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“I don’t want to hurt your knee.”
“Screw my knee.”
She laughed at this, moving closer to him. Maybe she was drunk. Drunk off one smashed-peach mojito, a boatload of sexual chemistry and one devastatingly dirty dance. “What are my other options?”
His gaze darkened with interest. “Anything you like.”
“Let’s go.”
He grasped her hand and walked back through the bar. She picked up her purse on the way out. Despite his injury, she had to hurry to match his stride. Which was fine by her. Now that she’d decided to “live a little,” she couldn’t wait to get started.
His room was only two levels down, so they took the stairs. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her knees felt weak. His grip was strong and reassuring, his hands wonderfully large. When they reached the landing, her heel got caught on the carpet and she stumbled against him. His arms went around her waist to steady her. She felt secure and exhilarated at the same time. It was an intoxicating sensation.
“Thanks,” she said, breathless.
His gaze locked on hers. They were alone in a quiet hallway. She didn’t know where his room was, but she needed to touch him right here and now. His mouth descended, as if he’d read her signals and shared her impatience. She twined her fingers through his hair. Then they were kissing like crazy.
There was no tentative warm-up. No gentle brush of lips or soft, hesitant petting. He buried his tongue in her mouth and thrust his hands beneath her skirt—both hands! With a possessive grunt, he lifted her against him. He had her back to the wall and her legs around his waist in the blink of an eye.
Lord. It was glorious.
He was like a caveman. His mouth was hot and delicious, his tongue bold. She kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, squirming against him. His erection jutted at the apex of her thighs, and his big hands splayed over her bottom.
She whimpered into his mouth, already lost. She was on fire for him. If he ripped off her panties and took her right here against the wall, she wouldn’t protest. She’d sob his name and sing Glory, Glory Hallelujah.
He didn’t rip off her panties. He broke the kiss and removed his hands from under her skirt, glancing around to make sure they were still alone. Then he took a step back. “Sorry. I usually have more self-control.”
She touched her swollen lips. “So do I.”
“I’ll try to go slow.”
“Okay,” she said, swallowing hard.
After that was settled, they both rushed down the hallway toward his room. She burst out laughing at their lack of decorum. He laughed along with her. His hair was mussed, his collar askew. She’d never felt like this before, awash with joy and arousal. He pushed her up against the door and kissed her breath away. All of her senses were heightened. They were standing on the threshold of ecstasy.
But she didn’t get in.
There was a sudden flash of movement behind Logan. He was yanked backward and thrown into the opposite wall. She counted three figures in black masks, circling like sharks. She shrank against the door, but one of them grabbed her and clamped a hand over her mouth. Her scream was muffled by a leather-covered palm. She was shoved into the room next to Logan’s. It was dark. Thin curtains fluttered by the open balcony entrance. Her knees met the edge of the bed and she fell across it with her captor. She kicked her legs wildly and bit at the gloved hand. He didn’t let go.
Logan crashed into the room and got immediately wrapped up by two assailants. They wrestled him onto the balcony. He managed to jerk his arm free and throw a brutal punch, staggering one of the masked men.
Cady watched in horror as the second man swung a blunt object at Logan, hitting him in the temple. Logan dropped to his knees. Blood streamed down his forehead. Strangled sounds emerged from her throat. Logan fell onto his stomach and stayed there, motionless. The two men hauled him upright and pitched him over the railing.
And that was it. He was gone.
She stopped struggling. Tears blurred her vision, and her mind went blank. She didn’t understand what was happening, but resistance seemed futile. There were too many hands on her. One of the assailants gagged her and bound her wrists with rope. He tied her ankles, too. Some kind of bag went over her head. Then she was lifted and carried onto the balcony. Although she couldn’t see anything, she could feel her body being lowered over the railing. She sobbed into the gag, frozen with terror.
She went down and down and down. She didn’t hit the water. There was someone waiting for her on a raft below. The other assailants joined them. After they started moving it dawned on her.
She was being kidnapped.
Chapter 3 (#u17e4ed98-8933-5939-b552-19f14a05f69c)
Logan hit the water like a ton of bricks.
He was still reeling from the blow to the head. The hard slap against the surface didn’t help him regain his senses. He plummeted into the dark abyss, blood streaming from his scalp. Although he was an expert swimmer, among the best in his BUD/S class, he faltered. He was disoriented. He couldn’t tell up from down.
Panic gripped him, and he let out a silent scream. Bubbles emerged from his mouth. Bubbles that led him toward the surface.
He swam hard and broke through, gasping for breath.
