Hurricane

by Cherry Adair

  Up close she noticed her mother’s carefully made-up face had smudges of what looked like dirt on the chin and cheek, and pale tracks as though she’d sweated or—God forbid—cried, which had never happened in Addison’s recollection.

  Addison had zero sympathy for her.

  She saw her own face reflected in her mother’s large sunglasses. She looked as pissed as she felt.

  Was Rydell just now surfacing to find armed men pointing their weapons at him? Shooting at him? She strained her ears, listening for gunshots. Was he of any value to these men alive? If not, they’d shoot him and the others the moment they emerged from the water.

  Hollis held out an imploring hand. “Darling…”

  “I might get over hating you with every fiber of my being for the cruel lies you told Ry and me in the next millennium,” Addison told her mother, rage making her voice shake. “But probably not. And definitely not today. Hop on your broomstick and fuck off.”

  Flinching, Hollis swept off her sunglasses and sent her daughter an imploring look. “Just hear me out, Addison. This could benefit all of us—”

  Whatever it was, no one but Hollis would prosper, that was a given. “Not interested.” Addison crossed her arms over her waist, waiting for the slam of a bullet between her eyes.

  “But darling—” Hollis continued right over her objections. Other people’s objections never mattered to Hollis. Then a thought struck Addison: Her mother never called her darling. She called other people darling. She used the endearment to retain the veneer of sophisticated ennui she and her “friends” enjoyed. The word was as shallow and insincere as Hollis herself.

  “I don’t have one iota of sympathy for you.” She shot Naveen a cold glance. “Either one of you.” Her mother was in the center of a shitstorm she couldn’t control. Her usual tactics wouldn’t work on people who had no class or worry about society in the first place. The kind of people who only spoke in dollar signs. Well, too fucking bad. It wasn’t her job to facilitate Hollis and Naveen’s problems.

  A man rose from the sofa to the right of Hollis and the prince. He seemed to be the only goon in the room without a gun. Dressed in a dark-blue suit and white, open-necked dress shirt, he was enormous, almost as tall as he was wide. Jabba the Hutt with gold chains and diamonds. Like Van Engen, who’d been carted off for trial just hours earlier, this guy was tall, heavyset, and Asian.

  Heart beating fast, mouth dry, Addison felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as she watched the men close in and bracket the sumo wrestler leader. They all carried heavy, military-style automatic weapons, their fingers steady on their triggers.

  The big man held out a hand the size of a Christmas goose. Diamonds sparkled from several gold rings on his sausage-like fingers. “Miss D’Marco, I’m Gorou Morimoto.” Australian accent. Black, reptilian eyes observed her, unblinking. When she didn’t shake his hand, he dropped his arm, his small mouth tightening.

  “Formalities out of the way, where are my bloody paintings?”

  Goose bumps pebbled over Addison’s skin. It took every ounce of control she had not to glance up at the cameras strategically placed to see the entire bridge. See and record. Are you seeing this, Oscar? Jax and Oscar were her bodyguards; Jax was down, but unless Oscar was compromised, too, he was somewhere planning to intervene.

  Is Rydell observing what’s going on, too, or have they …

  She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat and breathe steadily, although her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Focus, Addison. Don’t even think about worst-case scenarios.

  Preternaturally aware of Naveen and her mother standing by silently, she kept her eyes on Morimoto and gave him a slightly puzzled look. “Paintings?”

  He backhanded her so fast, so hard, Addison went flying backward, hit Captain Seddeth’s desk, and fell to the floor on all fours. Dazed, she crouched there trying to assimilate what had just happened. The heat of her cheek and the dull, throbbing pain were nothing compared with the hard, manic beat of her heart, and the avalanche of rage she felt. She could not allow fear to immobilize her. Anger was good. Terrified was not.

  “My God, she doesn’t know—” Her mother’s voice cut off with the sound of flesh meeting flesh as Morimoto struck Hollis a punishing blow.

  Addison lifted her head slowly. Every muscle in her neck ached; every bone in her knees and legs throbbed. All were ignored as she narrowed her gaze to look into the evil bastard’s lifeless eyes. She looked into the darkness there and saw no soul. He wasn’t a man who’d care if she died, if Rydell died. Hell, he might just set the Tesoro Mio up in flames when he left for the fun of it. How and why was Hollis involved in the business of Naveen and this pig? Clearly her mother was in the know about the paintings.

