by Gwyn McNamee
I can’t believe I’m doing this…but my life, the crew’s lives…that’s all that matters.
He jerks up, bracing himself on his elbows. “What the hell are you doing?” The panic in his voice helps allay some of my fears.
He wasn’t expecting me to undress.
“You really think they’ll believe us if I’m not at least partially naked?” I kneel on the bed, and he watches me with hooded eyes as I work my way over him until I’m straddling his hips.
He drops back onto the pillow, and his eyes search mine. He slowly moves his hands up to my hips, almost as if he is asking for permission.
An engine roars at the side of the boat, and a speaker crackles. “This is the Coast Guard. Prepare to be boarded.”
The pounding of footsteps on the deck sounds above us. My heartrate spikes, and muffled voices grow louder.
They’ll be here any minute.
I drop down onto my elbows, bracing myself over him, my hair falling in red curtains around his face. His breathing shallows, and the sweet smell of bourbon surrounds me, mingling with the familiar earthy scent of the lake that clings to him the way it does everyone who spends so much time on the water.
Under any other circumstances, I would be devouring him without a thought of the consequences. Mother’s warnings be damned.
But now, my heart races for another reason altogether.
This man holds my life, and those of my crew, in his hands.
Someone clears their throat near the open bedroom door, and I jerk up, turn my head toward the sound, and cover my chest.
A contrite-looking Coast Guard officer averts his eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am, sir, can you please step out here so we can talk?”
I wait for Cap to respond, but he appears momentarily struck mute. I nod. “Yes, of course.”
The officer closes the door slightly to give us some privacy, and I quickly slide off him and then the bed and pull my shirt on. He climbs off after me, zipping and re-buttoning his jeans.
Should I be relieved or insulted he wasn’t hard?
Neither, you should be worried about how fucking insane you are for even asking that question.
3
War
I’m a sick fuck.
The only thing that kept me from getting hard while she straddled me was the fear and adrenaline racing through my system. Being attracted to one’s captive is probably not a great sign for success or sanity. And taking a hostage at all has always been at the top of the Do Not Do list.
Hostages equal unwanted complications. I just never expected this to be one of them.
I follow her from the bedroom while re-buttoning my jeans.
God, let us get through this without tipping them off.
Our lives literally depend on it.
The Marconis will come for us unless we can get the shipment to them tonight, like we originally planned. Even asking for a day’s extension is gambling with our lives, but we don’t really have a choice. We can’t go tonight. Not with the delays, the storm, and only part of the shipment.
The forty-eight hours I gave the crew as a timeline for Grace’s return gives us enough time to ride out the storm, come up with a game plan to handle the half-shipment situation, get what we do have to them in Chicago, and get back to the warehouse safely before any law enforcement ever gets alerted.
Hopefully.
Two Coast Guard officers meet us in the main cabin, and we follow them up to the deck. The sky has darkened from gray to almost black, and the temperature has dropped significantly since I came down below. The wind whips around us, bringing the smell of rain.
A storm is definitely coming. Spring in the Midwest often means magnificent storms that can pop up at any time and systems that can linger for days. This one would have served as the perfect cover for escaping from the Neptune’s Daughter without anyone else being on the water. If Grace hadn’t set off the emergency beacon, we would be almost home free by now and safe before it hit.
“My name is Officer Mark Walters. Your friend here tells me you’re just out on a pleasure cruise today? Is that correct?”
I glance at Rion, who has changed into board shorts and a T-shirt. “Yeah, that’s right.”
The officer eyes me suspiciously. “And is this your boat?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see the registration for the vessel and some ID from everyone, please?” His eyes roam over me and Grace, whose gaze darts over to mine long enough to see the panic and turmoil there.
All it would take is one word from her and we’re toast.
I flash her a hard look and squeeze her hand in warning before I walk over to the control panel and grab my wallet and the boat registration from the compartment near the captain’s seat. I hand my driver’s license and the registration to the officer and hold my breath.
Rion goes to a duffel bag on the deck and grabs his ID, then hands it over.
Grace looks toward me anxiously before plastering a fake smile on her face. “Um, officer, I don’t have my ID with me. I forgot my purse at the house when we left.”
I shove my shaking, sweaty hands into my pockets. If he sees how fucking nervous I am, we are screwed.
He gives her an annoyed look and grabs a pad and paper from his pocket. “Give me your name and date of birth, please.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Kimberly Tyler, July 22, 1989.”
Whose information did she just give him?
For all I know, she’s made something up, which is certain to alert their suspicions.
The other officer wanders toward the back of his boat and uses his radio to relay her information to someone at dispatch. Officer Walters hands Rion’s ID to his partner to call it in, then returns to me.
He pauses and looks at me, narrowing his eyes. “Warwick Pike? You aren’t Martin’s son, are you?”
Are you kidding me? What are the fucking chances the Coast Guard officer knew Dad?
