Sam shrugged. “She doesn’t know anything. And I’ve eliminated the only other two people who knew—Lucy, and Wade, the nosy brew master at Hook House.”
“Lucy? But I just saw her…” She felt as if she was about to lose her wine and appetizers.
Sam patted her hand. “Don’t think about it. I try not to. Just sit back and enjoy the cruise. This is a fine boat, the best. High tech. Twin engine. Great GPS system. Should give us a nice, smooth ride.”
He rose and walked into the cab, closing and locking the cabin door behind him. An instant later the boat roared to life and jolted forward.
Sam did the equivalent of flooring it. The spray rose up around her, misting her as she assessed her situation. She sat on a large built-in fish storage locker and shivered from cold and shock. Her barely there dress hadn’t been designed for warmth. Several small bait wells sat on either side of her. The fish locker might be just large enough to hide in.
Those black high-powered twin engines Sam mentioned gleamed behind her.
She peered over the edge of the boat into the water as she fought to free herself from the railing. If she could get free, she could jump overboard. And be dead within minutes from hypothermia.
Especially dressed as she was, without a wet suit or dry suit. The waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca in British Columbia were a few degrees cooler than the waters of Puget Sound, barely more than fifty degrees in the heart of summer. This time of year, probably not out of the forties. Two to the head was probably a better way to die.
Cocky as he was, Sam had left her evening bag slung over her shoulder. She had her gun in there. If she could get free of the railing and release her hands, she might have a chance.
Whether Drew really loved her or not, he’d be looking for her and Sam. It was his job and he was good at it. She scanned the waters, watching dozens of boats cruise the harbor, enjoying the last of a beautiful day’s light. Assuming Drew thought to look on the water, how would he find her? Sam had taken her phone.
She had to stop Sam from reaching the strait.
She managed to slip her bag off her shoulder and slide it behind her to a spot where she could reach the clasp and open it.
She felt inside. Her cling fingers sat on top. She’d thrown them in nearly last, just before her phone, kind of as a gag. Feeling the fingers encouraged her. Cling fingers had saved Maxwell Smart’s butt, they could save hers. She had to stop this boat. Sam may very well kill her, but she wouldn’t let him escape.
Fortunately, Sam and her dad took her fishing and taught her about boats when she was young. If she could disable the gas lines to the engines, they’d be dead in the water. She was willing to bet she could get access to them through the fish box she sat on.
She carefully maneuvered the cling fingers toward the edge of the boat and stuck them to the side. There. It looked as if she’d fallen over the edge and gotten a grip at the last second. Not much subterfuge, but better than nothing. She remained in front of them, blocking them from Sam’s view as she tried to free her hands.
Ironically, Sam had also taught her about knots on some of their family fishing trips—how to tie them and how to untie them. She recognized this knot as one of his favorites.
The knot Sam had used to secure her with a rope to the fishing rigging fell away easily enough. But her hands were bound wrist-to-wrist with sturdy duct tape. Unless she could find a way to cut the tape, she wasn’t going to get free. The good thing about duct tape, though—once you got it started, it ripped easily enough. All she needed was a good sharp edge to get things started.
She couldn’t think of anything in her purse that would do the trick. She didn’t even have a mirror on her she could break for bad luck. Too bad. She could use any kind of luck at all. The fish box looked like her best bet. Or one of the hatches next to it. A filleting knife, a hook, or simply a rough edge. She’d take anything.
She kicked off her heels, looking, praying for a helicopter or seaplane to appear and rescue her. No such luck.
Fishing boats didn’t have rearview mirrors. Intent on escaping, and evidently totally unconcerned that Staci possessed any ability to free herself, Sam hadn’t even glanced back in her direction since starting the boat.
If she got her hands free, she could use her gun and hold Sam hostage. She picked up it and her purse, and slid off the fish locker onto her butt on the floor.
