her lip trembled, and her fingers circled around the strap in a death grip. “Yes.”

  He chucked her under the chin. “Don’t worry about me. I can swim fine. I just don’t want anything slowing you down. You’re bleeding and hypothermia will set in quick. Ready?”

  She blinked, and her throat moved on a swallow. For a second he expected her to turn away, to refuse. But she grabbed the rail and swung her leg over the top. “Ready.”

  He did the same, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the switchblade. He wouldn’t retract the knife until they were in the water, but he didn’t want to waste time looking for it, or worse, have it get blown out of his pocket by their impact.

  He circled his fingers loosely around the tether line. When he jumped, his hand would slide down the rope so they wouldn’t risk being sucked under the water by the propellers or thrown off course.

  Peyton kept her gaze on the thundering water.

  “Whatever you do, don’t let go of me. I won’t be able to drop the tether until I cut the line. If I let go of it too soon, the raft will get towed away and we’ll be stranded.”

  She nodded once. “Let’s go then.”

  “One,” he said, as he moved farther into position. They balanced side by side, half sitting on the rail.

  “Two.”

  She gave the strap at his waist a tug, assuring him she had a tight hold.

  “Three!”

  Peyton leaped forward a beat ahead of him. The rope whizzed against his skin, burning his palm as they rushed toward the sea.

  * * *

  Ice-cold water blasted her face as she plunged beneath the ocean’s surface. The weight of Rhett’s body jerked her arm, but she hung tight to the strap. Salty water raced into her nose and burned through her skull. The lifejacket lifted her back to the surface, and she sucked in a breath as she kicked against the waves that dragged her toward the boat’s propellers and away from Rhett’s body.

  “Cut it!” she cried, but the wind threw away her scream.

  Rhett’s arm jerked over the wake, and a glint of metal caught her eye as he brought the blade down on the tether. The force that pulled at her legs released, and she gained traction.

  “Get in the boat!” Rhett snatched her jacket and shoved her toward the wayward raft.

  She grabbed the tether and hung on as she kicked and pulled herself toward the door. Her limbs tingled and her skin puckered beneath the wetsuit. A wave crashed against her face, sending her under momentarily and filling her mouth with fishy-tasting water. She coughed and slapped away the wet hair plastering her face like a mop, keeping the raft’s door in sight. Her legs burned with every kick and her wounded thigh pulsed wildly, raging at the salt stinging her raw. She caught the ladder in her hands, reached inside the lifeboat, and grasped the farthest rung she could. Rough hands shoved at her jacket then moved to her butt, and she hurtled inside. She hit the bottom of the raft and rolled to her back, the weight of the soaking wetsuit and jacket pressing her down. Her lungs ached to drag in air, but her body convulsed, halting her breaths.

  She caught sight of the moon, which shone through the hole barely bigger than a doggie door. Rhett’s large, brawny hand stretched inside, and then his head appeared at the door. She clambered out of the way, caught the back of his jacket, and dragged him through the entrance.

  He dropped to the floor on his hands and knees, gasping hoarsely. “Are you okay?” He turned and sat then reached for her jacket.

  Shivers overtook her body, and her arms shook violently as he peeled off her life jacket. She rubbed her arms vigorously, but it was like trying to heat frost with ice.

  “Sit.” He eased her back against the wall. The lifeboat pitched on the waves, and she pressed her hands into the floor for support.

  Rhett leaned toward her and hooked her arms in the ropes lining the lifeboat’s perimeter. “Hang on to that. The water should calm down once we’re out of the yacht’s wake, but it will still be rough way out here.”

  She closed her eyes and fought the weakness taking hold of her body. Her knees knocked together in rhythm with her teeth as Rhett fumbled around in the large raft. It was big enough to fit six people comfortably.

  “What are you doing?” The question popped from her mouth, sounding pathetic. She could barely control her lips.

  A glow suddenly lit the tent, and she blinked. Rhett turned around and waved a yellowish-green glow stick that was much brighter than the ones she’d seen little kids run around with. He laid four out in the tent, making the space as bright as a lantern.

  He stripped off his life jacket and then tugged off his dress shirt, revealing his tanned, washboard stomach and puckered brown nipples. Her mouth went dry.

  Then he shook out a big red hypothermia blanket and fit it around her shoulders, then did the same with his blanket. She watched the corded muscle in his arms move as he sifted through the medical bag that had come rolled up in the lifeboat. His hands trembled, but not nearly as badly as her entire body. Water dripped from his hair and splattered on his blanket.

  His dark-gray eyes found hers, and he wrapped his hand around her ankle. “There. Let’s have a look at that leg, shall we?”

  She shifted her gaze to the medical scissors in his hand and curled her leg closer to her body. “I’m f-fine.”

  He snorted, and she squinted in annoyance.