Good God. He’d almost drowned like a rookie. Worse, he’d been easily overpowered by a couple of lightweights—after almost banging a woman in the hallway outside his room. How embarrassing. He wasn’t even drunk. Extreme lust wasn’t an excuse. Neither was his injury. He’d let three unarmed men get the drop on him.
He was lucky to be alive.
He touched his brow, wincing. He felt nauseous. His vision sucked. He had a concussion, no doubt about it. He spent the next few minutes treading water, waiting for his thoughts to clear. He couldn’t seem to focus.
Damn. He might still drown yet.
While he struggled to stay alert, he became aware of a raft in the vicinity. It was dark, and he couldn’t see anything but vague shapes. The black expanse of the cruise ship hull loomed against the foamy breakwater. There was a figure sliding down a rope from the balcony of Logan’s cabin to the raft below.
The raft had a motor, but they didn’t engage it. Maybe it made too much noise for a stealthy getaway. Two men used paddles instead, cutting quickly through the chop. Logan counted four heads on the raft. One was lumpy, as if wearing a hood.
Cadence.
They’d taken her. She was the target of this raid, not him. He didn’t know why...and now he was faced with a tough decision. He could follow the raft and try to rescue her, or stay here and save himself.
SEALs were taught to put the team above themselves, but they were also taught that dead men couldn’t help anyone. Sometimes self-rescue had to be the top priority. Logan knew he couldn’t keep pace with the swift-moving cruise ship. There was no way to climb aboard. These vessels were built to discourage pirates, not give them a convenient ladder. The only way to get rescued was to shout for help and hope someone heard him.
But down here at sea level, no one would hear him. Except the kidnappers.
While he waited for the raft to move out of range, he considered his only other option. The mother ship would be nearby, probably less than a mile away. He could swim a mile in his sleep. If they didn’t fire up the engine, following them would be easy. Climbing aboard the mother ship and fighting off multiple assailants would not be easy, but screw it. If he was going to die anyway, he might as well choose the nobler cause.
So he started swimming.
His mind was fuzzy, but his body worked fine. He swam after the raft until it disappeared in the dark night. The sound of the motor made his spirits plummet. His chances of catching up to the raft narrowed. Even so, he kept swimming. He didn’t look back at the cruise ship, because it was too late to change course. He was committed.
It occurred to him that the kidnappers had mistaken Cadence for Maya O’Brien. They’d broken into the room adjacent to his, which had been reserved for Maya. The two women were about the same size. They had similar coloring.
Logan’s gut clenched with unease. If this was a targeted attack on a former president’s daughter, ransom might not be their endgame. Either way, Cadence was in extreme danger. Because she wouldn’t pass for Maya O’Brien up close, and as soon as they discovered their mistake, they’d kill her.
He swam harder, galvanized to action. It was one of the most grueling swims of his life. Top five for sure. He surged forward, his arms pumping. He’d done a six-mile in Santa Cruz during storm swells. He’d crossed the Persian Gulf in the dead of night. He’d made the trip from Coronado to the San Diego Bay in a flak jacket.
But he’d accomplished all of these feats as a team. He’d never been in the middle of the ocean alone, with a bum knee and a head injury. He had no support, no intel and no visuals. If he reached the ship, which seemed more unlikely now that he’d lost sight of it, he’d be outnumbered by at least three to one.
The stakes were high. The chances of survival were low.
On the plus side, he was making great time. He also had the element of surprise. The kidnappers shouldn’t have been so careless in disposing of his body. They clearly expected him to drown, not give chase.
He was Logan Nathaniel Starke. He didn’t quit. He didn’t sink. He didn’t die. He protected his assets, and he was going to make those bastards sorry they hadn’t finished him off before throwing him overboard.
His perseverance was rewarded by a dim light ahead. He’d found the mother ship, and by some miracle of fate, it wasn’t even moving. He closed the distance as quickly as possible, his muscles burning from exertion. They were pulling up the anchor. The raft had been stowed. He switched to a modified breaststroke on the last stretch, which kept everything from his nose down under the surface. He didn’t want to be spotted.
The ship was a forty-foot deep-sea cruiser with a protected wheelhouse in front. The galley and cabins were in the back. There was a transom door and a convenient swim step. It was an ideal setup for an ambush. He assumed Cadence would be inside a cabin. She’d be guarded by at least one man, although there was nowhere for her to go. The ocean was a death sentence, not an escape route.
