Jewel of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  Tulio had pushed away from the table at that point, and excused himself in an angry huff. Her father had ignored him, put down his fork and gripped the side of the table, staring hard at her. Be fearsome to those people; make your family proud. Make your name mean something. Because in the end, that’s all you have.

  She hadn’t quite understood what spurred that lecture, but she more than grasped its gravity, even then. They’d never spoken of that night again. Dating had never been a priority for her any more, partly because of his words.

  Alanna drew in a sharp breath. “It wasn’t about me.”

  “What wasn’t?”

  “They must have known, even then, about the cartel’s threat.”

  “What are you talking about?” Flynn’s brow creased.

  “That’s why they put the contingency plan in place for me, because they knew all this could happen. Which meant he knew they would kill him, but he still didn’t surrender. He sacrificed himself to keep me safe. To make sure my name would mean something. That the Peraltas would go on.”

  Flynn swung his legs off the side of the bed. “Who—your father?”

  She leaned over and grabbed Luna de Azul from the chaise. The brilliant blue gems, warm on her skin, sparkled under the chandelier.

  You must never back down…be fearsome to those people.

  Flynn’s brow furrowed, but everything finally clicked in her mind. “On deck, you called me fearsome…to those who meant to hurt me.”

  He nodded. “Sometimes to me, too.”

  Alanna lunged forward, throwing her whole body against him. She slammed her mouth against his. He absorbed her weight and cradled her head in his hands, his tongue thrusting for control. Neither of them could breathe. She pulled back with her soul full of hope for the first time since all the chaos started.

  “I know what I need to do.”

  With a nervous laugh, Flynn brushed her hair with his fingers. “I’m glad one of us does.”

  Someone pounded on the door. “Flynn, Lanna,” Marcus’ voice boomed from the other side. “We need you on deck.”

  “What’s going on?” Flynn stood and threw on a shirt. Alanna leaped out of bed to slip on her deck shorts and shoes.

  “Helicopter in-bound.”

  Flynn stared at the door. The muscles in his arms flexed. He ran to the window.

  Alanna opened the door. Marcus stood there, fidgeting and tense.

  Flynn turned toward them. “Do you know who it is?”

  Marcus shook his head. “It’s not the owner’s chopper. They aren’t responding to the captain’s radio calls.”

  “How far are we from land?” Alanna held the necklace behind her.

  “Quite a way.” Marcus kept his grim gaze on Flynn. “It looks like a military chopper.”

  FLYNN’S WHOLE BODY TENSED. MILITARY chopper?

  Shit. The captain reneged on his promise and called the authorities anyway.

  Marcus’s face wasn’t readable either, but everyone knew a chopper this far out at sea wasn’t normal. Perhaps something to do with the guns Flynn discovered.

  “What did Liang say?”

  If the question confused Marcus, he didn’t show it. “To get everyone’s ass on deck.”

  “We’ll be right there.” Flynn shut the door and turned to Alanna. The jewels safely hidden beneath her shirt, she was tying her hair into a loose knot. “Whatever happens, stay beside me.” He smiled, hoping to disguise his nerves. “Got it?”

  Eyes wide, she nodded. He grabbed her hand, kissed her knuckles, and opened the door.

  Marcus led them down the hallway and onto the starboard deck, the slap of the wind harsher than the humidity.

  The yacht sliced through the water at easily over twenty-five knots.

  He glanced up toward the thump of the helicopter, the black shadow on the sapphire horizon, maybe 500 yards off, but closing fast. Liang peered through a pair of binoculars, his scowl more severe than everyone else’s watching beside them.

  “You know these people?” Flynn called over the roar of the moving yacht.

  Liang ignored him.

  Marcus only looked at him with a shrug. Jaime moved in behind Alanna, everyone watching the approaching conundrum with a tension heavier than the ship’s keel.

  Marie stood in the doorway. “What the devil are—”

  Shots ripped through the air. Several whizzed over their heads and thunked into the fiberglass. The crew scattered. Marie’s scream pierced the air. Flynn’s heart raced, and the rush flooded his ears. The only thing that kept him grounded was Alanna’s tight grasp on his hand.

