I lay back on the quilt Gabriel had thrown down and closed my eyes against the panic, forcing myself to calm. I focused on each breath. I blocked the sound of the ocean. I shut out the sound of the footsteps above, the sound of voices. I focused on Nick and Alec, and how I needed to stay alive to save them. And Bacon. And I thought of Max.
And then I thought of Gabriel Black.
Why, I don’t know. I just did. Maybe it was because I could hear him above trying to explain the neatness and order of the cabin. I half smiled at the, “What the fuck, Black? This boat is Better Homes and fucking Gardens.”
“What’s in the hold, Black?” Another gruffer and meaner voice demanded.
Hold? My eyes shot open. This could be the hold. Right?
“Supplies.” Gabriel answered, as if it were the most boring conversation in the world.
“Supplies, my ass, Black. I saw something over your shoulder through the binoculars. Who ya stashin’ in here?”
“Supplies,” Gabriel answered again. This time with ice in his voice. I sat up, wondering what the hell to do.
“Guess I’ll just check out your supplies then, Black.”
“Suit yourself.”
Suit yourself? Suit yourself? The bastard.
I dived under the blanket, rolling up as small as I could and trying to look like a discarded piece of nothing. Shouldn’t be a stretch; after all, I’d felt that way most of my life. I tried to take steady, even, quiet breaths, but it was hard. I was pissed. And, okay, big-time scared.
I heard the lock turn, the hatch above me flew open, and a voice that was nothing like Gabriel’s shouted, “Explain what the hell this is, Black. Looks like a body to me.”
Chapter Twelve
I heard the thunder of boots landing inches from my head. I heard the knife find its mark with a dull, sickening thud.
Thank God it was in something other than me. I knew this because I wasn’t howling like a madwoman, I wasn’t bleeding, and my cover wasn’t blown.
The sack of potatoes, however, didn’t fare nearly as well.
“Wow, Snake. You just killed you some mighty mean-lookin’ spuds. What are you gonna do next? Fry ’em?” Raucous laughter filled the air.
Snake? Why did Runners have names like Snake? Whatever happened to Bob?
“That’s what you saw over my shoulder.” Gabriel’s voice had that sharpened edge of steel to it. “Now get out of my hold.” Snake may not have known it, but he really should get out of Gabriel’s hold.
Really.
I held my breath, waiting. No one moved. The blanket was suffocating. And the stench of the Runner scum wasn’t helping. I held perfectly still, allowing my breath to seep out in minuscule streams, so as to remain undetected. It was a game I played with myself when I was a child. I’d hide, my uncle’s drunken tribe members would seek, and when I lived to see the morning sun, I knew I’d won.
I had every intention of winning this round too.
“Yeah, you moron,” said the first monster, “get out before the potatoes jump up and bite you in the ass.”
Snake apparently didn’t much like his tribesman. Either that, or being called a moron just hit a nerve. A big one.
“Long sleeve or short sleeve?” Snake said under his breath, as he followed the man back up the ladder into the cabin leaving the hatch open behind him.
My stomach turned. I knew what was coming next. The unsuspecting Runner in the cabin never heard the threat, and it wasn’t like I could warn him. And if I could? Well, not likely. It was times like this that reminded me of how much of my humanity was lost. My mother’s smile from Gabriel’s photograph floated in my mind. What would Lilly O’Malley think of her little girl now?
Something dropped through the open hatch and landed next to my head. I pushed the blanket back and peeked out.
A hand.
I fought back the nausea. The Runners had taken a lesson from the history of the Dark Continent. During the days of the Sierra Leone diamond trade, rebels in Africa had randomly chopped off limbs of anyone who got in their way. “Short sleeve or long sleeve?” they’d ask. It didn’t matter what the response was. The whole point was to prolong the mind game and heighten the terror. Word had it they did it just for fun. The Runners loved the concept and adopted the practice as their own.
