Cursing a blue streak, Jack and Cleo raced for the last remaining lifeboat. Cleo tore off the orange cover, then flopped into the boat. Donovan followed and cranked away. The bow tilted, dropped at a sharp angle and almost sent her splatting into the water. She wrapped both arms around a seat and hung on for dear life.
Swearing, Jack reversed the crank and gave it another couple of turns. This time the back end of the boat plunged straight down. Cleo's arms were almost wrenched out of her shoulder sockets before he got the craft relatively level.
They jerked and humped and seesawed downward. When they hit the water, the force of impact rattled her teeth and sent waves crashing over the gunwales. Blinking the salt from her eyes, Cleo dived for the latch securing the cables. She got the forward cable free and tore off what was left of her fingernails struggling with the rear cable.
"We're clear! Fire her up."
The engine kicked over after only one false start. Absolutely certain that first abortive attempt had turned her hair a snowy white, she collapsed onto a seat while Jack shoved the throttle up to full power.
The boat lurched, gathered speed, took off. Cleo risked a glance over her shoulder and sincerely wished she hadn't. The flames had reached the cargo area. Snaking out from the deckhouse, they licked at the pods stacked one on top of the other.
"Faster, Jack. Puh-leeez, just a little faster."
He couldn't hear her. Nor did he look back. The angle of his jaw told Cleo he knew their chances were slim to nonexistent.
She started making lists of all the things she should have done before zipping off to Malta. Like update her will to include six months' severance pay for Mae. Bequeath the antique samurai sword she'd picked up in Japan to Goose. Set Doreen up with an unemployment fund of sorts. Call Wishy-Washy Wanda and offer some advice on wallpaper.
Say goodbye to her dad.
The idea that Patrick North might very well get a phone call informing him that his only daughter had died in a fiery explosion in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea was not something Cleo wanted to think about.
Instead, she wrenched her thoughts back to Jack. If she had to be blown out of the water, she couldn't think of anyone she'd rather be blown out with. She figured this was as good a time as any to tell him so.
"Hey! Donovan!"
"What?"
"I just thought you should know. I think you're Sierra Hotel."
His grin flashed out. Cocky. Irresistible. All Donovan.
"You're pretty hot yourself, North."
"In case I don't get a chance to tell you so later, you're forgiven for the plastic restraints."
"Don't be too hasty. I'm planning on a second round after we-"
The explosion blew the rest of his sentence all to hell. It also blew him halfway across the boat.
He slammed into Cleo, knocked her off her seat and went down with her. Wrapped in a tangle of arms and legs, they rode wave after wave of percussive blasts.
With each blast, the lifeboat lifted out of the water. Slammed down. Rocked from side to side. Water poured in, leaving Cleo awash and snorting out salty spray. Debris rained down around them.
Finally, the explosions were reduced to a series of hissing electrical spurts. The waves subsided. Jack's heavy weight, however, did not.
It pinned Cleo to the bottom of the boat, smooshing the air from her lungs. It had also, she realized as she tried to wedge her arms between their chests, protected her from the falling debris. When he pried himself off her, they sat up to view the drama unfolding behind them. Shoulder to shoulder, they watched a cloud of black smoke spread across the sea and the column of flames that used to be the Pitsenbarger sink slowly into the Mediterranean.
"Jesus."
Jack's soft murmur raised the hairs on the back of Cleo's neck. She huddled closer while debris popped up like odd-shaped corks. The less-buoyant pieces soon sank out of sight. Bits of plastic and wood and foam continued to bob on the surface long after an eerie stillness had enveloped the lifeboat.
In a voice that reverberated with both awe and chagrin, Jack shattered the moment. "When you blow things up, you do it right, woman."
"For the record, I did not cause the Pitsenbarger to blow. Radio Man did."
"After you 'got in his way.'"
"It was either that or watch the Seahawk take a direct hit from a shoulder-launched missile."
"Helluva choice," Jack agreed, slewing around.
The movement sank him back into the seawater and tipped Cleo onto his bare chest again. He settled her more comfortably, stroking her hair as the smoke swirled across the surface of the sea.
She was so busy soaking in the comfort from Jack's solid bulk, it took her a while to realize she needed to give as well as receive. Lifting a hand, she traced a fingertip over the old bullet wound in his right shoulder. Just the feel of that scar generated a rush of memories of another firefight, another close escape. It also stirred a sharp, primitive need.
