Adrift Page 4

  Andreiivich’s form of expressing gratitude was a long, boastful tour of the yacht.

  “The dining room… Billiards room… Smoking room…” He ticked off one section of the yacht after another, all decorated in heavy gold-on-gold tones. “The sun deck…”

  The sun deck had a pool big enough to float Serendipity in, and a thoroughbred could have galloped down the gangways along the sides of the ship.

  “The gym,” he said, pausing for her to admire it.

  Meredith nodded on cue. “Wow.”

  “No expense spared,” he said, as he had in just about every room.

  “Twin two-thousand-horsepower engines… Satellite connection… Guest quarters…”

  She spotted a leopard skin rug, an elevator, and a gold-plated toilet.

  “No expense spared,” Andreiivich went on.

  Yeah, she got that part.

  “Wine cellar…”

  Tsareva had a wine cellar? Serendipity had a briny bilge.

  “Of course,” she murmured, following at his heels.

  “Sauna…”

  She could hear her sister’s wisecrack now. We have one, too. Just close all the hatches on a sunny day and start to sweat.

  God, it would have been nice to have Mia and Ryan with her. The tour was turning into a lecture — and it continued right into dinner.

  The first course was lobster-tail soup, served at a table that could have seated twelve, though they were only three: Andreiivich, Meredith, and Alla, the billionaire’s waifish…girlfriend? Trophy? Bed warmer? Meredith struggled to find a fitting descriptor as Alla toyed with her food without ever bringing a bite to her mouth.

  Second course, shrimp paté. A tiny dollop served on a massive clamshell plate.

  Third course, salad sprinkled with caviar.

  “Good for the heart,” Andreiivich proclaimed in a brief aside from his droning lecture about something Meredith had already lost track of.

  Her mind kept drifting to Tuss. Where was he now? Would she get to see him again?

  She fiddled with her fork and looked out the window, where the tiered stone-and-tile buildings of colonial St. George’s were sliding out of view.

  Wait. Sliding out of view?

  “Where are we going?” She almost jumped out of her chair.

  “What’s dinner without a cruise?”

  The engines were so silent, she hadn’t heard them. Then again, she was at least four levels away from the engine room. A soundproofed engine room, no doubt, unlike Serendipity’s dark cubby which was only separated from the cabin by a thin panel of wood.

  “But…but…” What if she didn’t want a dinner cruise? What if she just wanted to go home?

  “Do not worry. Just a quick trip along the west coast. We shall return before midnight.”

  “Midnight?” she screeched.

  Did he have any idea about the long trip she had back to Serendipity? Grenada by day was one thing, but traveling alone at night…

  With a vicious twist, Andreiivich tore the tail off a lobster brought to him by pretty waitress — another seen-but-not-heard member of his staff.

  Meredith gripped the armrest of her plush chair, batting down the urge to scream in protest. “I really wasn’t expecting…”

  He waved the comment off. “Do not worry, my good doctor. Do not worry.”

  Alla smirked.

  Next came ceviche, though she hardly tasted it. God, what had she gotten herself into? She lost track of courses but celebrated dessert, mainly because it meant dinner would be coming to a close. Right?

  Andreiivich pushed back from the table, lit a fat cigar, and sent a thick plume of smoke in her direction, in no rush to go anywhere.

  That is, until a side door cracked open and Popov’s scarred face popped in. Whatever he said in Russian made Andreiivich scowl and tense.

  “Excuse me one moment,” Andreiivich said, heading for the door.

  Meredith stood, too. “No problem. Your launch can take me home now.”

  The yacht had to be ten miles from St. George’s by then, but the sea was calm. The speedy launch would have no problem—

  “Soon,” Andreiivich murmured on his way out the room. “Soon.”

  The door clicked shut, and he was gone.

  Meredith looked at Alla, who rose with a bored yawn. “I’ll just retire to my stateroom.”

  Alla disappeared down the spiral staircase, and Meredith looked around the empty room and the panoramic windows. Grenada was about a mile to starboard, a murky blue-black outline in the night. She tossed her napkin on the silk tablecloth. Now what?