The scream of outrage resonated throughout the tiny engine room; the echo of pain rang in my ears. The sickening copper smell of blood filled my nostrils. I willed myself not to gag. I’d dealt with plenty of blood in my time. It was just that, in some remote area of my very frightened brain, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure that limb didn’t belong to Gabriel.
I should have known better. It wasn’t his voice that was screaming. And screaming still. And it wasn’t Gabriel’s style to be caught unaware, unprepared. I remembered when he stood up in the living area of my small cabin, confident, strong, in control. Losing a limb to scum like these men? Not possible. No way.
The cries continued and I knew Snake had not stopped at a hand. He’d gone for the gut, moved to the heart, and now he’d take out the throat. Limb, gut, heart, throat. The best Runners could complete the kill ritual in seconds. The bastards took pride in it.
Snake chased the man, thumping up and out of the cabin and onto the deck. The hatch slammed shut. I could breathe again. So why couldn’t I catch a breath?
I pushed out from beneath my quilt, my body hot with fear. The sweat pooled between my breasts and trickled down my temple. I tried to push my hair from my eyes; so much of it had come loose from my ponytail when Gabriel did his upside-down trick on me once again.
Blood smeared my cheek, and as soon as I felt the dampness I looked at my hands and realized that blood covered the floor and my quilt had acted like a sponge. It soaked into my new cable-knit sweater. I knelt, frantically pulling the garment off my body. I never wanted a Runner’s blood on me. Not ever again.
The events of my thirteenth year slammed into my memory. I remembered wiping the blood of the man I had killed on both my cheeks with my thumbs, smearing my face like a badge of honor. I’d been in shock and took to my victory like an animal. It was as close as I had ever come to crossing the line and becoming one of them. It wasn’t until I’d seen my reflection in a tide pool that I realized just how close I’d come to that kind of insanity.
The roar of Gabriel’s voice brought me up short. I crouched at the wooden hatch, straining to catch every word, every nuance. “Get off this boat before I throw you overboard. And take the body with you.”
“Sorry to fuck up your pretty little ship, Black. But it’s ’bout time you made ready for Indigo. A little blood on your teak floors will make him feel much more at home.”
“Go.”
“We travel together, Black. And you’ll lead us to Tsunami Blue.”
My heart stopped.
“I don’t have a lead on her.”
My heart started again.
“That’s not what’s in the wind.”
In the wind. Another phrase for on the airwaves. Even without cell phones and e-mail, word traveled fast throughout the islands. It was only a matter of time before these Runners verified what the San Juan Island raiders knew.
Tsunami Blue was last seen in the company of the Runner Gabriel Black.
Lucky for me the various factions of Runners often warred with one another. Operating much like the now-defunct Crips and Bloods of LA, or the Mexican and Russian Mafias, they happily lied and cheated and murdered one another. So much for brotherhood. And until the word circled a time or two and accounts were verified, I had a little time. But only a little.
Gabriel knew it too. “If you believe what you hear in the wind, Snake, you really are a moron.”
Shit! I thought to myself. What are you doing, Gabriel? I wanted to scream. Don’t you remember what just happened to the last guy who called Snake a moron?
An animalistic growl rose from the throat of Snake, and I could hear the rush of bulk and speed tearing a pathway t
hrough Gabriel’s little teak table. I heard it splinter in what sounded like a thousand pieces. Was it possible that just an hour or so ago I was sitting at that same table eating pancakes with two cute kids and being called Bambi?
What a difference an hour made.
I heard a sickening snap and an accompanying scream.
“And just for the record, Snake,” Gabriel said in that low, lethal voice of his, “you’re not only a moron”—I heard him drag the moaning man up the ladder and through the cabin hatch onto the deck above—“I think you’re an asshole too.”
There was a loud splash as Gabriel threw Snake overboard. Moments later another splash followed as Gabriel threw the body off the railing, shouting, “You seem to have left something behind.”
