Jones has his attention on the people unloading, no doubt to calculate his next move, so he doesn’t see me dive for the throttle. I engage it with my bound hands, but it does the job. The ferry jerks forward, throwing me to the ground. The people down below squawk and I hear their distressed screams before they are swallowed by the ocean.
All this happens in a manner of seconds, but it’s enough to wipe the cheerful expression off the bastard’s face and it gives me some level of satisfaction.
Then another explosion rents the air and throws us both to the ground. The boat shudders and for a moment I’m terrified we’re going down, then it stabilizes and sputters forward. I’ve seen a lot of shit in my life, but for a few seconds, I can’t bear to look up. The fear of seeing what horrifying thing is waiting for me paralyzes my thoughts.
“Gabe,” comes a desperate whisper. “Gabe!”
I roll over to my back with a groan and consider the view. “We have to stop meeting like this,” I tell the two of her.
She slaps at me with her bound hands and I grab it, which jars my throbbing head. “Why would you do that?” she screeches. “Do you have a death wish?”
I think about it for a second, then I say, “No, I don’t think so.”
She grabs a pair of scissors after searching the dash drawers and releases both of our bound hands. My head spins as she helps me to my feet. Mayhem greets me, and it takes a few minutes for my brain to decipher what my eyes are seeing. The tail of the boat is engulfed in smoke and the scent of singed plastic and hot metal. A cacophony of shouts pepper the air and then there’s a rapid-fire pop-pop-pop from an automatic weapon.
Chloe wedges her shoulder under my arm to help me to my feet. Still reeling from the rush of adrenaline, I wrap an arm around her waist and we both go back down to the ground at the first sound of gunfire.
I shield her body with my own, tucking her face into my neck and caging her with both of my arms. “Don’t move.”
Her body vibrates with fear, but when I scan her expression, there’s fire in her eyes. “Was that him?” She strains against me to get a better view of the lower deck. “Did they get him?”
“I don’t know, but I have a feeling I’m not that lucky.”
“Oh, you’re definitely not lucky today,” Jones says from behind us.
Chloe
Above me, Gabe’s body becomes one long, hard line of hate. My blood is pumping and my reflexes are all heightened so when I feel the six feet of male pressed against me from top to bottom, heat, oblivious to the situation, washes over me.
His glare is lethal and the hand on my shoulder contracts with bruising strength. I don’t think he knows he’s doing it and I don’t dare interrupt their epic stare-down. If they’d been in the Wild West, guns would be drawn.
Jones doesn’t point the angry-looking rifle he has slung from his shoulder at us, but I feel it watching me as he strides across the room to the controls. He sets it on top of the dash and I have a hard time turning away from it to see what his hands are doing.
“First chance I get, I will get you off of here,” Gabe says in a half-whisper. His breath tickles my ear and I shiver against him.
I pray he doesn’t feel it. In fact, I even close my eyes for the barest half-second. But when I open them, I see his slightly widened and want to throw myself overboard.
Then he glances down my body, his grip releasing, and slightly pats me down with his free hand. A moan nearly tears itself from my throat.
I bat his hands away and nearly head-butt him when I sit up. All I can think is I need to get away. “I’m fine,” I say, more sharply than I intend. My butt scrapes against the rough carpeting as I put some much-needed space between us. “No need to manhandle me.”
Gabe squints at me, like I’m a problem he can’t quite figure out, but I turn a wary eye to Mr. Jones, who’s taken ahold of the wheel and seems to have forgotten us. While he’s distracted, I get to my feet. The air around me is stifling. Tension pours out in waves from both men and I’m stuck right in the middle.
Jones has shifted into full throttle and the cumbersome ferry plows through the waves like they’re nothing. We’re going faster than I ever expected this thing to go—and we’re headed straight for emptiness.
