Adrift Page 5

  “How are we going to launch into…that?”

  “Working on it,” he muttered, looking around. “Working on it.”

  Tsareva’s engines hammered on, pushing the yacht along the coast, which slid by deceptively slowly. The water just off the stern, on the other hand, bubbled and rushed.

  Tuss pulled on a life jacket and cinched it tight, then considered the water.

  “Okay. On three. We push the jet ski in and jump on. Like a bobsled.”

  Meredith stared. He’d talked about growing up in places like Haiti, Denmark, and New York.

  “Like a bobsled?” What did he know about bobsleds?

  “Sure. Didn’t you ever watch the Winter Olympics?”

  Her mind immediately supplied a dozen images of upturned bobsleds sliding out of control with wildly waving arms and legs sticking out the sides.

  “You jump on first,” Tuss said. “I’ll jump on the back. You know how to drive a jet ski?”

  She made a face. “Sure. Just like on TV.”

  He laughed, and the sound trickled into her bones, melting some of the tension away. “Easy.”

  She pulled the straps of her life jacket so tight, she could barely breathe. “Easy.”

  They pushed the jet ski until it teetered at the edge of the launch ramp, and her heart jumped into her throat.

  “On three,” Tuss said, not giving her a chance to think. “Jump, then hit that button and open up the throttle. Got it?”

  “Um…”

  “One…” he started, leaving out the Ready or not.

  She gripped the handlebar with white-knuckled hands.

  “Two…”

  The door behind them slammed open, and voices broke in to the space.

  “Three!” Tuss yelled.

  She pushed for her life, threw a leg over the seat like a cowboy taking off on a runaway horse, and somehow landed on the seat. For a heartbeat, the jet ski was suspended in midair. A split second after Tuss thumped onto the back, they struck the water with a bump that nearly toppled her off.

  “Hit it! Hit it!” he yelled, grabbing her around the waist.

  She reached out — somehow — hit the switch, and flicked her wrist, making the jet ski shoot forward. They lurched one way, then the other, stuck in the yacht’s wake, then popped into clear water and roared away.

  “Whoa.” Meredith gulped. Was that really her, making a grand escape?

  “You did it!” Tuss’ laugh exploded in her ear. “Winter Olympics, here you come!”

  She smiled, feeling a million miles away from winter or the Olympics or anything she’d seen on TV. Feeling wildly free and reckless for the first time in her life. The moon lit a wavering path over the stars, guiding her right to the town nestled at the foot of the mountains.

  “Gouyave,” she murmured, looking at the lights on shore.

  “Gouy-what?”

  “Gouyave. That must be the town there.” No more than a mile away.

  Tuss’ thick arms held her close, and confidence washed over her the way it did when she stepped into her work clothes. She could do it! She could make it to shore and put the nightmare of Tsareva behind her. She could go safely home to Serendipity. In fact, she could do just about anything. She could sail alone — not just to the next island, but around the Caribbean. Hell, she could sail around the whole world. She could brave storms, navigate the trickiest channels…

  The wind whipped through her hair, and she felt more alive than ever — for all of two seconds, when reality rushed in and crushed her all over again. She’d overheard the details of a Russian Mafia boss’ deal with a drug cartel. There was a million dollars cash involved. Escaping from Tsareva was only the first of a thousand steep steps toward an uncertain goal.

  Worse still, men like Andreiivich had a reach that went beyond the law — and anyway, Caribbean newspapers were full of reports of police corruption. Where could she run? Where could she hide?

  Tuss let his fingers play gently over her ribs, reassuring her.

  “You don’t have any embassy connections, do you?” she yelled over her shoulder, remembering his stories of moving around the world.

  “Nope. My parents worked for the World Bank. How about you?”

  Her mom was a lawyer, but she doubted any of this mess would end in a court. “Nope. Except…” She trailed off, picturing Serendipity. Not exactly the world’s fastest escape pod, but it might work.

  “Except?” he prompted.

  “My grandfather’s boat. Serendipity …”

  “Your grandfather?” His voice rose skeptically.