  Get to the guns.

  Keeping his head low, he dashed inside the yacht, practically dragging Alanna along with him.

  More gunfire let loose. Flynn pushed forward, making their way to where he’d found the stash of weapons.

  “Where are we going?” Alanna asked, her voice shaky and arms trembling.

  “Engine room.”

  Through the tight corridor, they made it. He pulled Alanna in behind him. He grabbed the screwdriver to pry up the floor panels.

  “What are you doing? We can’t hide under there.” She raised her voice over the rumblings engine.

  He made every movement count and kept his cool, counting each turn of the tool. Finally, the last screw came loose, and he uncovered the four black duffel bags.

  “What the hell are those?” Alanna asked.

  “What the hell are those?” Marcus yelled at the same time, standing in the doorway.

  Flynn unzipped the first bag and revealed an automatic rifle. Alanna gasped and Marcus’ jaw dropped.

  “Here.” He passed one to the slack-mouthed deckhand, who absently took it as he continued to stare at Flynn.

  Well, at least I know he’s not the smuggler.

  “How did you know about these?” Alanna asked.

  Flynn held one out to her, but she hesitated.

  “I found these when I was trying to find the alternate power switch. Whoever they belong to, we need them.”

  “Do you know how to use this?” Alanna stammered.

  More bullets hammered into the yacht. Everyone instinctively ducked, but the shots never penetrated the room.

  Marcus grabbed the rifle and cocked it. “Take it.” He shoved the weapon at Alanna.

  She stared at him; he rolled his eyes. “Former Thai Army.”

  Flynn examined his weapon and copied the same movement to arm the rifle. Simple enough.

  “If it jams,” the Thai continued, “press this button to release the magazine.”

  The whomping of the helicopter escalated, even in the engine room, which meant it was directly over the yacht.

  “Stay behind me,” Marcus shouted and led the way. Flynn sandwiched Alanna between them, keeping his rifle up as they moved down the hallway to the crew’s break room.

  The first officer raced down the stairs toward them, holding his side with one hand and a pistol in the other. His shirt and arm were red. When he saw them with the rifles, he snarled, muttering something in Chinese.

  He shoved the pistol into his waistband and reached toward Marcus. Flynn moved in front of Alanna, and raised his rifle at Liang. But the first officer ignored him, and grabbed a spare rifle off Marcus’s arm. He cocked it, and ran back to the staircase from which he’d descended.

  Marcus gave Flynn a bewildered glance, and they all followed.

  “Oy!” A hushed call caught their attention. Alfred poked his head out the galley door, with wide eyes and sweat at his temples. They hurried inside. The chef held a butcher’s knife in one hand and carving knife in the other. “Where’s Marie?”

  “I don’t know,” Flynn answered.

  Jaime stumbled into the galley, skin pale, clearly on the verge of panicking. “They are right on top of us. What are we going to do?”

  Marcus braced him against the cabinets. “Calm down. Get it together.”

  Marcus turned to Alfred. “Those won’t do you any good against
guns.” He held out his last spare rifle, but the Brit shook his head.

  “If they come in here, the knives are better. Tight quarters and all.”

  The Thai Army vet looked at Alfred like he was crazy.

  Heavy thumps sounded on the roof. Either the chopper just landed on the helicopter pad, or a whole bunch of its occupants had jumped out. More gunfire ripped through the chaos.

  Flynn’s eyes met Alanna’s. Despite the panic gripping everyone in the galley, the princess was steady, almost eerily calm. But her knuckles around the rifle whitened.

  Everyone lurched forward as the yacht slowed, and the engines switched to idle.

  “Shit,” Flynn said under his breath. “We’ve been boarded.”

  “NOT YET, GUAYES! YOU’LL HIT the girl!” Julius’s stomach churned. These bloodthirsty barracudas had no respect for his authority. Even though he worked for Lozano, they were in the middle of open sea, with no one to rein them in. Tiburón’s sickening smile from inside the chopper made him squirm. The helicopter set down on the yacht’s elongated, upper deck right on schedule. Or maybe it was the hour-long flight over open water that made him nauseous.