Fortunately, the fish locker was unlocked. With her back to it, she managed to open it. With a bit more maneuvering around, she wiggled past the doors and backed into it. She bumped up against what felt like a tackle box or tool kit. Hands bound wrist-to-wrist flapping behind her like butterflies wasn’t the easiest way to work. She couldn’t get the box open. She felt around. Scraped her arm and felt the sting.
Excellent. A sharp edge.
* * *
Drew drove the cigarette boat into the sunset toward open water, chasing the Limit Out, the boat Sam had rented under his alias. No sign of Staci on deck, though the guy at the rental office assured him a pretty young woman wearing a cocktail dress had boarded the boat with Sam. And she’d been very much alive.
Noe sat next to Drew, intent and smiling behind dark sunglasses as he directed Canadian operations. Both US and Canadian Coast Guards were on alert to apprehend the Limit Out. But right now, they were still in Canadian waters.
Drew pushed the boat to just under one hundred knots.
“A fast boat makes up for a lot of crap, does it not?” Noe yelled over the roar of the engine as they skimmed across the waves.
Drew’s thoughts exactly. “Yeah. But I’ll be a whole lot happier once we rescue Staci.”
Noe nodded and barked something in French into his Bluetooth. Suddenly he pointed to a pinprick on the horizon, skimming across the water like an insect toward Sam’s boat, closing in on it faster than they were. “What is the ’ell is that?”
Steering with one hand, Drew held his high-powered binoculars to his eyes. “A Jet Ski moving at the speed of a hydroplane. Not one of ours.”
Next to him, Noe looked through his own pair. “Not one of ours, either.”
Drew swallowed hard.
Noe voiced what Drew couldn’t. “SMASH?”
Drew slapped the steering wheel and cranked up the throttle. He was almost to redline. Damn it! He had to reach Staci before RIOT’s death squad assassin did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Staci broke free of the duct tape. Her wrists stung as she ripped it off, and blood trickled down her arm from the scratches she’d received. She didn’t have much time. Already it was dark in the fish box.
She put her Pocket 9 next to her and climbed into the box where she pulled a back panel loose, giving her access to the gas lines that fed the engines. She didn’t want to cut them and risk spilling gasoline everywhere. She just wanted to block them.
She reached into her purse and pulled out a pair of sturdy hair elastics. Never travel without them. Thank goodness for oversize evening bags! Working mostly by feel, she crimped one line and looped a hair elastic around it, hoping it held. The engine sputtered to a stop. Moving quickly, she banded the second line.
The engine died. Staci grabbed her gun and scooted in with her back to the engines, facing the cabin, bumping up against the toolbox again. Cowering like a child, she trained her gun on the cabin door. Sam would have to come out to check the engines. She didn’t want to shoot him, didn’t know if she could.
She’d been so focused on her task, it took her a second to realize that it should have been silent, no engine noises except for the distant roar of other boats. Why, then, did she hear an engine humming beside them?
Drew!
She nearly called out for him as she poked her head out of the box. But it wasn’t Drew who climbed over the edge into the boat.
A muscular man, dressed in black and carrying a scary-looking assault rifle, climbed aboard from a black Jet Ski he’d tethered to them.
Staci ducked back into the fi
sh box and pulled her knees against her chest, willing herself to become invisible.
SMASH has arrived.
Just at that moment Sam stormed out of the cabin door, cursing the engines. The intruder ducked behind the door.
Sam looked around the rear deck and froze. “Staci! Staci, where are you?”
He spotted the cling fingers and walked toward the railing. Staci took a deep breath and aimed her gun at him. If she was quick, she could shoot him and the intruder.
Her hands trembled. The gun wobbled in her hands.
Now all she could see were Sam’s knees and shins as he leaned over the railing to look for her.
She aimed at his kneecaps. She could shoot him in the kneecap like an old-time gangster, disable him until help arrived.
Footsteps echoed on the deck. The intruder’s legs came up behind Sam. She steadied the gun, aimed, ready to take a two-for-one shot.
She recognized the instant Sam realized there was someone else onboard. She swore she could smell Sam sweat.
