by Misty Evans
Chapter Five
He found me. Tephra found me. How?
Her heart felt like she’d swallowed it and it now lodged in her throat. Bianca forced herself to breathe in through her nose and out through her lips. No hyperventilating. No going into shock. She’d handled plenty of tough situations before—albeit none involving a hitman—and she would not freak out like some wimpy girl regardless of the fact she’d almost taken a bullet in the head a few seconds ago.
Cal, on hands and knees, started to move off her. God, she’d brought Tephra right to his doorstep. She knew it had been a strong possibility, but now…
“I’m sorry,” she said to Cal. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
He paused. “Do what I say and sit tight. Give me fifteen minutes. If I don’t return, call 911 and everyone else you can think of, got it?”
Like the police could help her. If Cal died, she was dead—either from Tephra’s bullets or from guilt. “You damn well better return or I’ll haunt you in the afterlife.”
Cal smirked. “I’ll be back.”
God, she loved that smirk. Loved his cockiness, even though it drove her crazy. “Swear it.”
He cocked an eyebrow. When they were young, she’d made him pinky swear to things, like not telling her mother where she’d hid the rent money so her mom couldn’t blow it on meth or Shopping Network deals. “We’re not kids, anymore, Bianca.”
“Swear. It.”
His gaze dropped to her lips. Ever so slowly, his face lowered so he was barely a breath away. The tip of his nose brushed hers and his warm breath fell gently on her lips. “I swear on The Art of War, I’ll be back for you.”
A warm rush of love spread through her body. Her nerves tingled. Without thinking, she tilted up her chin and skimmed his lips with hers. A kiss, but not a kiss. “Fifteen minutes, not a second more.”
He nodded and crawled off, keeping low as he headed for the steps and the door to the upper deck.
As Bianca rolled onto her stomach, she cursed the fact she’d lost her glasses, but she could still make out his blurry frame as he appeared to open a panel under the stairs and disappear into the bowels of the boat.
The dog, also watching, whined and walked over to the place where he’d vanished, sniffing at the paneling. Bianca rose to her hands and knees, careful of the loaded gun—a Glock with no active safety—and the broken glass littering the floor.
Where are my glasses?
She hated being blind. Grabbing one of the towels, she brushed glass out of the way, then folded the towel and put it under her knees. Her cheek dripped blood on her hands, the gun, and the floor. She shimmied toward the table, stopping every few inches to feel around for her glasses. Her fingers touched leather.
Briefcase.
She stretched, reaching under the table. Everything was a blur. Her fingers threaded over more glass bits and what felt like old dog kibble. “Eww.”
She smelled Maggie before she saw her. A heavy head knocked into Bianca’s hip and something clattered to the floor next to her. Bianca reached back and felt the cool plastic of her Dior frames.
Thank God.
Or Maggie, in this case.
Bianca rubbed her bleeding cheek against her shoulder and finagled the glasses onto her nose. The world, small as it was under the table in The Love Boat, came into focus.
“Good dog,” she whispered, giving Maggie a pat on the head. A pink tongue emerged from Maggie’s mouth and the dog panted in Bianca’s face.
Behind her, the bathroom beckoned. No windows and only one entrance. Good cover where she could point and shoot. “Come on, girl,” she said. “Time to hide.”
Bianca used the towel to clear a path and crawled to the bathroom, hoping Maggie would follow and not cut her paws. Once inside the door, Bianca turned to see Maggie still standing next to the table, head cocked.
“Maggie, come!”
The Lab obeyed, then stood at the threshold and looked back toward the steps. Bianca snapped her fingers and the dog shifted her sad eyes to Bianca’s face. “He’s coming back.” I hope. “Get in here.”
The room was so small, Bianca could barely turn around without bumping into something. The dog stepped into the tiny bathroom and laid down on the floor next to the shower, half on top of Bianca. She sniffed the air in the direction of Bianca’s face.