  When Lozano had ordered him to accompany the strike team to assault the yacht for the princesses’ capture, Julius didn’t outwardly reveal his apprehension. When the head of the cartel issued an order, it was followed without hesitation, with or without a G6 bonus. But that didn’t stop Julius from throwing up in the bathroom before departure.

  The pilot grinned at him. Memo was a leaner carbon copy of his brother, Tiburón, but with fewer teeth and acid gingivitis. The man said even less than his brother, to which Julius was thankful. Memo had developed a reputation for cannibalizing his targets.

  The sooner this mission was over, the better. Bribing, and intimidating government officials, and urban street fights were one thing; terroristic-style combat over the ocean was an entirely different beast. One that tended to end with the beasts overtaking their masters.

  Tiburón dropped to the platform with rifle in hand, beside the other five members of their strike team. The Shark had said it would be easy to overtake the ship, and so far everything had gone to plan. A Penny Saved had been right where the GPS system directed, the crew hadn’t put up any resistance yet, and Julius hadn’t shit in his pants either.

  So far so good.

  He opened the passenger door, but Memo grabbed his elbow. “Save me one.” His heavily accented words didn’t hide his meaning. Swallowing back vomit, Julius clambered out of the chopper.

  Tiburón hadn’t bothered keeping himself low against return gunfire. The rest of them moved in like a Seal Team, guns up, and each covering the other’s six when they split down the side beams. Julius stayed behind the Shark as he maneuvered down the starboard side to the bridge.

  The Shark lazily held out his rifle and fired, shattering the windows to the wheelhouse. When they opened the door, he fired again.

  Besides the broken glass and navigation systems, the bridge was empty.

  “Hiding like rats,” Tiburón griped. It was the first time Julius had heard him speak, the man’s voice like a diesel engine sputtering after decades of dormancy. Screws into glass sounded more pleasant.

  Julius moved past him and opened the first door. Only a closet with more equipment. The next door was a set of stairs. He moved to descend, but Tiburón stared at something over Julius’s shoulder. He aimed the rifle, fired six times, then moved to a padded wall. The Shark opened a cleverly disguised door, and grinned.

  The captain slouched over a tiny desk, his body riddled with bullets. A small cot with an opened duffel bag full of clothes sat behind him. His personal quarters.

  Slippery sucker.

  Julius pulled on the throttle, slowing the ship to idle. Anything to reduce as much opportunity for seasickness as possible.

  “Engine room?” Julius asked. Tiburón didn’t respond. He moved to the stairs and descended.

  Eventually they made it into the salon. The lights were flickering and the windows blown out, but it was empty.

  Something moved on the port side. They turned and fired. A curtain fluttered out the window into the breeze.

  Sweat dripped down the back of Julius’s neck. I hate this. We need to find the girl and get the hell out of here.

  “I told Lozano the twelfth in Singapore.” A dark voice broke the silence. Julius spun to the pasty scowl of a skinny, Chinese officer, pointing an automatic rifle at him.

  Fuck.

  Tiburón was gone, too. Fucking fucker.

  “I had everything under control.” The man winced as he stepped closer. “There was no need to interfere. I’m risking my neck for Lozano, and this is my payment?”

  Julius blinked. What the hell is he talking about?

  Someone came in behind Julius. The Chinese man fired, dropping the gunman to the ground instantly.

  Julius squeezed the trigger, but all his shots missed. The first officer had ducked behind a counter and fired again.

  A shadow swung in from behind him, and littered the man’s legs with bullets. He dropped to his knees, screaming.

  The shadow was Tiburón. He reached over the man’s head and grabbed his gun by the barrel. He glared down at him. “You’re fired.” He put three slugs in the crewman’s head.

  Julius’s throat dried instantly. Lozano’s head bulldog had a glare that could flash-boil icebergs.