“Uh, yeah, I am.”
He smiles and hands back my ID. His partner returns with Rion’s and hands it to him.
“I haven’t seen you since you were knee-high and going out with your dad. You probably don’t remember me…I was sorry to hear about his passing.”
I don’t remember him. There were a lot of different Coast Guard officers on board with us over the years, but I return his smile and nod. “Thanks.”
The less I say, the better. It’s already awkward enough. No doubt Officer Walters knows the details of Dad’s passing, just like everyone else seems to.
“Are you running the business?” He closes his notebook and slides it back into his pocket, apparently now more concerned about catching up than whatever investigation had prompted this stop.
Maybe this isn’t an inconvenience after all, but a saving grace.
“Yep, sure am.”
Sort of. While still technically owner and operator of Pike Fish, I’ve turned over the day-to-day operations to others. Needing to be on call for the Marconis makes it difficult to run a business successfully. I’d rather leave it in more capable hands than my own.
He grins at me, crossing his arms over his chest and rocking back slightly on his heels. “That’s great. There are so few family-owned fishing businesses left in the area, would have hated to lose it.”
“Thanks, sir. Can I ask why you stopped us today? Is there a problem?”
He waves his hand. “Oh, no, no problem. A cargo ship north of here turned on their emergency beacon, but then the captain radioed and indicated everything was fine. We were already on our way out there and saw your vessel. I wanted to stop to warn you of the incoming storm in case you didn’t have your weather radio on. It looks to be a big, nasty one. They’re saying the system may continue for several days, too. You folks ought to pull anchor and get to dry land ASAP.”
A five-thousand-pound weight lifts from my chest.
We’re in the clear, at least with the Coast Guard. Il Padrone, now he is another story. I don’t know
what the hell we will do about him, but one dilemma at a time.
“Thanks for the warning, Officer, I appreciate it. We will head in.”
After a quick handshake, the Coast Guard retreats, and Rion returns to the controls with an icy glare in my direction on his way.
Grace’s eyes never leave me.
Fuck.
That was too close. I grab her arm and usher her back toward the cabin. She climbs down in front of me, and as soon as I’m down, I move behind the counter.
More whiskey is needed.
Definitely.
She probably needs another one, too. I pour us each another glass and hold one out over the bar for her.
I expect a little hesitancy, but she accepts the glass from me before plopping right back on the couch, never taking her eyes off me.
She’s contemplating something. I can practically see the gears turning in her beautiful head.
This can’t be good for me.
The woman is smart.
And smart is bad in this situation.
A dumb hostage is more likely to go along with orders. Someone like Grace…she will make things very difficult.
She didn’t rat us out to the Coast Guard, though. That’s something.
That run-in with them frayed my last nerve. I shouldn’t be drinking. I need to keep a clear head, or as clear as is possible with Grace in my orbit and an axe hovering over my head from Il Padrone, but my hands won’t stop shaking.
Booze, it is.
I toss it back, savoring the burn in my throat and warmth in my stomach.
A mild calm starts to settle over me when we finally start moving. We’ll be safely at the warehouse soon. Then we can deal with the Marconi problem, and I can get rid of the ginger one sitting on the couch watching me.
She takes a sip of her drink, and I almost miss the tiny corner of her mouth quirking up behind the glass.
Shit.
Dread slithers up my spine.
I don’t like that little tilt of the lips.
Not one bit.
She lowers her glass, licks her lips, and grins. “So, should I call you Warwick or Mr. Pike?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Forget simply being able to identify us—that’s always been a huge risk given our tattoos and appearances—this woman knows my fucking name. And that I own a commercial fishing company.
It will take two fucking seconds before the police are cuffing me if she rats us out when we release her.
We are well and truly fucked.
If we survive only being able to deliver half the shipment to Il Padrone, and late for that matter, this woman is a guillotine waiting to fall on my neck.
I pour another shot and toss it back before I lock eyes with her. “You won’t call me anything.”
The smile disappears from her lips, and her eyes widen slightly.
Fear.
Good.
She should be afraid. I can’t let any physical attraction toward her or guilt over taking her hostage interfere with my show of authority. She can never doubt I’m in control and that I can end her life if I need to.
I may not want to, but I can…
Theoretically.
“Whose information did you give the Coast Guard?”
She swallows, and a shaky hand pushes her red locks back from her face. “Um, my best friend from high school. She doesn’t have a record or anything, so nothing will come up.”
Good. Smart.
“Is anyone expecting to hear from you?”
She shakes her head. “No. Well, at least not for a couple days. My mom will probably wonder if I don’t call her from Milwaukee at some point. We were supposed to dock late tomorrow and unload the following day.”
“Your mom? That’s it? No boyfriend you should be getting home to?”
I don’t miss her slight recoil at the question.
Sensitive subject?
“Nope. Just me.”
“And how did you end up on a freighter in the middle of Lake Michigan, Grace? You don’t strike me as a full-time captain.”