Part of it was beating the odds. All she had to do was glance at that black pall of smoke to feel a shivery thrill race along her veins.
But most of it was Jack.
"How long do you think it will take search-and-rescue to find us?" she asked.
"Not long, once I activate the lifeboat's homing device."
"We've got a homing device?"
"It's required by maritime law for any lifeboat carrying more than four passengers."
"Funny, I only see two in this boat."
She could tell the instant both her touch and her comment registered. His muscles went taut under her hand and his voice tipped into a low drawl.
"Now that you mention it, that's all I see, too."
He eased her down, stretching his long length out beside hers. Water sloshed over them, unheeded. Smoke blocked the sun, the sky, everything but Donovan's crooked grin.
"Ever do it in a lifeboat, North?"
"No. You?"
"No. But I'm game if you are."
She was game.
She was most definitely game.
Particularly after Donovan slid his hand under the jungle print and worked a hand inside her boxers.
25
A return to reality came with the whap-whap-whap of the Seahawk. The chopper circled through the smoke, marking the location of the various lifeboats that had sped in all directions to escape the explosion.
It was followed a short time later by the buzz of search planes scouring the area. By then Cleo's stomach was expressing serious displeasure at having been deprived of sustenance for so long. The growls had gathered enough volume to almost drown out the slap of the waves against the boat and the distant drone of aircraft.
'Think we should activate the homing device?" Jack asked lazily, a smile in his voice.
"Mmmm."
"Is that
a yes?"
Cleo waged a brief internal war. She lay stretched out beside Jack on the nest they'd made from the inflatable lifejackets stashed in the boat. Her head was pillowed on his shoulder. Splashy red-and-green spandex once again covered the more vulnerable portions of her anatomy. The silk boxers were sloshing around in the bottom of the boat, though, buried under several layers of life vests.
Unfortunately, her pesky conscience had already started nattering at her with the same annoying frequency as her stomach. She knew Sloan and his sister had made it into a lifeboat and departed the Pitsenbarger. He was still technically her client, though, and Cleo needed to wrap things up with him.
Then there was the matter of the ship.
They'd face a barrage of questions. The air force would conduct a board of inquiry. The navy, as well, since the Naval Sealift Command had contracted for the ship.
And, Cleo thought with a sinking sensation, the U.S. Merchant Maritime Authority, since they licensed the crew and manned the ship. Then, of course, there was the Coast Guard, which regulated the Merchant Marine. She was pretty sure the Department of Homeland Security would get into the act, too.
The list was endless. To someone who tended to annoy, antagonize or generally piss off officialdom without even trying, it was also horrifying. Shuddering, Cleo curled up against Jack.
"Forget the homing device! Let's sneak away and head for the Greek Isles."
Donovan played with her hair, curling a damp strand around his thumb. She could hear the laughter and the regret in the answer that rumbled up from his chest.
"As tempting as that sounds, the Old Man's probably bitten through several pipe stems by now."
Oh, God! She'd forgotten about General Barnes. The Greek Isles wouldn't put enough distance between Cleo and her former boss when he heard about the Pitsenbarger. She was thinking Antarctica when Donovan reminded her that his investigation was far from over.
"I need to brief Barnes on the hijacking. I also need to follow up on the gut feeling that this character Domino is more than just a broker."
Wiggling upright in the orange nest, Cleo shoved her tangled hair out of her eyes. "I got that feeling, too. The hijacking was organized and well funded. Someone masterminded it from the start. It makes sense that someone would be the person who stood to profit most by it."
Jack came up on one elbow and let his eyes drift over the bits of debris still floating on the darkening sea. "I want him, Cleo. I want him bad."
"So do I."
The survivors from the Pitsenbarger were flown to the navy base at Naples. Some of the mariners were in pretty bad shape and had to be treated for various injuries, as did a number of the hijackers.
To Cleo's profound disgust, the pudgy little radio operator wasn't among them. The ships and planes combing the Med had found no trace of his lifeboat. Not surprising, since one of the other hijackers admitted that particular lifeboat had been outfitted with special radars and a high-speed engine to facilitate just such a quick escape.
They didn't admit much else, though. Jack grilled them for hours through interpreters before leaving them to the navy JAGs, who would work their extradition back to the States for crimes committed against a ship flying the U.S. flag.
