Captain Rourke

by Helena Newbury

  Rourke hunkered over me. “You fucking...stupid wee—”

  Water sprayed over our faces and there was a crack as loud as a gunshot, right behind my head. The whole boat tipped and I smelled blood and rotten meat.

  Rourke grabbed my shoulders and heaved, throwing himself backwards and pulling me with him I landed on top of him, twisted around to look...and screamed.

  The whole end of the boat was gone. The shark had rammed us, smashing the prow to splinters. It had its jaws in the hole: my head must have been inches from its teeth. It was weighing down that end of the launch, tipping us. As I watched, anything not tied down—a spare regulator, a flashlight, the satellite phone—skittered down the deck and tumbled into the shark’s mouth. And then we started to slide towards it, too.

  Rourke’s spear gun slid past us. He grabbed it just as the shark swallowed and lunged forward to crush more of the boat. There was a high-pitched hiss that hurt my ears and then the shark was falling back, a metal spear protruding from its back.

  The boat fell back into the water and we lay there panting.

  By now, it was fully dark. Thick cloud covered the moon and blocked out most of the stars: it was hard to see where the sky ended and the water began. Rourke got to his knees and pulled me up as well. His hands were hard on my upper arms and he was shaking, his eyes a maelstrom of rage and fear. I braced myself to be yelled at. He tried to form words once, twice….

  Then he just pulled me to his chest and folded his arms protectively around me. I clung to him, all the fear that had been kept at bay by the adrenaline suddenly hitting me. It looped around and around in my mind: the shark lunging at him; the moment it had turned towards me; the sickening pull on my leg.... Both of us had been inches from death.

  I pressed my face into the valley of his chest, soaking up his warmth and the immovable solidness of him. I wanted to never let him go.

  The water lapping at our legs made us finally break apart. The hole the shark had made was just barely above the waterline. We weren’t quite sinking but we were taking on some water every time a wave hit us. I used a mask to bail while Rourke hauled on the anchor chain. It went taut and he grunted, his muscles straining with unexpected effort. He frowned….

  Our eyes met as both remembered. The chest!

  Rourke dug deep and heaved, drawing in the chain and its load inch by inch. I held my breath: if it slipped out of the chain now, there was no way we could get it back.

  My heart leapt as the top of the chest broke the water. Both of us leaned over the side and pulled. It took everything we had to wrestle it over the side but we did it. I wanted to punch the air.

  Then I let out a low moan of horror. The extra weight pushed the hole below the waterline. Water gushed in, faster than I could bail.

  “We need to get out of here,” Rourke said. He looked around and cursed.

  I looked up and saw why. It was fully dark now and all I could see was black in every direction. I couldn’t even figure out which direction the Fortune’s Hope was in. And there were rocks all around us. The launch was already crippled: if we ran into something, it would break apart completely and we’d be in the water with the shark.

  “Flashlight?” I asked.

  “In the shark’s belly,” said Rourke. “And Ratcher would see it. On a night like this, you can see a light for miles.”

  I’d completely forgotten that Ratcher was out there somewhere, looking for us. A shudder went down my spine as I remembered the fury on his face when we’d escaped him in Havana

  “We’ll have to go slow,” Rourke whispered. He picked up the oars. “And very, very quiet. Sound travels over water.”

  I nodded. Despite everything that was going on, his low whisper, in that accent, sent a delicious ripple right down my spine: it was like being stroked with a soft paintbrush loaded with warm, liquid silver.

  The water was rising so I started bailing again, as quietly as I could. Rourke sat down and stared around him for a moment. How can he see? It was pitch black.

  He hauled on the oars and we slid silently into the darkness.

  35

  Rourke

  Jesus, it was dark. One of those nights where the air seems solid, a blanket that hides the rocks until it’s far too late.

