Kate Jones Thriller Series Vol. 2 Page 3

  Uh-oh. Gabe noticed her condition at the same time and we both moved our feet away. Marcela let loose and vomited on the floor. This was not a happy moment for any of us. The small room didn't accommodate the stench.

  The boat's engine slowed from full throttle to idle in a nanosecond. I fell against Gabe and knocked us both to the floor. Marcela tumbled face first into the hull.

  That had to hurt.

  Gabe and I struggled to our feet and hoisted Marcela to an upright position, careful to avoid the slippery places on the floor.

  “Here.” Gabe pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She wiped at her mouth, tears glistening in her eyes. It looked like she might eventually have a hell of a shiner, but everything else appeared to be intact.

  The boat thudded against something solid and the engine grew still. Waves lapped against the sides of the hull.

  “Looks like we're here,” I said. Wherever here might be. It couldn't be too far. I'd lost my sense of time, but it didn't seem like it had taken that long.

  Muffled shouts and the sound of feet running erupted above us. I hoped that Frank would get his ass down here and let us out soon. The smell was getting to me.

  We didn't have long to wait. The key rattled in the lock and the door opened. Two of Frank's guys stood outside, machineguns slung casually over their shoulders.

  “Come on,” one of them commanded. He grabbed my arm, but as he did he paused and sniffed the air. A look of disgust crossed his features.

  “Good timing.” I said. “Another minute and you would have had a hell of a lot more to clean up.” He glared at me and pushed me ahead of him.

  “Wait,” he grunted. I stopped. He pulled out a zip tie and motioned for me to put my hands up.

  “Oh, come on, where am I gonna go? I came back from my last swim.”

  “We have orders.” He lassoed my hands, tightening the strap, then did the same to Gabe and Marcella.

  Satisfied our wrists were secure, he motioned toward the stairway that led to the upper deck a short way down the passage. I held onto the railing with both hands as I climbed, trying to counteract the movement of the boat.

  We emerged on deck in the light evening breeze. The small boat had pulled alongside another, larger one, not quite as big as the cruise ship we'd just left, but still impressive. There were three decks, with the bridge on the third level. I guesstimated the length at over two hundred feet. Not too shabby. I assumed it was Frank's.

  Frank appeared in front of us, teeth white against his tanned face, illuminated by the boat’s running lights. “I can't wait to see the look on Anaya's face when he sees you,” he chortled.

  “Where'd you get the boat, Frank? Skim a little off the top?” I winked at him and tried to nudge him with my elbow.

  Frank's smile faded. Aha. I'd touched a nerve. He glanced behind me.

  “What the hell happened to her?”

  I turned to see what he was referring to. Marcela's dress hadn't made it through the boat ride in pristine condition and her face had begun to show the effects of her header into the wall.

  The man herding Marcela shrugged. Frank sighed. “Get her cleaned up.” He narrowed his eyes. “Don't even think about trying anything. I guarantee Anaya would not be happy.”

  The gunman's eyes got big and he shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Yeah. Anaya had that effect on people.

  We stood near a series of steps that led up to the first deck of the yacht. As the gunman prodded me toward them, I noticed the name across the stern: Last Chance. Appropriate, I thought. This would probably be my last chance to live.

  I walked up the steps, my mind working furiously to concoct some means of escape, but only the darkness of the water waited and I'd already tried that.

  We were all in some deep shit, but I put my odds at survival well below the other two. It appeared Frank was going to offer Marcela to Anaya for his dining pleasure, and Gabe had the opportunity to stay alive by virtue of the information he possessed. And me? Nada. I didn't have any information Anaya wanted and I was pretty sure he wouldn't want me in his bed, being Salazar's ex-girlfriend and all. And, I supposed that teensy mistake of stealing his money and helping to put him behind bars didn’t do me much good, either.

