Red Hot BOX SET: Complete Series 1-4: A Patrick & Steeves Suspense (15 page)

E
mily struggled
against the ropes as Dal tried to stand. The echo of the shot bounced off the cabin walls. Overhead, there was a resounding thump.

“Kris,” he yelled. “Kris!”

Footsteps pounded across the deck above. The hatch banged open and the man’s large bulk blocked out the sun. A gray-white object thudded to the floor near Emily’s feet. Legs askew, feathers blown apart where the bullet had entered.

“If you hurt him—” Dal yelled.

“You’ll what? You’re trussed up like a holiday turkey. Let this be a warning what could happen to you two lame ducks.”

He slammed the hatch shut.

“What is it? What did he throw down?”

The bird’s glassy eye stared at Emily. “It’s a seagull.”

“Seagull?”

“Yeah, the bullet almost took its head off.” Blood pooled under the bird. She turned her head away. This was going downhill fast. “We need a way out of this, Dal.”

“I can’t be responsible for more blood on my hands,” he grunted.

She knew the feeling. She thought they’d seen the worst of it at the ranch, but she’d been wrong. At least now she understood why this one American guy was so important that she was sent to get him. If anything happened to him, America’s golden boy of the moment, there would be serious backlash - from the public, the media, from Senator Green and possibly higher up. “Do you think we can stand?”

“My feet are jammed against the fridge, so yeah, I think so.”

“I have nothing to push against, but let’s try.”

Emily pushed against his back and Dal pushed them up several inches off the floor. Emily grasped at cabinet handles, knees bent and feet planted on the floor in front of her. A minute later, they dropped back down.

“We’ll have to kneel first,” she said.

“I don’t have much room to maneuver,” Dal said. “I’m really wedged in here.”

“On the count of three, you lean forward and lift me as much as you can.” As Dal lifted her, she drew one leg beneath her, then the other. “Let me down now.” She moved into a kneeling position, ankles wedged between the cupboard and Dal’s hips.

“Good work.”

“Now you.” She leaned forward, Dal pushing against her back. He struggled in the small space, banging against the galley cupboards. She shushed him.

“I’m doing the best I can,” he hissed.

“I know. But we need to be quiet. Try again.”

He jerked against her back and her body tilted higher on the right. “I’m on one knee. We’ll have to make it work like this. I don’t have room to get my other leg under me. But I can reach the counter, so I have some leverage.”

“Let’s do this.” Emily kept her shoulder against the wall for balance until they were upright. She let out a sigh. “Now what?”

Dal shuffled sideways so she could lean her hands on the counter. “There - the knife I used for breakfast. It’s mostly hidden behind that loaf of bread. Can you see it?”

She leaned over the counter, straining, stretching her fingers to reach the knife. “Get me closer,” she said.

Dal edged backwards and leaned back. She grasped the handle. “Got it.”

She flipped the handle so the blade was between her wrists, against the rope. She held the handle with the tips of her fingers. “I don’t have any leverage,” she said. “This will take all day.”

“Let me try.” Dal edged sideways to take her place. The knife clattered on the counter. “Damn,” he hissed. He leaned forward to grab the knife, taking her with him, her feet almost off the ground.

“Maybe we can wedge the knife in somewhere, so the blade is rigid.” Her eyes sought a solution - in the cupboards, the drawers, the refrigerator. “Would the fridge work? We can wedge the handle inside and the gasket might hold the blade in place…”

“Good idea,” he said, bending to open the fridge door.

“Is it working?”

“No, the shelf is in the way.”

“What about blade in, handle out?”

“Give me a minute. I need to hold it all in place and close the door at the same time.”

“Maybe my foot will reach the door.” She pushed her foot between Dal’s legs until it hit the door.

“Good, hang on. Okay … now. Push it closed.”

Em put pressure on the door. “Is it closed?”

“Yeah. Let’s see if this works.”

She turned her head as far as possible, but could see only Dal’s shoulders. “What’s happening?”

“It’s too wobbly. The knife is too long to remain in place. A smaller knife might work.”

The drawer was to her left. She slid it open. “There are scissors here,” she said. “And a small paring knife.”

“See if there’s something sharper. He should have a boning knife.”

She peered into the recesses, then pulled the drawer out as far as possible. The boat rolled to the side, she lost her footing and fell against Dal. They lurched into the far counter and the drawer crashed to the floor.

The hatch banged open and their captor’s voice boomed into the small space. “What the hell is going on down here?”

“What’s going on up there?” Dal took the offensive. “Sit down,” he hissed to Emily, guiding them back to the floor.

The man clambered down the ladder, and took in the scene. Emily and Dal sat on the floor of the galley where he’d left them. She strained not to shift, her ass perched precariously on a pile of forks. The corner of the drawer dug into her thigh.

