Inside Out (4 page)

Shane came up for another quick breath, determined to not come back up again until he found her.
Alive.
Olivia had to live. He would not even contemplate the possibility of losing her.

Again and again he dove in, becoming more and more frantic by the minute. Every time he surfaced he allowed himself less and less time to breathe. Time that could save Olivia.

As he gulped another breath to go back in, Alfie caught him by the collar. Shane ignored him and pulled downward, but Alfie, who was infinitely more massive than him, grabbed his head so Shane was looking up into his own tearful face.

“Shane. It’s too late,” Alfie softly chided.

Shane snarled and yanked away from him, but two of Alfie’s men caught him by the shoulders. “Fuck off, Alfie! Get your men off me, or I’ll kill them right now!”

“Shane, mate, listen to me. It’s been two hours now. She’s dead.”

“No!” Shane cried, his gut heaving, his breath ragged as salty tears coursed down his dirty face. It had been so long since he’d last cried that he hardly recognized the taste.

Alfie nodded to his men to haul Shane up.

“No!” Shane roared again, punching one of the divers in the nose. The officer slumped, and other agents came to his aid. Shane held his fist high, like a savage warrior ready to strike if they dared stop him. Even waist-deep in a river he knew he was a menace to any man.

“Shane!” Alfie cried, jumping into the water with him and taking him by the shoulder. “Listen to me—she’s dead!”

Shane roared and pushed him away again, but four more of Alfie’s men dragged them out, Shane kicking and punching. “Just one more time, one more time! I can’t leave her. She needs me!”

“Shane, please!” Alfie wept, rubbing the tears and mud out of his eyes. “Don’t make this any harder.” He moved to embrace Shane, who flung him off instead.

“It’s too dark,” Alfie gently urged. “In a few hours we’ll come back and restart the search.”

“No! Olivia can’t wait that long. She needs me….she—”

“Christ almighty,” Alfie swore. “She’s dead. Dead!”

Shane stared at his friend as if he’d slapped him in the face, his fists digging into the muddy bank, unable to speak.

Chapter Four

Chelsea Harbor Marina, London, England, fourteen months later
.

While eyeing the dark-haired babe at the helm of a nearby boat, Shane Hart maneuvered the
Olivia
out of the Harbor. Already half cut with booze, he enjoyed the feeling of levity heightened by the sight of the woman’s barely there, white bikini, which did nothing to hide her slender but curvy hips and the legs that went on forever beneath her killer ass.

Shane took a swig from his bottle of Jack Daniel’s and raised it to the sex goddess, who flipped her glossy, black mane from one shoulder to the other, rewarding his attention with a lazy, sexy smile.

But Shane’s heart only harbored Olivia. And now with Olivia gone, other women simply morphed into one pale semblance of her.

It had been all his fault. The kidnapper had called, bragging he’d caught himself a “rich bitch” and would make “wealthy blokes” like Shane pay. Because of that stupid article on him, Olivia had been kidnapped for a princely sum. He’d wanted his wife to pose next to him, and she had simply agreed to make him happy. She wasn’t the posing kind. It was a miracle she could play the cello in public without blushing. And he’d exposed her to
criminals.

He’d put the money, five thousand South African Krugerrands, into Olivia’s cello case as instructed. The voice told Shane to wait alone in his own boat docked at the Chelsea Marina Harbor until after dark.

As a former commando, the British version of the marines, Shane had served in the United Kingdom Special Armed Forces Reserve, with 21 Regiment Special Air Service as a survival instructor and patrol medic.

When he hadn’t been sewing his buddies up, he shot enemies down, blasting them to smithereens or placing booby-traps. So killing was one thing he did well. Fast and quietly.

With Olivia there’d be no taking chances. He’d forbidden Alfie and his men to carry anything more dangerous than a slingshot anywhere near the Marina and Olivia. Besides, it would be a quick job. He’d hand over Olivia’s cello case with the money, and they would let Olivia go. Simple.

