Tsunami Blue (4 page)

I shook my head. Max was going to make me call him again, wasn’t he? Like being naked in front of this guy wasn’t humiliating enough, I now had my dog, my monster killer dog, in love with him. What had I done to make my Max turn on me so viciously?

I grabbed the doorknob once more, took a breath to steady my nerves, and yanked the door open. Any second Max would rush in, push against me, and crowd his way out first. I let two heartbeats go by before I peeked over my shoulder. Max was lying on his back now while Gabriel rubbed his belly.

“Max!”
Oh, no.
That was almost a squeak again. I cleared my throat. “Max,” I said in a commanding voice. There, that got his attention. That or the strip of salmon that hung drying by the door that I’d nabbed. “Come.” Max saw the food, dashed to my side, grabbed the fish, and, just like old times, he pushed and jostled me out of the way. He sprang out the door, snagging my blanket in his rear paw. I held on to the material for dear life. I mean really, I’d had enough nudity in the last twelve hours to start my own camp.

With fish in mouth, Max paused just long enough to see me lose my balance and fall smack on my butt. The knife clattered on cedar planks and my clothes went flying. The blanket, however, stayed anchored. Sort of. A small victory, but a victory no less.

I scrambled, picking up the knife first, clothes second, and my boots, the only shoes closest to the door, third. All the while I refused to look at Gabriel. I was out of the cabin almost as fast as Max. When the door slammed shut, creating a barrier between me and my bunk buddy from hell, I slumped against it, catching my breath. I willed my heartbeat to slow, my adrenaline to quit pumping, and then I heard it through the door.

Laughter. Deep male laughter. And didn’t that just piss me off.

I sat on a grassy dune above the gray-blue waters of Haro Strait. A mean north wind tossed and twisted my long hair, obscuring my view. I smelled sea salt and dried kelp and rotting fish. The gulls, loud and boisterous, cried foul. Foul to the weather, foul to the wind, and foul to my dark mood.

The ocean, as if sensing the darkness, was restless today, tossing waves angrily on the beach as if to say,
He should be dead, he should be dead, he should be dead.

 As I brushed long, thick strands of hair out of my eyes, I had to agree. He damn well should be.

But Gabriel Black had not only survived the night, he seemed to have no outward residual effects. It was uncanny. I should be spoon-feeding him warm sugar water, helping him walk, nursing him back to full strength. I picked up a rock and threw it. Yeah, right. Like I could ever be a nurse. I could barely take care of myself. And Max.

With knees drawn up, I watched Max play in the surf. We had kissed and made up. You know, it was that girl-and-her-dog thing.

I had drawn a sketch of Gabriel in the sand, a very bad sketch. I mean, really, how great could it be with a stick of driftwood and no talent? Still, I had tried to show Max who the bad man was. I didn’t care how great Gabriel Black scratched or rubbed or petted. I had a sudden vision of him lounging in my sleeping bag naked. Okay, maybe I did care how great he scratched and rubbed and petted. In another lifetime. But right now, I told Max, Gabriel was the enemy, and until we knew more about him, Max was to resume the raised-hackles-and-bared-teeth act. Fake a case of rabies, even. Whatever it took, I told him. He was to remember he was on my side and my side alone.

 “Right, Blue,” I said out loud before resting my head on my knees, letting my hair whip around me like an angry dark storm. “Now you think you can communicate with dogs. Gabriel Black is making you nuts.”

Max’s bark jolted me out of self-pity mode. I lifted my head and squinted, out of habit, at the horizon. My eyes expected to see nothing, but my mind said differently. And it was a full twenty seconds before I put it all together to register the sight in my overloaded brain.

Runners.

On my feet, I yelled for Max, studying the horizon, trying to estimate how long. How long before they beached, tracked, hunted, and found us? Thirty minutes? No, I only wished. Twenty? Maybe. Fifteen?
Please, God, no.
The sea was rough today, so beaching would be difficult. Still, not impossible. Not impossible.