Blood. The metallic smell mixed with the scent of salt air blowing in through the broken window. The side of Bianca’s face was wet with it. Her hair sticky.
What idiot used non-tempered glass on a boat window?
And how did the shooter know it wasn’t?
Keeping an eye on the cabin, and Cal’s gun at the ready, Bianca grabbed a washcloth with her free hand and soaked it in the sink. For a brief second, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror and nearly gagged.
This was why she wasn’t a nurse, doctor, or EMT. The sight of blood made her queasy. Add that to the fact the rocking boat had already done a number on her stomach and an assassin had taken a shot at her, she was in no position to do anything but…
Yep, there it was. Her stomach clenched, a shot of heat filling her jaws. In the next instant, everything in her system revolted and she hung her head over the toilet.
Great. If Tephra comes after me now, I’m easy pickings.
Tephra wouldn’t get to her. Not with Cal standing between them.
She’d been betting on his protective instinct and it had paid off. He stilled cared enough about her to want to keep her safe. Playing on that instinct was low and manipulative. Exactly what Cal hated. But she’d learned at an early age that manipulating others was the way to get her needs met. Being direct got her a slap or a beating. Although she’d worked for years to overcome that awful failsafe of manipulating people, old habits died hard when you were staring death in the face.
Besides, the direct route had failed. Cal hadn’t believed her until someone took a shot at her. Now he was all Mr. Protective. Exactly what she needed in order to survive.
Guilt nonetheless ate at her. Clawed through her stomach and up into her heart. It was one thing that she’d nearly gotten him killed in action when she’d sent him after Grimes. This was worse. She’d purposely put him in harm’s way in order to shield herself.
He deserves better than me. One of the reasons she had to follow through on the divorce.
Even after all these years, all the therapy and telling herself she was no longer a victim, here she was, struggling to survive. And just like when she was a kid, she couldn’t do it on her own. She prided herself on being independent, smart, and a bulldog when it came to thriving in the face of abuse and neglect, but underneath it all, she was still that scared, helpless little girl inside. A girl nobody but Cal had ever wanted.
At the thought, her stomach finished emptying its contents. Weak and suddenly exhausted, Bianca removed her glasses and washed her face as best she could with one hand, keeping the other with the gun at the ready.
A steady pressure on the back of her legs told her Maggie was leaning against them. Bianca couldn’t hear any sounds except for the normal ones coming from outside the boat, but that didn’t mean anything. Cal was quieter and quicker than any ninja, and Tephra no doubt was as well.
She flipped on the skeleton light bulb over the sink, then immediately turned it back off. Stupid. Even if Tephra couldn’t see the bathroom from outside, there was no sense spotlighting herself.
No sense in scaring herself either. While the mirror was flecked with water spots, and she’d only had a half second to see herself, the light had given her skin a sickly pall. The dark circles under her eyes and the cut across her cheek only added to the zombie effect. She pressed the cool washcloth to her cut. The blood was finally easing up.
She might not be a nurse, but she could guess the thin slash had been caused by glass and not a bullet. She sunk to the floor and put her back against the shower. Maggie eased up next to her and laid down with her head in Bianca’s lap.
Keeping her atte
ntion trained on the door, Bianca set down the washcloth and stroked the dog’s head. The gun was heavy in her right hand, heavier than she remembered the weapons being in her firearm training. But Cal was a big guy. His gun matched.
Firearm training…a memory of the day Cal had taught her to fire a small Walther PPK. Then a Beretta, a Glock, and lastly a Smith and Wesson. He’d figured she needed a variety of experiences with handguns, knowing she’d remember every gun, how to fire it, and how to clean it afterward.
Maggie lifted her head and nudged Bianca’s hand, jarring her from her reverie, her body going on alert. “What is it girl?”
She scanned the door and beyond, but the dog was staring up at her. The top of her dark head looked wet. Bianca ran a finger over the spot and realized it was blood. Her blood. The bleeding had kicked up again.