I sank to my knees. They were gone. At least off the boat. For now. Exhausted, I sat back on my haunches and put my head on my knees, willing my pulse to slow and my breathing to calm. I wondered when I would wake up from this nightmare. And if I’d wake up alive.
I could decipher two things from the yelling going on around the boat. One, Snake was still alive and being fished out by what I had to assume were equally bad men. Or, as Gabriel had so aptly put it, assholes. Damn. Where was a great white when you needed one? And second, Gabriel was right. We would have company on our voyage into the New Canadian Gulf Islands. Lots of company, bearing the same spinnakers as ours: a 666 with a dagger running through it. Great. Just great.
After we’d been under sail for hours, I realized I’d have to give over to that trust factor Gabriel had asked of me. I’d just have to have faith that he could keep me safe. I trusted him to distract the other Runner who had been put on board to watch him. And from the booming, raucous laughter filtering down from above, I could only assume it was working. Gabriel had kept me hidden, and I trusted him to continue to do so. Really, what choice did I have?
I’d thrown the quilt over where I believed the most blood was pooled. My bloody sweater covered the severed hand.
I refused to wear clothing drenched in Runner blood. It brought back too many memories and too much pain. I’d rather sleep nude. But what I longed for was a hot shower, my new pajamas, and, most of all, Max.
With the discovery of Gabriel’s shortwave equipment, I knew in my heart that there was no need to circle back to New San Juan Island. Once I gained control of the boat, escaped the Runners, and found out when the killer of all waves was coming, I could broadcast at will. So what if my to-do list was a little daunting? I’d just start small. Like with stealing the boat.
But without returning home, there was no chance to find Max. Dead or alive. And didn’t that just make me want to cry all over again. And I would have if I could have afforded the energy. Self-pity’s a weakness, Blue. It’ll get you killed. Uncle Seamus. For once his words rang true. They were still echoing through my head as I finally drifted off to sleep.
I awoke to a hand cupped over my mouth and a velvet voice whispering in my ear, “Don’t scream. It’s me, Gabriel.”
Well, of course it was. Who else could have sneaked down here with the silence of a cat? Who else had that amazing voice made for dark nights and the wee hours before dawn? Who else had that unique smell of sea and surf and sun?
Gabriel Black, of course.
So I didn’t scream. I bit. Hard.
“Damn it.” His hand shot away from my mouth. “What is the matter with you?” he whispered through teeth I knew were clenched with anger. Even in the dark I could easily picture his scowl and dark gaze. And why not? It wasn’t like I made the guy smile much. Such a waste of dimples.
I whispered back in anger, “You just don’t sneak up on a girl uninvited, tough guy. Especially one who’s half-naked.”
Silence.
And then…“You’re half-naked?”
Shit. “No.”
He slid his hand down my arm and on across my belly. His touch was feather-soft, and I pictured those long golden fingers against my pale Irish skin. His hand played on my stomach, rubbing gently, slowly.
“So you are,” he whispered in my ear. “Why?”
I almost didn’t trust my own voice. I let out a deep breath. “Blood,” was all I could say.
He folded in next to me, taking me in his arms. His whispers came rapidly, intensely. Sincerely.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll make this right, Blue. I’ll protect you, keep you safe, die trying; trust me. Trust me, Blue.”
I lay in his arms and listened, lulled by his reassurances and yet overwhelmed with physical awareness at the same time. His breath teasing my hair, the moist heat at my ear, his hard muscles at my back. I felt a pull of desire low in my belly. I was glad of the dark, for the burn of the telltale blush had returned as my nipples hardened and ached.
I listened to the sea sweeping against the hull with a message of its own. Trust him, Blue. Trust him, Blue. Trust him, if you dare.
And so when his lips met mine with a tenderness I didn’t think possible, I gave in and made way for trust.
If only a little.
If only for a moment or two.
His kiss deepened and I pressed into that lean, strong body of his. His hand rose to cup my breast, and I reached up, threading my own hands through his hair.
I had just one wish.
If only I were someone other than Tsunami Blue.
