In Rides Trouble (4 page)

Another sharp elbow crashed into Becky’s side, and she turned to glare at her friend. The look Eve gave her clearly stated the woman was seriously questioning her intelligence. And yepper, when she swung her attention back to Sharif, his dark scowl pretty much telegraphed his intention to kill her, slowly, if ever the opportunity arose.

“I have little patience with mouthy women,” he growled, his musky smelling cologne sticking in her nose until she wanted to puke. “Breaking every little bone in your body would gratify me greatly, not to mention the fact that your diminished health would likely only expedite your ransom. So you see, it’s a win-win situation for me. It would behoove you to remember that.”

She could almost hear Billy in her head,
S
squared, Becky. S squared.
Which was his way of telling her to sit down and shut up.

With difficulty, she clamped her lips together and satisfied herself by glowering.

Sharif turned his back on her and informed Ghedi of their course change, while two other members of the crew captained the extra skiffs back to the safety of the Somali coast.

Which is how she now found herself stuck on her own catamaran about to become a pirate …

The crew onboard the BP
Hamilton
hadn’t a clue they were being attacked until the first volley of bullets burst across the hull.

This was a nightmare. A really, really scary one where Becky held on for dear life to the
Serendipity
’s rail as the pirates threw down the throttle on the catamaran’s two big outboard engines until they were blasting across the choppy seas, hurtling like an uneven cannon shot toward the
Hamilton
as waves crashed over the railing.

Four red flares suddenly streaked from the tanker’s bridge, turning the bright sky above the football field-sized ship an angry orange. The people on board were no longer under the mistaken impression the
Serendipity
was a simple pleasure cruiser.

Was
the
spray
of
bullets
your
first
clue?
Becky thought sardonically, using her free hand to grab Eve as the woman’s fingers slipped from the rail, and she started sliding across the watery deck. Becky strained to keep them both from bouncing right out of the boat.

Going overboard would be a case of falling out of the frying pan and into the fire. In this instance, the fire was thousands of miles of endless, shark-infested waters where trying to locate them would be akin to locating a needle in a haystack.

On second thought, that analogy didn’t quite cut it.

It was more like, if they managed to separate themselves from the boats and wind up adrift, locating them would be like trying to locate a protozoan in a haystack.

So yepper, it was best just to hang on and hope she could keep them both alive long enough for Frank and Billy and the rest of the boys to pull one of their Mighty Mouse maneuvers—as in, “here I come to save the day!”

She absolutely hated finding herself in a situation requiring a Mighty Mouse maneuver. It didn’t bode too well for her chances of becoming an operator…

Another set of flares soared over the
Hamilton
’s big deck.

Is
that
the
best
you
can
do?
she thought with derision.

Yes, it probably was. Merchant vessels almost always went to sea unarmed.

The Somalis obviously understood that as well as she did. They didn’t slow a single knot as they fired a few more warning shots from their AKs.

She gritted her teeth and tried to use her forearm to push her salty, water-logged hair out of her eyes. Not that she necessarily wanted to
see
the moment when she was blown to smithereens. Every time one of those rounds pinged off the tanker’s hull, she expected a giant fireball to ensue. What kind of idiots fired at a ship carrying a ton of combustible fuel?

Somali pirates and their trusty interpreter, that’s what.

Being set adrift in the Indian Ocean was looking better and better. If she had to choose a way to die, drowning promised to be much less painful than burning. She turned to look behind them at the plume of white water kicked up by the catamaran’s outboard engines and the endless panorama of undulating waves beyond. Maybe she and Eve should just let go and—

She didn’t get any further along that train of thought because the pirates yanked back on the throttle, throwing the engines into reverse and causing both women to slide across the slick deck. Scrabbling for purchase, they managed to grab the base of the mast and each other. The
Serendipity
slid in sideways…
oh God, we’re going to crash!
… and slammed into the
Hamilton
’s port side about mid-ship with a bone-rattling
thud
!

She was amazed the
Serendipity
didn’t just disintegrate on impact, but the little sailboat held together.

Thank
you, dear sweet Christ!

She struggled to catch her breath, watching in horrified amazement as the pirates immediately threw grappling hooks over the tanker’s railings. They swung their AKs with their improvised rope gun straps over their bony shoulders and started climbing like mountain goats.

And it all happened in about two seconds flat.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she hated to admit it, but they were
good
.

Threading an unsteady arm around Eve’s trembling shoulders, she used the sturdy mast to pull the two of them upright as the catamaran rocked and bounced against the side of the immense tanker. The smell of diesel from the
Serendipity
’s steaming engines mixed with the metallic scent of the
Hamilton
’s wet steel hull, making her eyes water.

