Page 22 of Straight Shooter

Dark stubble coated his jaw and faded as it approached the thick, disheveled black hair on his head. Before lying down, he’d unrolled another hypothermia blanket and draped it across his body.

She knew he wasn’t sleeping, but the fact that he could look so relaxed when her temper was flaring and their raft was bouncing irritated the crap out of her. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling then stared out the lifeboat’s open door.

A light moved along the horizon. She frowned and watched the globe grow bigger and bigger, until blue flashing lights became visible on top. “Rhett, I think I see the coast guard!”

He jumped and snapped into a sitting position. Fatigue ringed his eyes, but he leaped toward the door. “That’s them,” he said. He gripped the side of the doorway as the raft pitched.

“We have to get their attention!” Peyton shuffled over the floor, her hands pinning the flaps of the blanket together as she moved. Her skin pulled at the butterfly bandages, and she winced and clapped her palm over the gauze to hold it in place.

“Don’t rip open that wound.”

She made a face at him, but he kept his stare on the approaching lights. She rifled through the items rolled into the emergency bag and returned to his side. He grabbed the flare gun, loaded the cartridge, aimed, and fired.

Bang!

She clapped one hand to her ear and ducked to keep the blanket from falling off her shoulders. Thick red smoke billowed from the gun, and the flare’s glow lit up the sky. The boat’s lights stopped flashing and then blinked a sequence in signal.

Peyton let out a whoop of excitement and shuffled over to her wetsuit. She reached into the sleeve, where she’d hidden the sandwich bag that held the envelope and her cell phone. If Rhett saw it, he might confiscate the paper.

“Don’t put that back on,” Rhett said, still sitting at the door. “When they get close, I’ll have them throw something you can wear.” She nodded and tucked the bag inside the blanket before positioning herself on her knees. The lights grew brighter as the boat approached. The motor’s hum stirred the peaceful, salty air and prickled her nerves.

She cleared her throat. “Do you think it could be Moretti? What if he called the coast guard and is looking for us?”

Rhett shook his head. “He wouldn’t do that. Too much heat. Besides, my team was calling the coast guard when I spoke to them.”

She wet her lips, and the taste of seaweed clung to her tongue. “What if he’s got them on his payroll? We know he has that cop—Jeremiah. It’s not far-fetched there could be others.”

“No doubt there are. But he’d utilize them carefully. Searching the waters for a woman he’d ordered his guards to kill would draw a lot of attention.”

The boat approached, kicking up the waves and tossing the raft around as if it were a wild lily pad. Trepidation pierced her skin, and her already cold extremities tingled. If it was Moretti and his men, there’d be no way out this time. She sat erect as she searched the darkness, trying to identify someone on board the slowing boat. Her heart rate tripled, and she curled her hand around the blanket until her fingertips went numb again.

The boat turned so its port side faced them. Two flashlight beams hit her face, and she turned her head away from the glow.

“It’s me, dammit!” Rhett’s annoyed shout settled some of her nerves.

One of the flashlights clicked off and the other swung away from her face. “Sorry, man,” a male voice shouted back. “Just making sure. Is anyone injured?”

Rhett glanced over his shoulder, slid his gaze over her partially naked body, and then looked back at the boat. “Yes. Injured female. She has a knife wound on her leg, and hypothermia is a concern. Do you have a dry sweater or coat she can put on? She’s wearing only a hypothermia blanket.”

“One second.”

A minute later Rhett passed her an oversized zip-up sweater.

“Here, I’ll block the door.” Rhett balanced on his knees and spread his blanket across the opening.

The faint scent of cigarettes stung Peyton’s nostrils as she fingered the material. She wrinkled her nose but fit her arms through the sleeves and let the blanket fall. Though it smelled unpleasant, the sweater still carried the body heat of whoever had warmed it, and she wasn’t in any condition to complain. She zipped it up, tucked the sandwich bag with her phone and the envelope into one of the pockets, and then moved to Rhett’s side.

“Ready.”

He lowered the blanket and caught her arm. His steady hold supported her weight as the raft wobbled. Rhett tossed the lifeboat’s tether to one of the agents on board, and the raft bumped against the boat as it glided closer. The movement made her pitch, and her cheek fell into Rhett’s side. He positioned his arm around her shoulders and inched her in front of him.

A woman wearing a navy-blue jacket with the letters FBI emblazoned on the breast in yellow brushed in front of the other agent, who had a shaved head. “Here, take my hand.” Muscles bulged in her well-worked arm. Relief washed over Peyton as she accepted the woman’s hand. The last thing she wanted was for a guy on board to get an eyeful of her goodies if she toppled backward. The boat rocked as she stood, but Rhett kept his hands around her hips. She put her head through the door first then pressed her foot into the edge of the lifeboat. Less than two feet separated the edge of their raft from the rim of the ship.

“Just step on,” the woman said. “I’ve got you.”

Summoning as much strength into her shaky legs as she could, Peyton pinned the sweater to her thigh and swung her other foot toward the boat’s rim. The woman grabbed her under the arm, and another agent rushed forward for her free hand, propelling her onto the deck.

“Have a seat.” The woman led her to a bench inside and knelt beside her. “I’m Mandy. I work with Rhett. Do you need anything? Water?”