“No, it doesn’t make sense for them to be here.” Rory stood alongside Chris, taking in the view. “No one anchors alongside these cliffs. Too dangerous for fishermen, even for that kind of vessel.”
“You’re sure?” Chris peeked at her, and she nodded.
“They’re not here for fish. All that equipment is most likely a cover,” Rory went on.
“Pirates?” Chris asked a question that sounded absolutely absurd, but after the weekend they’d had, why not?
“Just as bad.” Rory’s mouth pinched tight. “Smugglers.” She spat the word out like she’d tasted something rotten. “Probably taking advantage of the storm, knowing the waters wouldn’t be as busy out here today. I’d venture to say they’re here to rendezvous with another vessel. Or they’re here for us.”
“Let’s not be sitting ducks, then.” Chris turned to see Roman and Harper putting out the fire.
“Let’s move out.” Roman reached for the sidearm he’d taken from a guard on the yacht, and Harper had a weapon in hand as well.
“Go ahead. We’ll be right behind you.” Chris needed one second with Rory before they left.
Chris retrieved the second pistol he had on him and handed it to her once Roman and Harper started for the trail. “You should be armed. They could have already sent men after us.”
She took the gun and checked the mag like a pro.
Sexy as fuck.
Life was short, and tomorrow wasn’t promised, so Chris leaned in and stole a kiss. When her lips softened against his with a moan, his heartbeat soared, and he got a little light-headed. He knew she’d been worried about sharing her truths, letting down her walls, but he needed to reassure her that it didn’t change a damn thing between them.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered after a much too short kiss. A small smile formed on her lips, but when she began to pull away, her eyes darted off to his side, and she flinched.
Her hands slowly went up, still clutching the gun.
Chris lowered his head, disgusted with himself for losing focus. He now had two choices: go for his gun, or slowly turn to see who the hell was behind him. Option one could get Rory killed. Option two, possibly both of them. But he couldn’t take the chance. So, he turned to face whoever was there and shield Rory with his body.
Not even two feet behind him were five men. Five armed men.
Harper and Roman will come for us, he told himself. They’d get out of this mess. They had to.
“I’m sorry,” he heard Rory whisper, and he hated that she was blaming herself.
He should never have built a fire, not even for food. Never allowed his guard to drop. It was his job to always be aware and ready, and this was on him. Not her.
“Guns. Hand them over. Or you get a bullet to the head,” the man second from the left of the line of five said.
“The Trott brothers.” Rory’s identification took him by surprise as she handed over her weapon, and Chris begrudgingly did the same.
“Do we know you?” the dark-haired guy in the middle of the pack asked. Probably the leader. The alpha of the group. Maybe the captain of that fishing trawler. Judging by the accent and the flag inked on his forearm, he was Brazilian.
“No, you don’t know me,” Rory said, now standing alongside Chris, hands still above her head. Why didn’t she remain behind him, damn it? “But I’m familiar with your work. Guns, weapons, treasure. You steal and deal in it all.”
The fact Rory had ever gone near this kind of trash had him wanting to step forward and deck all five of them, take the risk of bringing fists to a gunfight. If they laid a hand on her, what choice would he have?
“Kneel so my men can bind your hands behind your backs,” the man standing alongside the leader said. Was he Trott brother number two? Similar bone structure, same long, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, and green eyes. Hell, maybe they were twins. Ugly and uglier.
Where were Harper and Roman? Did they have eyes on their location, waiting to make their move for a rescue?
He did his best not to scan the area in case the men weren’t also dumb and dumber.
Chris put a knee to the hard ground, and Rory followed suit.
Two men rounded them and swept Chris and Rory’s hands behind their backs.
He calculated his odds. He was good at hand-to-hand, but there were way too many firearms on the opposing side. And the odds were not in his favor tonight.