Surely, that was the cause for her tears and not the sheer terror she’d just experienced.

Uh-huh. Right.

“Are you okay?” she asked once they were both standing on the undulating deck, dripping wet and shaking like leaves. When Eve glanced up at her and saw the bright tears in her eyes, the woman’s face started to crumple.

Okay, you gotta pull it together for Eve’s sake, Reichert.
She quickly brushed a hand over her cheeks and pasted on a wicked grin.

“Boy howdy!” she slapped Eve on the back and feigned bravado, “that was one hell of ride, wasn’t it?”

Eve swallowed convulsively. “Cheese and rice, they’re completely crazy.”

“Ya think?” she grunted scornfully as she tried to slow her racing heart. Glancing down, she grimaced and pointed at her friend’s bleeding knees, which Eve obviously received courtesy of the stupid pirates’ Wild-West boat piloting tactics. “Those look painful. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Eve didn’t get a chance to respond when Sharif appeared behind them, shoving a menacing black Glock 19 at the back of Becky’s head. With a jerk of his chin, he indicated the ropes dangling down the massive gray hull of the
Hamilton
and handed her a shiny, new rock-climbing harness
.
The thing still had a price tag attached to one strap.

Ol’ Sharif obviously planned ahead and came fully equipped for this little endeavor.

“Start climbing,” he barked. “You’ve got work to do.”

She craned her head back,
way
back, to squint up at the
Hamilton
’s railing.

Cheese
and
rice.

Eve certainly had that part right.

Ten hours later…

“You sure you know how to handle this equipment?” Boss asked Angel as Bill rechecked the fuel gauges on his DPV—diver propulsion vehicle—and then went back to his book, concentrating on the Joad family and their trek west on Route 66.

The reading helped…

Scratch that. The reading
usually
helped. He stifled a groan, rubbed at his burning belly, and turned his back on Angel and Boss in order to take a quick chug of Pepto-Bismol.

The three of them were alone down on the USS
Patton
’s lowest deck, waiting for Captain Garcia to divert the attention of his crew, so they could open the aft doors without detection. Then they’d plunge down into the deep blue and really get this party started.

“This gear is technical and highly specialized,” Boss growled. “The last thing we need once we get out in the water is for you to fuck up.”

“It’s no problem,” Angel reassured him as Bill covertly re-pocketed the bottle of pink medicine and glanced over the top of his worn copy of
The
Grapes
of
Wrath.
He watched Angel flick up the neck on his wet suit and reach behind his head for the cord on the zipper. The Israeli gave it the kind of hard yank that all divers developed over the years.

Well, at least it appears the guy has been in a wet suit before. That’s something.

“You’re certain?” Boss pressed, his deep voice booming around the cavernous space. “Because you gotta be one-fucking-hundred-percent certain about this, man.”

Boss stood with his hands on his hips, scowling at Angel as if his will alone could compel the guy to tell him the unfettered truth.

To be quite honest, Bill figured it could. There was nothing scarier, in his way of thinking, than Boss. And when the guy towered like that, all 6’4” of mammoth shoulders and bulging biceps, it made a man hesitate to utter anything but the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God.

“I know what I’m doing.” Angel met Boss’s hard glare with one of his own. “I will not fail you or Becky. I might not have been around her long before she left for this vacation, but it was long enough. I will give my life for her if needed.”

That surprised Boss. His chin jerked back on his neck like someone just popped him a five-finger sandwich.

Bill didn’t share the big man’s astonishment. His kid sister just had a way about her. All most folks needed was ten minutes in Becky’s lively company, and they either wanted to date her, adopt her, or be her new best friend.

He
did
, however, wonder which category Angel fell into…

Boss hesitated for a second, searching for something in the new guy’s eyes. Whatever he was looking for, he must’ve found it, because he grunted his approval and turned toward Bill. “You ready for this?”

Uh, sort of?

But that wasn’t the answer Boss was looking for, so he hardened his expression and gave a curt nod instead.

“Of course you are, you sonofabitch,” Boss chuckled, the sound reminiscent of the rumbling purr Bill’s beloved Harley made once he got the beast out on the open road. “Look at you,” Boss shook his shaggy head, “cool as a fucking cucumber.”

Cool as a cucumber…

Indeed.

Only that was a complete and total crock of caca. On the outside, he might look calm and collected, because he’d learned to combat the mounting tension by concentrating on the words streaming across the pages of a book.

But on the inside?

