Nine

Annie couldn’t believe he was just going to leave her.

Who was this guy, and what was he hiding? Clearly the captain didn’t want to risk a run-in with the police. Was he on the run? Some kind of criminal?

She didn’t think so, but she wasn’t exactly batting a thousand right now when it came to stellar judgment on men.

One thing was for sure: she didn’t want to be here alone with only Julien between her and Jean Paul when he learned that she’d found the explosives and the coast guard had been alerted.

No, the better of the two evils was definitely the captain. She’d just have to hope he wasn’t some psychopathic murderer. Although psychopathic murderers didn’t have a conscience, and he seemed to be struggling with his. Which was good. He should be.

Hoping to push him over the edge, she added, “What if they try to hurt me?”

She knew that it had worked when after a pause, he cursed. “Get in the damned boat, Hanoi Jane.” She bristled at that. “But as soon as we hit land, you are on your own. Got it?”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” she said with a mock solute. “Anyone ever tell you that you’d make a great drill sergeant?”

She’d meant it as a joke, but his expression suddenly sobered. It would be an improvement over the anger if it wasn’t tinged with that grim sadness.

“Maybe once or twice.” He held out his hand to her. “If you’re coming, make it fast.”

“What about my bag?”

He gave her a look. “Good riddance. It’s too girlie for you anyway.”

Ignoring the fact that she thought the same thing when her mother had given it to her, she said, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that the whole ‘pink is for girls, blue is for boys’ gender color conventions probably offends your feminist sensibilities.”

They did. But the fact that he’d guessed that was mildly annoying. “Let me guess. Your favorite color is blue?”

His mouth quirked into something resembling a smile. “Get in the boat, Bambi.”

Bambi? She couldn’t decide whether the stripper name was better or worse than the slam at Jane Fonda’s regrettable photos on an antiaircraft gun on a visit to Hanoi during the Vietnam War.

To get to the ladder, she had to climb over the gunwale. There was usually a step stool, but she couldn’t find it, so she started to lift her leg to roll over only to be grabbed from behind.

She recognized the stench of leather and cigarettes even before he spoke.

It was her turn to swear. Cutting the engine or dropping the anchor must have woken him.

“Going somewhere, mademoiselle?” Jean Paul asked, mock laughter in his voice. The single arm wrapped around her waist was surprisingly strong as he swept her around to look down over the side. “Get out of the boat, Captain.”

Annie looked at Dan, and oddly it was his expression and not the fact that she was being manhandled and threatened by Jean Paul that made her heart stop.

Maybe she should reconsider the psychopathic-killer thing. The captain looked cold, deadly, dangerous, and utterly in control. That “you don’t want to fuck with me” air was back with a vengeance.

“Let her go,” he said in a voice as hard as steel. “Annie is coming with me.”

“Neither of you is going anywhere.” Jean Paul had barely finished when he backed up his words by pulling something from his coat pocket.

Oh God, it was a gun. A SIG Sauer semiautomatic pistol to be specific. Her father had carried a similar weapon—a SIG P226—as his service sidearm as a Ranger and later when he’d been recruited for Delta. The Beretta M9 had been standard issue, but he’d preferred the SIG. Why she thought that was important right now, she didn’t know.

Unfortunately, if the way Jean Paul was holding it was any indication, he knew how to use it.

He had the gun aimed at the captain, but when it didn’t make him move fast enough he moved it to her head. She’d been struggling to get free, but at the sensation of the cold metal kissing her temple, she stilled. Her heart was thumping like an out-of-control freight train, but her mind seemed to open—as if she could see everything in extraordinary detail.

“Wait!” Annie heard Julien’s voice from behind her. He must have just come up from below. “What are you doing? You said she wouldn’t get hurt.”

“She won’t,” Jean Paul said. “As long as the captain doesn’t do anything stupid.” He looked back down at Dan. “What’s it going to be, Captain?” He seemed to be reading Dan’s mind aloud. “Take your chances in the boat, and the girl is killed either before or after I fire at you. You might get away—you might not. We’ll both have to live with her death on our hands. I assure you it will mean nothing to me, but can you say the same?” He smiled smugly. “Maybe I was wrong about what I saw, but I don’t think so.”