The leader crouched before Rory and held his iPhone in front of her face, showcasing an image of her on the screen. “You’re worth a pretty penny, Rory McAdams. I happened to be in the area when I got the call to track you down. See if you were here and alive. Thanks for the fire, couldn’t have found you without it.” He winked at her, then turned to peer at Chris, the sky growing darker now that it was approaching Rory’s favorite time of day, twilight.
“We’ve got two more, boss,” a voice said over a radio clipped to the leader’s waist. He stood upright and swapped his phone for his radio.
“Looks like we got all four of you. They weren’t sure how many of you survived.” Those words were a knife to Chris’s heart.
But they got away while at sea yesterday, and they could do it again.
“Take them to the ship,” the leader announced over his radio. “We’re right behind you.”
“They were a bit feisty, boss. I know they’re supposed to remain unharmed, but they were carrying weapons when we surprised them, and I had to punch the woman. And the man lost his mind, and I had to stick him with my knife like he was a rabid dog to try and put him down.”
Chris lunged forward at the words, unable to stop himself, but he was met with a hard punch to his right jaw, and when Rory began to resist, he stilled—terrified someone would set a hand on her.
“Okay, okay,” Chris hesitantly conceded. “Just don’t touch her.”
Chris bit down on his back teeth, his heart slowing beat by beat as he processed the reality of their situation. The four of them were in a room full of crates below deck on the fishing trawler. The crates probably carried items the Trott brothers planned to smuggle, or products they’d recently received. Who knew, and Chris didn’t care. They just had to find a way off the vessel.
“I’m so sorry.” Rory sat on the cool floor next to Chris. The situation was all too familiar with the one yesterday. Hands bound to the wall behind their backs. This time, their feet were cuffed and anchored to the floor in front of them.
Motherfuckers.
Two overhead bulbs filled the room with enough light so they could see each other. Harper and Roman were on the other side of the space, about four feet away.
“It’s not your fault,” Roman said with a shake of the head. Blood stained his shirt, but he’d been stitched up and covered with a bandage beneath his dress shirt. The captain’s wife, who also happened to be the crew’s nurse, had taken care of him. Roman said she did a clean job and had given him antibiotics. Apparently, he was worth more alive than dead.
“We shouldn’t have let someone get the drop on us. We let our guards down, thinking we were alone because of the storm,” Harper said in agreement with Roman. “And Roman shouldn’t have gone all caveman on the asshole who hit me.” She nudged Roman in his good side with her elbow.
A bruise was already forming beneath Harper’s eye, and Chris knew Roman would have torn apart the man who hit her if he hadn’t been outnumbered.
Ten armed men against the four of them, and normally Chris would choose his people as the winners regardless of the numbers, but with two women they cared about potentially caught in the crossfire . . .
“I was distracting you with my story, and we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. Please, let me feel shitty for a few minutes, and then I promise you can attempt to throw more kind words my way after,” Rory said with a plea to her voice.
“Then let us feel shitty, too,” Harper challenged.
Rory’s story. Yeah, that was more than a story—it was a book of revelations.
And her scars. He’d need to ask A.J. about the pirates who’d whipped her. But first, they had to find a way off that damn ship before whoever had put a bounty on their heads arrived.
Rory had racked up a lot of enemies, but he had to assume The Italian was behind their abduction.
“You shouldn’t have attacked that guy for hitting me,” Harper said again, but this time, her soft words were meant only for Roman.
Chris peered at Rory, trying to give them as much privacy as possible.
Rory had her eyes positioned on the stack of crates off to their left. “Probably guns or drugs in there.”
“And who has a connection to the Trott brothers?” he asked her.
“That’s the thing, no one I know. I doubt Andrew knows them. And I don’t know of any connection between them and The Italian, either. And as for Santiago”—she shrugged—“well, your guess is as good as mine.”
“They were speaking Portuguese with each other.” Roman joined the conversation, his tone eerily dark. The man was out for blood.