“Being good down here, are we?” He sniffed at the air. “Smells like burnt eggs down here. Making me hungry.” He kicked at her feet and she drew her legs up.

“Maybe you can prepare this bird for us, sunshine.” He punted the bird into Emily’s lap. Blood splattered over her shirt. Its neck dangled to the side, its body still warm against her legs. She struggled not to gag.

He laughed. “I’ll just check on the captain, and be right back. Don’t go anywhere now.”

He returned to the deck, slamming the hatch behind him.

Emily wretched and lifted her hips to rid herself of the dead bird. It stuck to her legs. How the hell would they get rid of this drawer and all the utensils before he returned?

“
I
want
this damn bird off me,” Emily hissed, twisting first to one side and then the other. “And the forks are piercing my ass.”

“Stay calm,” Dal said, his voice even. “Let’s deal with one thing at a time. First, we need to stand up. Can you do that again?”

She gulped and nodded. He was right, panicking wasn’t going to help. She’d dealt with worse than dead birds, and she’d been trained to remain calm under duress. Taking a deep breath, she drew on her training. “Right, first we get up.”

In a few moves they were standing again. The bird rolled off her legs and landed on the floor with a splat.

“If we move together, I can get this drawer back in place.”

Dal slid the drawer back onto its gliders while Emily kicked loose utensils under the bottom edge of the cabinet doors.

“We need to bend down again and get one of those knives,” she said.

“I already stashed one in my boot.”

The hatch opened, throwing light into the small space.

“Sit,” she whispered. Together they slid back to the floor.

The man dropped down the ladder and stood in front of Emily, legs wide, hands on his hips. “What do you think, sister? Ready to cook up some lunch?”

She shrugged. “It’ll be hard to cook tied up.”

He tucked his gun in the back of his jeans and worked on the knot binding her hands. Once loose, she rubbed her wrists. Raw indentations marked her skin where the rope had been.

He leered down at her. “You’re a pretty little thing up close.”

She turned her head to the side as he leaned over to sniff her hair. His clothes reeked of stale beer, cigarettes, and perspiration. A foul odor she didn’t want to identify soured his breath. He unwound the rope until she was no longer bound to Dal, then kicked her thigh.

“Get up, fix us some food.” He retrieved his gun and stepped back. “And no funny business. Tell your friend there to get the hell out of your way.”

Dal rose, hands still bound, and shifted his body out of her way. He caught her eye before shuffling out of the narrow space.

“Keep moving. Over here,” he ordered, indicating the spot with his gun. “Sit down behind the table.”

Dal moved into the spot where Emily had sat earlier. The bench seat was a tight fit for him. She was surprised he managed to squeeze in.

The man regarded him, a puzzled look twisting his face. “So you’re Steeves.” A statement. “Don’t look like much of a hero to me.” He laughed, dismissing him and turned back to Emily.

“I want eggs,” he said. “Scrambled. See if this kitchen has any decent salsa to go with them.”

She took the remaining eggs out of the fridge, along with a bottle of hot sauce and held it up. “This do?”

He nodded. “And toast.”

She pulled a loaf of bread out of an overhead cupboard, then started to chop onions and green pepper. A sense of
déjà vu
washed over her. She scraped the burnt eggs into the trash and wiped the griddle before placing it back on the stove and lighting the burners. When the griddle was heated, she sauteed the onions and pepper before pouring out the eggs. In minutes, she had a steaming plate of eggs ready. She carried it toward the table.

“Uh uh,” he said, shaking his head. “Close enough. Put it on the counter.”

She set the plate on the end of the counter and stepped backward until she reached the stove. She caught Dal’s eye. He nodded.

The man turned his back to Dal and picked up the plate. As he turned back toward the table, Emily grabbed the hot griddle with a towel. She rushed forward and slammed it over his head.

He cried out in pain and stumbled. The gun went off, the bullet lodging in the bench seat under Dal. Emily brought the heavy cast iron griddle down on his head a second time. Dal rushed him, pushing him to the floor. His eyes rolled back in his head like those of a big ugly doll. He groped toward Dal, then passed out.

“Big bastard,” Emily said. She put the griddle back on the stove and retrieved the rope he’d thrown in the corner. “Can we get his arms behind him?”

Dal held up his hands. “Untie me first.” Emily loosened the rope and freed Dal’s hands. “Let’s do it,” he said.

They rolled him over and Dal wound the rope tightly around his wrists. “Legs, too?” He looked up at her.

“Yeah, good.” She grabbed a shorter piece of rope and passed it to Dal.

“Good move,” Dal said.

“The element of surprise,” she said. “Always works for me.”

“You mean, having him turn away.”

