Eight

What was she doing down here? Clearly Annie had watched too many movies. Who did she think she was, sneaking around like this, superspy? There wasn’t anything down here.

The first two cases Annie opened contained exactly what they were supposed to: grappling ladders and other climbing equipment that they would use to board the ship. The third contained camera equipment for them to film.

One more and she was out of here. She pulled one of the newer-looking suitcase-sized cases from the stack and flipped open the lid.

She froze. Her stomach dropped, and most of the blood in her body went to the floor along with it.

The small storage room near the engine room only had a single overhead bulb for light, but it was enough to make out the plastic-wrapped cylinders taped together in bundles of three with duct tape, a yellow-and-black cord wound through them. They looked like packages of cookie dough or breakfast sausage.

That wasn’t what they were.

She stared at the contents with a mixture of disbelief and horror. Although she’d never seen explosive devices before, it didn’t take an expert to know what she was looking at.

Fear set in, and she quickly closed the lid—as if that would somehow make them go away. Her skin was like ice as she backed out of the room and closed the door.

She was so scared that she couldn’t think. God, she was shaking! What were they planning to do? Blow up the drillship? Julien must be crazy if he thought she would go along with anything like that.

She returned to her room and lay down on one of the berths, no longer needing to feign sickness as she listened for sounds of the men above. She’d claimed not to be feeling well and left them to their lunch. But she couldn’t stay down here forever.

What was she going to do now?

Her thoughts went to one person. The captain was involved with this whether he wanted to be or not. She suspected not.

But this was partially his fault anyway. He was the one who’d made her paranoid with that “what the hell are you involved with?” look he’d given her as they boarded the ship. If he hadn’t looked at her that way, she wouldn’t have had second thoughts. And if she hadn’t been having second thoughts, she wouldn’t have gone looking for trouble after she’d overheard Julien and Jean Paul talking a little while ago.

She’d been going through the dive equipment on deck but had gone back into the galley to refill her water bottle, when she heard voices in the adjoining room that served as a multipurpose lounge and dining room.

“Give me a little more time to convince her,” Julien had said. “I know she’ll come around.”

“We don’t have any more time,” Jean Paul responded. “If you don’t convince her, I will.”

Annie realized they were talking about her, and then, as now, her blood had run cold. She’d confronted Julien with what she’d heard when he came out to help her later, but he’d claimed Jean Paul had just been worried that she’d back out. He’d been convincing at the moment, but the conversation had replayed over and over in her head so many times she couldn’t let it go.

She’d known they were talking about something else, so while they were eating lunch, she’d decided to look in a few of the cases the captain had been so curious about. But never in her life could she have imagined this.

Jean Paul, Julien, and Claude were ecoterrorists, and she’d been stupid enough to get mixed up in whatever it was that they had planned.

Explosives. Good God, people could be killed. Her stomach turned for the God-knew-how-many-eth time.

There was no question: she had to tell the captain. He could radio for help or turn around or help her figure out a way to stop whatever they had planned. It wasn’t that she trusted him—though oddly she kind of did—but she didn’t have anyone else to turn to and she couldn’t very well commandeer the boat herself.

As she stepped out of the sleeping quarters into the narrow hall, the boat swayed, making her painfully conscious of her situation. Every scary movie she’d ever seen that took place on a boat picked that moment to come back to her. She was alone with a horrible secret, miles away from shore, surrounded by a bunch of extremists with explosives. Julien wouldn’t hurt her, but she couldn’t be as sure of the other two.

Her plan to talk to the captain had one problem: he was in the wheelhouse—where he’d been since leaving her so abruptly after helping her with her bag—which was stacked atop the deck level galley and lounge, accessed by metal ladderlike stairs on the opposite side. Meaning she would have to go out on deck and try to slip around where the three men were eating without being seen.

She didn’t even make it all the way up the stairs before Jean Paul cornered her.

Her heart leaped to her throat, but she tried to play it cool. “Hey.”

He didn’t respond. He was looking down the hall behind her. She turned to see what had caught his attention.

Oh God. She’d left the light on in the storage room, and the telltale glow was visible beneath the door.

Her skin prickled, fear setting all her instincts on edge. Had he guessed that she’d been snooping, and what she’d discovered?