  And just as clearly, Hollis hadn’t expected Morimoto to strike her. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. A deeper red than her lipstick, now smeared in a waxy streak on her chin. Hollis’s eyes were all pupil with fear as she backed away from him. “Gorou, my dear—”

  “Shut the fuck up, Hollis.”

  Her mother snapped her mouth closed, then held the back of her hand against her face, eyes welling with tears.

  Addison had known the man for twenty seconds and she could’ve told Hollis that he wouldn’t be moved by tears.

  From the corner of her eye, she observed movement on the dive platform monitor where the camera faced the aft deck.

  Oh, God. No. Rydell’s head emerged from the water as he swam toward the platform. The beefy hand of one of Morimoto’s thugs came into view of the platform camera as he lifted his weapon and pointed at the man she loved. Heart manic, Addison lurched to her feet, transfixed by the silent tableau playing out on the video screen.

  Twenty-two

  From behind his mask, Ry saw the blur of someone standing on the edge of platform. Sam or Georgeo. Too bulky for Addy. Not wanting to telegraph his concern, he triumphantly held the silver bar aloft. Shoving the mask out of the way, he breached the surface. “There’s silver in them thar—” he yelled, then “What the fuck…?”

  Three armed men in black fatigues stood, feet spread, automatic weapons pointed straight at him.

  Ry’s first, heart-knocking thought: Addy.

  His second came fast on the heels of the first. Hijacked. Again. Goddamn it to hell. Perhaps his luck hadn’t changed. He’d found silver, thought he’d hit upon a miracle to save his ass, then evil Lady Luck had buggered it all up again out of spite.

  Kevin swam up beside him, her faint voice an indistinct bee buzz from the mike in his mask, which was now perched on top of his head. She pushed her own mask out of the way. “What the hell do we have here?”

  MoMo and Lenka surfaced nearby, stripping off their masks. Taking in the situation by following Ry and Kev’s line of sight, MoMo said, “Fuck!”

  Lenka swam up beside him. “How do we handle these douchenozzles, boss?”

  Excellent fucking question.

  With all the appropriate menacing facial expressions, a bald man the size of a refrigerator shouted, “Get outta the water.”

  With the stubby barrel of his semi-automatic, Baldy gestured to the dive platform ladder.

  With only a knife to bring to an assault-weapon gunfight, Ry felt pretty damn ill equipped.

  “I’ll go first. Get your tanks off. Slow-mo. Don’t get out of the water until I give you a sign.” A sign to do what and fucking how? Ry had no idea. Just that, whatever it was, it’d better be done fast.

  * * *

  “No need for any more violence,” Naveen said quickly, using a subservient tone Addison had never heard from him. With an aching jaw, and tamping down the urge to slug the fat man back, she reluctantly took her eyes off the monitor, and Ry, to help her mother to her feet.

  Shaking as she clung to Addison’s arm, Hollis whispered, “Sorry, baby.”

  Addison suspected by the flat look in Hollis’s eyes that she wasn’t apologizing for bringing danger to her only child and everyone el
se on board; she was apologizing for damn well getting caught. Apparently there were no depths her mother wasn’t willing to plumb to get what she wanted. Oddly, this revelation didn’t feel like a revelation at all. Her mother had always behaved in a self-centered, self-serving way. The knowledge wasn’t a shocker. The days of wishing for the impossible—a loving, nurturing mother—were long gone.

  “You’re full of crap, Hollis.” Addison let go of her mother as soon as she was on her feet and stable.

  As for Naveen, Addison had never seen him anything but sophisticated and urbane. Completely in control of the situation, no matter who he dealt with. She couldn’t fathom what the connection could possibly be among the three key players. The paintings, yes. But how had Hollis, Naveen, and Morimoto gotten together? And when?

  A greasy sheen of nervous perspiration shone on Naveen’s unusually pale face, and his bleached white lips were held tightly. His entire demeanor had changed from prince to deferential serf in the blink of an eye.

  He was going to be a whole hell of a lot more freaking nervous when he discovered those damn paintings were gone. Addison didn’t want to be anywhere near the two men when that discovery was made.

