Page 2 of Weston’s Treasure

“How do you figure that?” Jameson pressed.

“We get to take out the trash and piss her off at the same time,” Weston answered.

Nix shook his head and smiled. “I think the pretty Silver has wormed her way under our boy’s skin.”

“If you mean, she’s annoying as fuck—affirmative. If you're implying I have a hard-on for her, that’s a no. I’ll give you this, she is fine as hell, but she can’t follow directions—hence her current incarceration—and she has a gigantic chip on her shoulder. Couple that with the blinding, ‘I hate men’ neon sign she flashes and that’s a hard no for me.”

“She’s just strong-willed,” Chasin joined in.

“You think maybe we can get her ass off the boat and away from the bad guys instead of waxing on about the woman’s disposition? Which to add is irritating.”

“Sure,” Nix responded, sounding amused at Weston’s frustration. “Holden,” Nixon radioed the last man on the team and the only one not currently on the small fishing boat tailing the Dora B. “We’re ready when you are.”

“You have fifteen minutes, maybe seventeen until you have company,” Holden told them.

“Five more than we need,” Nixon replied, then turned to his team. “Let’s roll.”

A few minutes later Weston was climbing aboard the Dora B courtesy of a dive ladder that had been left in the water. His head peeked over the aft deck’s railing. Not seeing anyone, he hefted his weight onto the teak surface and motioned for the team to follow.

Four men silently split up, each having a job to do to clear the boat. Weston made his way through the salon and easily found the crew stairs leading down to the cabins and storage below. With no guards patrolling the lower level, Weston made quick work clearing the galley and crew cabins. He reached for the last closed hatch and a volley of gunfire rang out above him.

His heart rate ticked up and he prayed the team’s assumption was correct and Silver was being held below deck. Part of what had taken them so long to board was surveying the vessel. They couldn’t see much through the portholes but there had been no sight of Silver on the upper decks. The hull was the smartest choice for the drug runners, but then again, smugglers weren’t always the brightest and Silver could be anywhere.

Weston may’ve thought Silver was too hard-headed for her own good but he didn’t want to see her hurt and he certainly didn’t want her dead. On that thought, and an overwhelming urge to protect the brown haired beauty, he went through the open door and looked around.

Goddamn it, no Silver. Bricks of cocaine were stacked on pallets, and the stench of pot filled the room. Weston stepped farther into the small room, his rifle pulled up to his shoulder as he scanned. He moved toward the pallet of coke when he caught something in his peripheral flying toward his head. He quickly ducked, but a second object flew through the air, then another one, hitting the flash compensator on the end of his barrel. White powder exploded and dusted the room.

Another brick of coke hit him in the head and he barely recovered as Silver darted out from behind the stack of drugs, arms flailing, lashing out blindly. A tiny fist made contact with his bulletproof vest. He knew it had to have hurt, but to her credit she never stopped fighting. Weston let go of his rifle—the sling attached swung it to his side—and he wrapped her up in a tight bear hug, trapping her arms.

“What the fuck?” he growled.

Her foot made contact with his shin and Weston winced as pain shot up his leg.

“Goddamn it, Silver, stop.”

Some of her fight started to wane, either from exhaustion or recognition, but Weston held tight.

“Let me go,” she demanded.

“Not until you calm down,” he returned.

“I am calm,” Silver seethed.

“You don’t sound calm.”

“Seriously, Weston, you wanna do this now?”

Silver was right, he didn’t have time to debate her bristly tone, and he really didn’t have the time to process why relief had washed over him when he’d pulled her into his arms.

“Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride. And my wrists are sore from the cuffs.”

“The cuffs?” he questioned. He glanced around the room and spotted a pair of open handcuffs and a chain lying on the powder-coated floor.

“Just get me out of here and I’ll explain later.”

Damn if she wasn’t demanding. And the fuck of it was, instead of being irritated he liked it. Something else Weston didn’t have time to think about.