“Fine.” She sighed. “At least let me help you get suited.”
“Deal.”
Kayden hurried down the few steps separating the cabin from topside. “The life raft has been knifed to shreds. It’s beyond repair.”
Cole had suspected as much. For being in a hurry, Grigor’s men had certainly been thorough.
“We’ve got auxiliary tanks and the rest of our gear. We could swim for shore,” she suggested.
Cole shook his head. “It’d take way too long.” Grigor would have the orb and be long gone. “We need to find a way to get a signal out.” He scoured the cabin for possibilities.
Everyone spread out, searching through cabinets and inside berths.
Gage yanked cleaning supplies out from under the sink. “An explosion should do it.”
Kayden paused. “Explosion?”
“A small concentrated one.” He loaded his arms with bottles. “Think of it as our very own fireworks display.”
Cole held the tube they’d fashioned out of the grappling hook handle steady as Gage funneled the concoction into it. “You sure about this?”
“We’re about to find out.”
“Everyone secure back there?” he hollered. They’d pulled Landon out of the water, and he and Cole’s sisters were huddled behind the wheelhouse at the ship’s bow.
“We’re ready,” Piper called.
“Heaven help us,” Kayden added.
Cole and Gage lifted the crudely constructed raft and moved gingerly to the stern. Kneeling on the dive platform, they cautiously lowered it into the water.
Cole held it level while Gage flicked the lighter.
“On three?” Gage said.
Cole nodded, holding his breath.
“One, two, three.” Gage lit the fuse.
They gave a steady, concerted shove, then turned and raced for the bow.
The bomb ignited, spurting twenty feet in the air as he and Gage dove behind the wheelhouse.
“I’m not even going to ask how you knew to do that,” Kayden said. She covered her ears as the makeshift bomb exploded into a fiery mass of flames and smoke.
An hour passed agonizingly slow, with no sign that anyone had seen their signal. Panic bit at Cole as time slipped away. He couldn’t let Bailey down.
Please, God. I can’t let her down, can’t fail.
He paced the length of the deck, his mind scrambling for something, anything that might work.
Piper sat up. “Do you hear that?”
Cole halted, straining to hear over the blood roaring in his ears. Seconds passed, and he feared Piper had been mistaken, but then he heard it—the distinct sound of helicopter blades slicing the air.
“There.” Piper leapt to her feet.
Cole followed her outstretched hand, and relief painfully coursed through his veins as he spotted the orange-and-white Coast Guard chopper.
Rain pelted Agnes’s front window. Kayden’s reflection shone in the glass, and Cole watched her pace back and forth with open file in hand. Her frustration was palpable—just like his. She was a doer, just like he was. Knowing someone he cared about so deeply was in danger, and not being able to reach her, was torture—heartrending torture.
Each minute that passed equaled another thousand-pound weight settled on his chest. Every breath was suffocating, every tick of the second hand excruciating.
Too much was happening. And not nearly enough.
Landon barked out orders on his cell and radio in conjunction, coordinating the manhunt for Grigor with the Trading Post serving as command central.
Search-and-rescue teams were on full alert and deep in the process of combing every waterway and byway accessible by boat between Yancey and the dive site.
While he deeply appreciated their efforts, he knew it was a shot in the dark. If Grigor didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. He’d already proven that.
Cole jammed his fist into the window frame, feeling no pain. Only numbness. How could he just sit around and do nothing while Grigor had Bailey? He should be out there, searching for her. Doing something.
He loved her—with a fierceness and depth he’d never experienced before. If only he’d been man enough to tell her. Now he might never have the chance.
Landon’s hand clamped on his shoulder. “How you holding up?”
“I’m going nuts. I can’t just sit here. You and I both know the SAR guys can use my help.” With the McKenna clan constituting a third of Tariuk Island’s search-and-rescue team, they were beyond shorthanded, even with Kodiak lending a hand.
“I understand the need to be out there. Believe me, I do. But it’s more important that you’re here. Determining where Grigor’s going to be is our best shot at getting Bailey back. You know that.”
Cole exhaled and shook out his hands as adrenaline surged relentlessly through him. “You’re right. I just wish Jake was with them.” Jake was the best tracker he’d ever seen.
“We put an alert out with all the northern patrols. If Jake’s survival group comes within ten miles of a station, they’ll get the news to him. And knowing Jake, he’ll haul back here faster than I can blink. But right now I need you to get back to these questions. I know it’s tedious, but you’re the only one who can tell us what you and Bailey have already covered, what Bailey’s thoughts were. It’s often the tiniest nugget of information that cracks a case wide open. It may be a single line that points to the location of the orb.”
“You’re right.” Cole raked a shaky hand through his hair. “Where were we?”
Landon flipped to his notes. “Let’s see. Before the last call I was asking you about . . . Bailey’s reaction to finding Olga’s diary.”
“Right.” Methodically Cole retraced his and Bailey’s steps, trying not to let his mind focus on how her eyes had grown wide with surprise and delight on page four, how her brow furrowed on page eight.
“What about differences in the two accounts? Any contrasts between the two diaries—Princess Maksutov’s and Olga’s?” Landon asked.