But on the night of Olivia’s release, all hell had broken loose. Little mattered that Alfie and his whole team had squatted in the nearby boats or perched under cover of the night on boat masts like invisible vultures waiting for their moment. One minute Olivia’s boat stopped parallel to his, so close he could almost touch her, her captor hidden behind a ski mask and hoodie, and the next, a shower of shots hit them, throwing them overboard.

Shane had jumped in after Olivia, but he’d come up empty-handed every time. It had been impossible to see her in the dark waters of the Thames, even with the MIT searchlights shining deep under the surface.

The river had swallowed her up. Dredgers had worked through the night and the next day, but Olivia had not been found. And neither had her female captor who might have thought she’d fooled him with the extra padding around her stomach to hide her hips and breasts. She must have made it to safety, but if she hadn’t he’d not shed a tear over it.
Damn her soul forever.

Shane hadn’t slept properly since, going through it over and over in his head, trying to understand why it happened to them, so happy and in love, and what he could have done to stop it.

“Absolutely nothing,” Alfie had told him. “These friggin’ rookie kidnappers messed up the whole op. That third boat was most definitely one of them wanting the coins all for himself, greedy bastard.”

And now, Olivia’s body was caught somewhere at the bottom of the river, or maybe it had even floated out to sea. And Shane couldn’t pay for it enough.

Destined to the rest of his years without her, he wished he’d died in her stead, rather than simply gashing his hip open in the attempt to save her.

Every time he looked down at the ugly scar, he saw Olivia. The doctors had suggested plastic surgery, but it gave Shane a twisted pleasure to have a daily reminder of how useless he’d been to Olivia. Death was nothing compared to what he deserved. Still, it would have been an easier option than this hell.

For over a year now, night after night, bottles of Jack had taken care of the pain. For the pleasure, there were lots of pretty ladies willing to do the same. Just like this brunette here who had everything in all the right places, plus a sexual pull visible even from this distance. But she would never be Olivia. She would never be his woman, his
life
.

Shane shielded his eyes from the scorching sun, studying the brunette with a sigh. He already foresaw the conversation.
What’s your name, want to come below deck,
etc., and then finally some body heat to warm him, even if only for a brief couple of hours.

And then morning would come again, and he’d drag himself out of bed and down a few flights to his offices in Canary Wharf, where he headed one of London’s largest banks—only to fall in bed again the next night with yet another woman. And on it went, forever and ever as he spiraled through a semblance of life.

He didn’t give a fuck about what happened to him. He didn’t eat, didn’t smile, didn’t socialize, didn’t live. All he did was work, drink, fuck, feed Lottie, then work, drink, and fuck again. It got him nowhere, and many times he wondered why he even bothered with this empty, shell-like existence. Hell, he’d fucked his way through the past year. He could fuck his way through the rest of his miserable life, if necessary.

But it’d never bring her back.

The sexy brunette straightened and reached behind her to unfasten her bikini top. Shane wiped his mouth and sat up with renewed interest. He gulped down another mouthful, almost hitting the pontoon at the sight.

That’s what I’m talking about.
Her breasts were so goddamn perfect they would’ve seemed airbrushed, were it not for the slight jiggle as her boat bobbed over the roughening waves, nearing the marina exit and heading toward the open sea.

She looked out toward the horizon, a coy smile on her face. Shane’s cock tightened as she began to slather some lotion over her breasts and flat tummy.

This chick was heavenly. And judging by the way she swayed and pouted, she also fucked like an angel—a very rare talent in his vast experience.

“You need to choose one girl and stick to her, mate,” Alfie would say. “And cut the booze. If you keep this up, you’re not going to make it to your thirty-seventh birthday.”

Olivia had only been a sweet and beautiful twenty-nine. Much too good for a rogue like himself. He had worked hard to give her a decent living, and now that he’d obtained success, he’d lost her, all he’d ever really wanted.

Through his alcoholic haze, Shane turned his head toward a loud buzzing sound to see a speedboat making its way toward them.

The hair on the back of his neck stood to attention as an alarming sense of déjà vu spread through him like burning acid. The brunette whirled around and the look on her face was the same Olivia had a moment before the bullets hit her.

Shane jolted as the sound of a gunshot reverberated across the bright summer sky.

