Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) (16 page)

Something wasn’t right.

He crept forward. Crimson droplets of blood on the white linoleum stopped him in his tracks. He hunched his shoulders and forced Grace back.

She pushed, the heels of her hands digging into his kidneys. A strangled cry passed her lips. He grit his teeth to keep from cursing.

He whirled. “Back,” he mouthed, gesturing to the sliding glass doors.

Eyes wide, she had the gall to shake her head and attempt to walk around him. Would this woman never do what she was told?

He jerked her behind him before following the dried blood path to the small alcove that served as a living area. A couch, a coffee table and a recliner made up the furnishings in the room. A dark, narrow hallway stretched in front of them, presumably leading to the bedroom.

The crack of splintering wood broke the tense silence.

He wrenched Grace behind the recliner and pushed her to the floor. “Get down!”

With nowhere else to hide, Keith crouched alongside the chair, lifted his gun and pointed it into the darkness.

A shadowy figure burst from the broken door at the end of the hall. Keith sighted down the barrel of the gun and followed the figure as it executed a clumsy, frantic scramble up the dark hallway.

A bloody hand emerged into the sunlight, smearing a red print on the tan carpet. The rest of the man followed, his face bloodied almost beyond recognition, his clothes soaked in his own blood.

Mark.

The man looked like the walking dead, crawling across the floor.

Mark’s mouth opened and closed in short jerky movements.

“Go.” The tortured, hoarse word spent the last of his energy and he collapsed on the carpet.

Keith’s pulse spiked. Where was the kid?

Grace crawled from the cover of the recliner. “Mark?”

He lunged for her. “Grace, stop. Get back here.”

She kicked at his hands, slipping past him. “Oh, my God. Mark.” Her whisper dropped in the room like a lead ball weighted with horror.

“G...Gr...” Blood trickled from Mark’s mouth. His wild, glazed eyes darted frantically around the interior of the boat.

What had those sons of bitches done to him? The amount of blood on Mark’s clothing indicated multiple stab wounds, and God knew what other form of torture he’d endured.

“Gotta...g...go,” Mark rasped. He coughed, a spurt of blood bubbled past his lips.

“We’ll get you out of here.” Grace took Mark’s face in her hands. “Where’s Ryker?”

The kid wasn’t here. If he were, Mark would never have left the bedroom.

The hair on the back of Keith’s neck suddenly prickled. Something wasn’t...they had to get out of here...now. He gripped Grace’s shoulders and hauled her to her feet.

Her hands slid off Mark’s face. “No, wait.”

Outside, a speedboat revved its engine and sideswiped the Saving Grace as it came to a screeching halt. The houseboat rocked beneath his feet and pitched him forward. He stumbled, loosing his hold on Grace.

His muscles strained taut, he planted his booted feet, shifted his stance and hauled Grace to his side. Four men burst through the galley and hemmed them in, two on each side. Grace’s clammy hand found his and clutched tightly. He sent her an answering squeeze.

Keep quiet.

Tough to do when forced to look down the barrels of four wicked submachine guns.

Her tight, shallow breathing was her only answer. Thank God.

One of the men wrestled his HK out of his hand. Outnumbered, outgunned, and shit out of luck unless he came up with a plan.

“Where’s Ryker?” Grace’s reedy voice rippled across the thick tension.

And, damn it all,
that
was certainly not it.

Tension exploded across his brow. The man in front of him looked way too trigger-happy. Short, with a sneer curling underneath his mustache, the man had an edgy glint in his eyes Keith recognized as a thrill for inflicting pain. The man next to him just looked bored, which didn’t fool Keith in the least.

These men wanted something. Otherwise all three of them would already be cold and dead. He needed to find out what and get Grace off the boat before this whole scenario turned deadly.

“Where is my son,” Grace repeated.

He squeezed Grace’s hand. Tighter.

Be quiet!

The taller one facing them swiveled his gun at Grace and inclined his head. “He’s safe. For now.”