  “You missed,” he snapped.

  Julius forced himself to glare right back at the most dangerous man he’d ever met, other than Lozano. “He had information. Now I can’t get more out of him. Where the hell did you run off to?”

  The Shark snorted. “He was just a mule.”

  “A mule?” What the hell is a mule doing on this boat?

  “Never watch my back again, pinche pendejo imbecil!” Tiburón spit at Julius’s feet, and left through the patio door.

  Vulgar words clawed at Julius’s throat. He almost squeezed the trigger at the Shark’s head. Imbecile wasn’t quite as bad as coward, but it was close. However, the brute had saved his life.

  Dammit, keep your shit together.

  He pounded his fist against the wall and approached the broken window on the starboard side. The sea had just swallowed the sun. The last remnants of light would soon disappear. Which would make their search of the boat considerably more difficult.

  Two figures on the deck below dashed through the breezeway, one of them smaller, with dark hair tied into a bun.

  The princess.

  Julius sneered. Looks like I’m about to own a G6. A guy from the Philippine slums owning a jet.

  ALANNA SLOWED HER BREATHING, ALLOWING the adrenaline to fuel her mind.

  “Who are these donkeys?” Alfred croaked. “Friends of yours, Princess?”

  “Maybe,” Flynn replied. “Or whoever wanted the guns we found in the engine room.”

  “You mean those suckers you’re holding? Crikey!”

  “We need to get out of here,” she said. “All of us in a room this small is a bad idea.” A royal guardsman had made the same comment before he helped her escape the palace. Right before he’d taken a bullet in the back.

  Marcus nodded. “She’s right. Everyone spread out and keep aft. More places to hide than the bow. Find a good spot, stay hidden, and pick them off one by one. There can’t be many of them. Helicopter’s too small.”

  Pick them off. Like they were plucking ladybugs off a leaf. Cold goosebumps raced up her arms, and she tightened her grip on the weapon. Breathe in…breathe out.

  Marcus left first, his body crouched low, rifle up. Jaime followed, both heading to the port beam.

  Flynn tucked a finger under her chin. “Right behind me, no matter what.”

  “Got it.” She followed him to the starboard side. As they reached the doorway, shattered glass crunched beneath their feet. Voices filtered down from the main deck. Flynn pushed her against the wall.

  “I had everything under control.” Liang W
en’s voice was unmistakable. “I’m risking my neck for Lozano, and this is my payment?”

  The blood drained from her face. “Mamon…” she whispered. “I can’t believe that bastard. The whole time?”

  Flynn put a finger to his mouth.

  More gunshots splintered the air, showering broken shards of glass onto the deck in front of them. Flynn gestured toward the back of the yacht. Keep moving, stay low.

  They slipped through the doorway and padded along the starboard beam, careful to minimize the sound of crunching glass. The darkening skies made it more difficult to see, especially with the flickering lights inside the yacht.

  Her mind raced, the choices of hiding spots in the stern minimal. The bosun’s locker. The day head. The outboard cabinets.

  The tender garage.

  The perfect place to hide, with visibility to shoot anyone who walked by. If the attackers didn’t already have the same idea.

  A shadow darted across the floor. Flynn stopped, his hand reaching behind him and grazing her leg. The dark form remained as still as a statue. Alanna held her breath. Every second felt like an hour. Finally, the shadow moved, until the barrel of his gun poked out from behind the wall with the rest of him. A short man covered in black fatigues and combat boots—

  Flynn fired. Several bullets hit the man’s vest, two tearing through his ski mask. Blood splattered the wall behind him, and he dropped.

  Alanna couldn’t get enough oxygen. All she could see was the man on the floor, dark liquid pooling beneath him, seeping into the wood deck.

  “Keep moving,” Flynn ordered, voice low.

  She followed, reaching the stern and then down the stairs to the tender garage. Flynn pulled the cover off the small boat.

  A high-pitched screech made them flinch. Marie’s milky-colored face peered from inside the tender, her entire body tucked behind the cooler, trembling.