“Sorry.” Bianca used the washcloth to wipe off the top of the dog’s head. Too much blood. The washcloth was a mess. Bianca gained her feet and then had to grab the edge of the sink when the room spun.
Lightheaded.
Not from loss of blood. From the loss of everything.
Her footing. Her career.
Cal.
Quickly, she rinsed the washcloth, washed her cheek again, and looked in the flat medicine cabinet. Too dark. Need light.
Only stupid heroines in horror movies turned on the lights.
A whitish box caught her eye. Bandages. Hallelujah.
She opened the box and fished one out. There was no way she was setting down the gun, so she used her teeth to rip open the stupid paper covering.
She was just about to stick the bandage on her cheek when the boat rocked hard and Maggie bolted from the room.
Bianca shifted to look around the doorway and lifted the gun. Where was that stupid dog going? “Get back here!”
All she could see was the dog’s butt and wagging tail. The rest of her was under the table. A second later, Maggie backed out and when she turned around, Bianca nearly laughed at what was in the dog’s mouth.
Purple plastic. Sparkles. A screen flashing with a silent incoming call.
My phone.
A modicum of relief swept through her. Maybe she should call the police. Or Cooper Harris. Or…
Wait…the phone was still connected to the video camera she’d installed above deck.
“Bring it here, girl.”
Maggie did, and Bianca retrieved the phone from her mouth, wiping the dog slobber off with the washcloth.
She’d turned off the ringer but it still vibrated in her hand. Speak of the devil…caller ID told her it was Cooper. Her automatic response was to answer, like she had when Ronni called, and pretend everything was normal. While the idea had appealed a minute ago, she didn’t want to have to explain the situation. Cooper was miles away. He couldn’t help her right here, right now.
She tapped the ignore button.
The call went to voicemail, and she swiped through her screens until she found the camera app. If she could get eyes on the marina again, she’d be able to see what was going on.
If Cal was in stealth mode, she’d never see him. Probably wouldn’t see Rory Tephra either. But if she could at least get the license plate of the SUV…
The app opened and the screen blurred. She ticked off a couple of seconds, waiting for it to clear and the marina entrance to come into focus.
It didn’t.
The kaleidoscope of white and gray shadows suggested the camera was facedown. She closed the app, reopened it, hoping it was a glitch.
The same picture appeared.
Damn. The wind had done a number on the camera even though she’d secured it as firmly as she could. Either that or the wind had blown something on top of the camera covering the lens.
Or maybe Tephra had covered it.
She needed to go check. Fix the camera and try to zoom in on that SUV if it was still there.
Trust Cal. If the SUV was still out there, hopefully he got a look at it and memorized the plates.
Her heart thumped in her throat again. A part of her hoped the vehicle was gone. That Tephra was gone. That Cal was safe.
Above her head, she heard a soft thud, so soft she nearly missed it. The dog looked up at the same time she did, confirming it wasn’t her imagination. Her breath froze in her chest. Just the wind or a footstep?
Lowering the phone, she focused on the area beyond the bathroom. She could see the table and bench seat. Faint light from outside the cabin reflected on the glass littering the floor.
Another thud sounded, then a scrape across the deck off to her left.
The only bad thing about her hiding spot was the fact she couldn’t see the stairs. Couldn’t see who might be coming down them.
She raised the gun with both hands, keeping her arms straight and pointing toward the bathroom door opening. A Glock was good. Reliable, lightweight, seventeen rounds in the magazine. Trusted by law enforcement officers around the world.
Point and shoot.
She thought she heard a slight rustle…or was that another footstep? The boat seemed to list slightly to the left.
In her peripheral vision, she noticed Maggie had her ears perked. The dog’s body, next to Bianca’s, vibrated with tension. Excitement or fear?
Either she was losing it, or there was definitely another human presence on board. A bead of sweat rolled down Bianca’s neck and under her collar. The strong smell of the ocean after a storm hung in the air, the humidity high.