Whatever he meant, Dan didn’t argue the point. “What’s to stop you from putting a bullet in my head as soon as I’m up there?”

“Nothing,” Jean Paul said with an indifferent shrug. “You’ll just have to trust me. But until I’m sure that Claude can captain the boat, I do have incentive to keep you around.”

“Fair enough,” Dan said.

Annie didn’t know what was more surreal: that she had a gun pointed to her head or the way that they were calmly talking about murder.

A moment later, Dan was standing by her side. As glad as she was for the company right now, she wished she hadn’t gotten him into this.

Jean Paul moved the gun from her head, and she exhaled, not realizing until that moment that she’d been holding her breath. It wasn’t quite with relief, however, as the gun was still pointed in her direction. He was eyeing the captain as if he were a dangerous animal that could attack at any time.

“There are some plastic zip ties in my bag,” Jean Paul said to Claude, who’d suddenly appeared next to Julien. “Go get them.”

Neither man looked happy about the situation, but Julien was the only one staring at her with big puppy dog eyes, pleading for understanding. To keep the analogy going . . . he was barking up the wrong tree.

Claude returned a moment later with the entire bag.

“Secure his hands first,” Jean Paul instructed, nodding toward Dan.

The captain didn’t protest and held out his hands. He seemed oddly complacent. Maybe too complacent. It didn’t seem to go along with what she knew of him. She would have said he was a born fighter.

Obviously she’d watched too many Tom Hardy movies—she was confusing Dan with one of the characters portrayed by the actor.

Or maybe not. Jean Paul must have picked up on it as well. “Use two,” he said after Claude finished securing the first. Waving the gun toward the gunwale, Jean Paul ordered Dan to “Get down against the side.”

The captain sat as instructed, and a moment later, Claude was securing one of the ties around his ankles. It wasn’t easy to do with the captain’s boots, but the tie was just long enough.

It was her turn next. Jean Paul finally released her and pushed her toward Claude. Her hands were secured—with only one tie—and she was ordered to sit next to the captain.

She was happy to do so and might have sat a little closer to him than was necessary. But she couldn’t deny that the heat and press of his powerful body against hers were comforting. Maybe big and muscular did have their time and place. Sadly her education and PhD hadn’t prepared her for being taken captive by ecoterrorists. She would allow herself this Tarzan/Jane moment of awareness, but when it was all over, she would go back to independent and strong on her own.

While Claude was securing the tie around her ankles, Dan asked, “You okay?”

She nodded. “I’m fine.” She looked at him, her heart suddenly in her throat. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded in acknowledgment. “Don’t worry. It will be all right.”

She wanted to believe him, and oddly enough she did. Maybe it was the certainty in his voice or the utter calmness of his demeanor, but she felt her spirits lift.

“Claude,” Jean Paul said. “See if you can get the boat running again.”

Claude headed to the wheelhouse while Jean Paul and Julien stood guard. Jean Paul was leaning against the opposite side of the boat, smoking a cigarette while holding the gun on them. He’d given himself plenty of room to react if the captain tried anything. Julien stood a few feet away at the rail, also smoking, looking out to sea with his back to her—almost as if he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze.

Weak.

Maybe her father hadn’t been all wrong.

The weather had turned since they’d left Stornoway, with the sun disappearing behind a gray cloud of the famous Scottish mist, the temperature dropping by at least twenty degrees, and the wind picking up. She was glad she’d grabbed her featherlight down jacket when she snuck out of the room, but wished she had her Red Sox hat. They were her favorite team, courtesy of their spring training facilities at the time being not too far from where she’d been born in Florida.

“Here,” the captain said, lifting his hands in front of him to pull off his hat. “It will keep your head warm.”

Annie blinked at him. Did he read minds?

He mistook her hesitation. “It’s cleaner than it looks.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that. What about you?”

“I’m used to it. Besides, my jacket has a hood if I need it.”

He had on a Gor-Tex rain shell over a fleece sweatshirt.

She nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

He adjusted it smaller, slipping it on her head. It was still a little loose but so warm she didn’t care.