  We reached the top of the steps and my bodyguard and I moved onto the swim deck to make way for the rest. Marcela came on board next, a little woozy, and carefully picked her way up the stairs in her impossible shoes. Then Gabe, followed by Frank and another gunman. Gabe's face showed nothing. He didn't strike me as the fighting kind. Too intellectual. Not a lot of help in an escape attempt. Ditto for Marcela, except maybe for the intellectual part.

  Frank grabbed me by the arm and pushed me toward the interior of the yacht. His henchman followed, machinegun jabbing into my back.

  “Separate all three and lock them down,” Frank ordered.

  We were on our own.

  CHAPTER 4

  “OKAY, OKAY I'M going.” I scowled at Frank's guy as I stumbled in front of him and tried to stay ahead of the gun barrel he insisted on ramming into my back.

  We threaded ourselves between a pair of berthed jet skis, each near the top of a ramp that led into the water, past what appeared to be the crew's quarters. He prodded me up a spiral staircase to the next level. We ascended to a spacious salon with a bar at one end and a huge flat screen television on the other. The bar's marble counter had a dark wood base, with seating for a dozen. The uniform shadows cast by the recessed lighting gave everything a cinematic glow.

  My bare feet fell silent on the cool, polished floor, while my guard's boots produced an irritating squeak when he walked. The low hum of the air exchange reminded me of a hotel. I took in as many details as I could, trying to work out an escape plan in my head.

  We moved forward toward the bow through several corridors and stopped in front of the door to what I assumed would be my room for the evening. At least until we met up with Anaya. I hoped they wouldn't lock me in a tiny space again. I'd been a tad claustrophobic in the forepeak on the ride over.

  The guard pulled a key ring from his pocket and held them up to the dim light of an aqua-colored wall sconce to find the correct one. He chose the smaller of the three and fit the key in the lock, opened the door and shoved me inside the room.

  “Somebody will be by with food later. Light's here—” He flipped a switch by the side of the door, illuminating the room. “—and the toilet's over there.” He pointed at a smaller doorway across from us. He paused for a moment as he pulled a pair of wire cutters from his back pocket and reached over to snip my hands free.

  “We've been given orders to shoot you if you try to escape.” His dark eyes met mine and then slowly traveled down my face to rest briefly on my chest before heading back up. He licked his lips and smiled. His breath smelled like bad gums and stale beer. “It'd be a waste to have to kill you. Maybe we could make a little deal.” He edged closer. His body odor wafted upward, and my stomach clenched.

  I stepped back a couple of feet. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Think you're too good for me, eh?” His smile revealed a couple of front teeth MIA. “We'll see about that.” He held the keys in my face and shook them. Then he walked out and locked the door behind him.

  Unaware I'd held my breath I let it out and leaned against the door. I gave it a couple of seconds and then pulled myself together and surveyed my new prison.

  I stood in the middle of a plush stateroom. A queen-sized bed with built-in side tables took up a majority of the space. I walked over to the bed and sat, taking perverse pleasure in staining the silk bedspread with my wet clothing. A flat screen TV sat directly across from the bed, the remote on one of the bedside tables. The walls were covered in raw silk, and if I had to guess, the carpeting was probably virgin wool hand carded by one hundred actual virgins. A framed print on the wall had a stylized side view of a fierce Mayan holding a bloody heart in his hand. In contrast, on a table on the other side of the room sat
a glass cylinder partially filled with sand, containing a votive candle and seashells. Seaside kitsch meets blood sacrifice. I grabbed the remote to see if I had a satellite feed.

  A Spanish speaking sports show materialized and I muted the sound. I hit the channel advance and stopped it on one of the news networks, then turned the sound back on. Breaking news showed a huge fire at a manufacturing plant somewhere in Europe. I flipped through a few other channels, but I found nothing about a luxury cruise ship being boarded by pirates in the Caribbean. Why hadn’t the incident made it on the news yet? Did Frank leave men on board? Had everyone survived?

  I pushed the thought of Cole from my mind, determined not to think about what might have happened to him. He was fine. This was not another case of bad spirits following me, hurting the ones I loved.

