Chapter Fourteen

Ivy tucked herself in the point of the bow on the bed. Not exactly a hiding place, but she had a straight shot at the door and a hatch above her head, should the men get past Dimitri.

Or use him as a shield.

Could she shoot him?

She hoped to hell she’d never find out.

Air-conditioning was off in this part of the boat, and the stateroom was stiflingly hot. Sweat beaded on her brow and trickled between her breasts, and she wanted to peel off the clothes Dimitri had given her. The pants were too long even for her height. They bunched at the ankles, while the top was loose on her shoulders.

The man kept a spare ninja suit on hand. Dimitri Veselov was so very different from the computer geeks she usually hung out with. They had ninja suits too, but only wore them to gaming cons, while for Dimitri, it appeared to be his work uniform.

She tried to imagine Dimitri at a con. The badass real deal, card-carrying Russian spy.

Jesus, being scared shitless must make her punchy. The man was hunting invaders, and she was fantasizing about taking him to a gamer con.

She stared at the closed hatch above her head. When the alarm went off, she could open it and slip onto the upper deck. There were a series of short ladders on the side of the boat that led to each deck. All attention would be focused aft, and it was dark. She was dressed in her ninja best.

She could climb to the top deck and shoot the Russian.

Could she shoot a man?

Through the headphones, she heard the Syrian’s plans for her.

Yes. Yes, she could.

She tucked the gun in the holster and positioned herself below the hatch, hands at the ready to open it. The moment the alarm sounded, she’d join the fray. No one would expect her; the element of surprise was all hers.

Dimitri crept into his stateroom. Two men were at the back window. They couldn’t see him through the dark tint of the one-way film that covered the glass, but he could see their legs and hear their chatter through the cordless headphones.

He grabbed another gun from a hidden compartment in the nightstand. Too bad the windows were bulletproof, or he’d take them out with two shots. But he could use the thick glass to his advantage.

The paranoid mafioso who’d commissioned the custom-built luxury yacht had feared being trapped, and interior releases had been installed on all stateroom windows.

Dimitri stood on the bed in front of the window. Two terrorists were less than two feet away on the other side of the thick pane.

Timing was everything. One window release was on the lower sill to the left and the other at the top on the right. Flick the release, shove outward, bottom first. The alarm would sound, alerting the Russian on the upper deck.

He’d need both hands on the frame. He tucked his gun into the holster at the small of his back. He’d be armed with nothing but a thick three-by-five bulletproof pane as he engaged two terrorists with guns in their hands.

“First, I’m going to blind the whore. Then I’m going to fuck her like the dog bitch she is.” The words were a soft whisper, carried through the headphones. Dimitri hated that Ivy could hear him.

He’d take out Spiderman first.

“We need the woman alive,” the second Syrian said.

“We might need her eye for a retinal scan,” the Russian added. “No blinding.”

Dimitri held one hand over each window release, like a gunfighter waiting for the signal to draw. He’d know the signal when he heard it.

“I will fuck her while she screams for mercy.”

That was it. Dimitri released the window and pushed out. The alarm blared as the pane dropped into his hands. He rammed the upper edge into the legs of both men standing above.

They tripped backward against the rail and Dimitri launched himself onto the shelf at the head of the bed and through the opening, gripping the window. He let out a bloodcurdling yell as he passed through. He shoved the edge of the thick pane into one man’s face, then the other man’s neck.

One man squeezed off a shot. The glass bucked but held. Dimitri rammed him in the face a second time. The man’s head snapped back, and he tumbled over the rail into the water.

Dimitri was out on the deck now, exposed from behind. He kicked the remaining man in the chest as he spun on instinct and used the glass as a shield.

Three bullets hit the pane in rapid succession, fired by the Russian.

Behind him, the second Syrian splashed into the water. Now it was just him and the Russian.

It was just light enough in the predawn to see the glass held, but was opaque in the middle, where it had fractured. Through the top of his shield, he could see the Russian had moved to the aft end of the upper deck.

He couldn’t hesitate, or the Russian would have the upper hand. He charged, leaping onto the deck that was the roof of the stateroom he’d just been inside.

The Russian kept firing, and Dimitri kept coming, leaping to the next deck in one bound. He lunged at the Russian, shoving the man’s gun upward with the crazed shield. The gun hit the Russian’s chin. Dimitri leaned on the shield, applying hard, fast pressure on the fingers wrapped around the hair trigger. The bullet entered the Russian’s brain through his palate and took out the top of his head.