Keith glanced at Grace, trying to gauge her reaction to the gruff statement. Her eyes squeezed shut and her shoulders slumped in relief but a new, stronger tension seemed to stiffen her spine. A tension born of fury that glittered in her eyes when she opened them.

“Grace.” He barked her name rougher than intended, but he knew anger made people do stupid things. Reckless, impulsive, foolish things.

And Grace was on the verge.

He fisted a hand in the back of her shirt and tried to tug her behind him, out of target range. She just glared, first at him, then at the men surrounding them.

“I want my son.”

“Grace.”

Shorty smirked. “And you’ll get him. When you hand over the drive.”

She frowned. “Drive? What drive?”

“Grace,” he snapped. “Stop.”

“The flash drive.” Shorty lifted his booted foot and kicked Mark in the side of the head. “Your ex here refuses to give it to us.”

“No! Don’t!” Grace’s hand shot out.

Grace started to sink to her knees to help Mark, but Keith lunged for her, dragging her upright. They had a much better chance if they stayed on their feet. “We don’t know anything about—”

She batted his hands away and glared at the hired guns. “You’ll get the drive when I get my son.”

“What?” His heart twisted in his chest and sank to the pit of his stomach. What the hell was she doing? Sweat sprouted on his brow and trickled into his eyes, stinging him and impairing his vision. “Grace, no.”

She ignored him. “When my son is in my arms—safe and sound, without a scratch on him—and not a moment before.”

“This is bullshit.” Shorty snaked his free arm out and captured Grace, shoving his gun against her temple. “You’re not in any position to bargain, lady.”

Keith lunged for her. “Get your hands—hey—”

One of the silent bastards from behind wrapped an arm around his neck and dragged him back. His throat constricted and he gagged over the loss of air, flashes of light crowding his vision.

Knife. In his boot
.

He clawed at the man’s arm and twisted, trying to bend his body enough to reach the knife with his free hand.

Grace’s eyes went huge. Her mouth pulled tight into a horrified mask.

He gasped for breath. His fingers brushed the top of his boot. A...few...more...inches. He stretched and the hold on his neck crushed in on his windpipe further.

“You’re in no position to bargain either,” Grace said, stunning the hell out of him.

Time to keep your pretty mouth shut.

“You need the drive,” she continued, obviously missing his telepathic hint. “I have it. There’s only one way you’ll ever get it.”

Damn it all. How in the hell had this spiraled out of control so fast? He felt a foreign spurt of panic. He grunted and threw his weight toward the floor. His fingers slid the remaining distance inside his boot and connected with the hilt of the knife. His hand closed around it.

The two men exchanged a shrouded look and a nod that had Keith’s stomach clenching. Oh, damn. Not good.

“You want to negotiate? Tomorrow. Five o’clock,” Shorty snarled. “Bring the drive to Powell Park. If you’re late...” He pressed his lips to Grace’s cheek. “Kiss your son goodbye.”

Keith’s blood rushed white hot through his veins. He roared, and sprung upwards, knocking his assailant’s forearm aside with the tip of his knife. He lunged for Grace as Shorty pushed her to the floor and smashed her cheek into the carpet. Momentum threw Keith forward and he fell on top of Grace, hard. His knife slipped from his grasp and skittered uselessly under the couch.

He scrambled to his feet; ready to do battle with nothing more than his bare hands. But the four men had already moved to the back of the boat where they clamored up the steps and out of view.

Damn it!

“You okay?” Keith swiped sweat off his brow with lethal force and spun back to Grace, his breath heaving painfully from his chest. “Mind telling me what the hell you were doing?”

Her reply—if she’d even bothered to answer—was swallowed by the sudden rev of the speedboat as it raced away from the Saving Grace.

“Grace?”

He bent to catch her elbow, but she shrugged him off and crawled over to where Mark lay motionless on the carpet.

“Come on, Mark.” She tugged at his shoulders and tried to turn him on his back. “We’re going to get you out of here. Stick with us. Come on. We’ll get you to a hospital.”