  She started pacing. Gnawing her fingernails. Vowing not to save the next bleeding tycoon she came across. She’d had enough of the megayacht after ten minutes. Now it had been two hours, and she was more than ready to go.

  Mia was right. She was much too nice, too polite. The minute Andreiivich came back, she’d straight-out demand to be taken to shore.

  She began practicing her lines. Mr. Andreiivich, it’s been a very nice evening, but I really must go.

  Not strong enough. Mr. Andreiivich, I insist that you—

  The cell phone lying on a nearby table rang, and she stared at it. Surely someone would appear to answer it?

  Ring. Ring. The sound echoed through the room.

  Meredith reached for the phone, then reconsidered. What if it was a private call?

  She called down the staircase. “Hello? Anyone there? The phone is ringing.”

  No one answered, but the phone rang on. And on…

  She wavered with her hand over the phone, wondering what to do. Then it stopped ringing, and the room went silent again. Silent in a strangely foreboding way. God, would she be happy to go home.

  Ring. Ring. The phone started up again. And though the ringtone hadn’t changed, she could have sworn the sound was more urgent this time.

  “The telephone is ringing,” she called toward the stairway. Nobody answered.

  What if it was Andreiivich, calling to say the launch was ready to take her back?

  She reached for it, then thought better of picking up someone else’s phone. She released it — too quickly, because the phone missed the table, clattered to the floor, and rang on. She hurried to snatch it up, cursing herself. Her finger hit a button, and a voice crackled faintly over the line.

  She hadn’t meant to activate the call, but it would be rude to hang up now, right?

  She hesitated for one second longer then brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  Chapter Four

  “Alla?” a man asked on the other end of the line.

  Meredith was about to correct him, but the man spoke so quickly, she didn’t have a chance.

  “Tell Andreiivich everything is arranged.”

  Whew. Finally, the launch was ready to take her back.

  “We have made contact with our associates…”

  Meredith glanced out the window, barely listening. Why was the yacht was still motoring when they were about to board the launch?

  “We’ve agreed to Monday at noon…”

  She blinked. It was Saturday. Why was this person talking about Monday? She needed to go back right away.

  “The drop will take place at the cathedral…”

  Drop? What drop?

  “Duarez insists on an investment of at least one million. Cash.”

  The man finally stopped speaking, and Meredith held her breath. Did he mean Duarez, the Venezuelan cartel leader who’d been in the news all week?

  “Alla?” the voice on the line barked.

  What was Andreiivich doing investing in Duarez’s—

  Oh, shit.

  Meredith pulled the phone away from her ear just as the door across the room burst open. Andreiivich strode in then froze.

  “Alla? Get me Andreiivich, now!” The voice on the phone was so loud, it carried across the room.

  Meredith took one step back, then another. “Um, telephone…” she mumbled, placing the phone on a table as gingerly as a live grenade. “I’ll just…um…”

  Her brain spun into a panic. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God…

  She backed up as Andreiivich advanced, frowning murderously. She stooped for her backpack and went right on backing up with no clue what to do except put as much space as possible between her and her host. One more step…

  She bumped into a wall and spun.

  It wasn’t a wall. It was Popov, and he was frowning, too.

  She bounced away from him, continuing the game of cat and mouse across the vast emptiness of the room. Two cats to one scared-as-hell mouse.

  “I, um…”

  Andreiivich gave Popov a curt nod that scared her to the bone.

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “No?” The Russian’s eyebrow bent into a dubious arch.

  Popov pinned her hands behind her back while Andreiivich listened intently to the voice on the phone, then put it down and faced her.

  She cringed.

  “My dear Dr. Whitman, we have an unfortunate change in plan.”

  * * *

  Popov hustled her down a hallway and two sets of stairs, engulfing her with his stale nicotine scent. He turned a corner and shoved her into a windowless cabin. She spun just in time to see the door bang, then lock with a click.