“We’re in the middle of a melting pot of who-done-it for bad guys,” Rory said, and Chris could tell she was trying to make a joke to ease the gravity of the situation. It was one reason he and the guys also cracked jokes. It helped. Somehow, it just helped.
“And how do you know of the Trott brothers?” Chris was thankful they hadn’t known of her, but well, hell, now they did.
“They’re a middleman distributor for bad guys looking to sell on the black market. Although, I’ve heard these guys take more pleasure in pitting buyers against each other in order to walk away with as much money as possible. But middlemen are a dime a dozen, which was why I used to go after the buyers instead. But that was before I focused on wildlife smuggling. I should have done more. Taken them out.” She was beating herself up again.
“You’re one woman,” he reminded her. “What you’ve done is beyond me. I can’t wrap my head around it, to be honest.” And he really couldn’t. She was basically a superhero.
“You know how many bad guys out there we wish we could have stopped, but they weren’t our mission?” Harper made a valid point. “We do what we can.”
Rory set her head on his shoulder, and from his vantage point, it appeared she closed her eyes. He lifted his chin and watched as Harper mimicked her move. Head to Roman’s shoulder, eyes closing.
They were all physically and emotionally spent.
After walking all day, then having to make their way down to the fishing trawler, they were out of energy. Plus, Roman had been stabbed. Mostly a superficial wound from what Roman said, but Chris wasn’t sure if he was just trying to make the women feel better.
What day is it? Chris thought as he closed his eyes, feeling like he might doze off, too. Sunday. Right. A week ago, Rory had started training Bear. How is Bear? He missed the boy already. He missed the life he and Rory had shared, even if only for a week, before chaos had cut in. He knew Bear would be in good hands, though. Most likely with Emily and Elaina.
“Chris,” Rory said softly a few minutes later.
“Yeah?” He opened his eyes to see her looking up at him.
“Did I make a mistake? Should I have never left Alabama ten years ago?” The indecision and worry in her tone were heartbreaking. “This guy I was dating in college broke up with me near the end of our senior year because I wouldn’t move to California with him after we graduated. He said I would never amount to anything other than a simple, small-town girl. I’d never leave Bama. And I think, well, I think part of me ran off to Italy because of him. To prove something. I couldn’t get his words out of my head.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and he hated that his wrists were bound, unable to comfort her. She sniffled and closed her eyes, another tear escaping. “But there’s nothing wrong with being from a small town, and it took me a decade to realize that.”
“You did a lot of good in those ten years.” Even though it was risky. Could have gotten yourself killed. “Living in a small town, loving that kind of life doesn’t mean you can’t spread your wings and explore the world. You can do both. Just like you can have a family as well as a career.”
“Not sure if what I was doing was a career since my actions were sort of illegal, and I wasn’t getting paid.” Her lids parted, her eyes glossy.
“A family and a mission, then,” he corrected. “And it took me twenty years and meeting you,” he began, emotion catching in his throat, “to realize I want both.” He lowered his mouth closer to hers, nervous that his admission might scare her away. He was putting his heart on the line, but she was worth it. And he didn’t doubt they would find a way to break free, but she needed to know how he felt. He needed to say the words.
“Chris?” she whispered, eyes on his. “Make me fly?”
His chest tightened, and he dipped down for the only touch they could manage right now.
She kissed him back, soft sweeps of her tongue twining with his, a few of her tears landing on his cheeks as their lips locked together.
He wasn’t sure if anyone or anything could have pulled them apart at the moment.
Until someone physically separated them.
He’d heard them coming. Boots on the ground. He’d ignored them. Because fuck them.
It took the guy shoving at Chris’s chest to get him to move his lips from Rory’s.
“It’s my lucky day,” the leader, who Rory said was Johnny Trott, announced. “Someone just offered me more money for you fools.” He snickered, revealing a gold tooth. “Told you, sweetheart, you’re worth a fortune.”