  Unable to sit still, I searched the room, not sure of what I hoped to find. I half-heartedly tried the door to the companionway without any luck. It was solid. I assumed they'd put me in an interior cabin. No portholes or other exits.

  I searched under the bed, in the closets and the bathroom cabinets. The place was immaculate. Upkeep on a yacht this size must be enormous. The diesel bill alone would likely finance a small country.

  My mind flashed back to my other life in Mexico and Salazar's family yacht. Not nearly this large, it measured ninety feet if I remembered correctly. I relished the infrequent vacations on board the El Beso de la Vida, The Kiss of Life. One of the only instances I could forget my mistake of a life, pretending I was in love with a normal guy. Last Chance reminded me of a floating hotel. Leave it to Frank Lanzarotti to go for overkill.

  The crash from the adrenaline leveling off hit me and I knew I had to rest. I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes, telling myself it would only be for a few minutes.

  I fell asleep in seconds.

  ***

  THE SOUND OF a key in the lock jolted me awake. My groggy mind raced for context. Where the hell was I and did I just dream I'd been kidnapped by pirates?

  It all came back to me as the door opened and my orally challenged guard appeared. He carried a small tray with a glass of what looked like milk and a sandwich on a plate. After re-locking the door he walked over to the small table and chair on the other side of the room and set the tray down. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, trying to focus.

  “What, no dessert?” I frowned at him. “That's not what it said in the brochure.”

  Toothless smirked. “You're damned lucky he's even feeding your ass, puta.” He moved closer to the bed and looked me over. His eyes gleamed in the soft, recessed lighting. I scooted backward until I felt the headboard against my back and drew my knees to my chest in a defensive position.

  “I wouldn't recommend getting any closer, asshole.”

  Toothless lunged across the bed. I scrambled over the side and ran for the door.

  He caught up with me as my hand closed around the door handle. My scalp burned as he grabbed a chunk of my hair and wrenched me backward. I ducked, turned and came up hard with a head butt to his chin and caught him off guard. He let go with a grunt and I delivered a sharp knee thrust to his groin. He doubled over with a wheeze. I finished things off with the other knee to his face.

  His hand went to his nose to stop the blood. All over the immaculate white carpet. Pity. My old friend adrenaline spurred me on and I shoved him backward and fell on top of him, knees first. He grunted in pain. I dug my hand in his pants pockets for the keys. At the same time I found them, I felt something hard.

  In a second I had the pistol in hand and was backing away from him. I pulled the slide back just far enough to make sure a bullet was chambered.

  He'd doubled over and emitted small gasps as he tried to rise to all fours. I slammed the pistol into the side of his head and stunned him like a fish. Then I scanned the room for something to use to restrain him. I stripped the bed and twisted the top sheet into a rope. It took a couple of tries to roll him onto his stomach, after which I pulled his arms back and wound the sheet first around his wrists, then around his ankles, effectively hogtying him. I had no idea how long it would hold, but it'd have to do. Toothless came to, quite displeased with the situation and let loose with a string of expletives I’d never heard before, and that’s saying something. To finish the job, I grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom and stuffed it into his mouth.

  Ah, sweet silence.

  Selecting the smallest of the three keys, I raced out the door and locked it behind me. I turned and started down the softly lit hallway, the deep carpeting muffling my footsteps.

  I didn't have a clue where Frank put the others, but it couldn't be that much ground to cover. If he put me up in a stateroom, then Gabe and Marcela were close, in cabins of their own. At least, that was my theory. Only thing was, I couldn't go around knocking on doors, looking for them. What if I woke up a crew member? Too risky. I'd have to find another way to locate them.

  As I made my way through the passage, I noticed something I'd been too distracted to realize before. The ship was underway. The deep vibration from the engines started at my feet and shifted upward, adding to my uneasiness. I stepped up my pace and before long came to a door that led outside to the walkway that circled the ship.