  But my family had been doing this for a long time. Back in 18th century, my ancestors used to smuggle liquor and tobacco into Scotland. The sea was in my blood. I couldn’t see the rocks but I could hear the waves breaking against them, feel the change in the wind against my face as we came into the lee of them. I got the oars slicing the water with barely a splash and Hannah was managing to keep the bailing quiet, too. We slid over the water like a ghost, threading past rocks I could only see in my mind. All it would take would be to clip one and our momentum would crush the damaged hull like an eggshell. Then we’d be in the water with an injured, vengeful shark.

  Steady, said Edwards beside me. And I took a deep breath and focused.

  Seconds later, I heard voices and laughter. The clink of beer bottles. Then Ratcher’s voice, snapping at his crew, telling them to keep it down.

  I leaned forward and tapped Hannah on the shoulder, trying to ignore how good that smooth skin felt. She stopped bailing and sat there frozen.

  I concentrated and gave one last hard pull on the oars to keep our momentum up. Then I lifted them clear of the water and held them there. We glided past a rock the size of a house and—

  Ratcher’s boat was right there, it’s stern towards us. They’d killed their lights but Ratcher hadn’t been able to stop his crew smoking. I could see the glowing tips of their cigarettes, cherry red in the darkness. And inside the wheelhouse I could see the glow of screens and control panels: Ratcher was too nervous a sailor to shut down his technology. We were going to drift by less than ten feet from him.

  The voices became distinct. “It’s too dangerous,” said one man. From his accent, it was Trujillo, Ratcher’s dive expert. Not a bad guy: he’d just signed on with the wrong boss. “Grainger said he saw a shark.”

  They were just silhouettes in the darkness but I recognized Ratcher from his bulk. Heard Trujillo’s gasp as he was lifted clear of the deck. “Rourke and the bitch are down there somewhere,” spat Ratcher. “The divers keep going until either we find the fucking clue or we find them and get it off them.” He dumped Trujillo on the deck. “If they’re too scared, tell them I’m raising the bounty on Rourke. Ten thousand. That’ll get them moving. And fifteen if they bring him in alive. I want that Scottish bastard to watch while I fill our hold with gold. Then he can watch while I throw her face-down over one of the chests and fuck her ‘till—”

  I forced myself to tune it out but I couldn’t stop my hands tensing in white-hot fury. An oar twisted. Water dribbled and dripped.

  I heard Ratcher’s feet move as he spun around. “What was that?” The words came straight towards me out of the darkness. He was staring right at us. I held my breath. We were still moving but more slowly, our momentum running out. And I didn’t dare row again.

  “Give me a flashlight!” Ratcher snapped.

  I closed my eyes and prayed.

  I heard Trujillo rooting around in the disorganized mess that was Ratcher’s deck.

  “Now!” yelled Ratcher. “Fucking now!”

  Trujillo finally found a flashlight and handed it to Ratcher. Ratcher fumbled for the switch, turned it on and—

  A circle of ocean three feet behind us turned blazing white. Ratcher cursed and we drifted silently on, my heart pounding so hard I was amazed they didn’t hear it.

  Moments later, we reached the Fortune’s Hope. But as we approached, I saw a trail of bubbles from a diver moving away. Shit! They’d found our boat. Had one of Ratcher’s men just happened across the anchor chain, moments ago? Or had they found it earlier and he’d just completed some sabotage mission? Had they just put a damn hole in our hull?

  I tied up the launch and then put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “Wait here,” I whisp
ered. I was worried there might be more of Ratcher’s men waiting for us aboard.

  I stepped onto the deck, my dive knife drawn. Silently inched open the door that led below deck—

  Something flew out of the darkness and hit me in the face. I staggered back, knife coming up—

  A brown, furry face stared back at me from three inches away. Yoyo tilted his head, then kissed my cheek.

  My whole body was shaking with adrenaline. I very gently plucked him from me and set him down, then crept below deck.

  Nothing. I searched the whole ship. No one was on board and nothing looked to have been disturbed. I couldn’t see water coming in anywhere, either. Maybe that diver had only just found us.

  Maybe. I made a mental note to dive down and check our hull, once it was light.

