by Eve Langlais
“Motor doesn’t have much more to give. I’ll see what I can do.” The engine on the yacht screamed as it throttled harder, racing for shore. Who was this guy controlling the damned boat? Did it matter? At least he was trying to get them away from the helicopter.
A peek over her shoulder through the window showed it wasn’t close to enough. “Unless you’ve got a missile launcher on the rear end of this thing, it’s not enough.”
“I’ll send—”
She cut him off. “There’s no time.” Taking down one helicopter was impressive enough. Taking down a second with limited resources? They needed a miracle. Or a bigger gun. Maybe she’d not seen all the available weaponry. Did this thing have a hidden gun? None of the blinking lights screamed, Slap me for a super-secret machine gun turret. Pity.
The helicopter neared. She’d run out of time.
She took the stairs two at a time, thumping hard, momentarily losing sight of the chopper. She ducked below deck as it showed off its firepower, the heavy artillery smashing into the deck, splintering the wooden boards, causing epic destruction. Oddly enough, nothing hit the cabin.
Boom. Something exploded at the back of the yacht, and it shuddered, a body-jarring heave and groan of bending metal. Even worse, the motor coughed.
Things were about to get bad. As in sunken-ship bad.
This was a first for her. She’d have to tell Sergei to add it to the bill. Because she had no intention of drowning today. Nor did she intend to let Darren die. Her mission was to keep him alive.
She dove below deck, avoiding the strafing gunfire. She scrounged in the first cupboard she saw, then another, until she found some life jackets, the vest kind that inflated with the pull of a cord. She wedged one over Darren’s head, contrary to the instructions on airplanes, and then put one on herself. She quickly cinched them both, trying to ignore the fact that the boat engine had died. They slowed to a stop.
Quack. They sat dead in the water, an easier target than a sitting duck, and those attacking in the chopper knew it. They fired lazily now. Just enough to keep her from popping out.
As she strapped Darren’s waist strap for his vest, she thought furiously.
If we go out the door, they’ll shoot us. But staying inside, we’ll drown.
However, there were worse things than a lungful of water. More painful ways to die.
The acrid stench of smoke reached her. A fire, perhaps started by the dead engine, not that the how mattered. A fire on board would burn without a care. If the smoke didn’t get them first.
She stuck her head out of the hatch for a peek, only to quickly pull back when a spraying splinter narrowly missed her cheek.
No exit that way. The windows were too small.
She went scrounging some more, trying not to give in to panic as water inched into the cabin, quickly covering her feet. Then swirling around her ankles. Those bastards, they’d put a hole in the boat.
She propped Darren up, now cursing the fact that she’d knocked him out. She could have used his knowledge of the tools on board. She leaned him against a banquette and then shoved him to the side to look inside the storage area of the seat.
What she found made her smile.
It would be a long shot. If she failed, they’d drown for sure. But as her uchitel—her teacher—used to say, “If you’re afraid of wolves, don’t go in to the woods unless you have a gun.” Which had no bearing on this situation, much like every single expression her teacher had spouted.
But in times like these, remembering them helped to center her. She filched the rope Darren had used on her earlier. When the water hit their knees, she inflated the vests. The rope had two purposes. One to lash him to the floatation device she found. Then, she tethered the loose end around her waist. The water kept rising, and rather than give in to panic, she took deep breaths. She gripped the device she’d found as the water hit her chest.
The gunfire appeared to have stopped, but she still heard the helicopter hovering overhead, waiting to see if the job was done.
It wouldn’t be long now. The boat was sinking. The life jacket did its job, floating her, lifting her feet off the floor. At her back, Darren bobbed, flotsam that couldn’t escape her because of the rope.
Rope is good when it’s long; speech is good when it’s short. The voice in her head again sounded like Kristoff, her teacher, his guttural words of wisdom a daily occurrence as she grew up. He’d finally retired last year to a place in the country with chickens and a small garden plot. His potato vodka was very good.
As the water neared the ceiling, she knew it was time. They had only inches left. One last glance at Darren. She hoped her plan would work, or they’d be feeding the fish—and making them fat.
She turned on the switch for the sea scooter, hoping against hope that, on a ship this modern, it would be charged before being put away.
It whirred to life and instantly yanked her forward. She aimed it for the door, holding her breath, hoping Darren didn’t swallow too much seawater, and off they went.
The sea scooter leading the way, they shot out of the doorway into the cresting daylight, a torpedo that lagged because of the flotsam she dragged.
She didn’t escape unnoticed. Rat-tat-tat. Bullets peppered the water.
None hit her, and she could only hope her unconscious luggage remained unharmed—and didn’t start screaming. She’d lose all respect for him if he did.
She whipped them around, sending the Darren-floaty at her back swinging, the rope tugging on her waist digging into flesh. She kept her grip on the scooter, barely, and held on as they shot in the opposite direction. It wouldn’t fool the chopper for long. It would spin around and give chase. She’d bought them very little time.
Which meant she needed a plan.
She eyed the dark line of shore. Civilization. And people watching. Would the helicopter dare attack in front of an audience?