  My vulnerable points were at each end. The walkway was covered, so I couldn't be seen by anyone above or below me. It wouldn’t be long before someone figured out I'd escaped, so I needed a safe place to hide, at least for now. I glanced over the railing and realized I stood near the bow, the back spray evident as the ship cut through the waves.

  Turning, I tried to gauge the distance between me and the next doorway. At that moment, a shadow appeared at the window of the exit I'd just walked through.

  I sprinted down the walkway and slipped through the door closest to me. It opened onto a short hallway. Staying low, I followed it to another door with a small window. Warily, I pulled myself up from a crouch and peered into the room.

  My pulse beat faster. The ship’s galley. It looked vacant—no overhead lights and only a few under cabinet bulbs that illuminated the stainless countertops.

  I pushed the door open and walked past the eight-burner, stainless steel stove to the sub-zero refrigerator. After one last look around, I pulled the door open, wincing when the light blinked on. I checked again, but there was no one at either of the exits.

  Stocked with every kind of food imaginable, I grabbed a block of cheese and some bottled water, opened them both and downed as much of each as I could. I replaced the cheese and took out a small salami and another bottle of water, and tied them hobo-style in a dish towel I found hanging on a hook. Then I grabbed a knife from a magnetic strip at the back of the counter and cut two inches from the bottom of my dress, using the fabric to secure the bundle of food and water to my waist.

  As I neared the end of the counter, I heard voices in the hallway. My heart in my throat, I ran to an upright freezer at the far end of the room and slid behind it.

  “The boss wants his usual and he’s hungry, so you’d better hurry the fuck up.”

  I recognized the voice as one of the gunmen from the smaller boat.

  “Yeah, whatever. I’m on it,” came the reply. The clatter of metal pans and banging cupboards filled the room. I chanced a look. One guy stood at the counter with his back to me. I ducked back behind the freezer.

  A few minutes later, shouting and footsteps erupted outside the galley. The ship engine's decibel level changed as the crew cut back the power. The cook threw his knife down and raced to the door.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” he asked as he sidestepped a stocky guy headed full steam into the kitchen.

  “The blonde’s gone. Tied Bob up with a sheet and locked him inside the room.”

  “How the fuck did she do that? Bob’s a big guy.”

  “Doesn’t matter how, idiot. We gotta find her or there’s gonna be a shit storm headed our way. The boss ain’t happy.”

  “What about his food?”

  “Leave it,
” the other one ordered.

  Once they'd gone, I crept from behind the freezer, staying low in case someone glanced inside the room. I estimated I had three, four minutes tops before they searched the galley.

  I moved to the double doors the men exited and eased them open, scanning the immediate area for gunmen. Not seeing anyone, I slipped further into the room, which turned out to be another, smaller salon. I doubted I’d be any safer in there.

  Then it hit me. I had to go where they’d never think to look. And where I was sure I'd have access to plenty of firepower

  Frank’s cabin.

  The only problem: I didn’t know where it was. I remembered seeing what looked like a diagram of the ship behind a door in the galley, and I retraced my steps.

  A black and white laminated drawing of the decks of the ship had been attached to the wall, next to the ship’s roster. I searched for the largest stateroom onboard, located it, and ripped the diagram off the door. Then I folded it in half and shoved it in my makeshift belt. This was only going to work if Frank was too busy looking for me to be in his room.

  I kept to the shadows and followed the passageway to the other side of the boat, turned left, took the stairs down a level and moved through another hallway to Frank's room.

  The door was unlocked and I eased it open. Not seeing anyone, I slipped inside and closed it behind me.

  I found myself in a large, dimly lit master cabin. A couple of plush divans and a low table occupied the center, with additional seating, a large television and gas fireplace at one end. A desk, king-sized bed and elegant bath took up space at the other end. It had to be Frank’s. No way he'd let one of his goons sleep in this kind of luxury.

  I checked the hall to make sure no one was headed my way before searching further. First, I moved into the bathroom and investigated the closets. Shirts, slacks and shorts hung in descending order of length, along with a blue velour bathrobe and a couple of pairs of sandals. No guns.