“You can’t cheat us,” the intruder said in heavily accented English. He sounded Russian. “And live.”
Two pops sounded in rapid succession. Sam’s legs crumpled in front of her. Above her, she heard a thud and bit her lip to keep from crying out. She pictured Sam slumped against the back rail, dead, eyes glassy and unseeing. Horrible images from Ciudad passed through her mind. Not exactly the part of her life she wanted to see flash before her in what could be her last moments. Though her mouth was dry, she swallowed hard.
I’m next.
The Russian laughed, a genuine, deep, full-throttled sound of true amusement, and said something in Russian. She heard him moving around. Watched his legs retreat from the railing. He paused.
“Don’t worry, little American spy girl. I am not going to kill you. I was not given orders to do so. I only kill who I am told to.” He chuckled again. “Tonight I am your hero. He was going to kill you, no?”
She was glad he found her fear and near murder so amusing. She didn’t reply.
“Saved by rubber fingers.” He laughed again. “Very ingenious, Ninety-nine. Thanks so much for the help distracting him.”
The Russian tossed something in her direction. She jumped. One hand’s worth of cling fingers came to a rest in front of her, their manicure job shot.
She heard the roar of another boat approaching.
The Russian uttered what had to be, by the sound of them, some exceptionally foul Russian curses. She watched him walk to the cabin and reappear a minute later with a bag slung over his shoulder. He took two steps to the side rail and his legs disappeared.
A Jet Ski roared to life. He was gone.
Staci’s teeth chattered. She felt herself losing her grip on reality and her gun. It slid out of her hand next to her. She leaned her head back, trying to catch her breath and think what to do next. Which was when she heard the electronic ticking coming from behind her.
She turned and examined the toolbox.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
An LED display counted down from sixty. And she realized—Sam had been planning to ditch the boat and leave her to blow up! Damn him.
She must have tripped the timer when she was trying to free herself from the duct tape.
She had less than a minute to get off the boat. There must be a lifeboat. Sam must have had an escape route planned.
Just as she made a move to get out of the fish box, something bumped and jarred the boat. Staci covered her ears, preparing to be blown up. As if covering her ears would help.
“Staci! Staci!” Drew called her name.
Still on her butt, she scooted out of the fish box as Drew swung over the rail onto the deck. Noe boarded behind him.
“Staci!”
He sounded worried, scared, like she’d only ever heard him one other time in her life—Ciudad. The look of relief that crossed his face when he saw her was priceless and genuine.
She choked back a sob. The next instant Drew crouched in front of her, still wearing his suit and looking as if he’d just stepped out of a Bond movie.
Seriously, who went boating in a suit? Or an evening cocktail dress, for that matter.
At the same time, Noe went to the rail and looked at Sam. “He’s dead.” He pulled something off the rail.
Staci pushed Drew away and scrambled to her feet. “Sam planted a bomb! We have to get off the boat. Now! We have less than a minute before we explode.”
Without hesitating, Drew scooped her in his arms, and carried her to the waiting cigarette boat. He stepped in and pulled her into his lap in the passenger seat as Noe jumped in and unleashed their boat. A second later, Noe slid into the driver’s seat and put the boat into gear.
As they took off, Noe tossed something to them. “Apparently, these work after all.”
Drew caught what Noe had tossed and held it for Staci to see—the second hand of her cling fingers, its nail polish in not much better shape than she felt.
“Saved by cling fingers, Max,” she said, shakily, roughly repeating the Russian’s words. “And SMERSH.”
“SMASH,” Drew said. “RIOT’s death squad.” He slid out of his suit jacket. “Your arms are bleeding.”
She looked at her arms and shrugged. “I’m fine. They’re just scratches.”
Drew tucked his jacket around her shoulders, and pulled her into him, his arms tight around her. He kissed the top of her head.
“You don’t have to keep pretending,” she said, her heart breaking. “The mission’s over.” She looked at him through tears in her eyes. “Yes, I figured it out. Sam was your mission.”