  “You passed out back there, so yeah, we’re dealing with this injury.”

  “I was tired.” The excuse was weak, and it sounded even more unconvincing with her lips blubbering together as if she’d just thrown back three shots of tequila. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but god, if they had some of that liquid gold right now . . . she’d do anything for its warmth.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Look,” he said, gesturing at her upper thigh. She lowered her gaze to the gash. Pain no longer blasted through her muscle—the cold and salt had numbed it to some degree. Blood stained the black suit, and the three-inch-long cut oozed dark
liquid.

  “You don’t want that getting infected.”

  She made a face but didn’t pull away when he turned her hip to get a better view. His nose crinkled, and he made a hissing sound. “Beanie did that?” His warm palm covered her knee, thawing the frostiness that coated her bones.

  “Yes. I fought him off and he slashed my leg.”

  “I should’ve fucking killed him,” he spat. He turned and laid the life jackets next to her. “Lie down on your left side.”

  She did as he said and pillowed her hand beneath her cheek. “I need to cut open your pant leg.” As the sound of material ripping echoed through the tent, she bolted into a sitting position and jerked out of his reach.

  “Don’t. Please.” Her words came out on a sob. Confusion etched his face, and his hand froze in midair. She squeezed her eyes tight as the ferocious memories of Beanie ripping her dress flashed in her mind.

  Stop it. You’re being stupid. He’s gone. It’s just Rhett.

  But the thrashing of the raft and the howling of the wind hammered her senses, taking her back to the moment when Beanie’s slimy hands were on her naked rear end. She pressed her hands to her ears, and tears burned a river down her cheeks.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Hey. It’s all right. It’s just me.” The words grated Rhett’s throat, and he fought the urge to pull her against him. He didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out something had triggered the memory of Beanie touching her. He curled his hand into a tight mallet and fought the urge to pummel his own stupid head. He should have considered what had happened on the yacht before trying to rip off half her clothes.

  “I’m sorry. I just—it keeps flashing through my mind, you know?”

  Her sobs ripped at his heart. He scooted closer to her but held back from touching her shivering body. She needed to get warm, and probably take off her wetsuit, but right now what she needed most was reassurance.

  He picked up the blanket she’d thrown off and tossed it over her. “Keep this on. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  She lifted her chin, and the sight of her ashen face and blue lips injected terror into his veins. He cursed and grabbed her shoulders, hauling her to him. She didn’t flinch but stayed stiff in his hold.

  “I think you’re going into shock. Let me warm you.”

  A big fat tear hovered at her lashes. Her chin dimpled as she frowned.

  “Please?” he added.

  She swiped her nose with her wet hand and nodded. He pulled her onto his lap and circled the blanket around them. Her body spasmed even more, and the heat his core had started to generate began leaching out of his skin. He didn’t care. As long as the heat was going to her, he’d survive.

  He rubbed his hands rapidly over her arms, then her back, then her legs, taking great care to avoid the gash. She pressed her nose into his throat and goosebumps puckered his flesh. Jesus, she was so cold. Scary cold. He lifted his hand to her hair and tossed it over his shoulder so it’d be one less wet thing on her skin.

  “Why didn’t you d-d-do it?”

  “What?” His voice sounded distant to his own ears, strained. The only thing he cared about was keeping her from going into shock. If blood rushed back to her heart too quickly, she could go into cardiac arrest. The best thing he could do was warm her core, which was next to impossible given that her wetsuit prevented skin-to-skin contact. He repositioned her on his lap, draping her legs around his waist and pressing her chest against his. She didn’t protest the closeness, which alarmed him even more.

  “Kill B-Beanie.”

  He grunted and curled his arms tighter around her back, making sure the blanket covered every inch of her that he didn’t.

  “Because I couldn’t. Not without making things even messier than they are.”

  “M-M-Messier because of . . . me?”

  “Shh. Just get warm right now, okay? Then we need to get to that cut.”

  The raft spun and tilted, and he pressed his heels into the floor to keep them upright.

  “You need to take off the wetsuit.”

  The muscles in her back hardened underneath his palm, and she pulled away. Her eyes lit with golden fire, and she shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t have anything on underneath.”

  He continued moving his hands down her back. Even if she were fully clothed underneath, it wouldn’t matter. Everything wet had to come off. Otherwise she’d keep losing heat.

  “Wearing a soaking wetsuit will make it impossible for you to get warm.” He hated saying it. Hated pushing her to strip after what she’d been through, but if she went into shock, he’d have to tear the blasted suit off anyway to keep her alive. Better if she made the decision on her own.

  The blue hue to her lips deepened, and her teeth chattered. She lifted a shaking hand to her hair, her eyes distant. “W-What will happen if I don’t?”

