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Shaking off her horror and helplessness, she goes inhumanely still and glares at me with venom.
Pleasure courses through my groin.
“You’re quite something, Frankie.” I set her in the crate and stroke her clenched jaw. “I hate to leave you, but I won’t be long. You’re going to take a little nap, and this will all be over soon.”
I have an hour. Maybe two. Hell, she might never wake up. I didn’t have time to test the dosage.
The drug is tricky to obtain. I don’t have allies in the civilized world, so I resort to theft, breaking into clinics and taking what I need.
As I slide the lid over the crate, she holds me steady in her gaze. In that moment, I can’t move, her eyes so green, so hot with resentment. Then a fog settles over her features, softening her glare, loosening her lips around the gag, and at last, her eyelids drift shut.
Consciousness abandons her.
“Sweet dreams.” I nail the crate closed, cover it with clothes and smaller crates, and lock the door to the cabin.
Now I have to deal with her boat.
With the interior lights off on the yacht, it’ll appear to passersby that the occupants have anchored to sleep for the night. A nosy boater could still stop and investigate. Frankie could wake and make enough noise to call attention. I could get delayed or detained in any number of ways.
All of this amps my heart rate as I pull on my gloves and dry suit, board her cruiser, and drive it to Sitka.
Thirty minutes later, I dock in one of the many slips her husband owns, where there’s little light, no cameras, and no eyewitnesses. I leave the boat key. Won’t be needing that again. Then I slip into the water and swim back to my sleeping beauty.
As far as long-distance swimming goes, this trek calls on more endurance than any task I’ve undertaken in recent memory. Every muscle in my body burns, protesting each stroke and quaking exhalation. The surrounding danger amplifies my fatigue, my neck in knots and senses on edge, focused more on being hit by a passing boat than a confrontation with a shark.
When I’m certain I won’t make it another mile and convinced I’ve taken a wrong turn, I check my watch to consult the compass. And that’s when I see it. The glorious shadow of my yacht bobbing on the dark horizon.
Thank fuck.
I buckle down and muster up every ounce of strength I have left to make the final stretch.
An hour later, I haul my weary bones onto the deck, collapse onto my back, and release a water-logged, belly-deep laugh full of exhaustion and excitement.
Now the real journey begins.
5
Denver
—
On the fourth day at sea, I navigate the yacht beneath clear skies and the glowing light of dawn. With the port of Whittier emerging on the horizon, I’m right on schedule.
Downright giddy with anticipation, I rock on my toes, ready to be back on land.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the sea. From afar. Especially after the ungodly swim I endured in the Sitka Sound.
Twice.
I’m getting too old for this shit.
The Passage Canal churns with heavy boat traffic, the waves choppy and harsh, crashing against the hull. As much as I want to race full speed ahead and reunite with solid ground, I have to stick to the plan.
Steering the yacht into a quiet cove concealed by an inlet of trees, I shut off the engine and head below to wake my cargo.
I find her where I left her, laid out on the berth in the guest cabin, her arm raised at an awkward angle, handcuffed to the support rail. No gag, though.
If only she appreciated my generosity.
She watches me through slitted, thickly lashed eyes.
Lucky me. She’s awake.
Doesn’t take a genius to guess her mood. It’s the same every day. Petulant. Uncooperative. A twitch away from violent explosion.
“Good morning,” I say cheerfully and perch on the edge of the bed, letting a smile show through my wariness.
A warning growl vibrates in her throat, her teeth bared, as she shoots upward like a cannonball, snapping her free hand toward my neck, trying to rip out my throat.
It’s pointless.
Her body jerks, caught by the short chain on her wrist, her outstretched fingers swiping the air inches from my face.
“Let me go, you sick bastard.” She flops back, digging her heels into the mattress and shoving away from me. “Release me!”
“We’ve been over this.”
Her gaze shifts to the open cabin door, like that’s an option.
I sigh. “The quicker you accept—”
She lets loose a bloodcurdling scream.
“Help!” Angling toward the exit, she pushes her voice to an octave that rings my ears. “Someone help me! I’ve been kidnapped! Drugged! He’s going to kill—”
I slap a hand over her mouth, shoving her onto her back.
Her teeth saw into my palm, ruthlessly slicing my skin.
