Desire on Deadline Page 5

  “Is that port or starboard?” he teased on the third or fourth command.

  “Shut up,” she said. “Oh, look. There’s more stuff in the water here. What does the GPS say?”

  “We’re just about on it,” Alden said, looking at the display. “Maybe we should put down the anchor until the sun comes up.”

  “I think it’s OK if we drift.” She moved next to him, and before he could stop her, she turned the key. The engine died.

  “Why the hell did you do that?”

  “So we can drift.”

  “Never turn off a boat offshore. Ever,” he said. “You might not get it started again.”

  “Pshaw,” she scoffed. “Don’t tell me what to do. It’s my boat. Isn’t this nice? It’s so quiet. And you can almost see the stars reflected in the water.”

  Alden shook his head, then put his annoyance aside. It was just boater’s paranoia, he told himself. And with the engine off, it was nice — eerily peaceful in the near-darkness, away from all the pressures of the past, of expectations. And Roz’s energy, as abrasive as it was, inexplicably lightened his heart.

  She opened another compartment and pulled out a bag, and then a camera, before stuffing the bag back into the cubby. She handed him the flashlight. “I’m going to take a few photos.”

  With his eyes adjusted, the scant light of early, early morning began to lend the sky the sheen of a black pearl, and the water reflected the change. In it, he saw scattered, amorphous objects. She snapped several pictures under the light of the beam, but even with the flashlight, it was difficult to get an idea of what they were looking at. It didn’t all seem like boat parts, but it was hard to tell. Some of the flotsam clunked gently against the hull.

  At one point, his beam caught the glint of white fiberglass. “That has to be from the boat,” he said.

  Roz rummaged in her bag and mounted a big flash on the camera. She aimed toward the piece and shot a photo. The flash ripped open the semidarkness and blinded him for a second. Alden closed his eyes — and heard something.

  He opened them again, turned off the flashlight and moved next to her. “Do you hear that?”

  “What?” She shot off the camera again, the harsh white flash slicing open the expiring night.

  “A boat, maybe,” he said.

  “It could be the searchers, though Jimbo told me they weren’t going to start till 8. They were exhausted after yesterday.”

  “Did you date that guy?” Alden hated himself for asking.

  “High school dates. A few ice cream cones. Hardly dating.”

  “Good,” Alden said.

  Roz laughed. “Jealous of a high school boyfriend?”

  “No.” Maybe. “I just don’t like the idea of you being too chummy with your sources.”

  “Ah, of course,” she said, popping the flash again.

  An echo of the flash seemed to dance in his retina.

  Or was that—?

  “Are they taking photos, too?” Roz asked in puzzlement, looking across the water.

  Alden heard a crack.

  And saw a dim outline of a boat, not far off.

  And then a flash and another crack, and a ping and a spark on the railing —

  He grabbed Roz. “They’re shooting at us! Get down!”

  ≈≈≈

  “What are you talking about?” Roz struggled as Alden pushed her to the deck between the captain’s chairs. She started to stand as another crack rent the air and something splashed in the waves next to the boat. She dropped to the deck again. “Fuck!”

  “Tell me about it.” Alden made sure the boat was in neutral and turned the key.

  Click click click.

  “No,” he said. “Just no.”

  “What? Start the boat!”

  “Trying.” Alden’s expression suddenly shifted from horror to inspiration. “The battery! It’s the batteries.”

  He did something to a switch, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. Then he rammed the boat into gear and spun the wheel, turning it back toward shore.

  Another flash-crack emanated from the other boat. It seemed to be getting closer.

  “Maybe it’s a mistake?” Roz called in disbelief from where she crouched on the deck as another shot whizzed over their heads. OK, maybe not.

  “Ask me if we make it out of this alive,” Alden said over the engine’s roar.

  “You should duck or something,” she called, not very helpfully, she realized.

  “I’m trying to drive.” But Alden crouched, too, steering from as low a position as he could manage.