  Crap.

  She ran to the door and listened as his footsteps receded, then tried the knob quietly — then harder and harder, until she was rattling it wildly.

  Oh, God. Oh, God…

  She backed up to the single bed. When she made contact with the frame, her knees buckled, and she sat down hard, staring at the door.

  She’d gone from heroine to crime witness to prisoner in the blink of an eye. What would Andreiivich do? What was he capable of?
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  The rumors she’d heard around the anchorage echoed through her mind. Rumors that mentioned just about every kind of crime.

  Money laundering.

  Racketeering.

  Drug running.

  Murder, too?

  Suddenly, she had no problem imagining any of the ill deeds that had been the talk of the coconut grapevine all week. But Andreiivich wouldn’t hurt her, would he? She’d saved his life, after all.

  No, Andreiivich won’t hurt you, said that little voice in her head. He’ll make his muscle man, Popov, do the dirty work.

  Her gut lurched when she realized she’d left her phone on Serendipity. No one knew where she’d gone. If Popov slashed her throat and threw her overboard, no one would be the wiser.

  She dropped her face to her hands, picturing her sobbing sister, her anguished mother, and her grief-stricken father once they received the news that her body had washed up on some foreign shore.

  She clutched her hair so tightly, it hurt. Oh, God. Oh, God. She had to escape!

  She looked around desperately. The cabin was tiny, with one bed, a desk, and a chair. No windows and no doors, except the one to the bathroom. The megayacht’s engine rumbled quietly from one level below — a hungry, menacing sound.

  They could shoot her. Strangle her. Throw her overboard and leave her to the sharks…

  A desperate corner of her mind grabbed on to the idea of overboard. Last she’d looked, they weren’t more than a mile off the coast. If the current wasn’t too strong, she could swim that far. Not as fast as her sister could, but she’d survive.

  If the current wasn’t too strong. If there weren’t any sharks. If she could escape this cell of a cabin.

  But anything had to be better than the prospect of Popov coming to finish her off, so she jumped to her feet and tried the door again. The only way out was through that door — and soon, before Andreiivich made up his mind what to do with her.

  She twisted the knob for a moment before giving up and rooting through her backpack for her Swiss Army knife. The shorts and T-shirt she’d packed for the dinghy ride home were on top, and she yanked them on quickly. The last thing she needed was a dress choking her as she tried to swim. Then she held the screwdriver blade to the door hinge to see if it fit. Yes!

  If her hands hadn’t been shaking so hard, she might have loosened the upper hinge faster. Time crawled, and she kept stopping to listen for Popov’s heavy footsteps.

  “Come on. Come on,” she muttered at the middle hinge.

  The first screw of three came easily. The second kept catching, and the third—

  Footsteps sounded outside. Quick, light footsteps that stopped directly outside the door.

  She backed away, shaking. Did she dare use the knife?

  Her next thought was the one that terrified her the most. Do I have a choice?

  She kept the knife in her hand but picked up a chair, too. She’d treated too many stab wounds to want to inflict one herself. But the chair might help. She could hurl it at Popov and dart around him to escape. And if that didn’t work… God, could she really knife someone?

  The lock clicked, and she gritted her teeth. Her whole life, she’d been a nice, polite girl who went out of her way to help people, not hurt them. She was patient. Understanding. Encouraging.

  Not mean. Never violent nor cruel. The world had enough of that.

  She gripped the chair so hard, the skin of her knuckles ached. There was no being polite now. Her life was on the line.

  The door swung inward, blocking her line of sight. Shit, shit, shit…

  “Meredith?”

  She did a double take at the deep, familiar voice.

  “Tuss?”

  She’d been expecting Popov. Guns. Ropes. A knife held to her throat. But Tuss?

  “Jesus, Meredith…” He swung the door open and stared at her.

  For a moment, she wondered whose side he was on. But then she saw the alarm and anger in his eyes — neither aimed at her — and she knew.

  “What happened?” he asked. “I saw Popov bring you down here. Did he hurt you?”