Max barreled up the sand dune, dropping a stick at my feet. He stood next to me, growling and snapping at the gray and black sails dotting the horizon. The lead boat unfurled a spinnaker, and the Runner’s emblem painted on the sail glared harsh against a bleak sky. The 666 with a dagger running through the numbers did just what it was supposed to: It struck terror in my heart and twisted fear in my gut.

 My heartbeat slammed against my chest and my blood pressure mounted. For a moment I could hardly breathe. I doubled over, putting my head between my knees, trying to catch a breath. That was when I saw it. Not a stick. Max had not dropped a stick at all. He’d dropped Gabriel Black’s knife, lost from the night before. Scrimshawed in the bone handle was a design: 666, with a dagger running through it.

He was one of them.

I felt angry. Betrayed. But betrayed how? Let’s face it: I’d betrayed myself and everything Seamus had taught me. “We should have let him die, Max,” I whispered. My mind flashed on the memory of his amazing smile, dimples…the wink. Hot tears pricked at my eyes. I willed them away. This was no time for sentiment, for weakness. I didn’t know him. He didn’t know me. Gabriel Black was a Runner. And that was that.

Runners, the scourge of the sea, the pirates of our new uncharted world, were true devils on and off the water. Psychopaths with no regard for life, human or any other, who robbed and murdered at will. In a few short years their reputation had grown legendary. Almost surpassing mine.

Some said they worshiped the devil. Others said they
were
the devil. Urban legends spoke of human sacrifices and cannibalism. But I knew the legends weren’t true. For one thing we didn’t have “urban” anymore. We had Uplanders, survivors who were uninformed and isolated, and started rumors out of fear. And we didn’t have YouTube, or DIRECTV, or the six-o’clock news. We had me, Tsunami Blue. And thanks to Uncle Seamus, I knew what the Runners were all about. The Runners were motivated by reasons as old as time: wealth, greed, power, sex. And in a world where everything was up for grabs, they had quickly established themselves at the top of the food chain. I should know. Seamus, my coldhearted bastard of an uncle, had been one. And I’d lived among his crew for more years than I cared to think about.

But why come here? Why come to a remote, seemingly uninhabited island with nothing to offer? Nothing to gain? But I knew. They’d come for me.

 I chewed my bottom lip, straining to see how many. Ten? Twenty? It didn’t matter; even one was too many. But only if they caught me.

The ocean roared in my ears, a frantic, tattooed rhythm all too familiar:
Danger, Blue. Death. Run, run,
run. In the end, in spite of the tricks the ocean played on me, the death and destruction it brought with the waves, it always warned me. And the ocean was always right.

“Run, Max, just run.” I turned and raced from the dune toward home.

The last Runner ship had come five years ago. And now they were here, en masse. Whose fault? Gabriel Black’s. My life and Max’s hung in the balance. Whose fault? Gabriel Black’s. Gabriel. It had to be.

Ain’t no such thing as coincidence, Blue. If ya think so, you’re just like your father, a damned fool.

“Shut up, Seamus. Just shut the hell up,” I yelled into the wind. I couldn’t afford to think about him, couldn’t spare the time. I focused every second on survival: mine, Max’s, but what of Gabriel Black? My lungs screamed in protest as I slammed up to my door. I stood with my back to the wood, sliding down into a crouching position. I hung my head. I knew what I would do. And I could do it. After all, Seamus O’Malley’s blood ran through my veins, and I could feel the icy coldness of it as it approached my heart, hardening and numbing along the way.

I stood and slowly pulled the knife from the small of my back. What to do about Gabriel? It would be a logical, easy decision for Uncle Seamus. Guess for once in my miserable life I’d make him proud. Too bad he wasn’t around to see it. But it didn’t matter. I’d made my decision.

I was going to kill Gabriel Black.

Chapter Four

I wanted to kick in the door, enter screaming like a madwoman. I’d plunge the knife into his heart, throw the sleeping bag over his bleeding, dead body, grab my backpack, start the fire, and run.

I would run with Max into the cedars and fog.