He didn’t deny it.
“You didn’t have to use me, Drew. You could have told me the truth. I would have helped you. You didn’t have to pretend to fall in love with me again.” She groped around in his suit coat, looking for a tissue. She felt a bulge in one pocket, reached in and found a box, a velvet box. She pulled it out and stared at it.
Drew took the box from her hands, tipped her face up to his, met her eyes, and opened the box in front of her. A band of diamonds sparkled in the last rays of light as the sun slipped over the water’s edge into night.
“Staci Fields, knowing everything you do about my mission, will you stay married to me?”
“Are you serious?” She couldn’t believe it—Drew was proposing? Proposing a real reunion?
He may have grinned, but beneath it, he looked nervous, as if he wasn’t certain what her answer would be. “You said the same thing the first time I asked you to marry me. When will you believe me?”
“Never. It’s too good to be true,” she said.
“Well? Are you going to leave me hanging on our anniversary?”
“Yes.” She smiled through tears of joy. “I mean yes, I’ll stay married to you. I don’t have much choice, do I? I know too much now.” She couldn’t help smiling and yet she felt like crying.
He took the ring out of the box, took her hand in his warm, safe, strong one, and slid the ring on. It was a perfect fit.
She held her hand out and admired it. “It’s lovely.” She grinned at him. “But nothing compares to knowing you love me. I love you, Drew.” She slid into his lap, wrapped her arms around him, and then … he kissed her.
She closed her eyes and melted into him, opening her mouth to him, opening her life to him.
Through closed eyes, she saw a brilliant flash of light. Yes, when she kissed Drew, she felt fireworks, but never quite so literally.
An explosion cracked through the peace of the night air. Waves bounced their boat as they continued to speed away from the Limit Out. Her eyes flew open.
Sparks and bits of burning debris rained down around them from the sky like a celebration of pyrotechnics.
Staci pulled back from Drew. They stared at where Sam’s boat used to be and where a fire now danced on the water, casting tongues of yellow and orange into the night sky.
“Nice night for a bonfire,” Noe said, drily. “Too bad I fo
rgot the marshmallows.”
Staci had almost forgotten he was there. She clutched Drew’s arm. “What will we tell my mother?”
“Not the truth, that’s for sure.” He hugged Staci tight. “How about a lie of omission? Think you can handle that?”
“Sam died on a fishing boat, in a tragic accident, doing the thing he loved best.” She slid her arm around Drew and leaned her head on his chest, hearing the reassuring, steady beat of his heart. “We just won’t say that what he loved best was counting his money, the selfish, greedy man. See how well I’ve learned to lie?”
Noe grinned. Drew squeezed her.
“It would kill Mom to know everything Sam did, especially that he was going to kill me, had already tried three times, and that he was dumping Mom without a word to live out the rest of his life somewhere as a rich man. Yeah, I think I can handle telling a lie or two for the common good. Mom never has to know.” She looked at Drew and then Noe.
Drew’s jaw developed a tic. “Damn Sam. I figured it out after you mentioned the name Jasper Bradford. You accidentally saw the new identity he’d created for himself. Right?”
“Yes,” Staci explained how Sam had hired assassins who bungled through three attempts on her life because of what she knew and how she didn’t even know what she knew until she’d blurted out the name Jasper Bradford to Drew at the Empress.
“Which led us to you and solved the crime. You’re safe now.” Drew squeezed her. “And we’re good with the secret.” His voice shook, and he sounded as if he’d kill Sam himself if he were still alive. He looked as if being shot and incinerated was probably too good a fate for Sam.
Noe nodded and grinned. “Obviously, I can keep a secret.”
“Good, because I have another one for you,” Staci said. “On the boat, Sam told me he’d double-crossed something called RIOT. That Attitude never had the technology RIOT needed. That he wouldn’t be responsible for the deaths of thousands of people.
“The SMASH assassin retrieved a bag from the cabin of Sam’s boat before he left, but I’m sure all he got was the cash Sam had tricked his employers out of.