When we’re far enough away the rescue boat is but a blip in the distance, he slows us down until he finally brings the ferry to a stop. It couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes, but in the middle of nowhere, it feels like we’ve traveled across galaxies instead of just a couple miles. The adrenaline’s worn off and I’m scraped raw inside. If I do make it out of here, I’m terrified of what, if anything, will be left of me.
Gabe is shooting me furtive glances from where he leans against the wall to my opposite. Remembering all too well the way he felt against me, and hating myself for even thinking of it for a moment, I try my best to keep my eyes downcast.
I feel very alone. I press a hand to my knotted middle as if I can contain the ballooning fear inside of me. When it feels as though a scream—or my heart itself—may burst right out of my chest, I bite down on a knuckle. An indeterminable amount of time passes as I try to control the raging tempest inside of me.
All I can think about is the explosion. The injured passengers. Was there anything I could have done to save them? If I hadn’t jumped in front of the little girl, would more lives be spared? Was the blood of those who died today on my hands? There were kids amongst those survivors. Did they make it to safety in time?
The thought spurs me to my feet and I pace in tight circles, growing increasingly blind to my surroundings as panic overwhelms me like a rogue wave. I rake my hands through my hair and my fingers snag on snarls. Chunks come away as I try to wrest my hands free.
A heavy weight blankets my shoulders until warmth from the body behind me washes away the icy shroud. “You’re okay,” he says. There’s an indefinite pause as my mind jerks back from the brink of sanity and then I recognize his hold around me. When I tune back in, I hear his calm, steady voice repeating, “You’re okay. I’ve got you,” in a soothing refrain.
My knuckles are white where my fists clench around his forearms. “I’m sorry,” I whisper so only he can hear. “I just need a minute.”
His hold never falters. “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he says. “Take all the time you need.”
When I’m sure I won’t fall apart, I ease myself out of the circle of his arms. With a rueful smile in his general direction, I straighten my clothes, smooth back my hair, and take a few deep, calming breaths.
I open my mouth to apologize, but he waves it away. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “We all have to fall apart every now and then.”
His words wring a surprised laugh from me. “I’ll remind you of that when this is over.”
We both turn toward the sound of footsteps. Before Jones can reach us, Gabe says in a low voice, “You can remind me at dinner when this is over.”
There isn’t any time to respond because Jones is grabbing me roughly by my uninjured arm and forcing me to kneel in the middle of the room. Much as I’ve been thrown around in the past few hours, I should be used to it.
I want to turn around. I want to be able to see my fate—if the situation devolves to that. I don’t want to die a coward. But at the same time, I’m terrified of what I’m going to find.
“Sit down,” I hear Jones say to Gabe. I don’t need to look up after all, because I can hear the tell-tale click of the gun pointed in my direction.
From the corner of my eye, I see Gabe’s bare feet* come into view. It strikes me as a particularly vulnerable part of a man and this one specifically. He seemed so formidable charging in here like he was the proverbial knight-in-shining-armor.
Only this knight has no armor to stand between him and the path of a bullet.
“Whatever you want, you want it from me, so deal with me,” Gabe says. My body is once again wracked with shivers and it yearns for the warmth emanating from his proximity.
<
br /> “Oh, I am dealing with you,” Jones replies. “Apparently, a show of force is the only language you understand.”
“Then leave her out of it.”
Jones chuckles and it only increases my trembling. “I think this will be a whole lot easier if you have the proper motivation.” There’s the rustle of clothes, the whisper of his cotton shirt brushing against his body. “Sit down over there while we have our conversation. If you play by the rules, then it will be a civilized one.”
Gabe does as Jones instructs and I watch his feet recede while I scan what little I can see of the room from my kneeling position.
Jones pulls up a chair next to me and the gun comes into my line of vision, freezing the breath right in my chest.
“Look at me,” Gabe says and my eyes find him. “Whatever happens, you keep your eyes on me, okay, honey?”
“Don’t talk to her.” Jones moves in Gabe’s line of vision.
Gabe holds my eyes defiantly for a few long seconds until I nod, then he glances back to Jones. “What would you like to talk about?” he asks in an even voice.