  Roz looked behind them. “It’s following us!” She saw another flash and flinched. The bullet went wide. Fear replaced denial. “Who the hell would be shooting at us?”

  “Maybe we interrupted your drug dealers.”

  “They’re not my drug dealers!”

  “Whatever.” He looked grim.

  Zing. A bullet passed through the fabric of the bimini above them.

  “Goddamn it,” Alden muttered. He looked over his shoulder. “I think they’re gaining on us.”

  “That’s not good,” she said, following his gaze, forced to concur. “Should we call the Coast Guard on the radio?”

  “Unless they can teleport here, I don’t think they can get to us before that boat does. I’ve got the engine laid flat out, but we’re only going about thirty knots,” he said. “And now it’s getting lighter. They can see us better than we can see them, because we’re headed east into the light.”

  “That’s not good either.”

  “I know,” he said darkly.

  “What if we jumped off?”

  “What?” Alden looked at her in disbelief. “Are you nuts?”

  The wind rushing past them and the bouncing of the boat helped her understand his hesitation.

  “Keep the boat going,” Roz said. “Let it go at top speed. Get close enough to the island that we can swim ashore, and we’ll jump. It’s still not totally light out. They won’t see us. They’ll follow the boat.”

  Looking worried and strong and weirdly handsome in the moment before they were about to die, Alden glanced at their pursuers — zing went another bullet overhead — and then the console.

  “I suppose I’ve heard worse ideas. Like that time the Eye wanted me to interview one of those man-eating white tigers in Vegas.”

  “You can’t interview a tiger.”

  “Not for long, anyway.”

  She lifted her head a little and looked at the GPS, made a quick estimate. “In about three minutes we should be approaching the north end of the island. You can swim, right?”

  “Summers at the lake, remember?”

  “Right. So when we hit that point, we make sure the boat is aimed south, so it’ll go for a while without running into something, and then we jump.”

  “Off the gunwale on the side, so you don’t get run over,” Alden ordered.

  “I’m not that dumb,” Roz snapped.

  They held their positions as the other boat neared. It was bigger than theirs, but Roz couldn’t tell much more.

  A bullet hit the top of the captain’s chair she was clutching.

  “That would have been my head!” she exclaimed.

  “But it wasn’t.” Alden reached for her and grabbed her hand, still driving with the other. “We’ll be OK.”

  Roz’s awareness surged at the heat of his touch, making her forget their bickering. She thought about getting back to shore, to her job, to her mom.

  “Should we get the life jackets?” she asked.

  “Bright orange is probably not the best fashion choice in this situation,” he said.

  “True.” More cracks, more whizzing bullets. A couple of shots banged into the side of the boat. “Christ!”

  “Ready?” Alden asked.

  The gunfire sounded louder now. The mystery boat kept gaining. They weren’t just trying to scare Roz and Alden off. They were trying to kill them.

  She looked into his eyes,
those lucid gray eyes that reflected the earliest blush of dawn, and nodded.

  Alden reached up and spun the wheel slightly to change the boat’s direction. “Wide open throttle,” he said to himself, adjusting the controls. Crawling, he tugged her toward the left side of the boat.

  Port, she thought. The port side. Any port in a storm.

  Her brain was full of nonsense, her body full of adrenaline.

  Roz realized she still had the camera in her hand. She slid off the flash, lifted the Nikon and quickly took one snapshot in the direction of the pursuing boat, which still seemed cloaked in darkness. She popped out the memory card and stuck it in her shorts pocket, tucked the camera into a compartment, then joined Alden at the side. She slipped off her sweater. She was chilly in her tank top, but at least it wouldn’t drag her down. “Let’s do it.”

  “Keep your head down as best you can and make toward shore, just over there. See it?”

  “Yes.” Mimosa Key was a dim smudge on the sliding horizon. Roz looked at Alden, the worry lines in his brow, the hard set to his jaw, and gave his hand a squeeze. She had another rapid, idle thought: She wanted to do that again. “See you there.”