  Naveen shifted his feet to face the door, but didn’t turn the rest of his body. “Rest assured,” he told Morimoto, “your artwork is as safe as Fort Knox. I’ll go down and retrieve the paintings and this will be done.”

  He was in for an unpleasant surprise. And as much as she’d enjoy seeing Naveen and Hollis pinned to a board like insects, the fallout would affect everyone on board.

  One thing at a time. She had to concentrate on the here and now. Casually she let her eyes roam the cabin for anything she could use as a weapon. Laughable. What could compete with a gun? With surprise, she realized that in all the chaos Tony Seddeth had disappeared. The craftily concealed door to his private quarters was close to where he’d been crumpled on the floor. None of the others appeared to have noticed the captain was missing.

  “No,” Morimoto snapped, his large hands fisting and flexing as if ready to punch someone out at any moment. Naveen took a sidestep, clearly aware of the other man’s barely leashed temper. “Not done, you conniving arsehole!” Naveen flinched when Morimoto stabbed him hard in the middle of his chest with two stiff fingers. “You said this was a piece of piss.” The next finger stab was harder. “I’ll store your paintings on the ship, you said.” Each statement was accompanied by a harder and harder prod, until Naveen was forced to step backward with the force of it. “No one the wiser, you said. Trust me, you said, you’ll have it all you said. Instead, you forced me to abandon my business dealings in Sydney to fly out here and see what the bloody fuck you were up to. Now I’m standing here with my ruddy wang in my hand, waiting. Bugger that! Go get my paintings, fuckwit, and be quick about it. You. You. And you. Go with him. And you and you—bring the husband to me.”

  * * *

  “Move it!”

  Before the guy shot him in the head, and his team with him, Ry unfastened his tank in the water. Swimming over to the edge of the dive platform, he hung the tank and his mask over the ladder before pulling himself out of the water.

  No sign of Addy. With any luck she was holed up in her cabin with both Jax and Oscar. Safe.

  No, he realized, his gut clenching.

  With Darshi gone, Oscar and Jax would’ve relaxed their vigilance. Addy was on her own. He prayed she was safely locked in her cabin.

  Three men, armed.

  Samuel and Georgeo were behind them, cuffed by zip ties to the ladder leading up to the deck, wide electrical tape over their mouths.

  If these guys wanted him dead, he’d be dead. Which meant they were after something more than just the boat. Because Tesoro Mio wouldn’t still be there, waiting for the dive team to finish their dive.

  Okay. So these guys weren’t simply maritime pirates, out to land an expedition yacht.

  But what the fuck were they after?

  The yacht and the paintings?

  Damn it to hell.

  And where the hell was Addy?

  Keeping his attention on the big, bald guy closest to him, Ry gripped his dive knife and addressed him only because he looked slightly more intelligent than the other two. Which wasn’t very. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  Getting the stock of an Uzi slammed into his belly was a shit way for the man to introduce himself. Surprise and pain caused Ry to grunt as he doubled over.

  Fuck this shit!

  If I’m going to get stuffed, I might as well go out fighting! Adrenaline surged through him. He jerked upright, dropped the knife, and grabbed the stubby barrel of the weapon with both hands, using it as a fulcrum to swing the guy over the water.

  Baldy toppled over the edge of the platform with a scream and a massive splash.

  “And now I have this, fuckwad.” Ry righted the weapon. Heavy and foreign as hell in his hands. He’d get used to it. He swung around—had a split second to assess where Sam and Georgeo were positioned—then squeezed off several shots.

  Fast. Instantly responsive. A volley of his bullets took down the man on his left, creating crimson splatter against Tesoro Mio’s stark-white dive platform. The guy to his right was still fumbling with his own automatic when Ry shot him high on the shoulder.

  Narrowly missing Samuel just behind him, bullets pinged off metal and fiberglass, wood splintering. Samuel and Georgeo flinched as a shower of fiberglass decking ricocheted off the platform at their feet. “Shit. Sorry.” Ry picked up his knife and shoved it back into the scabbard on his calf. “You okay?”

  Samuel nodded vigorously as he struggled with his bound hands behind his back.