  It was a long story, and she wasn’t about to try explaining now.

  “If we can get to the boat…”

  “Which is where?”

  Her heart sank. The coast ahead of her was the west coast of Grenada, which meant there was an entire mountain range between them and the anchorage.

  “Prickly Ba—” she started, but Tuss cut her off.

  “Faster!” His weight shifted as he looked back. “We’ve got company.”

  She looked back and immediately yelped at the sight of searchlights. Tsareva was slowing down, and the stern deck was lit up like a stadium at night.

  “Another jet ski?”

  “I wish,” he muttered. “They’re launching the powerboat.”

  She cursed, picturing the triple engines on the sleek boat she’d been shuttled to the yacht in. A vessel powered by six-hundred horsepower — ten times that of the jet ski.

  “Shit.” She throttled the engine higher until it screamed. She nearly screamed too, but Tuss’ thumbs stroked her sides, calming her down.

  “What do you know about Gouyave?” Tuss asked. “Can we land there?”

  She raked her memory, trying to recall what the cruising guide had said about Gouyave. The problem was, she’d been studying the island group on the northeast corner of Grenada, not Gouyave.

  “They host a fish night, where the whole town sets up food stalls in the street.”

  “Just what we need,” he muttered.

  “Most sailors go by minivan because the anchorage isn’t safe.”

  “Great,” he groaned.

  He tightened his arms around her waist, and the pressure was just what she needed to stay focused. Somehow, she’d land this jet ski on the rocky shore. Somehow, she’d make her escape. But how?

  Chapter Five

  Tuss stared at the shoreline, then looked back at Tsareva, where a speedboat was being launched. Crap, how could he have been so stupid as to take the job on Tsareva? Every instinct had warned him not to become entangled with the likes of Andreiivich.

  But he’d kidded himself right into a job, telling himself he could stay clear of trouble. Which he had for the first two weeks on the job. But ever since they’d arrived on Grenada a week ago, there had been all kinds of suspicious goings-on — even before the drive-by shooting that started rumors among Tsareva’s crew of a rival mobster at work.

  “You got this,” he shouted into Meredith’s ear.

  The only good thing about hanging on for his life on the back of a speeding jet ski at night was the fact that he got to hold Meredith and breathe her scent again. Hell, he even got to wrap his arms and legs around her and snuggle close. It almost made the madness of the situation fade for a moment. But only a moment, and that was a good thing. Now was not the time to develop a hard-on, not even for the woman of his dreams.

  He’d been dying to track her down over the last few days but couldn’t get a lead. Crewing aboard a megayacht meant long hours, even in port, and nearly no shore leave to search for the brunette he couldn’t stop thinking about. The Lagoon was packed with dozens of boats, but Meredith’s wasn’t among them, and he hadn’t been able to get away from Tsareva long enough to search any other anchorages.

  Well, he sure as hell was getting away from Tsareva now.

  Meredith glanced back, and her hair whipped in the wind. He couldn’t help but think of a cowgirl spurring on her steed.

  What was so special about Meredith? He’d asked himself that a hundred times in the past few weeks when his mind refused to toss the sweet memories away. She was one of the few people who didn’t see him an exotic oddity but just for himself. Sometimes, she was the sweet girl from next door. Other times, she was all feminine power. He loved the chameleon in her. Loved a lot of things about her, actually.

  An engine roared to life behind them, and he flinched.

  “Faster!”

  “I have it all out,” she cried with a hint of panic in her voice.

  He stroked his thumbs over her ribs, because he needed Superwoman to stay focused right now. Like she’d been in the cabin Popov had locked her in. When he’d walked in the door and saw her with a chair and a knife, he’d just about done a 180 and backed into the hallway. Damn, the woman could be fierce when she needed to be.

  He looked back at the sleek motorboat cutting through the water, heading right their way. Yeah, this was one of those times, all right.

  “You got this, Meredith.”

  She hunched her shoulders and sped on. “Have they spotted us?”