As he reached the swim step, the engine turned on. He scrambled aboard and crouched by the transom door, water streaming down his body. His weak knee throbbed in protest, and his stomach roiled with nausea. He struggled to catch his breath. He’d made it here, against all odds, and now the real danger would begin. This was no time to surrender to exhaustion.
He waited for the cruiser to gain momentum. His scalp had stopped bleeding, and his vision was clearer. He counted two men in the wheelhouse. That was good. He didn’t see any blunt objects lying around. That was bad. He needed something to strike with, or this rescue operation would be short-lived.
The transom door was unlocked, so he slipped inside. The galley was empty. He grabbed the only weapon he could find—a mop handle. Unscrewing the top, he set it aside and crept down the steps to the cabin.
Again, he found an open doorway. These pirates were completely unprepared for a hostile takeover, which was kind of ironic, like thieves who left their loot in full view. Logan listened at the entrance for a few seconds. He heard two men arguing in French. Logan didn’t speak French, so he had no idea what they were saying.
One of the men walked out of the cabin, still muttering under his breath. Logan said hello with a sharp blow to the head. The man crumpled to the ground quietly. He was of European descent, midthirties, dressed in black. Logan stepped over him and entered the cabin. Cadence was sitting on the floor. Her wrists and ankles were tied. There was a gag in her mouth and mascara tracks on her face.
Logan didn’t dwell on these details. He had to focus on the guard, who appeared to be the muscle of the operation. Logan guessed he was Polynesian, from one of the local islands. When Logan swung the mop handle, the man blocked it easily. Then he brandished a wicked-looking knife and went on the offense. Logan leaped backward, avoiding a series of wide arcs. His back hit the wall, and he ducked down to avoid the blade. After it missed him, Logan jabbed the end of his stick against the man’s rib cage. The knife tumbled out of his hand. The man staggered sideways and bent to retrieve his weapon.
Logan couldn’t wait for a better opening. He leaped on his opponent’s back and held the mop handle across his throat, cutting off his airway. The man slammed Logan into the wall in an attempt to dislodge him, but Logan didn’t budge. They both went down to the floor. It took every ounce of Logan’s strength to maintain his grip on the stick.
The man struggled to break free. He reached for his knife, which was sitting right there on the ground. Cadence kicked it away.
That little bit of help made all the difference. The man finally passed out. Logan almost did the same. He let go of the mop handle and shoved his limp body aside. Black spots danced across his vision. His head felt like it might explode. Sweat trickled down his temple. Or maybe it was blood.
He couldn’t afford to rest, so he took a few deep breaths and pulled himself together. He rolled over, picked up the knife and cut the ropes that bound her. She untied the gag with trembling hands. Her mouth was raw, her eyes wary. She didn’t seem relieved by his rescue. She looked terrified.
Of him.
This wasn’t an unusual reaction to trauma, but it still unsettled him. He expected her to trust him, not shrink away in horror.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t say anything to put her mind at ease. He touched a finger to his lips in warning. Then he lifted her to her feet, giving her a cursory inspection. She appeared unharmed. Even if she wasn’t, they had to get off this boat immediately. He didn’t have the strength to overpower the rest of the crew. His energy was spent. He pulled her through the door, stepping over the bodies that were piling up. The guy outside was regaining consciousness. Logan hoped he’d lie there for a few more minutes.
They crept up the stairs, through the galley and out the transom door. The raft was hanging from a pulley system on the starboard side. He used the knife to cut it loose, praying they wouldn’t be seen by the men in the wheelhouse. As the raft fell against the railing, his European friend staggered into the galley.
Damn it.
Logan couldn’t let the man reach the wheelhouse and alert the others. He passed Cadence the rope that was still attached to the raft. “Hold this,” he said, because he wanted her to stay put. Then he barged through the galley to take his opponent down. His knee buckled on the first step, which threw off his attack. The European noted this weakness and seized the opportunity to launch his own assault. He tackled Logan around the waist and pushed him backward. They burst through the transom doors and fell right off the stern, into the dark sea.
The man didn’t let go underwater. He clung to Logan like a goddamned octopus. He was trying to drown Logan, and it was working. As soon as Logan broke through the surface, the European dunked him again. Logan’s movements were clumsy from fatigue, but his instincts were still sharp. So was the knife in his right hand. Making a strangled sound, he buried the blade in the man’s belly. Then he twisted it.
The arms around him loosened, and the weight fell away. Logan treaded water, gasping for breath. Cadence was there, in the raft. She’d managed to push it overboard and get inside. He swam toward her and handed her the knife before hauling himself out of the water. Once he was safely inside, he rested on his back for a moment, one hand over his thundering heart. He was nauseous and light-headed. As soon as his stomach settled, he straightened and searched the water for a body.