“The focus was on different things. The second one was written by the lieutenant’s wife that traveled with Ivan VI from Russia.”
“Olga,” Piper supplied.
“Correct. And the first one Bailey read—the one Grigor stole from the historical society, was written by a descendant of Ivan’s sister. She married Prince Maksutov, who was the last governor of Russian Alaska. Her diary is a series of correspondences between her and a relative back in Denmark.”
“Where Ivan’s siblings lived in exile,” Piper said, looking up from the copy.
“Right.”
“So it seems Princess Maksutov was aware of Ivan’s escape and his life in Alaska?”
Cole nodded. “Yes. Agnes’s letter to Bailey explained that Princess Maksutov appeared to have some knowledge of Ivan’s escape. When she came to Alaska with her husband, she tried to seek out Ivan’s heirs. I will say that having read Olga’s diary, Princess Maksutov’s now makes a lot more sense.”
Landon’s brows arched. “How do you mean?”
“It works on different levels.” Cole lifted a sheet of the copy. “Here, for instance . . . ‘I fear our history may be lost for good.’ At first we assumed she was talking about Russian heritage. . . .”
“But she was talking about the lost Romanov line,” Piper said.
“Exactly.”
Kayden’s brows furrowed. “How does that help us?”
“It shows we have to consider multiple meanings, hidden truths.” Piper sorted the pages. “Almost like a code.”
Bailey splashed tepid water from the tiny bathroom sink on her face, then braced her hands on the rim.
She couldn’t stall much longer. She was surprised he’d given her the time he had. She’d read the diary Grigor had stolen from the historical society as slowly as possible, tried looking as befuddled and deep in concentration as could be merited, but his patience was bound to wear out. Keeping her features schooled when she’d discovere
d it—that was harder than she’d expected. It’d been right there in front of her; it simply had to be read in context. Princess Maksutov had tracked down the orb and concealed it in the one place she could rest assured it would remain hidden.
“ ’Urry up in there.” Kiril rapped on the door.
“Just a minute.”
She peered out the porthole, praying she’d spot something, anything, other than ocean to determine her location. Still nothing. Nothing but the faint wisps of dawn breaching the horizon.
Her time was up.
Cracking the door, she found the hall empty. Kiril’s scratchy voice echoed down the corridor. He wasn’t far. Steeling her courage, she bolted in the opposite direction.
She wouldn’t make it off the boat, the deck was highly guarded, but maybe, if she was fast enough, she could get off a signal. She ducked in the first room—a supply closet. Nothing useful—food, batteries, cleaner.
She darted to the next room. Another supply closet. This time filled with emergency equipment. Perfect. She grabbed a flare, lighter, and knife, then hightailed it back to the bathroom. She shut the door as Kiril’s heavy footfalls sounded outside.
“ ’Urry up in there or I’ll ’urry you up.”
“Just a minute. I’m seasick.” She faked a retching noise, and Kiril grumbled.
Moving to the porthole, she struggled to yank it open. “Oh, come on,” she muttered in a heated whisper. What remained of her nails splintered beneath the corroded metal casing. She slid the blade under as leverage and pulled, popping the window open.
Kiril jiggled the handle. “What was that?”
She flushed the toilet. “I’ll be right out. Just let me rinse my mouth.”
She lit the flare and the door crashed in over her. She struggled to release the flare as Kiril’s thick hands clamped onto her arm.
Red flashed before her eyes, then everything went black.
43
Bailey woke, her head swimming. Voices bounced back and forth around her—heated and clipped. She pried her eyes open a slit and the nausea swelled. She squeezed them shut and tried again. Movement, hazy and disjointed, passed in and out of her clouded line of sight.
She worked to focus on the object moving. Nausea threatened to overcome her, and she struggled to remain still against the scratchy surface.
Legs. That’s what was moving. A pair of legs—in and out of her peripheral vision.
“She’d better wake up or it’s your head.”
“She was trying to send a signal.”
“And how did she get a flare?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. I told you to take her to the toilet. That was it. I assume we don’t keep flares in the bathroom.”
“No.”
“No.” Grigor exhaled. “She’s no good to me unconscious.”
“I didn’t whack her that hard.”
“The knot on the back of her head would suggest otherwise.”
Bailey fought the urge to feel it and remained still. The longer he thought her unconscious, the more time she bought.
The pungent odor of fish and cigar smoke blanketed the stuffy air.
Her stomach protested as her world bobbed up and down, faster than before. Water smacked against the surface behind her. They were moving. Question was, where to?
The legs out of sight, she took a moment to quickly assess her surroundings—orange-and-brown-patterned cushions, a table, and cupboards. She was in the galley, shoved onto one of the narrow benches that doubled as a bed at night.
Kiril sat at the table, eating tuna from a can with the knife she’d pocketed.
So much for that plan.
Grigor reclined against the counter, popping olives, or was it grapes, into his mouth. He caught her gaze and straightened, spitting out the pit.
Olives.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
He stalked to her. “Hopefully the rest will help you think clearer. You’re out of time.” He yanked her to a sitting position, and her head swam.
Dots danced in her hazy field of vision. She swallowed the bile burning up her throat. Why was she so warm?