They’d soon find out.
Now we race. She held the throttle down as far as it would go and arrowed for land.
Chapter Six
The water splashing his face made him sputter, gasp, then gurgle as his open mouth took in more liquid. Saltwater. Gag.
What the fuck! Darren blinked open his eyes and stared at a bright blue—
“Aaaah!” Suddenly airborne, he couldn’t help but yell, a sound cut short as he hit hard. Water sprayed. In that moment, he realized a few things.
One, he was still at sea, no longer on his boat but tied to a freaking life preserver, whipping across waves.
Two, the drunken racing was to evade the fucking helicopter chasing them. From his vantage point, he saw the guns fire and miss him, barely.
And three. “You’re fucking nuts!” Did Fran seriously think they could outrun a helicopter with a sea scooter? Which made him wonder where his pretty boat had gone.
Rat-tat-tat. More bullets peppered the water and only missed him because she veered hard enough to send him whipping in a different direction, screwing with the shot. This time. Eventually, one of those bullets would lodge in his body and hurt. He really wanted to avoid that; however, his options were rather limited at the moment.
Since looking at the helicopter made him antsy, the next time he went airborne, he managed a flip, landing stomach down, which meant a face full of water. He plowed through the waves, eyes shut, mouth shut, barely able to get a breath.
He flipped back to his fucked turtle position and yelled again. “You’re going to kill us.”
“Not dead yet,” she hollered back, whipping them into another circle.
Yet being the keyword. It wouldn’t be long. The chopper might be having a hard time aiming at them, but they’d eventually get lucky despite her erratic weaving.
So imagine his surprise when the chopper veered off.
Fran, however, didn’t slow their pace.
“Would you fucking stop? They’re gone.”
“Not safe,” was her reply.
When she did finally slow e
nough that he could breathe without fearing a mouthful of water, he immediately flipped to his belly and got to glare at her back.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You’re welcome.”
“For what?”
“Saving your life.”
She had, yet at the same time… “You almost killed me. Untie me before you fucking drown me.”
“So ungrateful. Fear not, Sergei will ensure that you show proper gratitude when you pay your bill.” She kept one hand on the scooter as she turned with a knife in the other.
He showed no fear as the blade came toward him. She wouldn’t go through this much trouble to kill him now.
The rope holding him to the life preserver severed suddenly, and he rolled off it but kept a hold by slapping an arm on the floating boogie board. “Care to tell me what the hell happened?”
“The helicopters sank your pretty boat. I saved us.”
“I wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t attacked me.”
“Because you wouldn’t obey.”
“And you thought knocking me out was a better plan?”
“Yes. After all it worked for you when you did it to me.”
The reminder made him glare. “Knocking me out was revenge?”
“No. I did it so I could do my job. You know, the one you hired me for. Protecting your delicate butt.”
“My ass isn’t delicate. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
“No, you’re not, or you wouldn’t have argued with me about those choppers.”
“You were right. Happy? And I would add that the only reason we’re even arguing is because that chopper let us go.”
“This isn’t an argument, it’s a lively discussion. And the reason it let us go is because of my brilliance. You can thank me for being alive.”
“We’re adrift at sea.”
“Not quite. There is the shore.” She pointed, and he looked at the dark band of land.
“It’s pretty far. What if that chopper comes back?” Or his enemies sent a boat. They were utterly screwed.
“What if, what if. We don’t whine about what-ifs in Russia.”
“Well, maybe you should. We’re far from safe.” A fact reinforced when he noticed a fin pop up about a dozen or so yards from them. “Um, Fran, we should really get going. Looks like we have company. We still got some juice in that thing?”
“Some. It was not happy lugging your heavy carcass.”
“Heavy? I’m very trim.”
“For a man your age.”
He scowled. “Did you just call me old?”
“You complain like an old man.”
Funny how the longer they bickered, the more he noticed a slight accent. As if a layer of fake peeled away.
“This old man doesn’t want to drown or get eaten by sharks.”
“Bah, they will eat me first. I am the one bleeding.” She held up her arm, and sure enough, a line of red streaked down, which explained the second fin that appeared.
“Let’s go.” He grabbed hold of the sea scooter, planning to wrench it from her grip.
She held tight. “I will drive.”
“Like hell. The first time, you almost killed me.”
“If I’d killed you, you’d be talking less.”
He growled.
She smiled. Then let go suddenly. “Very well, you drive. I will protect us.” She waved the knife in her hand.
“Try not to cut me with that thing,” he grumbled as she slid her arms around his waist.
“I am not an amateur. If I cut, it will be on purpose,” she promised.
He grabbed the handles and squeezed the lever. The scooter shot forward, distracting him from the fact that she was holding on, her body wrapped around his. As they sped through the water, he kept a sharp eye out for sharks, speedboats, hell, anything at this point. He couldn’t believe the brazenness of someone coming after them in broad daylight, guns blazing.
What happened to subtle?