She chuckled. “No, I mean being a woman, and not a very large one. Always gives me an unexpected edge ‘cause they don’t usually see me coming.”

“Well this asshole sure as hell didn’t.” He pulled off the man’s boots and cinched the rope around his ankles. “Eggs smell good,” he said.

“I’ll split them with you.”

“Thanks,” he grinned, rising. He grabbed the man’s ankles and dragged him away from the ladder to the bow of the cabin. “I’m gonna check on Kris.”

She pushed half the eggs onto a plate and handed it to him with a fork. Grabbing a fork for herself, she followed him up the ladder onto the deck.

* * *

D
al pushed open
the hatch and climbed out on deck. Kris stared at him, open-mouthed.

“Shit, man, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I thought someone was being killed down there.” He heaved a sigh of relief. “What did you do with that big asshole?”

“Emily took him down.”

“What?” He turned toward Emily, sizing her up. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “Yep, me and your breakfast griddle.” She chuckled and took a mouthful of eggs.

Kris eyed her with new appreciation, a look she was familiar with. She shrugged and kept eating.

“Look,” he said, turning to Dal, hand on the wheel, “I didn’t know how to warn you without causing more trouble --”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Dal said, leaning against the second Captain’s chair. “Why don’t you fill us in?”

Emily settled on the bench seat and scraped the last of the eggs off her plate. Kris looked different than when they’d first boarded. Her first impression had been that he was an arrogant ass. Certainly he’d been sarcastic and aggressive in some of his comments to her about Dal. Knowing the kind of pressure he’d been under helped her see him in a whole new light.

Kris pushed his hand through his hair. “It all started the other night when I went to meet you at the pier.”

J
ack kicked
the fender of the SUV. Would he ever get off this god-forsaken ranch? “Give me your phone,” he barked at Miguel.

“Why did you bother giving it back to me?” Miguel threw him his cell and busied himself getting Rico out of the truck. He led him outside and positioned him in the shade, his back against the barn wall. His color hadn’t improved.

“Bring Chuy out, too,” Jack ordered. Miguel shot him a look and returned to the barn for the other man.

“Who can we call to come and get us?”

Miguel, carrying Chuy across his arms, shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Think,
cabrón
. There must be a brother, a cousin, a damn neighbor even who can drive out here and pick us up.” He leaned against the weathered barn door and gazed out over the barren landscape. Overhead, two hawks circled in the hot, still air.

With a gentleness surprising for his size, Miguel laid Chuy’s limp form on the ground in the shade of the barn. He pulled a cloth and bottle of water from his pocket, and ran the moistened cloth over Chuy’s face.

“No sign of life from him yet?” Jack sidled closer. “Damn it, let’s call a doctor. You know a doctor?”

On one knee, Miguel looked up at him, his eyes narrowed. Jack held his glare then looked away. “If I can reach my wife, I can probably get a doctor out here.”

Jack threw the phone back at him. “Do it. We have to save these guys.” He knelt in the shade and tilted a bottle of water to Rico’s mouth. “Drink,” he said. Rico gaze was unfocused, but he drank.

Behind him, Miguel raised his voice, then lowered it, arguing with his wife. “She’s gonna track him down. He’ll call me.”

“When?”

He returned to Chuy’s side. “When he calls.”

“I need to make a call.” Jack extended his hand for Miguel’s phone.

“Leave this line open for the doc,” he grunted. “Use Rico’s phone.”

Rico’s shirt didn’t have a pocket. That left his jeans. Jack patted the front pockets - no phone. He reached around Rico’s hips and pulled the cell from his back pocket. He thought for a moment, then punched in a number.

The call was answered on the first ring. “Rico, where are you?”

“This is Jack,” he said.

A pause on the other end. “What do you want, Jack?”

“I need to know what happened at the pier the other night. After the truck blew up.”

“Everything went as planned.”

Jack scratched his head. “As planned?” Sarcasm laced his voice.

“After the ambulance. Diego boarded the boat in the morning.”

“What?”

“Yeah, like you said. The guy’s friend showed up. He anchored off the island. When I dropped Diego off, the guy was sleeping.”

“Diego’s on the boat?”

“That’s what I said. I took him out and he boarded the boat.”

What a stroke of luck. Jack would have danced if his feet hadn’t been shredded like lettuce. “Where’s the boat now?”

“How would I know? I’ve got my hands full here, it’s not my problem.”

“I need Diego’s number.”

“You don’t have it?”

“Give me his damn number.” Jack grit his teeth. The other man grunted, then recited the digits. Jack wrote them on the floor of the barn with his finger. He repeated the number into the phone. “That it?”

“Yeah,” the other man grunted. “That’s his number.”

Jack ended the call.