Donovan looked like hell warmed over when he rejoined Cleo, Marc and Johanna Marston. Johanna had already arranged transportation to London. Like Jack, she had to brief her superiors. Unlike Jack, however, the British agent was traveling via a Royal Air Force transport laid on especially for her. Donovan would zip back to the States aboard Sloan Engineering's corporate jet. With her usual efficiency, Diane Walker had packed them all up and settled the account at the Auberge St. Georges. She was due to arrive in Naples within the hour. Johanna said goodbye on the veranda of the hospital. Night had settled in perfumed splendor over the base perched on a curve of the Bay of Naples. The bright lights of the Italian city winked across the bay. The darker shadow of Mount Vesuvius loomed beyond the lights.
Cleo and Jack waited in an alcove while brother and sister made their farewells. With all that had happened, it was a jolt to remember that Sloan and Lady Marston had met for the first time only that morning. They obviously felt the oddness, too. Cleo could see the tug of emotions in their faces, so alike now that she knew the connection.
Svelte and eye-catching in that black jumpsuit, Johanna clasped her brother's hand. "I have a country house in Kent. You must bring Diane and come for a visit. Perhaps you might bring Alexander, too. I should like to get to know you both."
"I'd like that, too."
She hesitated a moment before offering a word of advice. "I must say I was quite impressed with Diane. It's none of my business, of course, but I do think you should marry the woman."
"I couldn't agree more. I've been trying to convince her to formalize our partnership. She's proving surprisingly stubborn."
Johanna smiled at the irritation buried in his reply. Obviously, the handsome executive wasn't used to being rebuffed.
"Try harder," his sister advised. "As I learned from the loss of my dear Barty, one simply cannot take life-or love-for granted."
Johanna's advice rattled around in Marc's head as the driver he'd hired whisked him, Cleo and Donovan out to the airport. The Gulfstream had already touched down and was waiting at the private jet terminal. Diane was waiting beside it.
When they climbed out of the car, the rocksteady assistant who'd helped him build a corporation from the ground up started toward him. Within two steps, she'd broken into a jog. Before Marc could pay the driver, she was racing across the tarmac. Tears streaming down her face, she threw herself into his arms.
"I heard about the explosion on the radio. They said there were casualties. I couldn't reach you. I couldn't reach anyone! I thought… I was so afraid…"
"I'm sorry. I had them contact you as soon as we got picked up."
Noisy, gulping sobs shook her. She thrust back, elbows stiff, skimming his face with anxious eyes. "Are you hurt? Your throat… Your voice…" "I'm okay. I just swallowed a little smoke." She dropped onto his chest again. Marc folded his arms around her, feeling a fierce rush of love tinged with more than a touch of guilt. Trish's tragic death had brought him both a sister he never knew he had and this incredible woman he was only now getting to know.
He couldn't-wouldn't-squander that legacy. "Cleo, you and Donovan take the Gulfstream back to the States. I have some business to attend to here in Italy."
Swallowing her sobs, Diane pushed out of his arms again. "You didn't tell me," she gulped, struggling for composure. "I didn't make any arrangements or reservati
ons."
"I'll take care of the arrangements."
"But…"
"All you have to do is say si."
"What?"
"That's Italian for yes, isn't it?"
"It is, but I don't…"
"When the priest or magistrate asks for your response, all you have to do is say si. Think you can manage that?"
She opened her mouth. Drew in a deep breath.
Anticipating another refusal, Marc preempted any further discussion by the simple expedient of covering her mouth with his.
The kiss was long and hard and put him in a fever of impatience. Without another word to Cleo or Jack, he yanked open the passenger door of the limo and thrust Diane inside.
"The Amalfi coast," he instructed the driver.
"But where on the coast, signor? Sorrento? Ravello? The ferry to Capri?"
"Just drive. I'll tell you when to stop."
With a shrug that spoke volumes about Americans with more money than sense, the driver climbed into his seat and put the car in gear.
"That was interesting," Cleo commented as the taillights disappeared around a hangar.
"Very," Jack agreed. "Think Diane will agree to go before that priest or magistrate?"
"Not before she lays down some very specific ground rules. I'm guessing Marc's past is about to catch up with him."
Cleo couldn't dodge her past, either. It smacked her right in the face some forty minutes after the Gulfstream glided into D.C.'s Reagan National Airport. Jack had been instructed to report to Andrews Air Force Base immediately upon landing to brief General Barnes. He argued and cajoled and, finally, blackmailed Cleo into accompanying him.
As payback for sending her into the line of fire, he promised to keep her advised of the continuing search for Domino.
THE MIDDLE SIN Page 26