He didn’t see one.
The cabin cruiser continued on its journey, oblivious. Their escape would be noticed at some point, but now they had a chance. They had to put as much distance between the raft and the cruiser as possible.
The paddles weren’t inside the raft. They must have been left on the deck. He explored the motor with wet hands, looking for a pull cord. What he discovered made his blood run cold. There was a key ignition.
Without a motor or paddles, they were sitting ducks. The kidnappers would circle back and recapture them.
Or recapture her, rather. He had no value to them. If they knew she wasn’t Maya O’Brien, she was equally worthless. Logan didn’t doubt that these men had firearms at their disposal. They hadn’t used them on the cruise ship in the interest of stealth. There was no reason to be quiet now.
“Can you start it?” she asked.
“Not without a key.”
She stared at him in dismay.
“I might be able to hot-wire it at first light.”
“What do we do until then?”
“We wait,” he said grimly. “And hope they don’t come back for us.”
Chapter 4 (#u17e4ed98-8933-5939-b552-19f14a05f69c)
One of the best nights of her life turned into the worst.
The absolute worst.
She survived it, somehow. So did Logan. They waited in silence for the boat to double back for them, but it never did. Logan said the kidnappers must not have realized they were gone right away. He also said the raft would be difficult to spot in the dark, like a needle in a haystack. The ocean was immense, and frightening. The raft rose and fell with every swell, traveling on a swift current.
What followed them wasn’t a boat. It was the body of the man Logan had killed. He floated on the surface, facedown, his white T-shirt bobbing. It was almost as if the corpse was swimming after them. She watched in horror as his body jerked suddenly. He flailed back and forth, reanimated. Tail fins thrashed on the surface as sharks tore him apart. First one, then two, then a half dozen.
Cady threw up over the side of the raft.
When she leaned too far out, Logan grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back. She wiped her mouth, shuddering.
The night dragged on, never ending. She was cold and miserable. Logan stripped off his wet clothes and wrapped his arms around her, but she didn’t stop shivering. Her mind replayed violent images. Black masks. Glinting knives. Sharks circling.
She couldn’t believe they were in this situation. She couldn’t believe they’d escaped. When Logan had entered the doorway, his face pale and his clothes wet, she’d screamed into her gag. She’d thought he was a ghost, for good reason. She’d seen him get knocked unconscious and thrown overboard. No normal person could survive that. He’d appeared out of nowhere and fought like a man possessed.
One minute, she’d been weeping silently, frozen with fear. The next, she was watching Jason Bourne attack his enemies.
She didn’t understand why she’d been targeted, or how Logan had arrived on the scene. The whole thing was surreal. And sinister. He’d incapacitated one of her captors and gutted another like a fish. She knew he was a Navy SEAL, trained to kill. She also knew he’d acted in self-defense, and he wasn’t a danger to her. Even so, her first reaction to his daring rescue wasn’t relief. It was terror.
The brutality of his actions, and the ease with which he’d executed them, still disturbed her. She hadn’t signed on for this. She wasn’t equipped for it. She was a chef on a cruise ship, sailing toward an uncertain future. She’d been in a slump, personally and professionally. Her idea of adventure was using new spices in a recipe. Leaving the bar with Logan was the wildest thing she’d ever done.
Now she was stranded on a raft in the middle of the ocean.
She shouldn’t have gone back to his cabin. She should have listened to her instincts, instead of her hormones. She couldn’t have predicted this outcome, of course, but she’d known what kind of man he was. He was an elite soldier. He had hero written all over him, along with heartbreaker and risk taker.
She’d only wanted a single night of excitement with a man whose gaze had warmed her from the inside out. Instead she got this stone-cold warrior who watched sharks feed on a corpse without flinching.
Her stomach lurched at the memory. She rolled over and dry-heaved quietly.
Logan kept his hand on her back like an anchor. His touch felt reassuring, despite the fraught circumstances. She didn’t want to be here, but she was glad she wasn’t alone. She was glad they were alive, and relatively unharmed. When her stomach settled, he pulled her into his arms and held her close. Little by little, her tremors subsided.
At dawn, he put on his damp clothes. She sat up and stared at the rising sun. Its reflection glinted across the ocean, illuminating their plight. There was no pirate boat on the horizon. There was nothing. No cruise ship, no commercial barges, no airplanes, no islands. No drinking water. It might as well have been the Sahara Desert.