  She stepped up to the gunwale and dove overboard into the wide, dark, breath-snatching water.

  ≈ Part 2 ≈

  Alden watched her vanish beneath the waves and, without waiting longer, dove in right behind her. He swam under the water for as long as he could, in the cold black universe of the gulf, seeing nothing, only hoping, hoping their loopy improvisation would work.

  He broke the surface and gasped for air, looking around for Roz, trying to get oriented. At first, he didn’t see anything, but then he spun and watched their boat rapidly leaving them.

  With the other boat apparently still in pursuit.

  He hoped Roz’s boat would gain enough distance to crash into land far, far away from him and Roz, but before the other crew — who the hell was it? — caught up to it. If their pursuers did catch it and didn’t find them on board, they might come looking. Even if the shooters didn’t necessarily know who to look for.

  A band of orange began to seep into the dark blues and purples of the pre-dawn sky, all that old black and gray now giving in to a simmering caldron of tropical Florida color. Soon it would be easy to spot a couple of dark-headed people swimming toward shore in the turquoise sea.

  Alden dared not call out for Roz, not yet, fearful of his voice carrying over the water. She had to be swimming, too. She was probably ahead of him, especially now that his wet jeans and shirt seemed to claw at him, dragging him down. He fought the feeling, kicked and swam, heading for the lumpy coastline of Mimosa Key.

  He guessed they’d jumped a half-mile from shore, but a half mile was a long way when the water was seventy degrees and they were tired and wearing heavy clothes and scared shitless. A couple of times he thought he saw a head bobbing in the water in front of him, and he was sure he saw a couple of dolphins break the waves far ahead of him, near shore.

  Catching their breakfast, maybe. He suddenly wanted coffee and pancakes. And to make sure Roz was OK.

  He swam harder, drawing on all the hours he spent swimming at the gym, focusing on the rhythm, the breathing, trying to ignore his cramping muscles and heavy clothes. When he looked up again, he was a lot closer to shore, and he could make out a figure in the water ahead of him, not moving.

  “Roz!” he called out in concern, then looked around. The other boat was out of sight. He felt relief mixed with trepidation as he swam harder, trying to reach her. A swift shape ruffled the water next to him, and he glimpsed a dolphin swimming alongside him. The moment was surreal, comforting. He looked ahead again. The figure he’d seen was definitely Roz.

  She was lying back, floating, only her face above the water, her eyes closed. They fluttered open when he touched her. “Just resting,” she croaked, then bobbed forward, gripping his shoulder. Her hand was like ice.

  He did his best to tread water for both of them. “We’re almost there. Can you do it?”

  “I think so.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  She started swimming, a mix of breaststroke and a slow crawl, and he swam alongside her, encouraging her.

  The dolphin — no, dolphins, two of them — swept through the waves next to them, circled away and came back. Unformed tears filled Alden’s eyes, a strange, warm sensation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried.

  It was just the shock, he told himself. To Roz, he said, “The dolphins want us to make it.”

  Something shifted in her body, a new energy, and her pace increased.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, trying to talk his own muscles into finishing the journey.

  When their feet found ground, it was near a scrubby, undeveloped piece of shoreline, thick with mangroves. He held Roz by the arm and walked her along the shore until he found a sandy place to pull her to dry ground, a miniature bay. He tugged her beyond the water’s edge.

  Her face was deathly pale. “Stop here,” she mumbled.

  “We should get out of sight,” Alden said, but she wavered and plopped down on the sand, breathing hard, in a daze. “This isn’t going to work,” he murmured. “Let me help you.”

  He reached down and scooped her up.

  “Urrmm,” was all she said, her head lolling back against his shoulder.

  It might have been an objection. It might have been an incoherent thought. But he had to get them out of sight, and she was exhausted. She was a solid bundle in his arms, not as warm as she should have been, but still, he felt heat ignite under his chilled skin as he held her close.