About as far from it as I’ve ever seen.
“I’m not. I’m basically an accountant.”
I bark out a laugh and shake my head.
Her face scrunches up. “What’s so funny?”
“That explains a lot.”
She clenches her jaw. “I am a captain…technically. I got my captain’s license and bachelor’s from Great Lakes Maritime, along with a minor in accounting. I just…” she holds her hands up, “haven’t ever done this alone before. I spend most of my time at the office, running the business side of things, while my father captained the ship.”
It’s impressive she had the balls to pull a gun on me like that let alone captain a ship alone for the first time and earn the respect of the crew she clearly had.
“How did you end up onboard?”
Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and she swipes her fingers under them. “My dad had a heart attack and died recently. This haul was already scheduled, and…” she trails off and glances toward the window behind me. “We are almost bankrupt. We needed the money.”
My chest tightens. I know that situation all too well.
Thunder rolls somewhere in the distance. I wander over to the closest port window and glance out.
“That squall line is coming fast. We really need to get to cover.”
Rion is already pushing the Calista, but he’s holding back from what it can really do. I don’t want to take any chances of getting stuck out here during a storm like this.
I start up the steps to the deck.
“Wait!”
I look back over my shoulder at her.
“Where are we going? What are you going to do with me? You said you’d let me go when you were safe.”
I step back down to the cabin and cross my arms over my chest. “You know I can’t tell you where we’re going. And we aren’t safe yet. I have two more men out there and cargo we need to deliver to someone before we’re truly safe. As for what we are going to do with you…”
The silence drags out.
Intentionally.
Let her squirm. It will help her remember who is in charge.
“That depends entirely on how cooperative you are.”
“Fuck you! You said you would let me go.”
I glower and step toward her. She recoils back into the couch.
“Let’s get one thing clear, Grace. I am not here to reassure you. You are my hostage. The only things I care about are making sure my men and I are safe and our cargo gets delivered. Once we are and the job is done, I will release you. I give you my word on that. But in the meantime, the priority is us, not you. Understand?”
A tiny nod is the only response she gives me.
“Good. Now stay here and stop asking questions you know I can’t answer.”
“Because if you did, you’d have to kill me?”
Her question goes straight to the heart of the matter, and straight to mine. I swallow through the guilt choking my throat. I push it away and lock eyes with her.
“Exactly.”
4
Grace
I startle awake and push myself up into a sitting position as my eyes adjust to the dimly lit room. Thunder rolls outside, rattling something glass somewhere across the room from me.
Where the hell am I?
The events of the day come rushing back.
The stranded boat.
The pirates.
Being taken.
How the hell did I fall asleep?
My head aches, and the taste of bourbon lingers in my mouth.
Shit.
The alcohol. The storm. The rolling waves.
I must be the dumbest captive in the history of being taken captive to let down my guard enough to actually fall asleep.
This definitely isn’t the bedroom on the boat, and there’s no roll of the water.
I’m on land now, which means I was out cold enough to be mo
ved without waking.
Holy hell.
They could have done anything to me.
I know he said they wouldn’t hurt me if I played along, but they could’ve beaten me. Raped me. Shot me. They could’ve tossed me overboard. And it would have happened easily because I was dumb.
A shudder of dread rolls through me. I rub the sleep from my eyes and flick on a lamp that sits on the nightstand.
Another boom of thunder rocks the room, rattling glass and metal. That one was close. A storm must be right over us…wherever we are.
The sound of rushing water draws my attention to the left side of the room where a sliver of light creeps under the crack of the closed door. A wall of old glass and steel windows line one side of the room, and a glass panel door is closed on the other.
This setup is strange. It almost feels industrial, like this wasn’t meant to be a bedroom. But it is.
The large king-sized bed I’m in and the silky sheets and comforter draped across my lower half are incredibly welcoming despite the situation. They must’ve been for me to have slept so deeply. I’ve never really had issues sleeping, but one would think all the adrenaline would have kept me awake and alert.
I shouldn’t have taken that drink. I’m so damn stupid.
Warwick plied me with whiskey. That combined with the rocking of the boat and the fact I’ve been going nonstop since Dad’s death was the lethal combination to make me the perfect pliant hostage.
So dumb, Grace. Seriously.
Oh, my God…
I tug back the covers.
Whew. Still have my clothes on.
I slide my hand across the gray sheet next to me. Cold. It doesn’t seem like anyone else was in bed with me.
Thank God.
And now that we’re on land, maybe there’s a way out of here…
The windows on the wall of glass across from me don’t tell me much. The old, peeling paper covering the panes doesn’t let in much light, and with no exterior windows, there’s no telling what time it is.
I scan the room for a clock only to come up empty.
Crap.
How far into the forty-eight hours am I? And does it even matter?
He said he couldn’t let me go until he and his men were safe and the cargo was delivered.