Run from the death, run from the terror, run from my guilt. I’d become a monster; of that much I was sure. But I had to start the fire. I had time for the fire. I’d destroy it all— my equipment, my clothes, my bra with the knot, my pretty glass floats hanging from a pseudo Christmas tree—anything to confuse my would-be captors. So why did the vision of the tiny tree lapped in yellow flames bring me near to tears?
Stupid, Blue. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Why had I stayed here so long this time? I knew better—I
knew
better. But after the fire, they’d find the body. And it would take them a while to figure out it wasn’t me. Not forever, but a while. And a while might be all I needed.

I had a backup plan. I always had a backup plan. Still, I’d gotten too comfortable here. I’d gotten sloppy. I had a plan B, but not a great one. Not a great plan at all, considering it involved a tiny boat in an angry sea on a deadly winter’s day.
Shit.
Plan B sounded like a folk song. Again, I knew better.

My hand shook as I reached for the knob; so much for entering like a madwoman. I thought he might be asleep. I thought that I could save us both from the horror. I thought… Hell, I didn’t know what I thought. It wasn’t like I did this every day. I opened the door, sick to my stomach, and walked in.

He lay unmoving, the plaid flannel lining of the sleeping bag folded open. He was partially on top of it, partially in. It was as if in a restless sleep he didn’t know whether he was hot or cold, as if he didn’t know my warm, naked body was gone, or if he did, he was inviting me back. He lay on his stomach, his smooth, strong back with that sun-kissed skin exposed, unmarred and perfect.

Except for the small tattoo on his shoulder blade.

I had missed it last night. I had let him sleep on his back, too frightened to move him, too exhausted to think of it, too taken by…by him.
A mistake, Blue
, I chastised myself,
a deadly one.

The lines were crude, prison quality, so unlike the elegant, graceful lines that adorned my arm. But the mark was unmistakable: 666, with a dagger running through it.

I was prepared for it. I’d seen it before. Up close and personal on the night I’d almost been raped.

Gabriel had managed to dress in his black jeans, and he’d found what he could within reach: his socks, his thermal shirt, which lay beside him waiting for the handcuff to come off.

I gripped my knife. The cuffs would come off—no use giving the Runners a hint that big—but not until I’d killed him.

Max scratched at the door and whined. Gabriel stirred. I had to move fast, before Max gave away the element of surprise. But in truth? I had to move fast, before
I
lost my nerve.

I hadn’t dared bring Max in with me. I had no idea how he would react to the fire. I had no idea how he would react to my harming Gabriel Black.

I steeled myself as I approached, moving silently, deadly. I knew what to do. I knew how to kill. And I wasn’t proud of that.

Softly, so very softly, I knelt. I knew where to plunge the blade, where to strike the death blow. Why did I live in a world where I knew crap like this? Why?

I raised the blade, my hand shook, and a lone tear tracked down my cheek. I hated the Runners. I’d seen what they could do. The trail of blood and broken souls they left behind in their wake. This man deserved to die; they were his brethren, his good-old-boy club, his fucking partners from hell. The knife slammed down hard, tearing through thick fabric and futon, impaling the floor. The blade was a mere inch from his tattooed shoulder.

“Sorry, Seamus,” I whispered bitterly. “I won’t be joining you or any other Runner in hell. At least, not for this sin.”

I moved to retrieve my knife, but not fast enough.

Gabriel moved every bit as quickly, twisting and grabbing my ankle, pulling my legs out from under me. I went down hard, but I wasn’t worried. Not yet. He was still cuffed. I had too much fury inside and I took it out on his ribs, kicking him violently with my boot. He let go, and I jumped to my feet. “You bastard Runner,” I yelled. “I should have let you die.”

Fluid, fast, graceful, he did the impossible.

He stood.

I had it wrong on the beach. Not six foot, at least six-two. He had broad, powerful shoulders, muscled arms, and large fists clenched so tight that the knuckles were white. Okay. So this was not good.

“Great, you’re Houdini,” I said, now realizing the fatal mistake I’d made. I underestimated his strength. I mean, I’d thought the man was dying. Who knew he’d turn into Hercules after a good night’s sleep? He’d lifted the stove, a
cast-iron
stove, that weighed what? Ten tons? And slipped the cuff free.