Mustering every ounce of courage that she could, she turned back around to face him. Don’t be stupid. She wasn’t going to be that girl in the movie who gave everything away with her terrified expression.

“Excuse me,” she said with an irritated flip of her chin, trying to go around him.

He stepped in front of her, blocking her and clearly trying to intimidate her. He wasn’t a big man, but size didn’t seem to be limiting his menace any.

“Where are you going?” he asked. “I thought you weren’t feeling well.”

She looked him straight in the eye, giving no hint to the frantic race of her pulse and beat of her heart. “I thought some fresh air might help.”

“I will go with you.”

“That isn’t necessary. I was going to find Julien.”

Jean Paul held her gaze as if he knew she was lying. “You should do that.”

He stepped aside. She thought it was to let her pass, but he reached out to grab her arm as she went by. She’d changed earlier into warmer clothes, but even through the down of her coat, his touch repulsed her. He had on the ridiculous leather jacket and smelled of wine and cigarettes and sweat.

“Let go of me,” she said in a low, steely voice, which was surprising for how scared she was.

He did as she said with a small smirk. “Do what you are supposed to do, mademoiselle, and we won’t have any problems.”

There was no mistaking the threat. He suspected what she’d seen.

Knowing that the best thing she could do right now was to pretend to be with them, Annie said, “I will do whatever it takes to stop the drilling. Whether you and I have ‘problems,’ I don’t really care.”

The fierceness of her reply seemed to surprise him. She must have been a better actor than she realized, because he let her go.

Instead of going outside for fresh air, she took a seat beside Julien in the lounge and tried to act normal—or at least as normal as she could under the circumstances.

The next couple of hours were torture as she pretended nothing was wrong while waiting for the chance to talk to the captain. He came down once to grab coffee and something to eat while Julien, Claude, and Jean Paul were still heavy into their post-lunch wine. Annie never drank before she went diving. Although she had no intention of diving anywhere with these guys, and could have used something to calm her nerves, Julien would notice.

She jumped up as soon as the captain came in, and offered to make him a fresh pot of coffee so she could go into the galley with him, but he said it wasn’t necessary, and she was forced to sit back down. When he came back out, he seemed to be doing his best not to look at her, not giving her a chance for some kind of silent communication. She felt like one of those hostages taken to the bank to empty their account and helplessly trying to alert the clueless teller that something was wrong. He wasn’t clueless, more deliberately avoiding. The darkness and anger had returned.

Dan left a few minutes after he came in, leaving Annie resigned to the fact that she was going to have to wait to talk to him until everyone went down to rest. But every time she tried to steer them downstairs, Julien would say, “Just a minute” and launch back into the current political discussion.

They were talking about renewed problems in Crimea. It was exactly the type of conversation that would have held her enthralled a few weeks ago—Julien and his friends’ take was always so different and she liked hearing their perspective—but that had all changed now that she’d learned he was some kind of psycho extremist.

She listened closely for something that she might have missed—something that should have alerted her—but even with what she knew now, he sounded so reasonable.

She still felt like such a fool. How could she not have realized what was going on? She’d been so blinded by Julien she hadn’t seen anything beyond his good looks and charm. He’d seemed so perfect. They cared about the same things, thought the same way . . .

Suddenly the realization hit her. That was probably the point. He’d made himself appealing to her. Oh God—she’d been honeypotted! How completely humiliating. Admittedly she didn’t have that much experience with men—she’d had a couple of long-term boyfriends over the years—but she didn’t want to think of herself as being so gullible. Or worse, desperate.

Annie didn’t think she needed a man to “complete” herself, by any means, but had she unconsciously been worried? She wanted a family. A companion. Children. Here she was, twenty-six years old, finishing up grad school, and she hadn’t had a serious date since her last boyfriend . . . two years ago. She winced, realizing how long it had been.

Had it made her a little too eager? Too willing to ignore things that didn’t seem quite right?

No, she’d been perfectly happy before Julien came along. There was plenty of time for everything else.

But she couldn’t deny that it had been exciting, having someone like Julien romancing her.

Annie had begun to fear that they would never rest as they’d planned when Jean Paul finally stood up. “We should all try to get some sleep. We’ve a long night ahead of us.”

“What time are we due to arrive?” Claude asked.

“Just before dark,” Jean Paul said. “Around ten.”