Chapter Thirteen
“Black, get your ass up here. Dude, ya gotta see this killer light show.”
Gabriel gripped me tighter, as if he couldn’t bear to let me go. I pushed away from him hard as my heart kicked into high gear at hearing the stranger’s voice so close.
He released me, albeit reluctantly. He was probably afraid I’d make a scene. You know, the one that would attract too much attention and get us both killed.
“Don’t make me come down there and drag your butt up here. I don’t give a damn if you are Indigo’s favorite boy warrior; you sure as shit aren’t mine. Where are you, man?”
My stomach flipped. Indigo’s favorite?
The man stumbled and went down hard. The boat rocked to one side. It would take a lot of bulk to do that. He must be huge. I thought of myself at the hands of this beast, being torn, ripped, beaten. I trembled in the dark, a sudden chill invading my core, turning my blood to ice. I sat up and, in spite of the dark, I covered my breasts with my arms. Pushing with my feet, I moved away from Gabriel. From Indigo’s favorite. What had I been thinking?
“Gabe, where the hell are you?”
The man slurred his words, and it was only too apparent that he was drunk. Drunk and mean.
“Hey. Boy wonder. I call. You fucking come. Remember? Just like the good dog you are.”
Okay. Mean and getting meaner by the minute.
Gabriel stripped his thermal off and put it over my head. And before I could protest, he was up and out of the hold, tossing a knapsack at my feet.
His catlike feet made no sound as he moved about the cabin. I pictured him putting on a tee, but not before I pictured him without one. Not that he wasn’t beautiful, but again, what was I thinking? I raised my fingertips to my lips, tracing the feeling of where his had been on mine.
Pathetic. Was I really so lonely that I would risk so much of myself? And to a Runner, no less?
“Back off, Charlie,” Gabriel yelled. “I’m bringing up more absinthe.”
Absinthe? Was he really giving Charlie absinthe?
The liquor had once been banned in the United States and most European countries. But human nature being what it is, once the ban was lifted, the liquor flowed again, and now, in our new ruined world, it was a highly sought commodity.
I only knew about it because Uncle Seamus and his tribe members had celebrated for a week straight when they found—that is, stole—a month’s supply from a traveling merchant mariner. The merchant had died, of course, and my uncle and his friends had nearly gone mad from the stuff. The extreme alcohol made you both suicidal and homicidal. Not to mention completely insane. I’d left
the camp, disappearing into the safety of Cady Mountain, surviving as best as I could until the madness died out. That is, until the liquor ran dry. When I returned, eight Runners lay dead; two had lost a hand, and Uncle Seamus? Unfortunately, he’d lived through it all. And he was all the meaner for it.
So Gabriel was plying the Runner Charlie with absinthe. That was either brilliant or sheer stupidity. The man would either succumb to alcohol poisoning or go completely mad, and with the strength of ten men, tear Gabriel Black into shark chum. I prayed Gabriel knew what he was doing.
Pulling Gabriel’s soft shirt over my arms, I took a fraction of a second to relish his lingering scent. Then I pushed the image of him lying naked under my old sleeping bag out of my brain and sat back to listen to the show unfolding on deck.
“There you are you, asshole. What took you so long?”
“Calm down, Charlie. I got it right here.”
Gabriel sounded just like one of them. His easy banter with the man ran from friendly to insulting to dangerous, then back to friendly again. Typical Runner.
“So, Black,” a very drunk Charlie said, “what do you think of Wave Girl?”
Wave Girl? I strained to listen. Huh, Wave Girl. Well, that was a new one.
“Tsunami Blue?” Gabriel asked, like he couldn’t care less.
“Yeah. What do you think she looks like, man? Do ya think all that talk about spooky blue eyes and a wave sleeve tat is true?”
“Does it matter?”
“Does to me.” Charlie barked out a mean laugh. “Hell, yeah. I want her to have really big tits. You know, like in them Hooters joints that used to be around before everything turned to soggy shit.”
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