“You meant to kill me,” he said. His voice had a razor edge of rage to it. Guess I wasn’t the only one who was pissed.

“Yeah, tough guy, that was the plan. As you can see, I missed.” That was a lie. I never miss. And boy, was I ever regretting my decision about now.

He said nothing. He just reached down and pulled the embedded bowie knife out of the fabrics and cedar plank like he was plucking a feather.
Great.
This is the part where I get gutted like a king salmon with my own blade.

Max was going crazy outside. It sounded like he was going to take the door down. And he was big enough to do it.

“Let the dog in.”

I looked at the towering man who now held my knife, and glared. “I don’t take orders, tough guy, especially from you.” I let my disgust show and added, “Runner.”

“Well”—he walked toward me—“to use your words”—he held the knife under my chin—“I have the knife.” He held the blade just as I had, pushing the tip into my flesh. It didn’t puncture, didn’t cut. He was either more considerate than I was or he was saving the good part for later. I’d bet all my twenty-dollar bills that he was saving the good part for later.

I raised my head defiantly and glared into those onyx eyes. I showed no fear. I had learned long ago that showing fear was either the quickest way to death or, even worse, the easiest way to prolong it.

“The dog,” he said in that smooth, silken voice. A voice laced with warning. He motioned toward the door with my blade.

I had no choice. “Fine.” I raised a brow of my own. “It’s your funeral. Hurt me, and Max will tear your throat out.” Gabriel shrugged. I turned for the door, paused, and glared over my shoulder.

Gabriel gave my knife a few spins.
Damn it.
He was better at it than I was. Well, that was just what I needed: a dose of humiliation to go along with my murder. How nice.

My hand paused at the door. Fear crept up my spine. Its icy fingers gripped my heart and squeezed.

I wasn’t afraid for me. It was Max. He had been such a big part of my life for the last five years, a daily companion, nonjudging, accepting, fun. And of all the things that I’d experienced in my life, fun had been in short supply. Until Max. And I’d just put him in harm’s way. I’d threatened Gabriel with him.

“Don’t hurt my dog,” I said without turning around. “Please.” I could hear my uncle laughing from the grave. I could hear his taunts and criticism and jeers.
Trading your life for a dog’s. That’s rich, Blue. Knew you’d amount to nothin’. You and your bleedin’ heart. You really are your father’s daughter.

Gabriel said nothing, and I knew my uncle was right. I hadn’t amounted to much, just a voice in the night that tried to do the right thing. Well, right now, right this minute, I was going to do the right thing. I was going to save Max. My fate was sealed. Too much time had passed. Either this Runner or another would determine my fate. And it wouldn’t be pretty. I didn’t have to take Max down that road with me.

I opened the door. My dog tore into the room, jumping and bounding all over me. He almost knocked me down. And before I could grab his rope collar, the one I’d made with a series of nautical knots, he rushed over to Gabriel.

“Max, no!” A near scream came out of my mouth. “Stand down.”

For the first time in five years, Max ignored my command. He proceeded to jump all over Gabriel Black. Max wagged his tail and danced around Gabriel’s legs, even licking his hands. Gabriel smiled and, with his cuffed hand, now just a bracelet, he tousled Max’s head. The second handcuff swung wildly. The two were having a love fest. If I weren’t in a life-and-death situation—
my
life and
my
death—I might have paused long enough to be jealous.

I bolted for the door.

Two things happened at once.

The knife flew past my left ear and slammed deep into the wall, while a large hand grabbed my neck, yanking me up and backward. I flew hard into a solid chest. It felt like I had hit a brick wall. What was it with this guy and his ripped and muscled body? It wasn’t like we had gym memberships anymore. Guess water aerobics were working for him now.

He had me, and before I could stomp on his instep and shove an elbow in his gut, he turned me to face him, sliding his hands around my neck. Gabriel applied just enough strength to let me know he could snap my neck in under a blink.

Max whined and stood, moving his head from one of us to the other.

Gabriel moved close, his mouth next to mine. “Let’s not upset the dog,” he said.