Something inside of her wanted to call out to Cal. She bit her lip. Giving away her location by not keeping her trap shut would be yet another stupid heroine move.
So she sat tight, debating whether to rise to her feet or stay low. If the presence on board was Tephra, and he came around the corner, he’d expect her to be standing, right? Her advantage lay in staying down and taking him by surprise.
A shadow fell across the floor outside the bathroom door. Her heart spiked with fear. This is it.
Bianca took a soundless breath, dragging oxygen deep into her lungs, then let it out halfway, like Cal had taught her, and put her finger on the trigger.
Point and shoot.
Bianca felt something hit her hip, a swipe, swipe, swipe, right before she heard someone whisper “B?”
The only person who ever called her “B” was Cal.
Maggie’s tail wagged harder, beating against Bianca’s hip. “Cal?”
“Don’t shoot.”
She automatically lowered the gun, pulling her finger from the trigger and letting the rest of her breath go. Her muscles twitched, flexing and releasing from the surge of adrenaline still pouring through her system.
The shadow grew and Cal’s big body came into view. The relief that swamped her nearly laid her out right there on the bathroom floor. A sob caught in her throat and she jammed the back of her hand against her mouth.
Cal frowned, squeezing into the room. He patted the dog and squatted in front of Bianca. Maggie licked his face in greeting and he chuckled before running his hand over Bianca’s hair and giving her ponytail a little tug. “Whoever it was is gone. You’re safe.”
She couldn’t help it—she grabbed his shoulders and dropped her forehead to his chest. “Thank you.”
One hand rubbed her back. The other stayed at the base of her neck. “We need to move. He may come back.”
The smell of him, part soap from his shower and part ocean spray, filled her nostrils. Her cheek burned from the cut. “Where should we go?” she asked.
He released her and confiscated the gun from the floor. “Sit tight. I have a plan.”
She didn’t want to turn loose of his shoulders, his solidness, but she did anyway. Distance. She had to keep some, no matter how vulnerable she felt right now. She couldn’t let him and his protectiveness worm their way back under her skin.
But, oh, did she ever want to. Heart sad, she watched him disappear once more, heading for the upper deck. A few seconds later, the boat’s engine roared to life.
Chapter Six
Bianca stayed put for several minutes, wondering where they were going. Maggie happily left her, toenails clacking on the steps as she went topside following her master.
I’d like to do that too.
Cal was a conundrum. Always had been. She wouldn’t call him nice or even particularly polite. In fact, at times, he was downright unfriendly and inconsiderate, and being married to him was more challenging than decrypting China’s North Korea strategy.
But he was brave and loyal to a fault. Duty and honor were the driving motives for everything he did. Those qualities practically oozed from his pores, making her fall for him time and time again, even if he did forget little things like, say, her birthday.
He better make it up to me next year…if I live that long.
Of course, even if she did live to see another birthday, she and Cal would be divorced by then. If he couldn’t remember her birthday when they were together, he certainly wouldn’t remember it when they were apart.
Granted, this year had been the first time he’d forgotten, and he’d been out of the country for weeks on a mission along the Syrian border, but still…
A therapist had once told her that if there was more than a fifteen point difference in IQ between her and her partner, the chances of them having a successful relationship were extremely low. They would lack the right amount of communication for a healthy relationship.
What Bianca had determined, however, was that it wasn’t the difference in their IQ that caused a lack of communication with Cal. It was that they both suffered from a low EQ.
The boat picked up speed, probably clearing the marina and heading for open water. Bianca heard a dull thud in the cabin and a rolling sound. The coffee cup. It must have fallen off the table and rolled along the floor. She grabbed the sink for balance and hauled herself to her feet. A quick splash of water on her face, a new bandage, and she peeked into the cabin.
Sure enough, the coffee in Cal’s mug had joined the glass on the floor and the cup was rolling back and forth, whacking the handle against the bench seat. Wind howled through the broken window, mixing with salt spray. The sailcloth curtain hung in tatters.