  His eyes were fierce. Worried. Dark.

  Her heart thumped in double time — a staccato beat from her near-panic and a deeper bass beat from sheer relief. Relief and…trust? A little leftover lust? Joy? Whatever she called it, it washed over her like a wave.

  Tuss’ vibrant, honest eyes shone and his breath caught, just like hers did. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one caught off guard by that magnetic force that kicked in whenever they touched.

  And, damn, they weren’t even touching yet.

  Tuss looked deep into her eyes, and the split second that ticked by felt like a lifetime. I will never let you down, his eyes blazed.

  The door banged into the wall, and she shook herself out of pause mode. “I overheard something about a deal with Duarez by accident.”

  Somehow, her hand found its way to his chest, and Tuss grasped it, running his fingers over hers. His eyes flashed at the mention of the Venezuelan drug lord.

  “Duarez?” Tuss scowled. “Damn Andreiivich and his dirty deals.”

  “You knew?” Her heart hammered in her chest, not ready to hear an ugly truth about how deeply Tuss might be involved in the Russian’s business beyond his duties as crew.

  He shook his head vehemently. “I guessed. When I took the job a few weeks ago, I didn’t realize…”

  He shook his head then pulled her toward the door. “We have to get out of here. Quick!”

  She grabbed on to his words like a lifeline — especially the we part.

  Tuss checked the hallway, and she barely had time to grab her backpack before he pulled her along.

  “Come on.”

  He ran down the hallway, stopped to peek around a corner, then darted on again.

  “Fast. We have to get out of here fast,” she whispered urgently.

  “Working on it.” Tuss nodded. “Working on it.”

  He rushed along the maze of hallways, pausing only to look and listen, then hurry on. She stayed right behind, keeping one hand on his back while thanking every god she could think of for sending Tuss her way. But Jesus, what had she gotten him into?

  “Tuss…”

  “Later.” He cut her off. “Let’s go.”

  He raced down a staircase, quick and quiet as a panther. The engine noise grew louder and the decor more utilitarian as they descended two more levels then ran down a hallway to a door with a huge handle and big warning sign. Tuss flattened himself beside it and peeked in before motioning her through.

  She peered around the dark space. A lumpy object draped with a cloth took up the middle of the room, and racks of equipment cluttered the sides.

  Tuss ran right to a metal cabinet and started sorting through keys. “Come on. Come on…” He muttered.

  The shapes in the room took form, and she recognized a speedboat, a rack of windsurfers, and several pairs of water skis.

  “Got it!” Tuss cried.

  Got what?

  He motioned to an overhead rack dangling with straps then hit a big red button, bringing a hydraulic arm into motion. “Grab a life jacket.”

  Meredith gaped as the whole rear panel of the megayacht lifted, opening to a view of a starry tropical night. Fresh air rushed in, engulfing her with the scent of rain forest and exotic spices. And freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom.

  “Put on a life jacket,” he urged. “It’s time to go.”

  A breath caught in her throat. “I never wanted to get mixed up in anything. I never wanted to get anyone else involved, either…”

  He shook his head and handed her a blue vest. “Believe me, I think I made the same mistake.”

  “But your job…”

  He grinned, showing his perfect, ivory teeth. “I just quit. Come on!”

  “Come on, how? Where?”

  “Stand by the ramp,” he said, pointing to the stern.

  The water in the yacht’s wake churned and boiled, stirred to a froth by powerful propellers. She slipped on the life vest and hugged herself. Would a life vest prevent her from being sucked underwater by that?

  “I’m pretty sure it’s standard procedure to stop the yacht first,” she murmured.

  “So much for standard procedure.” Tuss shrugged, throwing back the cover to a jet ski.

  “But the propellers—”

  “Don’t overthink this,” Tuss warned, motioning her to his side. “Help me push.”

  She grabbed one side of a set of handlebars and helped him shove the jet ski closer to the edge of the frothing water off the stern. Then they stopped, and even Tuss stared for a minute.