Chapter Twenty
“That doesn’t sound good. What’d he say?” Rory looked to Chris for the translation as they stood on the main deck of the fishing trawler that was most certainly not used for catching fish. No, the only thing fishy about this boat was the Trott brothers, and the only thing they trawled for was trouble. If the Trott brothers wanted to convince the coast guard they were legit, they could have at least made an attempt. Amateur hour.
“Portuguese isn’t my strong suit,” Chris said into Rory’s ear as they watched Roman and Johnny talking a few feet away. Roman had pressed the captain, and from the sounds of it, the conversation was quite heated. If Roman’s hands had been free, he surely would have been waving them about for emphasis. Or using them to punch the guy out.
By the time Johnny Trott had herded them up to the deck, night had fallen. The storm clouds were long gone, the water calmer, and the ink-black sky was covered in a blanket of sparkling stars. Their predicament aside, it really was rather romantic.
Rory was flanked by Chris on her left and Harper on her right, their hands still tied behind their backs. But for some reason, Rory couldn’t muster even an ounce of panic. She was, however, still feeling an immense amount of regret for getting Chris, Roman, and Harper into this situation, and if any of them were injured—or worse—she would never forgive herself.
“Roman’s trying to get information out of him before we’re traded to someone else.” Rory stole a glimpse at Harper to see she was barely moving her mouth as she spoke. “At least, that’s what I think they’re saying. My Portuguese is also subpar.”
“Why are you talking like that?” Rory whispered, nearly smiling, which was crazy at a time like this. “You look like a rookie ventriloquist.”
“I’m not really sure.” Harper lightly laughed as if this was all truly unbelievable. “Oh, that’s not good,” she said a moment later as Roman lurched toward Johnny, clearly angry about something.
Chris sprang into action but was quickly stopped as four crewmen charged him. It went against character for them to stand by and not fight, but hands bound behind their backs and surrounded by a bunch of criminals didn’t make for a fair fight.
Rory winced when one of the men clocked Chris in the jaw and then shoved him to the deck floor.
“Stop!” Rory cried out, knowing her protests would probably do nothing but draw attention. Yep, she and Harper now had their own personal goon squ
ad surrounding them. Nice to know they were considered a threat, at least.
A few seconds later, both Chris and Roman were pinned to the deck, facedown and immobilized, but it’d taken five men to do it. I repeat, amateur hour.
“What was said that pissed them off?” Rory whispered to Harper.
“No idea.” Harper chanced one step, but she was stopped by Trott’s idiot brother, Fred, who blocked her path.
He leaned in and wiggled his tongue lewdly, then cupped Harper’s cheek while his eyes journeyed over the tee tightly molded to her chest. Rory hissed angrily when the asshole lifted a hand and palmed Harper’s breast. Roman caught what was going on and yelled something in Portuguese, his body radiating fury.
But Harper seemed unaffected. Rory watched with veiled amusement as Harper calmly rolled her eyes, waited for a beat while Fred had his little laugh, then reared back and spat in his face. Rory stifled a laugh at the shocked look on Fred’s face, which quickly disappeared as he wiped the back of his free hand over his cheek. He hissed out a few sentences in Portuguese before switching to English and ending his rant with, “Bitch.”
Harper lifted her chin and stared Fred in the eyes. “I can undress myself, you asshole.”
“Wait, what?” Rory’s heart stuttered at Harper’s statement.
“Naked plank walks,” Harper clarified.
“Are you sure? You admitted your Portuguese was subpar. Maybe he said . . . Shit, I got nothing.” Rory had found herself in a lot of sketchy situations but never naked ones.
The deck lights shone down on them like fucking spotlights. These pigs wanted a show? No, Rory liked pigs. These men were sick bastards.
“Just because you’re leaving us, doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun first.” Johnny faced Rory and Harper, sweeping aside a strand of long black hair that had escaped his ponytail. “The man who paid me a premium insisted I don’t harm you. That was the only stipulation. Sounds like he’s given me some free rein there.”
Chasing Fortune (Stealth Ops Book 8) Page 23