  Alden picked his way behind a wall of scrubby bushes that should hide them from wayward killers and gently set her down. She flopped back against the sand with a groan. He sat hard next her and slowly unbuttoned his sodden flannel shirt, dropping it to the ground, hoping the now rising sun would warm him, dry his tank top. For a while, he just leaned forward against his knees, breathing hard. And then he turned to her.

  “Are you OK?”

  “Not dead, so that’s good,” she said, her eyes still closed.

  Alden laughed, a laugh of pure relief. “At least we agree on something.” He laid a hand on her arm. “You’re shivering.”

  “No sh — shit.”

  “Still the smart-ass.” He lay next to her and wrapped an arm around her. “Shhh,” he said to her murmured protest, moving closer so his body pressed against hers. “We need to warm up.”

  “OK,” was all she said, and after a moment, she snuggled closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her, and they slowly warmed with the sun and the heat of their bodies.

  God, she felt good. And even after their ordeal, the swim through the chilly waters, he could have sworn her skin gave off a hint of jasmine. Alden pushed his nose into her neck and nuzzled her.

  She shifted against him. “Mmmm.” Was she asleep?

  He was feeling better. Or at least his cock was, hardening against her. He was afraid to move.

  Instead, he kissed her neck.

  The salty taste of her went right to his head. And still Roz lay there, as if in a dream, sleeping beauty, her chestnut hair in damp clumps around her face and shoulders.

  Alden slipped a hand under her wet tank top, over her belly, caressing her, and kissed her neck again. This time he lingered, tonguing the skin as she stretched languorously against him.

  He trailed kisses along her jaw, giving in to his craving as every rational cell in his brain screamed at him not to. He hesitated only a moment, taking in the soft angles of her face, her closed eyes fringed with dark lashes, her skin dusted with sparkles of sand. And then he touched his lips to hers, tasting her, salty and sweet. She lifted one of her arms; was she pushing him away?

  Electricity shot through him as she slipped her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer.

  Surprised, aroused, he opened his mouth over hers, sliding his tongue between her lips, and she responded, moaning so
ftly. He clutched her waist more tightly as he kissed her. Around them, the water whispered, the breeze rustled the bushes, and the birds chirped soft calls of encouragement. An ache grew inside him as he pulled her closer, as the interplay of lips and tongues grew more heated, promising more, so much more.

  And then she froze.

  And pushed him off.

  “Alden,” she said, half-dazed, half-scolding, opening her eyes.

  “Roz,” he said gruffly, the pressure of desire chasing away any remnants of cold.

  “We shouldn’t,” she whispered, and she struggled to sit up.

  He helped her, reluctant to stop touching her. “Do you feel better?”

  Roz looked into his eyes, and her hazel gaze seared him, it seemed so vulnerable, so full of light.

  She blinked. “We need to get back to civilization. Any sign of our boat? Or that other one?”

  He sighed. The dream was over. “No boats.”

  “We might want a boat before this is over. I think we’re in the middle of the mangrove islands at the north end of the key.”

  “Maybe it’s a desert island and we’ll have to live off coconuts until someone finds us.”

  “Ha.” Roz got to her feet, still clad in her frayed tennis shoes, and dusted the sand off her legs. “Not if our GPS was working.”

  Willing his hard-on to subside, Alden stood and tied his still-damp flannel shirt around his waist. He’d lost his boat shoes somewhere in the gulf — and, he realized after a panicked pat of his pockets, his phone — but he’d have to walk anyway. There was nowhere to go but back into the heart of Mimosa Key.

  “Show me the way,” he said.

  ≈≈≈

  The best way through mangrove islets like this was a kayak, Roz thought after the first half-hour of trying to find a passage through the thicket. The branches viciously scratched at them, the insects bit, and goodness knows what was waiting for them in the water. Eventually, they found a small, winding channel — a shaded mangrove tunnel — they could wade through. She hoped it was taking them farther south. She was arguing with Alden about directions when he almost walked right into a snake dangling from an overhanging branch.