In other words she had about six hours.

“We should be in the water no later than two a.m.,” Jean Paul added. He looked meaningfully at Julien. “I trust that will give you enough time to make sure everything is ready?”

Julien nodded with an anxious look in her direction. Apparently she was “everything.”

After going below, Claude and Jean Paul went into the room on the right; she and Julien went into the one across the hall on the left. As soon as Julien shut the door behind them, he tried to broach the subject. “I need to talk to you about tonight.”

It was small comfort that he looked as if he wanted to throw up.

She forced a smile to her face. “Can it wait until after we get some rest? I’m suddenly exhausted.”

He heaved a heavy sigh of relief like a man who’d just been given a stay of execution. “We are supposed to meet Jean Paul and Claude at ten, so I’ll set the alarm for nine.”

“Sounds good.”

He thought he would only need one hour to convince her? Did he think her so malleable? She was even more insulted, which under the circumstances was ridiculous. Must be some kind of gallows humor.

Annie was glad for the single berths, as she didn’t have to get into bed with him. She doubted her acting abilities would go far enough to prevent her from cringing if he tried to touch her.

Wrapping the wool blanket around her shoulders, she turned toward the wall and curled up to wait.

It didn’t take long. The dark, windowless room, the gentle lull of the ship, and the three glasses of wine soon put him in a nap-time coma.

But she forced herself to listen to his steady breathing for nearly an hour before slipping out of bed to go in search of the captain.

•   •   •

Normally Dean liked the time alone at the helm, staring for hours out the window, watching the mesmerizing roll of the ocean that stretched as far as the eye could see.

It was relaxing. Normally. But today there wasn’t anywhere to hide from his thoughts, and his daytime fantasies were anything but relaxing. They had his body primed in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. Not even the soothing croon of Adele’s latest was helping.

When the clouds thickened into gray mist, darkening the skies with a burgeoning storm, it only grew worse. The walls seemed to be closing in on him.

He needed to get some air.

He stood up and reached for the door just as it flew open.

Annie ran straight into his arms. At least it seemed that way at the time. But maybe it was just because he’d been thinking about her for most of the afternoon, and quite a few of those thoughts involved her showing up here, falling into his arms, and christening the wheelhouse for the rest of the day.

He’d never had sex at the helm, but he’d been imagining all kinds of creative ways to give it a try.

Reflexively his arms came around her to pull her in close. The feel of those spectacular breasts crushed against his chest and her hips pressing against the part of him that was stiff and throbbing released a little of the pressure he’d been holding in with a groan.

The sound startled her, cutting off whatever she’d been about to say. Instead her eyes locked on his.

Through the haze of lust he realized something was wrong, but he couldn’t seem to see beyond her eyes—they were such an incredible shade of green—her smooth and creamy cocoa-butter skin, and her really soft-looking mouth. A mouth that was red and ripe and gently parted as if waiting to be kissed.

The urge rose inside him, powerful and overwhelming. He didn’t think anything could stop him from lowering his head and putting his mouth on hers.

“Capt—” she started. “Dan.” The sound of the false name sounded so wrong coming from her it brought him harshly back to reality.

He let her go and stepped back.

Christ, what the hell was that?

“I . . . I . . .” She blinked a few times—as if clearing her head (he knew the feeling), and then seemed to remember what she’d wanted to say. “I need to talk to you.”

Furious at himself for how he’d reacted, and how easily he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion about why she was here, he found his response a little harsher than he intended. After he turned down the music, he said, “So talk.”

“Adele?”

Yeah, he liked Adele—so shoot him. Despite what most of his friends thought, there were more than two types of music: country and western.

Putting aside her surprise at his musical taste, she launched into what had brought her. “We have to do something. They are planning . . . Oh God, I don’t know what they are planning, but it isn’t good.”

Anger and embarrassment took a backseat when he realized how upset she was, but he was having a hard time following her. “Slow down, take a breath, and tell me what happened.”

His voice seemed to calm her. She looked up at him almost gratefully, nodded, and took that deep breath before continuing. “I wasn’t completely honest with you about what we were planning to do. It wasn’t just a dive or to make a film.”

He finished for her. “You are going to try to board the drillship and stage some kind of sit-in.”