Hell, on the
inside
he was a complete disaster. A bundle of jumpy nerves and crushing anxiety, tormented—just like always—by a nearly paralyzing battery of what-ifs.

What if they couldn’t get to Becky? Intelligence reports said she’d been sequestered down in the engine room. That huge space was a rabbit’s warren of machinery nooks and mechanical crannies. If they didn’t play their cards just right, it’d be a cinch for the guys guarding her to use her as a human shield and bring about a standoff that could very easily end in a bloodbath.

What if the pirates refused to be taken alive? Would they turn on the hostages? Images flashed through his brain like a strobe light. Becky getting hit, falling to the ground, bleeding out, her light forever extinguished.

He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to swallow the bile that climbed up the back of his throat, filling his mouth with the burning taste of battery acid. Ever since they’d received the news of Becky’s abduction, his ulcer had been chomping away at his stomach lining like the stuff was made of foie gras.

Of course, none of this showed on his tightly controlled face as the red light above the aft doors clicked from red to green.

“Suit up,” Boss commanded, and he pulled his Neoprene hood over his head and shoved his mask over his eyes.

The large steel door through which the SWCC—Special Warfare Combatant Crewmen—boys usually deployed their super sweet Mark V Special Operations Craft rolled open with a well-oiled hum. The low glow of nautical twilight bounced off the nearly glassine seas. It was the time of day when the molten sun slipped below the horizon, throwing golden rays skyward and reflecting off the ocean until it was hard to tell up from down.

Boss grinned and winked. “Perfect time of day for a rescue, my man. Time for the barbarians to come out and play. Hoo-ah?”

And even though he knew Boss was worried sick about Becky, that didn’t mean the man didn’t just
live
for this shit.

“Hoo-ah!” he gave Boss a thumbs up, trying not to grimace when his ulcer started in on a second helping. He pushed all 165 pounds of DPV out the door, watching it splash down into the dark ocean. A second later he jumped after it, falling six feet into the warm embrace of the salty water.

Scrubbing his mask with sea water to keep it from fogging up, he powered his DPV. With the help of the vehicle, he jetted a few yards from the hull of the slowly rocking destroyer before turning back to watch Angel jump from the huge ship.

The guy was the picture of grace as he pointed his toes and sliced through the ocean without creating the tiniest splash.

And
the
German
judge
gives
him
a
perfect
ten!

When Angel surfaced, he was quick to adjust his mask, fire up his DPV, and motor over to Bill.

“You really do know what you’re doing, don’t you?” he asked the mysterious new Knight after plucking out his mouthpiece.

“I do.” Angel nodded, then made a face when Boss plunged into the ocean, creating a plume of water so huge it looked like a whale just breached. “The question is, does
he
?”

If the German judge would’ve given Angel a perfect ten, then Boss certainly deserved a perfect
negative
ten for that little exercise.

“Don’t let that dive fool you. I’ve seen him tightrope walk across phone lines over the roofs of Bagdad, watched him HELO jump out of a cargo plane in pitch-black darkness and manage to hit the DZ right on the X while the rest of us were barely able to come within a kilometer of the thing. One time he threaded himself and a string of det cord through a crawl space so small a raccoon would hesitate to enter. He’s just no good at illicit water entry if the jump point is more than a few feet from the surface. Goes in like a damn cannonball every single time.”

Angel’s painted face couldn’t camouflage his skepticism as Boss bobbed to the surface beside them.

“Okay, gentlemen,” Boss said, glancing at his waterproof titanium wristwatch, “we’ve got a fifteen minute swim to the
Hamilton.
Everyone clear on their mission?”

“Affirmative.” Bill nodded as Angel echoed his response.

“Then let’s harden our balls and our resolve and get this fucker done.”

Bill chuckled at the look of incredulity that shot across Angel’s face. “I surely love your inspirational speeches, Boss.”

***

Sharif Garane watched the narrow back of the American woman as she wrestled with a large bolt on some huge machine in the British tanker’s sweltering engine room.

Rebecca Reichert was her name, but everyone called her Becky. He liked the sound of that. It suited her all-American looks.

He did
not
like
her
, however.

And had he known, when the directive came down for him to ensure she repaired the damaged engines on the tanker, that her tongue would be so abrasive, he might have passed on the opportunity.

Then again, probably not. This assignment was his ticket to economic freedom. If he could keep from killing her long enough for her to finish her repairs, that is…

“Sonofabitch!” she said as the bolt suddenly broke free and she banged her elbow on an adjacent piece of machinery.

He chuckled at her discomfort until she turned to glare at him, her dark eyes—so disconcerting against her fair coloring—shooting fire in his direction.