“Oh, let’s,” I whispered.

But Gabriel knew what I had in mind, and he moved like lightning before I could land a perfectly aimed blow to his groin. What a waste of a knee thrust.

Gabriel moved behind me and held my arms pinned at my back. I gasped at the sudden pain in my shoulder joints. Max growled. His hackles rose, and I could see fangs.
Oh, good boy. Good. Boy.
I had a moment of hope.

“Down,” Gabriel’s voice thundered, and Max dropped to the floor, whining. My heart sank. What had happened to my dog?

Gabriel released my arms and once again turned me to face him, this time gripping my wrists. “Like I said, Blue. Let’s not upset the dog.”

We stood there for a moment, glaring at each other. His dark eyes were unreadable. I had no idea what his next move would be. Or mine.

The Runners’ siren cut through the fog and distance, filtering through my open door. Carried on the wind, the warning sounded loud, clear, unmistakable. They’d hit the beach, and subtlety was not their style. They liked to make their presence known. They liked their quarry to run and cry and hide. And they loved the blood hunt. They lived for it.

“Your buddies are here, tough guy,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You had better hurry and kill me, or you’ll have to share.”

Gabriel stood like a statue, cocking his head, listening. His dark eyes narrowed and he gripped my wrists harder.

He pulled me to him with such force that I stumbled, falling into his arms. He crushed his mouth to mine in a bruising kiss that both surprised and frightened me. It took my breath away. The kiss ended as abruptly as it had started. He dropped me on the futon like a duffel bag, while he reached down and retrieved his shirt. He looked at me as he finished pulling his thermal over his head. “I don’t share,” he said.

Why, oh, why, did I mouth off about that sharing thing? My heart kicked into high gear. To hell with showing no fear. I was terrified. He would have me first. Then hand me over to those animals to finish the job.

Bile climbed into my throat, and I thought for a moment that I was going to be sick. I panicked, jumped up, and tried to push by him. He caught my wrist and twisted me toward him. What could I do? He was Goliath to my David. And me without a slingshot. Or at the very least a twelve-inch bowie knife. Max stood up, whining.

“I’m leaving, and you’re coming with me. Get what you need—not much, we travel light—and we leave now.” He released me and reached for his belt.

“We?” I rubbed my wrist where red welts were starting to rise.

He stopped threading his belt through loops and leveled that dark look of his at me. “You have two choices, Blue. One, you come with me and live. Two, you stay here and die.”

My fear disappeared, replaced by red-hot anger. “There is no ‘we,’ Gabriel Black. Just me. Just Max. Choice three? I take my dog and leave. Without you, tough guy. It’s that ‘three’s a crowd’ thing, Gabriel. And don’t get your feelings hurt, but you’re not invited to the party.” I leaned in close. “I just don’t think you’d be a lot of fun.” I started to shove past him for a second time, heading for my knife.

He shook his head, dark eyes hiding…what? That had better not be amusement. I wasn’t starring in a comedy here.

A second burst of sirens sounded, and Gabriel grabbed my wrist again. He held up his hand where the cuff dangled. To my amazement, the dangled cuff was open, and in a move that defied logic, he snapped the cuff on me. My bunk buddy and I were now officially hooked up. Unbelievable.

I yanked hard at the cuff in frustration, but he held firm, his wrist hardly moving. For a guy who had been a Popsicle the night before, his strength was amazing.

“Why?”

“Like I said, we’re out of here. You. Me. We.”

I fought the urge to cry. I just couldn’t wrap my brain around the fact that I’d been caught by Runners. But I wouldn’t cry. Crying was out of the question. I glared into the darkness of his eyes. “Why the road trip, Gabriel? Why not just get on with it and do what you Runners do best?”

“What is it we do, Blue?” he asked softly.

“Rape. Plunder. Kill.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Torture.” Visions of my uncle’s mutilated body flashed into my head. I felt sick all over again. “You know,” I continued, pushing through the nausea and finding false bravado, “the usual pirate shit. I only remind you that I saved your life, so…” I paused and hung my head, not wanting to say it. Not wanting to beg.