  He looked back. The good news was their jet ski didn’t have lights, making it hard to spot. The bad news was the moon was full, high, and seemed to be focusing all its light on the two of them.

  “Not ye—” he started saying just as the speedboat altered course and came right at them.

  “What?” she yelped.

  “Yeah. They see us.”

  “Oh, God…”

  “Just go.” Go, go, go, he yelled inside.

  He and Meredith had a big lead, but given the speed difference, it would be close.

  “Come on. Come on,” she murmured into the wind.

  The solid glow of the town lights broke into individual pinpoints as they raced closer, and the heavy beat of a bass drum carried across the water. A whiff of mesquite reached his nose, and he sniffed. It was fish night, all right.

  A cloud slid over the moon, dimming the light, and Meredith cut sharply left.

  “Are they following us?”

  “Hard to tell. Wait…no, they haven’t altered course to follow.” He patted her shoulder, congratulating her on the trick to throw off those in pursuit. Smart lady.

  She made a beeline toward the northern end of town, and he saw the searchlights behind them sweep over the water.

  “Can they hear us?” she asked.

  “Not over the sound of that eng—” He whipped around just as the noise of the motor stopped. The speedboat was slowing down to listen. Drat. A searchlight swept past them, then backed up and caught them square in its sights.

  “Crap. Go! Go!”

  Meredith hadn’t slowed down a whit, but he said it anyway. The lumpy shoreline separated into individual rocks, and the high notes of a steel drum band joined the bass line pumping over the water. Behind them, the motorboat’s engine roared.

  “Whoa!” Meredith yelped, dodging a floating log.

  The sound of waves meeting shore grew louder. At least this was the lee shore of Grenada and not the windward side, where a constant swell pounded the shore relentlessly.

  “God, where do I land?” Meredith yelled out.

  He peered over her shoulder, looking for a break in the rocks. The town’s fishing fleet was pulled high on the shore, which meant there had to be a way in somewhere…

  “There!” she cried, changing course once again.

  How she’d seen the smooth sliver of beach where the biggest boulders had been cleared away, he didn’t know. But they had to reach that beach right now.

  Four hundred yards…three hundred… His neck hurt from craning forward, then back, forward, then back.

  “Throttle down,” he yelled as Meredith charged at the shoreline.

  “Not yet!” She hunched lower over the handlebars and let it rip.

  Was she nuts? They would be pitched head over heels if she tried landing at this speed. “Meredith—”

  She cut the throttle at the last possible second, letting the jet ski scrape over the shallows and bottom out with a light thump.

  “Just like a bobsled,” she muttered, leaping off the jet ski and running full tilt up the beach.

  He would have stopped and hooted if he’d had the time. But with Popov and others from Tsareva rushing in too, all he could do was take off behind her, running for his life.

  Meredith leaped from rock to rock, paused before dashing across the coastal road, and plunged straight ahead into a brightly lit maze of streets. “Come on!”

  He sprinted after her, focused entirely on the bouncing blue backpack she wore.

  “Sorry,” Meredith exclaimed, dodging a couple of men with beers in their hands.

  “Pardon me,” she cried, darting right to avoid a woman carrying a tray of buttered shrimp.

  “Excuse me!” She waved, squeezing herself through the crowd.

  Jesus. Even running for her life, she was still so nice.

  “Watch out,” he bellowed, using a different tactic. “Out of the way!”

  No matter what they tried, it was slow going, and the commotion that followed told him Andreiivich’s men were still in hot pursuit. Slow and tricky, what with red-hot grills on both sides of the street forming a narrow corridor to slalom through. He jumped out of the way of a kid brandishing skewered shrimp and a lady swinging a roll of aluminum foil as long as his arm.

  “Whoa!” he blurted, nearly running full tilt into a man pushing a wheelbarrow full of empty bottles.

  He caught up with Meredith and grabbed her hand, only to let go a second later as they split around both sides of a lamppost.

  “You got to slow down, mon,” an old man scolded as they raced by.

  Maybe next time he was in town for fish night, he’d slow down. Right now? No way.