  I hurried back outside and got Hannah aboard. I raised the anchor and unfurled the sails, wincing as the fabric snapped taut in the breeze. We swept off into the night with barely a whisper. And, once we were far out of sight and sound of Ratcher, I slumped down on the deck and rested my head on my knees, utterly exhausted.

  All of the fear hit me at once, then: how many times had I nearly lost her, in the last few hours? I was weak with it, shaky with it. Ever since Edwards, I’d been living without much fear of my own death. Now I was suddenly remembering what it was like to be scared for someone else.

  This is exactly why I couldn’t let her get any closer. I already cared too much. Get her the cure. Get her off the boat. She was smart and gorgeous and damn well perfect. And that meant...I forced my heart to harden. That meant she deserved better than a washed-up cripple.

  She likes you, said Edwards, next to me.

  A washed-up cripple who hears ghosts, I corrected.

  I pushed myself up to standing, wincing as my leg twinged, and then headed below deck to check she was okay. I swung open the door—

  She was naked.

  I swallowed. She was standing in front of the half-height closet where she’d been storing the clothes I bought her. The door was open but it only blocked my view of her from mid-thigh up to just above her breasts. And the door was narrow: beyond its edge, I could see the curve of her hip. My eyes locked on the smooth, bare skin where the waistband of her panties should have been.

  She flushed. “I’m running short of dry clothes,” she said. “Have you got anything I could put on?”

  She gave a tiny shiver. It was getting late and the night was cooling fast. I nodded, rooted in another cupboard, and found an old cable-knit sweater. I tossed it to her over the top of the door—

  God, just a glimpse, a tiny glimpse of the side of her swaying, milky breast as she leaned sideways a little to catch it.

  She lifted her arms over her head. I knew I should avert my eyes. I didn’t.

  She wriggled into the sweater, which was like a dress on her. Even though the door blocked everything I was hard as iron, watching her. Imagining the rough wool sliding down her bare skin. Then she found some dry panties, stepped into them, and pulled them up her legs, twisting a little as she did it. God, I was aching. It was more erotic than any striptease.

  She closed the cupboard door. We stared at each other again. It kept happening, however much I willed it to stop: one look at those clear blue eyes and I was lost, drawn to her so hard I had to grit my teeth to keep from stepping forward. Don’t!

  But I was wavering. Nearly losing her had stripped my self-control down to a slender thread.

  “Can we look?” she asked.

  I actually cocked my head to the side in puzzlement.

  “The chest!” she said.

  It was like a bomb going off in my mind. A three hundred year-old chest, heavy with treasure...and I’d forgotten all about it. How the hell had I done that?

  Beside me, Edwards was laughing his ass off.

  “Aye,” I snapped, and strode out to the launch. Treasure. That was exactly what I needed. That’d cut through all this nonsense and remind me who I was. I grabbed the chest and heaved it into my arms, then staggered below and laid it on the floor. Kneeling down in front of it, I felt that rush I always got. This, I understood. I’d missed it, ever since Edwards. It’s a feeling I couldn’t describe to anyone. It’s not about the money. Numbers in a bank account mean nothing to me. It’s something deep and basic, something that’s been in the human spirit for centuries. It’s what drove men to cross oceans and conquer cities. It’s like a drug and no one but us treasure hunters ever understand—

  Then I glanced sideways at Hannah and froze.

  She was staring at the chest with the exact same look in her eyes.

  She was one of us, now. For the first time in two years, I had someone to share it with. Something swelled in my chest, unexpected and powerful. I looked around at Edwards and he was staring at her, too.

  I swallowed. Then I nodded at the chest. “You should open it,” I said, my voice thick with emotion.

  Her eyes grew wide. “Me? Are you sure?”

  “You found it.”

  With shaking hands, she freed the iron hasp. Then she slowly swung back the lid.

  The light from the lantern hit what was inside...and the entire room lit up gold.

  Hannah sucked in a long, shaky breath. Her hand grabbed for mine and squeezed it. The warmth in my chest expanded, growing tight.

  The chest was brimming with coins, so full that just opening the lid caused a few to slide out and clink to the floor.