She didn’t seem all that surprised that he’d guessed. “That’s what I thought, but then you gave me that look, and I heard Julien and Jean Paul talking about something, and I decided to become a superspy—more like Pandora actually.”

She was losing him again. What look? He had no idea what she was talking about, but whatever the hell it was, it was serious. “Just tell me what the problem is, Annie. I assume you aren’t just now realizing how out-of-your-mind dangerous it is to board a ship in the middle of the ocean or that you would be arrested.”

She gave him a glare that would have curdled milk. “Of course I knew that, but those were risks I was willing to take if it meant someone would finally listen to what we were saying and put an end to the exploratory drilling.”

“So your little illegal publicity stunt is okay because you have good intentions? A pirate isn’t a pirate as long as he has convictions—is that it?”

“Pirate?” She looked horrified by the comparison. But that was exactly what they would be doing. “We aren’t hurting anyone.”

“What about all the time and resources that go into getting you off that damned boat safely? Not to mention the men who risk their lives to do so. I hate to break it to you, but causing problems and putting others in danger isn’t the way to convince people to see your side.”

“I . . . God, why are we arguing about this? That isn’t the problem. I went into the storage room where the cases are being stored while the others were eating lunch. In one of them, I found something that looks like explosives.”

Dean’s demeanor changed in an instant. He got real serious, real quick. He took her arm and drew her closer to him, forcing her to look at him. “What the hell do you mean, it looks like explosives? What did you see?”

She described—a little hesitantly, given the change that had come over him—the plastic-wrapped cylinders that looked like cookie dough, taped together with black-and-yellow cording, which presumably was the det cord to set off the blasting cap.

Dean swore, and let her go. He returned to his instruments and charts, making sure he had their position fixed before turning on the autopilot.

“What are you doing?” Annie asked, her voice anxious. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

Dean turned to her, barely able to contain his rage. It was mostly directed at himself, but she was wrapped up in there as well. “I heard what you said. I’m making sure we don’t crash while you take me down and show me what you found.”

They took the forward stairs from the deck so they didn’t have to go by the sleeping quarters, approaching the storage room from the door that linked the hall to the engine room. His quarters were tucked in between.

“I didn’t realize it was all connected down here like this,” Annie said.

Dean didn’t say anything. He was too furious. But it was far worse a few moments later when he was staring down at enough C4 to blow this ship to fucking kingdom come. He was apoplectic.

He’d known this job was a mistake. He should have listened to his instincts. But his damned hero complex had gotten in the way. He’d suspected that Annie was in some kind of trouble and hadn’t been able to walk away. And now what she was telling him could ruin everything and put lives at stake—the least being his own.

Lie low. Keep your head down.

Becoming involved in an ecoterrorist plot was about as far from that as he could have managed. The authorities would be all over this. His cover was good, but not that good.

Damn it, why the hell hadn’t he followed orders? He’d screwed up big-time. Again. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? Brian’s face flashed before him, and Dean’s self-directed anger only grew worse. He should have listened to the LC, but he had to go rushing in. Forward was the only direction he knew.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” Annie asked. “Is it bad?”

Somehow he held on to the last thread long enough before snapping to drag her into the engine room, where they wouldn’t be heard. “What the hell do you think? Yes, it’s bad. Your little friends have enough explosives in there to blow up a couple ships, killing God knows how many people, and putting all our lives in jeopardy.”

And so much more.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wringing her hands anxiously. “I didn’t know. I didn’t have any idea what they planned. I would never have gotten involved with them if I had.”

“No, you were too busy running around saving the world to actually stop and think about what you were doing. Do-gooders like you are so damned naive. You sit in your idealistic ivory tower bubble, pontificating and passing judgment with no conception of how the real world operates. Well, this is the real world, Annie. It’s full of horrible people like your friends out there who are waiting to take advantage of you. But your heart was too busy bleeding to see what was right in front of you. And then when the shit inevitably hits the fan, you expect someone to be there to come to the rescue and clean up your fucking mess.”