Keith clenched his jaw and looked away unable to watch Grace plead with Mark. She’d suffered enough without adding Mark’s death on her already overburdened heart. But Mark would never make the trek to the hospital. His injuries were far too severe.

“Grace?” Mark’s voice was thin and full of confusion. Not a good sign. He struggled to lift his head. “I’m s...sorry. I tried. I thought...I could keep Ryker safe. Never meant for him...in danger.”

A blip of red on the couch caught Keith’s attention. He strode over to it and palmed the small black box. The LCD panel in the middle was blank, but the single red light blinked hot once more.

“No, don’t talk...I know,” Grace said, still bent over Mark, her voice clogged with emotion. “I’ll get Ryker back. I swear it.”

Keith’s blood turned to ice as he turned the box over in his hand. Holy shit, it was a detonator. He examined the trigger device and swore. No keypad, no switches. No shut-off whatsoever.

Suddenly, numbers lit across the LCD.

1:00

0:59

Aw, shit. “Mark. Is there a bomb onboard?”

Grace’s head whipped in Keith’s direction. He forced himself to ignore the way her face froze into a mask of panic and focused solely on Mark.

Mark’s pain glazed eyes locked on Keith as he fought to push himself off the floor. “Dis...arm?”

Keith grunted. “If I had more time, possible. But—” He glanced at the readout.
0:49

“Oh, God, Keith.” The news galvanized Grace into action. She grabbed Mark firmly about the waist, her hands digging into his bloodied clothing. “We’ve got to—Come on, Mark let’s—Keith, help me get Mark off the boat.”

“Keith.” Mark’s voice cut across the stifling interior like serrated rust. He coughed and spit more blood. “Get her out of here.”

“No. Don’t you dare. That’s not an option. We’re not leaving without you.” Grace tugged at Mark. He used what little strength he possessed to stay put. She speared Keith with an imploring glance. “We’re not leaving without him.”

Could he get all three of them off the boat? It was risky. His gut churned. Mark would not survive. He knew it. Endangering them all by trying to save Mark was irresponsible.

He tossed the detonator on the couch and reached for Grace. “Come on, Grace. We have no choice.”

She wrenched her elbow out of his grasp. “We can’t leave him!” Her hands fisted in Mark’s shirt. “We won’t leave you.”

Mark sucked in a thick, wet, breath. He inclined his head and locked eyes with Keith. “Must...for Ry...”

Mark knew this was the end of the road for him. Keith could see it in the set of his jaw, the determination in his sudden lucid gaze. Along with the silent command to take care of Grace and finish what they started.

He nodded. But, damn, if he didn’t feel uneasy. Conflicted and wildly out of control. “Sir. The drive?”

Grace gasped, her face turning pale. “No! Stop it. Help me!”

“At my office. It’s...Washington—” Mark gagged as his lungs continued to fill with blood. “Mon...u...ment.” He fell back. “Go...” Tears leaked from his clouded eyes and he clenched his teeth as he tried, unsuccessfully, to push Grace away.

The detonator beeped.

0:30.

Keith’s throat and eyes burned with the acid of regret. He was out of options.

He hauled Grace away from Mark. Her fingers clung to Mark’s shirt and she cried out when her hands slipped free.

“Keith.” Mark’s frenzied voice cut into Keith like the blade of his MK3. “Get. Her. Off. The fucking boat. Now.”

Grace’s fist pummeled Keith’s arms as he lifted her by the waist and dragged her toward the galley.

“No! Let go! Let me go!”

He tightened his hold and ran for the stairs. Adrenaline kicked in making Grace feel weightless in his arms. He leapt up the steps and onto the deck.

He dropped Grace into the Enigma then dove head first in after her. Her knees struck the ragged carpet beside him. His hand snagged on the ignition key and gave it a vicious twist.

“What are you doing?” Grace’s raw voice screamed over the roar of the boat motor.