“What are you doing over there?” Jean Paul said, catching the movement.

“She was cold,” the captain said. “I just gave her my hat.”

“I could get you another jacket from the room,” Julien offered eagerly, obviously anxious to do something—anything—to get back on her good side.

It wasn’t going to happen. Nothing killed a faltering relationship like a case full of explosives and having a gun pointed at her head.

“No one is going anywhere,” Jean Paul said.

He was more correct than he realized, as he discovered a few minutes later when Claude returned.

“I can’t get it started,” Claude said.

Of Julien’s friends, Claude had always been the most friendly toward her. She’d always liked him and was disappointed that he was involved with this. How could seemingly normal people think it was okay to blow up something to prove their point? Was it like some kind of cult? Did they get brainwashed or sucked in and lose their sense of reality?

Jean Paul came over to stand before the captain, the gun pointed right at him. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

Jean Paul moved the gun to her and repeated the question. “Want to try again, Captain?”

Dan obviously decided not to test him further. “I pulled a few wires. I’ll show you if you want.”

Jean Paul laughed. “I don’t think so. You’ll stay here and tell me what to do.”

Apparently Claude’s boat skills didn’t include anything mechanical. She didn’t need to guess who had made the explosive devices. Obviously Jean Paul had picked up enough technical knowledge to make him think he could handle it.

Dan described what he’d done to the wires and how to put them back. “When the light comes on, you’ll know you did it right.”

Annie didn’t miss that he hadn’t mentioned the kill switch in the wheelhouse.

“You better hope this works.”

Dan didn’t appear concerned. “It will if you do it right.”

Jean Paul handed the gun to Julien, who took it none too happily. “Shoot him if he moves.” He turned to Claude. “Help him keep an eye on them, but be ready to try to start it again when I call up.”

Annie looked at Dan. His expression didn’t give anything away, but she sensed this was exactly what he’d wanted.

•   •   •

Dean was biding his time, waiting for the opportunity to make his move, and this was it.

But he’d have to act fast. He’d given confusing directions, but replacing a few wires wouldn’t take too long. He wanted that gun before Jean Paul came back. One look in that bastard’s eyes, and Dean knew he wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

Julien, on the other hand, looked less certain. Clearly things weren’t going the way he’d planned. And just as clearly he hadn’t been deceiving Annie about everything—he honestly seemed to care about her. He kept staring at her pleadingly, which Dean was about to use to his advantage.

“Talk to him,” he said under his breath.

She didn’t hesitate or look at him questioningly, understanding immediately where he was going with this.

Apparently she had a few questions ready for her former boyfriend. “How could you deceive me like this, Julien? I thought you cared about me.”

Julien looked so relieved that she was talking to him that Dean almost felt sorry for him. Julien glanced first to Claude, who, unlike Jean Paul, didn’t appear to object to him talking to her.

“I do care about you,” he said. “I thought you felt the same way as I did. That you were passionate enough to want to see things changed and that this was the only way to get them to listen to us.”

“By killing people?” she said incredulously. “You thought I would understand blowing up a ship or think that will get anyone to listen to you? It just makes you a terrorist. You are only turning the oil companies into the victims and alienating anyone who might support you.”

Julien had the gall to look offended. But he’d stood up while she was talking and stepped toward her as he talked. “We weren’t going to kill anyone, were we, Claude?”

The other man hesitated before shaking his head. Interesting.

“Our plan wasn’t to blow up the ship, just the moorings,” Julien explained to Annie. “When the ship broke free, the drill would be destroyed.”

“And what if there was oil in there?” she demanded angrily. “You would be doing exactly what we were fighting to prevent.”

“That’s a lot of explosives to just blow up a few moorings,” Dean interjected dryly.

As he’d hoped, Julien didn’t appreciate his butting in. He took a few more steps toward him and waved the gun at him. Unlike Jean Paul, Julien didn’t seem to have much experience with firearms—which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. He could accidentally shoot.

“Shut up,” Julien said to Dean. “And stay out of it. What the hell do you know?”

