Page 7 of Straight Shooter

“What’s their name?”

Silence.

“What’s your name?”

Silence.

He sighed, propped an elbow on his knee, and pinched his temples between his thumb and forefinger. He couldn’t bully her. If a guy were sitting in front of him, he’d do whatever needed to be done to get the information to Moretti and save the case the FBI was building against him. God was playing some kind of sick joke on him.

“Listen. If I don’t get the information Moretti wants, he’s going to get someone else—probably Beanie—to get it out of you. There’s only so much I can do to help⁠—”

The boat swung side to side and the woman leaped to her feet. Her hands dug into the arm of the chair that, like every other piece of furniture on board, was bolted to the floor. Rhett caught the nightstand again as his weight was thrown backward. He planted his feet but the woman careened past him. He caught her around the waist and secured her to his knee with one arm. Her ass landed on his thigh and her fingers bit into his shoulder as the yacht continued to toss around.

He cursed and hung onto the nightstand with his free hand, anchoring them. A siren blasted from the hallway and his radio crackled from the waistband of his pants.

“All hands on deck!”

Shit. He couldn’t hide out below deck while the crew was in turmoil. He got to his feet and deposited her on the mattress.

“Hang tight and don’t leave this room.” He turned to leave, but she caught his shirt.

“You can’t leave me here!” Panic lifted her words to a scream, and dread bloomed in his chest. If he left her alone and she escaped his room, he’d be in shit from Moretti. Not to mention what the other guards would do if they got their hands on her.

He had no choice but to secure her. He grabbed her wrist and towed her off the bed. The room tilted like a fun house. He planted her in the chair and she clung to the armrests again.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked.

He crossed the room. Each sway of the yacht threw him off balance. Opening the top drawer of the dresser next to the bathroom, he pulled out a necktie and then returned to her. He peeled her hands from the wood and secured her arms behind the chair.

“Wait, stop! You can’t do this.”

She struggled and squirmed, but he easily held both of her slim wrists in one of his palms while he wrapped the tie around them.

“You bastard!” She kicked at him when he stepped from behind the chair, and her bare heel struck his calf.

“Stay quiet. I’ll lock the door.” He pulled the door shut, fit the key into the lock, and headed for the stairs.

This job was going to be the death of him.

No. The woman with the fiery temper and honey bedroom eyes would be the death of him. He wasn’t backing down—when he finished with whatever the captain needed upstairs, he was going to show her who was boss.

Or at least find out her damn name.

Chapter

Four

Nausea threatened to overwhelm her with the ship’s every movement. Peyton squeezed her eyes closed and dragged one breath after another through her nose. It didn’t help. Bile hit the back of her throat and she forced it down on a swallow.

Oh, god. Please don’t let me puke.

That was the last thing she needed while tied to a chair. On second thought, spilling her cookies and watching the asshole guard who’d just tied her to a chair in a possibly sinking yacht clean it did sound like good revenge. She steeled her nerves and scanned the room. She had to get out of the ropes. The ship was big—she might not be able to get off of it in the storm, but by the time the guard returned, she could be in a hiding spot on board and escape when the storm settled.

She located the knot at the base of her wrist and worked her fingers around the silk tie. He hadn’t tied it very tight. Probably because of the ship’s motion and her resistance. The material didn’t abrade her skin like rope would, allowing her to twist and pull until she could weasel one of her fingers into the knot. Sweat broke out on her brow. The boat continued tipping from side to side.

With everyone distracted, she could return to Moretti’s cabin and get Jenny Carter’s location. But she had to hurry. The knot loosened and she let out a breath as she freed her wrists. She hung onto the side of the chair and scanned the room. She couldn’t leave empty-handed. She needed something, anything, she could use as a weapon.

She glanced at the nightstand and got to her feet. Using the bed for support, she made her way to the small piece of furniture. Then she knelt, pressed her side against the bed to steady herself, and pulled open the drawer.