“You must be happy,” Jones says and his congenial tone makes me want to gag. He sounds pleased with himself.
Gabe barely even bats an eye. Because yes, I’m not going to take my eyes off of him until we have the reassuring solidity of land beneath our feet. “What should I be happy about?”
He must be damn good at whatever job he has. I don’t think I heard him say exactly. From his ease in this high stakes debacle, it has to be something with a lot of stress because he’s cool under all the pressure.
At least one of us seems to be.
“You think you’ve already won,” Jones says. His legs cross in my line of vision. Just passed where the two of them are sitting, I can see the captain’s chest rising and falling in his peaceful slumber, the lucky bastard.
“Hard to win a game I don’t even know I’m playing,” Gabe replies evenly.
“Don’t be stupid, Gabriel. We both know you’re smarter than that.”
“Since you seem to know so much, why don’t you explain to me what exactly you want from me.”
“I want you to remember.”
A furrow between Gabe’s brows is the only outward reaction he has to Jones’s cryptic statement. “I’ll do whatever you want, remember whatever the hell you want,” Gabe says and he jerks his chin at me, “as long as you let Chloe go.”
“Ohhh. It’s Chloe now, is it? Getting friendly, are we?”
Gabe grits his teeth. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
Jones crosses a leg nonchalantly. “She volunteered for the position.” He waves the subject of me away like a gnat. “Besides, you’ll be most uncooperative if I give away my leverage. So long as you answer my questions honestly, she’ll be completely safe.”
“Like those hostages were safe?” Gabe asks acidly.
Jones tsks. “Now, Gabe, I wasn’t the one who lured me into a trap. You didn’t think you were going to get away with that little stunt, did you?”
“They were innocent,” Gabe says.
“Everyone is innocent. That doesn’t mean they’re exempt. Innocent people die every day, Mr. Rossi, or are you not aware?”
Gabe’s response is silence.
“Now, tell me about yourself, Gabriel.”
His nostrils flare. “Are you sure this is how you want to spend your limited time on this Earth?” he asks instead of answering.
Jones chuckles. “No, I imagine I’ll spend it watching the life drain from your eyes. Until then, answer the question, or I’ll shoot your little damsel here and I won’t be picky about where.”
Gabriel
Recognizing the rock and its bitch, the hard place, I relent. “What do you want to know?” I ask.
There’s a fanatic gleam in Jones’ eyes now. One that tells me whatever fucked up finale he’s twisting around in that brain of his will happen—soon. So the best I can do for Chloe and me is stall him for time until the badges on shore can figure out a plan B. One that ends with the two of us alive.
If not, then I need to figure out an end game of my own.
Jones smiles. “Why don’t you start with your daughter?”
There’s a strangled sound from the captain and all of our eyes go to his limp body. When he doesn’t rouse, the attention swings back in my direction.
The question twists itself in my chest like a pissed-off pit of vipers. Jones seems positively beside himself with glee. The maniacal smile that’s more of a grimace draws his pale face taut in the moonlight.
When I say nothing, Jones jabs Chloe in the ribs with the muzzle of the gun. He turns and lifts a brow.
I’m not the kind of man who enjoys death. There are some who find a small measure of sick satisfaction when they take a life. A lot of men I’ve worked with over the years find it a sense of relief when they rid the world of bad men, but I’ve taken no pleasure in it.
But, for this man, I’d be willing to make an exception.
“Why her?” I ask instead of answering. “Why not just come to me? If you have a problem, you come to me. You don’t go after my kid. You don’t kill a bunch of people like a toddler on a power trip. Be a man. Confront me.”
Jones cocks his head to the side and studies me. It’s disconcerting, even to someone like me, having faced war for years on end, to stare into the face of an evil man.
“I’ll be asking the questions,” he says, after a time. “Yours will be answered. Eventually.”
Chloe is as still as a statue, except for her hands. They’re clasped behind her back and completely bleached of any color because she’s holding them so tightly. Her fingers twitch in their restrained position and it undoes me.