She didn’t shrink from his anger—or from his tirade. It was almost as if she’d heard it before. “You sound just like my father. But what’s the alternative? Not caring? Should I sit aside and let all these beautiful islands be destroyed by corporate greed for something we need to be trying to conserve, not keep drilling for more? Maybe I was naive and got involved with the wrong people, but I won’t apologize for standing up for what I believe in whether you think it’s worthwhile or not.” She stopped and suddenly seemed to realize something. Her eyes shot to his. “You have an accent! You aren’t Canadian—you’re American.” Her eyes narrowed accusingly. “Texan if I’m hearing it right. God, that’s perfect!”

It obviously wasn’t. What did she have against the Lone Star State? The best state in the damned country?

But Dean didn’t say anything. Forgetting to cover up his accent was the least of his worries right now.

His biggest was figuring out how to get out of this mess without bringing half of Scotland’s police force down on top of him. No one could know he’d survived the blast—no one. Not until he figured out how the Russians knew they were coming, and why they’d been set up—if that was indeed what had happened.

If anyone found out that not all the platoon had perished in that explosion, they—whoever they were—would come after him. He was a loose end.

And if there was one survivor, they might ask if there were others. He didn’t need any more deaths on his conscience.

Dean swore, knowing exactly what he had to do. He had to get the hell off this boat.

He started toward his cabin, putting Annie out of his mind—or trying to—until she latched hold of his arm. “Wait. Why did you lie to me? Who are you?”

“No one you want to know. So if I were you, I’d stay the hell out of my way.”

Annie dropped his arm, obviously startled by his tone. Later maybe he’d feel guilty for taking his anger out on her, but not right now. Right now he was too pissed. Pandora, all right. She had no fucking idea of the potential shit storm she’d just opened.

He went into his room, threw a few things in a backpack, and looped it over his shoulders before moving back into the engine room. He looked around at the pipes, hoses, and vents stacked around twin diesel engines. On the far wall, he flipped a few safety switches and removed a cover to undo a few thick red wires, before replacing it. That should do it. As soon as he cut the engine, it wouldn’t be starting again anytime soon. Not without someone who knew what they were doing—and the Euro trio didn’t strike him as the mechanical types.

“Is that the ignition system? Why are you disabling the starter?” Annie asked with all that accusation he’d been trying to avoid.

Apparently she was the mechanical type. For some reason that didn’t surprise him. First diving, now boats? If she wasn’t tossing back all that granola, he might be in love.

He was aware that she’d been shadowing him, but he’d been trying not to notice. Right.

“I’m getting out of here, and I don’t want anyone following me.”

Ignoring the Bambi “you killed my mother” eyes that were now widening with shock and dawning understanding, he made his way up to the wheelhouse before they could turn accusing. He grabbed the emergency handheld marine radio, a few navigation maps, and a heavy-duty Mag flashlight before cutting the engine and letting the anchor drop. For good measure he flipped the kill switch.

He didn’t meet Annie’s gaze as he walked past her out the door and back down the ladder, and made his way aft along the deck to the inflatable. He went to work lowering it with the dinghy crane. He could use another set of hands to keep the inflatable steady with the ropes, but he wasn’t too worried about scratching the sides of the tug. As long as it didn’t flip, he’d be fine.

“Wait,” Annie said with all the accusation he hadn’t wanted to see. “You can’t mean to leave me here with them.”

“That’s exactly what I mean to do.” She’d gotten herself into this mess; she could get herself out. Where was that feminist ideology of hers now?

He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder. He might as well have just shot her puppy. She looked at him as if he were the worst kind of ogre. Guilt began to worm its way into his consciousness.

He wasn’t an asshole—not usually, at least. “Look,” he said in a more reassuring voice. “Don’t worry. I’ll radio the coast guard as soon as I’m clear to explain what’s going on.”

The inflatable splashed as it hit the water. All he had to do now was climb in and release the rope harness.

But she wasn’t letting him go. Her hand on his arm was proving to be a pretty strong tether. “What about the explosives?”

“They won’t be able to use them if the ship can’t go anywhere. But if it makes you feel better, there’s a key to the storage room in the top drawer of the table by my bed. Lock the door and toss the key in the ocean. It’s a steel door. They won’t break it down before the coast guard arrives.”

He tried to tell himself she didn’t look panicked. It wasn’t working. But he forced himself over the side anyway.

He was halfway down the ladder to the boat when she said the one thing he couldn’t ignore. The one thing guaranteed to stop him. The one thing that tapped right into all that can’t-look-away shit.

“What if they’re dangerous?”