The shoreline neared, and—staggered out from it—reefs and rocky shoals they’d have to avoid, but that also hid them for the moment. He aimed for the nearest one, especially given the motor was starting to lag, and they slowed in the water. Slowed right down to the point he might have swum faster, and still, the shoal wasn’t quite within reach.
Something brushed by his leg.
Don’t look down. Don’t look down.
He looked down. Saw the cigar shape of a shark swimming under him. Not good.
“We’re going to have to swim the rest of the way,” he announced as the motor died a little more, barely chugging them across the water.
“Okay.” She slid off him and began to stroke for the coral. He gaped, especially since he saw the fin trailing after her.
“Fran. Fuck. Behind you.” A part of him worried yelling would distract her, but he couldn’t do or say nothing with a predator practically nipping at her toes.
So, what did his crazy ex-French ex-girlfriend-now-turned-Russian-spy do? She stopped swimming, treaded water, and when the fin bumped a little too close? She went sushi chef on its ass.
The gore of shark blood clouded the water, the maimed fish sinking, acting as a lodestone to the predators in the area. When she was done, she put the knife between her teeth and began swimming anew as if she fought off sharks every day.
Hell, for all he knew, she did.
She peered back at him. “Swim faster.”
He didn’t need her urging to get his ass in gear. “Don’t worry about me,” he huffed as he stroked, keeping his head above water.
“You’re slow,” she snapped as she treaded water, knife in hand, gaze staring below her. “In Russia, we swam five miles every morning. The slowest person didn’t get breakfast. Sometimes, I lost on purpose to ensure I wouldn’t get fat. You, on the other hand, have obviously not been earning your meals.”
The goading worked. He put his head down and stroked, pulling hard in the water, trying not to think what might be eyeing him as a tasty snack. He only slowed when his hand slapped smoothed rock. He bobbed in the water alongside Fran, ignoring the churn behind them.
He heaved himself onto the shoal, careful of the sharper edges. He even tucked his feet up on it as Fran joined him. Behind, there was still a swarm of fins. In the distance, he could see the black speck of a chopper, possibly going out to investigate what had happened. Or was it looking for them?
Either way, they couldn’t stay here. Darren peeked over at the land, an island teeming with bodies.
Naked bodies.
No way could they make it amongst them without notice.
Fran must have realized it, too. “We will stick out like a black eye on a pretty woman.”
“We have to do something. We can’t sit out here in the sun all day.”
“Wait like cowards?” She snorted. “Never. I have a plan.”
“Why do I get the impression I won’t like it?”
“Because you are ashamed of the human body. I, on the other hand, am not.” With that declaration, she stripped out of her lifejacket and clothes.
He might have gaped. Sure, he’d seen her body naked before. Licked just about every inch of it, too, but it had been a while. He might have ogled, which was why he probably didn’t react quickly enough when she came at him with her knife.
She used it deftly. Without mercy.
He had no defense.
In no time at all, he was naked, too.
He glared at her. “Did you have to do that?”
“Now we fit in. Come on. Let’s get to the beach before the next attackers come after us.”
“They wouldn’t dare. Not in front of a crowd.” He’d wager that was why the helicopter had turned away.
“Stop arguing with me.” She stood on the rock, tall, lean, and proud.
He scrambled to his feet to prevent her looming over him. She smiled.
Then shoved him off the reef.
Chapter Seven
The
nude beach proved entertaining—for Marina.
Not everyone had as much fun. Darren still scowled. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate how she’d rescued him. He grumbled things about loss of dignity and how his ass hurt because of the pinching.
He should thank her. It could have been worse if the ladies—and men—on the beach thought he was available. By placing her mark on him, she’d made him off limits.
But did he thank her for the admiration of his posterior? Nope. He complained she’d left a bruise. Utterly ungrateful. She’d be sure to tell Sergei. There was a billing code for that, as well.
His litany of grumbles didn’t stop there. He protested about the clothes she stole as if she’d purposely chosen the one locker with the tight shorts and skimpy tank top for him—she had, actually—for personal entertainment.
“I look like a gigolo,” he complained, sitting beside her in the taxi they’d managed to flag. She’d stolen some cash from the locker, too. And a phone. She had to make some calls.
“You look like a proper vacationer.”
“An indecent one.” He kept his folded hands on his lap, hiding the outline of his man parts. Impressive bits, she should add.
“Would you have preferred to remain in the water until nightfall?” she asked.
“I would have liked to keep my clothes.”
“We needed to blend in.” Not that Darren truly did with his superb body and proud bearing. He drew too many gazes.
“We could have swum farther down the beach.”
“It was too risky to stay in the water. Stop being such a prude.”
“Don’t mock me. I don’t like being nude in public.”
Her turn to tease. “But you didn’t mind doing other things.” When they got together, the passion tended to overwhelm propriety.
His lips flattened, and his hands shifted in his lap. “Momentary lapse of reason.”
She hid a smile. “If you say so.”
“Where are we going?” he asked, pretending interest in the scenery flashing by outside. They were still somewhere in the Keys, a string of islands at the southern tip of Florida linked by numerous bridges.