  “Those,” I said slowly, “are doubloons.” I picked one up and showed it to her. It was heavy with gold, nothing like the nickel coins of today. I fished out a few large, silver coins. “And these,” I told her, “are Real de a Ochas. Spanish dollars.” I showed her the “eight” in Roman numerals. “Better known as—”

  She grabbed my hand, eyes wide as a child’s “Pieces of eight?!” She stared in silent wonder for a moment. Then, in a small voice, “How much…?”

  I considered. “Coins will go for between five hundred and a few thousand dollars each. There’s maybe a thousand here. So...a million dollars?”

  She leaned closer to the chest, awestruck. As she shifted, her breasts moved under the sweater and—

  It was handmade and old, the loops of wool loose and uneven. And I could see, through one of the holes, the delicate pink of her nipple.

  That fragile thread of my self-control stretched, thin as spider silk. Don’t, I told myself.

  Hannah suddenly thrust her hand into the coins. “What about the message?” she muttered. “What if it isn’t—?”

  But then she drew her hand back, clutching another of the glass bottles sealed with wax. She slumped in relief, showing me the rolled cloth inside. But she’d dragged out something else, as well. Caught on a finger was a thin gold chain that disappeared beneath the coins. I took hold of it and pulled it free.

  She clapped her hand to her mouth. I’d never seen a lass actually do that and it was bloody adorable. “That’s the necklace!”

  “What necklace?”

  “The necklace Charles Mace gave Esme!”

  I looked at it. The gold chain was made to look like twisted rope. The pendant was another ruby, a bigger one, this time, shaped into a teardrop. It almost looked like a drop of blood.

  “Mace said his heart hurt every time he was away from her,” said Hannah breathlessly. “So he gave her this on the carriage ride to the port, just before—what are you doing?”

  I’d undone the clasp and was leaning forward towards her neck. I looked her in the eye and she gulped.

  “You’re crazy,” she said. “It must be worth hundreds of thousands.”

  “A necklace like this deserves to be worn. Not put in a museum.”

  She swallowed. Then, with shaking hands, she gathered up all that shining golden hair and lifted it away from her neck. I slipped the chain on and fastened it, trying to breathe slow and steady, even when my thumbs brushed her skin.

  “There.” I leaned back. God, she looked beautiful. Eyes wide and exc
ited, those blush-pink lips so soft, so inviting. The necklace was nothing compared to her.

  My self-control stretched even more, so thin it was barely there. Don’t!

  She plunged her hands into the chest and lifted them out, letting the coins run through her fingers. She was grinning in wonder and excitement. I remembered that feeling. I remembered my first time.

  She turned slightly.

  The light caught her just so.

  And my control snapped completely.

  I grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her as hard as I could.

  36

  Hannah

  I think I made a noise like whelp!

  It all happened so fast. Rourke grabbed my shoulders with his big, warm hands and then his lips were pressing down hard on mine. The realization roared through me like a hot hurricane: this is real. He’s kissing me. And the kiss wasn’t like anything I’d ever known.

  There were no mind games.

  There was no hesitation.

  He didn’t ask for permission.

  He just damn well kissed me, old-fashioned and full-on and wonderful. I felt myself flower open under him, the kiss rippling right down to my toes. I suddenly felt so soft, so weightless and insubstantial, against those hard lips. The kiss moved and changed, exploring me, his thumb stroking beneath my chin as he pressed and spread me and pressed again.

  He lowered me to the floor and then lowered himself full-length atop me, taking his weight on his forearms so his muscled frame didn’t crush me. But he still pinned me to the ground, the hard contours of his chest pressed tight against the softness of my breasts, those powerful thighs heavy against mine. I couldn’t escape and I didn’t want to.

  He broke the kiss. I was red-faced and panting: staring up into his eyes, I felt like I was tumbling into that bottomless blue. His eyes clouded with lust, his gaze becoming darker and hotter, scorching me until I squirmed and crushed my thighs together. I opened my mouth to speak. I’m not sure what I was going to say. Maybe a nervous umm.