“Enough to suspect that you are part of OPF”—Dean had been briefed a while back on Ocean Protection Front and wasn’t surprised when his stab in the dark elicited surprise from Julien—“and that your fearless leader was lying to you and had no intention of targeting just the moorings.” Dean saw something flicker across Claude’s face. “Ask your partner over there.”

“Is this true?” Julien said, turning to Claude.

It was the opening Dean was waiting for. In one harsh move he lifted his hands above his head and pulled them down and apart, snapping the ties with the force of the movement. His feet were even easier as Julien had become flustered by his boots and ended up threading the zip tie in the wrong direction.

Dean was out of practice, but his two opponents weren’t well trained and obviously hadn’t had much experience in Close Quarter Battle (CQB) and hand-to-hand combat.

Dean had both.

Before Julien could spin around, Dean had already used his foot to knock him off balance. Keeping an eye on the hand with the gun the whole time—cognizant that Julien could squeeze the trigger in fear—Dean grabbed Julien’s wrist, holding it firm before snapping his elbow over his knee. The gun fell harmlessly to the floor, and Dean kicked it away from Claude, who was only now reacting.

Julien was moaning—Dean had probably broken his arm—but he shut him up quickly with a sharp blow to the head. Better.

Claude had initially started toward Dean, but seeing how efficiently Dean had dealt with his partner, he’d reconsidered and started backing off toward the stairs.

Dean was on him in a few seconds and quieted him as well with a couple of well-placed blows, but unfortunately not before Claude had called out a warning.

Dean doubted Jean Paul had heard him, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Pulling a multitool from his jeans, he sliced Annie’s ties with the knife while pocketing the gun that had come to rest not far from her feet. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

He could feel her eyes on him. When he finally met her gaze, he wasn’t surprised to see her expression. It was shock tinged with a bit of awe and fear. Unfortunately he didn’t have time to reassure her.

Machine. He didn’t know why he remembered that now.

“Get some of those ties from the bag and secure them. They should be out for a while, but I don’t want to take any chances.” He looked at her again, holding her gaze. “Annie, do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Good, and do a better job than your boyfriend over there. Make sure they are on right.”

That snapped her back to attention. Her eyes flashed angrily. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Dean smiled. “Good.”

He was almost to the door when she stopped him. “Be careful.”

He nodded. “Get them tied up, all right?”

He was halfway down the stairs when the lights went out.

He swore. Although it was still daylight, with the storm brewing the skies weren’t giving off much light. It wasn’t pitch-black, but it was dark belowdecks.

One of two things had just happened. If he was lucky, Jean Paul had crossed a couple of wires, interfering with the electrical system. If he was unlucky, Jean Paul had heard Claude’s warning.

Dean wasn’t going to count on luck. Retracing his steps, he returned to the deck. Seeing Annie still in the midst of tying them up, he put his finger over his mouth to warn her and continued around to the forward stairs that led directly into the engine room.

Retrieving a couple of flares from one of the seats that held safety equipment, he poised himself over the entrance and tossed them down.

Now he had some light, and from the gasp of shock, he knew where to look before he jumped down. He was ready. Jean Paul had found a piece of wood and attempted to level it at his head, but Dean ducked and retaliated with a hard punch to the kidneys.

The other man crumpled but didn’t fall, managing to swing the wood against Dean’s jaw. The blow both surprised him and pissed him off.

He tackled Jean Paul to the floor. He was a slippery bastard and almost managed to roll away, but Dean got his arm around his neck in a choke hold first. A few seconds later Jean Paul went slack.

Carrying him up in a fireman’s hold, Dean deposited him—none too gently (his jaw was stinging, damn it)—next to his future cell mates and helped Annie tie him up.

Seeing his face, she gasped and unconsciously reached over to cradle the side of his face in her incredibly soft hand. “You’re hurt.”

He shook his head. It must be as bad as it felt if she could see it through the beard. “I’m fine,” he said, shaking her off, his voice gruff from the strange knot in his chest. “Let’s get out of here.”

With the men incapacitated, there was really no reason to take her with him, but he could see how traumatized she was by what had just happened, and he couldn’t stomach trying to leave her behind again. Yep, the guy who didn’t shrink from anything was pussying out. But he’d get rid of her as soon as he could.