  Meredith hung a sharp right, cut up an alley, and then sprinted into the crowded town square where a steel drum band tapped a jaunty beat and a hundred revelers danced. She looked back then yanked him between two food stalls.

  “Conch? Calamari?” the curvy woman at one stall asked.

  “Beer? Lemonade?” the woman at the other tried, waving a folding fan.

  “No, thank you.” Meredith backed him as far between the stalls as she could, then leaned in.

  “What are you do—” he started, but she cut him off with a kiss.

  A wallop of a kiss that came with two arms that wrapped firmly around his sides and clutched at his back.

  “Whoo, honey!” the woman laughed, flapping her fan at them.

  “Show him, sweetheart.” The other cheered Meredith on.

  God, he loved sassy Caribbean women. And damn, did he love that kiss.

  He figured Meredith kissed him to hide their faces from the men sweeping by right now. When he peeked over her shoulder, he counted five men in white Tsareva polo shirts and navy shorts rushing by. But even knowing that, he couldn’t help but get caught up in that kiss. Her mouth worked his lightly, like a massage. The best damn massage ever, with lips that slid and crossed his at just the right angle to make fireworks shoot through his bones. And the taste of her… He closed his eyes and savored it the way he might savor a fine, fruity wine. A splash of salt mixed in with it from the wild jet ski ride, but that tasted good, too.

  So he sipped. And sipped. And sipped…

  He clamped his arms around her body and pulled her tight until he could feel her heart pound. His hips snuck closer, too, just like hers did in response. Damn, Meredith was hot-wired to turn him on. It was just like that night on Bonaire, when one little kiss blew into all-out desire that had them clawing each other’s clothes off within minutes. As if one of them was a match and the other kindling soaked in fuel. One touch, and boom!

  That’s what it felt like when she broke it off, too. Like an overinflated balloon blasting apart. Her eyes scanned the crowd behind him, and his heart might have sunk if it hadn’t been for the fact that her cheeks were redder and her breath heavier than it had been at the start.

  Maybe he dialed her switches the same way. Maybe she wasn’t as cool and collected as she seemed.

  “Nice kiss,” he whispered.

  She blushed, making his soul soar in a way it had no business doing at a time like this.

  Another man in a Tsareva shirt ran by, so Tuss kissed her again. A cheap excuse, but he’d take what he could get. He slotted his mouth over hers, slid his hands along her ribs a little higher than he’d dared before, and opened his mouth, tasting her.

  Her hips angled forward, bumping his groin, and he slid his hands over her rear. He couldn’t help it. They were made to fit that way.

  “Woo-hoo! Dat girl caught herself a hell of a fish,” one of the vendors chuckled.

  “Hungry piece of fish,” the other woman commented.

  Yeah, he was hungry, all right. For more of that kiss, that touch. For Meredith to hook her leg around his and let him maneuver her closer to where his body begged for her to fit. But this was not the place or time. He had to get Meredith out of here, fast.

  So he broke away from her, having to use a hell of a lot more willpower than he expected, and made up for it by cupping her face in one hand. She blinked, then locked those sea-blue eyes on his and hung on. Hung on like he was all she needed to escape this mess. Which scared and buoyed him in equal parts.

  “The coast is clear,” he whispered, taking both her hands in his.

  She looked around blankly, but then her brow furrowed, and there it was again — that bobble on the tightwire, that slip from perfection to just-little-old-me. Every time he thought she was invincible, she showed her softer side.

  “You think so?” she asked, scanning the crowd.

  He tightened his hands around hers, pulling her focus back to him. “We got this.”

  She shot him a tight smile and nodded. “We got this.”

  He took a deep breath that Meredith copied, then led her back out the way they’d come. A couple of turns later, the crowd thinned out, and a taxivan puttered by.

  “Hey!” he shouted, flagging it down.

  “Going to Grenville, mon?” the driver asked, sliding the side door open when they ran up.

  Tuss had no clue where Grenville was, but anywhere away from the thugs behind them sounded good.