With one last shove, Dimitri pushed him over the rail, dropping the man into the ocean before his blood could stain the deck.

He dropped the shield and leaned his head on the railing as he caught his breath. Adrenaline coursed through him. Fight-or-flight had kicked in, but the fight was over, and he never chose flight.

He should return to the stern and make sure the two Syrians weren’t coming back. He thought he’d snapped one’s neck but needed to be certain.

“Dimitri?”

He lifted his head and turned. Ivy stood several feet behind him, holding his Sig, pointed right at his chest.

He felt the blood drain from his brain as he gazed into her eyes in the dim predawn light.

He should have seen this coming. He’d known the risks when he handed her the gun. But he hadn’t believed she’d do it.

Steel orchid with brass balls, that was Ivy MacLeod. She could teach some former KGB agents he knew a thing or two about tenacity.

He raised his hands. Full surrender. It was probably better this way. He was a killer. He couldn’t get away from it no matter how hard he tried. Proof was floating in the water below him.

And if he were dead—for real with proof this time—Sophia and Yulian would be freed. He’d struck a deal, his life for Sophia and Yulian’s freedom. Did it matter who took his life in the end? Plus, while his handlers were far from honorable, there was no need to keep his sister prisoner without Dimitri to control.

Fight-or-flight again. But he would never fight Ivy.

“Do it,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.

Her hands shook. She held the gun for another second or hour—time stretched like it did in the heat of battle, so it was hard to tell—then she lowered the weapon and rolled her shoulders. “We need to make sure the others are dead or gone.”

He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed, but he took the stay of execution and jumped through the opening in the rail to the next deck down, landing on the roof of his stateroom. Before he’d gone two steps toward the lower walkway where he’d shoved the men overboard, something thumped against the stern.

Ivy was right behind him and he held out an arm to halt her.

“What is it?”

“Shhh,” he said. There it was again, another thump…and a sound that turned his stomach.

“Stay here,” he said and pulled his gun as he crossed to the stern, looking down to the water.

He lowered his gun. The Syrians weren’t a threat anymore. A small mercy, they were either unconscious or already dead. Otherwise, they would be screaming.

“What is it?” Ivy repeated.

“Sharks,” he said.

Horror spread through Ivy even as she acknowledged a feeling of relief. She’d heard what the one terrorist wanted to do to her.

She stared at Dimitri’s back. She’d shocked herself when she pointed the gun at him.

The fight had been fast and furious, and she’d only just made it to the upper deck and pulled the gun when she’d witnessed Dimitri’s efficient and brutal disposal of the Russian.

She’d been prepared to shoot the Russian, but he was gone and Dimitri was in her sights, and for a moment, she saw a way out of this mess.

If she shot him, she could take Liberty back to Koror. She could hand CAM over to whatever US military official wanted it and hightail it home. Without CAM, no one would be after her. She wouldn’t be guilty of aiding and abetting a Russian spy.

But there stood Dimitri, the man who’d just risked his life to protect her. The man who’d just killed on her behalf. He’d…not even flinched at the idea of her shooting him. He’d just accepted it.

Proof he wanted out of this tangle too. Proof he wasn’t doing this for some anti-American ideological purpose. He wasn’t serving his government in the belief some greater good would come of abducting her. He wasn’t doing it for money or power.

To want money or power meant wanting to live to spend or wield. Working to achieve an ideological goal meant passion and drive, and when staring into the face of failure, frustration, and devastation floated to the top of the emotional cesspool.

Dimitri showed her in that moment he had no desire to live. No devastation. No anger. No passion. No drive.

He was well and truly hopeless.

She finally had the variables she needed to triangulate Dimitri Veselov’s position. He wasn’t doing this for himself. Someone was forcing him to play pawn. Alpha Dimitri would chafe at being someone else’s tool.

So she’d lowered the gun.

Now she stood on the deck with him, at a loss for what to say. She wanted to cover her ears and close her eyes against the sound of breakfasting sharks, but hiding from the situation wouldn’t help anyone. “What do we do now?”

“Their Zodiac is tied to the stern. They probably have a bigger boat nearby, with more of them.” Dimitri ran a hand over his face. “I need to get us out of here, before they come searching.”

She nodded and met his gaze without flinching. “And I need to turn off the locational beacon on CAM.”