The brunette lurched and slipped into the water like she’d never existed and the speedboat fled faster than it had appeared.

“Fuck!” Shane swore as he jumped in after her, that same feeling of déjà vu propelling him down into the dark waters, as deep as he could go in one breath.

Hang on!
his mind screamed, louder than the rush of water in his ears. He’d give up Jack and dicking around—anything, to get her out alive. If he hadn’t been able to save Olivia, then he owed it to her to save this girl. She’d want him to do the decent thing. The heroic act. Save this woman.

The strong current pushed her away from him, further and further down. He hoped fate, or whatever decided between life and death, would be on his side at least this once.

Through the dark depths, he spotted her further below, suspended, arms bent and outstretched, like a ballerina in a broken music box, her long, black hair swirling about her like tentacles. And then the chanting began. Soft but distinct as it had been the first time he heard it fourteen months ago when Olivia had disappeared. The sound seemed to be emanating from her.

He fought his way closer, but had lost precious seconds during which she had swallowed water, and he, too, despaired for another breath. Still only a few feet separated them, but it seemed to be taking him forever to close the short distance. He could see her features clearly, the beautiful brow, the high cheekbones, and the mouth that had been violated by the sea.

Shane’s body shook with a stab of excruciating pain as the water pressure increased, and his chest squeezed the air out of his lungs. He ignored the screaming of his body and brain begging for air, and stretched every muscle toward her, fighting the instinct to open his mouth in search of oxygen.

As he reached down, a familiar image flashed before his eyes. Lately his mind enjoyed playing tricks on him, reminding him of how miserably he’d failed to save his wife from these same waters. Olivia? Or was it her ghost, still trapped down there, haunting him for having abandoned her?

This couldn’t happen again. No way. A few more feet and he could touch her.

As his mind formulated this thought, his body coiled and flexed, catching the girl by the wrist, and pulling her up, as if in a slow, delicate dance. Shivers chased down his spine like when, as a kid, he dreamed his grandmother had come to visit him from the dead. He had the same sensation of being watched. Or was it simply the fear of seeing the life leaving this young woman’s body? Her complexion paled to a sickly green now, and his heart gave another sideways, knifelike beat in his now flattened ribcage.

No, no, no!
Too late! She was gone! And a moment kept him from joining her and finally paying for Olivia’s death, although it killed him to take a young, innocent woman along with him. A woman whose only fault was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Life—what a bitch. Not that he’d miss it.

But in the deep waters surrounding him, something happened. Again the chanting resumed as an electric shock traversed his body, like a momentary ripple of energy and fresh air filled his lungs. And the woman morphed into Olivia, her eyes wide open, silently begging him to save her. He tried to catch her in a desperate embrace, but she disappeared, and again the brunette materialized before him. With renewed vigor, he caught her mouth in his and gave her the breath he didn’t deserve to keep. Not for what he had done to Olivia.

He breathed into her mouth, feeling revived not by the new air circulating in his lungs, but by his act of selflessness. If he’d lived uselessly for the past fourteen months, finally his last breath had a purpose. Shane ignored the pressure on his own lungs and kicked, following his bubbles up to the surface, the girl’s body undulating with his under the current as he pushed toward the flashes of sunlight from the world above.

* * *

Olivia opened her eyes to the dark, cold water and began to panic. A strange, electric-like pulse coursed through her limbs, so violent it shook her. She sank her toes into the muddy riverbed as her hair swished around her, but she wasn’t fighting for oxygen. She didn’t need to breathe. A soft, familiar chant filled her ears. Was she dreaming?

Wake up.
Wake up.

A large hand tugged on her wrist. Shane! She knew he would jump in after her. He hauled her up, his mouth slanted across hers, blowing air into her mouth. She could finally breathe again!

They broke the surface spluttering, and she clutched at him, the love of her life. The reason she had survived. He had saved her, and she now had another chance to love him the way he deserved to be loved—passionately, freely, no holding back. No messing it up again.

He pushed her up onto the quay, his eyes never leaving her face as he positioned himself between her legs and pushed down on her chest, forcing his own breath down her throat, until she jerked forward as if a spasm had caught her.