“What’s so funny?” She wiped her perspiring forehead with a wrist, leaving behind a black streak of grease.

He stopped laughing to curl his lip at her disgusting level of dishabille. She’d been dirty when he’d come aboard the catamaran. No doubt it hadn’t crossed the pirates’ minds to allow the women to shower. Now, covered in the sweat of nearly a week and the grease of the last ten hours, she was positively obscene.

“Get back to work,” he ordered. “Your stalling tactics are trying my patience. If you persist, I might decide to start taking the lost minutes out of your soft hide. Have you ever seen what a strip of wet leather does to human flesh?”

“I’m
not
stalling,” she said. “You’re the one who sent the ship’s engineers up to the bridge. If you’d left them down here to work with me, I’d probably already be finished.”

Perhaps. But he hadn’t cared for the way the three men ogled her. It’d been…distracting. Plus, they were three very large men, and he hadn’t wished to be alone with them down in the steaming engine room where they could easily overwhelm him if they took it into their thick skulls to chance a bullet wound.

He was in this thing for the money, not to risk death or injury. It was disconcerting enough to actually be involved in this particular venture—he was accustomed to sitting in air-conditioned rooms, waiting for the phones to ring so he could wheedle cash from wealthy western pockets—he didn’t want to strain his nerves further by locking himself in a room full of vulgar, overgrown sailors.

No. It was better this way.

Just the two of them. Alone.

Reaching for the buckle on his belt for emphasis he said, “I’m going to count to three, and if you haven’t returned to your work by then, I’m giving you three strikes for every second you stalled.”

“One,” he began, hoping her pride wouldn’t allow her to back down. He very much thought he’d enjoy beating her, watching her fair skin turn bright red under his blistering blows.

With a snarl she spun back to her work, cursing him beneath her breath as she attacked the loosened bolt with renewed vigor.

Disappointed at her quick capitulation, he took another hasty sip of water and used his handkerchief to wipe at the sweat running down his temples and the back of his neck. It was an absolute oven in the engine room, and the longer he sat waiting for her to complete her repairs, the more irritable he became. His fantasies involving her punishment were growing ever more creative and violent by the hour.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Why are you sweating so much? Aren’t you
used
to this type of heat?”

He considered ignoring her. The woman hadn’t the first clue how to be a docile, compliant hostage, and he didn’t want to encourage her audacity in addressing him when he hadn’t first addressed her. Then again, there was something about the husky timbre of her voice. It was strangely appealing…

“Even though I was born in Africa, I spent the majority of my youth and early adulthood in London. Five years ago, I came back to what was left of my home country. Alas, I have yet to re-acclimate.”

It was no matter, really. Soon there would be no need for re-acclimation. With the cut he’d get from the ransom of the women and the
Hamilton
, he’d finally have enough money to leave Africa. Enough money to live a life of luxury anywhere his heart desired.

Somewhere in Asia, perhaps. Japan? The climate was far more favorable and the women still meek enough to suit a man’s tastes. Though the earthquakes and tsunamis lessened the allure…

She glanced over her shoulder again, eyeing the dampness of his shirt. “Maybe you’re not cut out for this line of…
work.
”

He didn’t like the way her lip curled on the last word.

He decided then that he not only disliked her, he hated her. Hated her sharp eyes and even sharper tongue. Hated the fact that when she bent over to wrestle with a bundle of wires, the sight of her tight, firm buttocks made his manhood stir. As disgusting as she was, covered in filth and sweat, something about her still managed to captivate him.

He gulped angrily at the cold bottle of water in his hand, hoping it would cool his unwanted ardor. That his body could want a creature such as her, despite his overwhelming detestation, was a biological insurrection. An anatomical mutiny.

Then his body did him one better, because all that water he’d been drinking let down and he needed to urinate,
urgently
. Unfortunately, since he’d insisted Ghedi and his men guard the
Hamilton
’s crew so he could sequester himself alone with her, there was no one to take over guard duties.

He squirmed against the stool he was sitting on until he could stand it no longer.

“I’m going to relieve myself,” he told her and waved his gun when she turned to scowl at him. He could just urinate in front of her, he supposed. She’d probably seen Ghedi and his men doing much worse during her time in captivity. But the thought of such grotesque, classless behavior disgusted him. He was worlds apart from those dirty, ignorant pirates, and he refused to stoop to their level. “You will continue working. And do not think of trying to escape. We’re locked in here. The only way out is if I call to my compatriots on deck and they let us out. Do not take it into your head to hide from me either.” He could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. “Let me be clear. If I am forced to come searching for you, you will not enjoy what happens once I find you.”