  Turning to his team, who were now heading to the dive ladder, he pitched his voice so they could hear him. “Get up here pronto. We have a situation.”

  “No shit,” said Kev, scrambling out of the water without her tank. Seeing her, Georgeo’s eyes went wild and he tried to lunge forward, straining against the ties. Kev shook her head at him. “What do you want me to do with these two—oh. Good job, Ry. What do you want me to do with this o—Kick me, you asshole?” Kev jumped out of the way as the bleeding guy huddled on his knees, cradling his wounded arm, and tried to take her down with a swipe of his leg.

  A red tide of blood mixed with the seawater on the dive platform.

  Fine with Ry.

  Right now, his priority was making sure Addy was somewhere safe. Then he’d tackle whatever waited for him up top. Kev kick-nudged the injured man’s Uzi farther away from his flailing hand.

  Ry kept his own borrowed weapon pointed at the guy in the water and shouted over his shoulder. “Can you tie him up and gag his ass, GI Jane?”

  With a grimace Kev picked her way barefooted over the gore awash on the platform and grabbed the Uzi. “My pleasure.” Pointing at the guy with the shoulder wound, she gave Georgeo a worried glance before looking at her target. “Hands behind your back, dick.”

  “Think there’s just the three of us?” the man sneered, keeping his attention on the weapon Kevin held inexpertly to his face. Didn’t matter if she knew how to hit what she shot or not. At this range he’d be dead, and he knew it.

  Standing on his injured side, she pressed the barrel against his temple, then bent over to go through his pockets, looking for more weapons. “Ooh! Lookie here. He was kind enough to bring us a pocketful of zip ties. Caro?” she said to a hovering, worried-looking Georgeo. “Can you stand on him, please?”

  Georgeo stretched out from his tied position and planted a heavy foot on the guy’s chest. The man screamed in agony as he was kicked backward. MoMo and Lenka scrambled onto the platform, streaming water. “What the fuck is going on? A hijacking?”

  MoMo, looking very un-MoMo-like with long, flat, soaking-wet hair, glanced around, face pale. “Holy shit!”

  “Douchenozzles!” Lenka ran to use his own diving knife to cut the zip ties binding Samuel and Georgeo.

  Ry didn’t know what to do with t
he guy floundering in the water, and merely pulled up the ladder for the moment.

  “Want me to take this weapon, dolce cuore?” Georgeo wrapped his arms around Kevin from behind.

  She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. “No. Get your own. I have a feeling we haven’t seen the worst of it.”

  “She’s right,” Ry said. “Lenka, grab that tape and shut this guy up. Then hang on to the tape. We’re probably going to need it. Georgeo, check the dead guy for weapons. See if he’s got an ankle—yeah. That’s what I thought.” The man had an ankle holster with a small gun in it, and his other calf sported a lethal-looking knife in a scabbard.

  “You comfortable with that?”

  “Non ci penso proprio!” Georgeo shook his head. “I will cut off my own hand by mistake. I’ll take the gun, though.”

  MoMo held out his hand. “I know how to use a hunting knife. Give it here.”

  “Are we going to just let that guy swim around hoping a shark gets him?” Samuel asked, jerking a shoulder to the man splashing about ten feet from the edge of the platform. “I’ll go get him and keep him out of trouble. We can secure him by the ladder for now. Yeah?”

  Ry looked for more weapons, or anything they could use as a weapon. He, Kevin, Lenka, and MoMo each had their diving knives. MoMo now had two knives, and they had three Uzis.

  “Yeah,” Ry said, satisfied that they could protect themselves. For now. “Sure.” Samuel did a clean dive into the water. “MoMo. Help haul him up. And on second thought, grab a couple of the tanks. They’re empty enough by now to be easy to carry around and use as a weapon if necessary.” He didn’t doubt for a second that every weapon they had would become necessary.

  Anxiety beat like a metronome in his gut. Where the hell was Addy in this clusterfuck?

  “Got him?” The guy was too busy to scream, fighting off Samuel’s hold and trying not to swallow half the Indian Ocean. “Haul his ass out of the water and secure him.”

  Ry filled a bucket with seawater and sluiced the blood on the deck. He didn’t want anyone to glance down and see it, and the men secured to the ladder. Not yet anyway.