“What do you want to know?” I ask Jones.
The gun eases off of her ribs and he rests his hands on the table. “Her name is Emily, right?” And I know when his face twitches he already knows her name. He’d have to. I offer a fervent prayer of thanks that my baby girl is far, far away from here thanks to Chloe.
“Yes,” I say, and my voice sounds like it’s being filtered through gravel. I wince and clear my throat. “Yes, her name’s Emily.” This time, her name is a whisper.
“Do you love your daughter, Gabriel?” Jones asks.
“Of course I do.”
“How much do you love her?”
“What kind of question is that?” I ask between gritted teeth. “I love her very much.”
Jones just smiles his creepy-ass psychopath smile and labors across the room to the dashboard where he checks the digital GPS. “We’re here,” he says as he turns back to us. “Don’t you move now.”
He disappears down the stairs again, his boots thudding heavily in retreat.
“What’s he doing now?” Chloe whispers.
I shake my head. “I have no fuckin’ idea.”
“Any bright ideas?” she asks.
“I’ll figure something out,” I tell her.
And I hope I’m right.
“That sounds totally promising,” she says and startles a laugh out of me.
“Well, I aim to please,” I say.
Whatever her response will be is cut off by the horrendous clank of a chain smashing against its metal counterpart, followed by a splash of water.
“Well, wherever we are,” she says instead, “we won’t be going anywhere.”
The boat jerks as the anchor takes hold of the ocean floor.
“We’re stranded,” I say absently.
“In another time,” I hear her respond, “being stranded with you wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”
“If we get out of this, I have this cottage on the beach. I think you’d like it.”
“Are you hitting on me?” she asks softly.
I don’t get the chance to answer because Jones appears in the stairwell. I’m going to enjoy kicking his motherfucking ass when I get the opportunity.
Jones sits opposite me. “Now, where were we?”
<
br /> “Why did you want me here?” I ask plainly. “What do you want?”
“So eager,” Jones says. “Very well. I’m here because I’d like to get to know the illustrious Gabriel Rossi better, though from our short acquaintance, I’ve found you to be pathetically predictable.”
“Have you?” I sneer. “And why is that?”
Jones picks at his sleeve with feigned nonchalance. “At first I was concerned her interference completely ruined months of careful planning.” He flicks an annoyed glance at Chloe. “Then, to my surprise, you came anyway. I must know, what was your motivation?”
Her gaze is already on me when I peer in her direction. “It was the right thing to do,” I say to them both.
Chloe’s eyes shutter closed and a wave of pain crosses her face, pinching her brows and lips.
“The right thing to do,” Jones says, drawing my attention back to him. “Interesting. Do you consider yourself a good person?”
“No better than any other man,” I say.
“How humble,” Jones says scathingly. “Is your charitable nature why you volunteer with the Coast Guard?”
“I wouldn’t call it charity. I’ve always loved serving my country.”
“Do you enjoy saving lives, Mr. Rossi?” he asks, the smile now gone from his too-wide lips.
“I enjoy being helpful.”
“Helpful. Hmm. Do you want to know what I think?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
The squawk from the radio cuts off his answer. Above the sounds of my racing heart, I can hear Tyler’s urgent voice. When I scan back at Jones, I find him staring at the unconscious body of the captain.
“Gabe, you there?” Though the connection is terrible and filled with crackling, it’s unmistakably Tyler.
Jones smiles, but this time, he seems almost resigned. “Better get that, Rossi. Don’t worry, we’ll wait.” He drops a hand to Chloe’s hair and strokes. I don’t miss the shiver that wracks her body and I doubt it has anything to do with the wind.
I lurch to my feet and nearly go back down. Guess that explosion knocked my head around a bit more than I thought. The dash, luckily, isn’t too far away, and I catch myself on the edge and manage to stay on my feet.
Anchor (First to Fight Book 1) Page 8