  He caught her hand and held it out so she could see the loss of color in her fingers. “We’ve got an hour at least before the coast guard gets here. If you’re not warm in the next few minutes, you’ll go into shock.”

  Her chin quivered. “Naked?”

  His mouth went dry. “I’ll stay like this,” he said. His chest was bare, but he’d keep his pants on. “We’ll need to huddle together under the blanket so we both stay warm.”

  She slid off his lap onto the floor and tugged at her wetsuit’s zipper. The material crackled, and he saw a flash of creamy skin. He quickly shifted his gaze to the door and stared into the distant night. He heard the sound of heavy, wet material slapping together, and his pulse thumped against his throat. Silky skin filled his peripheral vision. Temptation called him but he couldn’t, wouldn’t, tear his eyes from the clouds moving over the high-hanging moon.

  “D-D-Done.”

  He closed his eyes and stretched out his arm. She wiggled close to his side, and the fullness of her breasts caressed his pecs. He closed his arms around her naked back and adjusted the hypothermia blanket around them.

  “There. I didn’t see a thing.”

  A moan rattled her chest. “Oh my god, you’re so warm.” Then her body went limp. All its rigidness and tension melted away. She swung one leg over his lap and plastered her body to his chest. The sharp cold of her skin made him feel as though he were plunging into the ice water all over again. He was far from warm, but compared to hers, his body radiated heat like a sauna.

  “Once we generate more heat, this blanket will warm us like an oven.” He pressed his elbows against her sides and covered every inch of her bare skin he could reach.

  She snuggled her face under his jaw and breathed into his throat. A cough shook her shoulders, and he tightened the blanket around them.

  She moaned again. “This is heavenly.”

  He swallowed a snort. Having a butt-naked woman draped over his cock for the sole purpose of survival was far from heavenly for him. It was closer to torment. He shouldn’t have been turned on, but he couldn’t stop his cock from thickening in his pants. The fact that he could get aroused after having lost almost all his body heat said a great deal about his libido.

  As her pebble-like nipples pushed harder against his skin, he dipped his head forward and closed his eyes. The smell of salt and ocean coated her skin and filled his nostrils. It was intoxicating.

  Focus, dammit. Stop getting hard and just keep her warm for Christ’s sake.

  He moved his hands briskly up and down her back. If he could get her heated, he could get her off him and think clearly. Drifting too far, his hand brushed over the top of her full, sensual ass. He jerked his hold to the indent of her waist and took a deep breath to slow the desire building in his body. She loosened her grip on his waist and snuggled her belly closer, oblivious to his torture. His abdominal wall constricted, and he caught her hips so she couldn’t get any closer.

  “Who’s your team?” she mumbled sleepily against his neck. He continued stroking her back, trying to match his beating heart to the slow movement.

  “Wha
t do you mean?”

  “You called FBI agents, didn’t you?”

  He exhaled a hot breath and stilled his hand. He hadn’t been careful enough. But now that they were off the ship, she couldn’t really threaten his cover. Hell, he didn’t even have a cover anymore, so what did it matter?

  “I was on an undercover operation for the last six weeks while working for Moretti.”

  She jerked in his arms and drew her head back. “Oh my god.”

  He made a face. “Yeah. You’ve probably heard about how his nephew allegedly murdered a stripper. I was assigned as his bodyguard so I could dig up information on who he’s paying off to get his nephew acquitted.”

  She kept several inches of distance between her chest and his. Her breasts still lay against his skin, and if he looked down, he’d get an eyeful of cleavage. Dryness coated his eyeballs as he fought the urge. Instead, he stared at her now pale-pink lips. Her cheeks weren’t full of color yet, but they no longer held a scary grayish tint. Her eyes, too, lit with life. Her pupils weren’t dilated on the fast train to shock town.

  “I screwed up everything,” she whispered, shaking her head. He couldn’t resist dragging his fingertip over the delicate outline of her shoulder. When had soothing the woman who’d blown up his case become so damn important?

  “You didn’t do it on purpose. But you shouldn’t have tried to steal from Moretti.” The words came out with a hard edge. If he accomplished anything tonight, he prayed it’d be getting Peyton to turn her life around. “Will you leave it alone after this?”

  She blinked. “Leave what alone?”

  “Whatever it is you tried to take from Moretti.”

  She looked down and lifted a shoulder. “Uh, yeah. I won’t go near him again.”

  He studied her. Something didn’t fit. She’d been hell-bent on not leaving the ship without the thing she’d been searching for. But then again, since then she’d been slashed with a knife and nearly raped. And she’d jumped off a moving boat. Drastic events changed people.

  She moved the blanket and brought her attention to her thigh. He followed her line of vision. The dark-red gash split her porcelain flesh, and blood trickled down her leg. “Crap.” She pressed her hand to the wound.