Shafts of sunlight poured in beneath the curtains. It was morning. No wonder his patience had reached an end.
Grigor sat beside her, wedging her between his hard physique and the faux wood paneling.
“I’m losing my patience.” He tossed a knife as one tossed a dart, fixing it in the paneling opposite them, quivering. “Where is the orb?”
“I don’t know.” She braced for the impending blow.
He struck, and hot pain seared her cheek.
She scooted back until she was pressed against the wall. With nowhere to run, she pulled her legs in toward her, providing at least a semblance of a barrier, weak as it was.
“You think I’m a fool? I warn you—do not underestimate me. Your aunt did, and look how it ended for her.”
Agnes. He’d killed dear Agnes. She’d known it, of course, but hearing him say it so casually, so indifferently set her blood to boil.
She lashed out at him. “You miserable, heartless . . .”
He pinned her arm back, and pain—electric and throbbing—radiated down it.
“Tough, this one.” He chuckled to Kiril. Then he looked her dead set in the eyes. “Shame I’m going to have to kill you.”
She struggled to yank her arm from his grip, but he only tightened his hold, stopping the flow of blood. Her arm numbed, blood swelling above his crooked fingers. She bit back a cry of pain, unwilling to give him the satisfaction.
“This is the last time I’ll ask. Where is the orb?”
She shook her head, afraid if she parted her lips a cry would escape.
He released her and stood, shoving away from her. “Then you’re of no further use to me.”
He signaled Kiril with a flick of his head.
Kiril stood and pulled his gun from his holster.
Grigor leaned against the counter. He scooped up a few olives and popped one in his mouth with a grin. “Looks like I’ll have to go to your boyfriend for help after all.”
“Cole will never help you.”
He popped another olive in his mouth, not bothering to chew. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed it whole. She hoped he would choke on it. “I can be very persuasive. I simply require the proper leverage.”
Her stomach flipped. Piper and Kayden.
She was dispensable. But Cole’s sisters . . .
He’d already lost both parents; he couldn’t lose them too. And he wouldn’t, not if she had anything to say about it.
“You leave me no choice. Unless you help me, I’m forced to go to them. Sweet Piper and . . . Kayden, was it?”
“Never! You have no right!”
He stepped toward her, his taunting countenance gone. “No. I have every right. I’m the heir, the true heir of the Romanov dynasty.”
“Only because you killed those in your way. Vasilli and Feodor were family. How could you kill your own flesh and blood?”
“It’s no different than when Elizabeth attempted to kill my ancestor Ivan. Or when she killed Ivan’s mother, letting her bleed out in childbirth in a dank, dark prison. Elizabeth wanted the throne, and unlike her, I deserve it. Vasilli and Feodor, family? Ha! Where were they when my father died, when my mother and I were penniless? They refused to help and she died. That’s not family.”
“What about Liz Johnson and Nikolai?”
“Nik chose to kill the girl rather than share the find, then sealed his own fate by trying to cheat me out of what was rightfully mine.”
“What about the rest of the people on Agnes’s flight? The innocent bystanders?”
He shrugged. “Collateral damage.”
“You’re a monster.”
He stalked toward her, his eyes darkening. “Michael did not found our great dynasty by sitting back and letting others less worthy walk all over him. He took action. He seized what was his. I’m doing the same.
Claiming what is rightfully mine. I am a Romanov.” He thumped his chest. “I deserve my rightful place.”
She scooted away from him. He was mad.
He smacked his hands, palms down, on the table before her. “So what’s it going to be? You or Cole’s lovely sisters?”
44
Landon leaned against the display case watching Piper, the copied sheets of Princess Maksutov’s diary spread out around her, Olga’s diary in hand. She jotted down notes and nibbled her thumbnail intermittingly. He could almost see the wheels spinning.
She was getting close. He recognized that gleam in her eyes. He knew she could do it.
She was an amazing lady.
He swallowed, realizing that was the first he’d thought of Piper as a lady. She’d always been Cole’s baby sister. Now . . .
He raked a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to think about what he saw when he looked at her now. That train of thought would only get him in trouble, and he had enough trouble on his plate. But until Grigor was caught, he wasn’t letting Piper out of his sight.
He shuddered to think of the moment Grigor had held the gun to her head and pulled the trigger. He’d envisioned her shot and out of his life forever. . . .
His stomach lurched, as it had then.
It’d shaken him to the core. He didn’t think he’d ever get that image out of his head. Sweet Piper. Nearly torn from all their lives.
Piper leapt to her feet, papers splaying everywhere. “I’ve got it.”
Cole raced to her side, nearly knocking Landon over in the process. “Where?”
“It’s right here in the last line of Princess Maksutov’s diary. I can’t believe I didn’t see it right off the bat. It’s so clear.”
“What is?” Anxiety saturated Cole’s tone, and Landon couldn’t blame him. The woman he loved was in mortal danger.
Piper cleared her throat and read, “ ‘I will take the secret to my grave.’ ”
Landon thought for a moment. “The orb is buried with the princess!”
“Exactly, and she’s buried in the old Russian cemetery.”
Cole grabbed his coat. “Let’s go.”