Hard to Hold (18 page)

Nick took his own sweet time crossing to the bed. He’d caught the silent just-trust-me
plea Anna had sent him from behind Antila’s turned back. Taking Anna in his arms,
he whispered his admiration. “Good girl.”

Her nod against his chest was slight but unmistakable.

But so too were the little tremors racking her frame. He didn’t doubt that
they
were for real. Earlier than he had expected,
Devil’s Whim
was already pitching and rolling against the sea that was fast turning angry.

“She’s phobic about water,” he warned Antila. “With a storm approaching, the next
few hours are going to be rough on her.”

The doctor wanted to give Anna a sedative. She declined, and when the hesitant man
glanced across at Antila, Nick backed her up. “Unless you can guarantee it won’t harm
the baby, she’s right,” he said, looking the biological father straight in the eye.
“Don’t you think you’ve pumped enough poison into her veins this past week?”

Antila nodded a dismissal to the doctor, then crossed to the foot of the bed where
he could better look down on her. “Is there anything else you need?”

Her response was to reach out and grab Nick’s hand.

Antila got the message and turned to take his leave. He paused on the threshold of
the door. “There are two men posted outside this door. Cross me, Anna, and they will
shoot your Nick Marshall dead. I have already given the order that they must not hesitate
to do so, should even the smallest incident arouse their suspicions.”

As soon as the door closed, Nick crossed to it, leaned in, and pressed his ear close.
He heard the muffled murmur of Antila issuing more orders, though he couldn’t make
out what he was saying.

Turning to face Anna, he raised his forefinger to his lips in the universal signal
for silence and gave an abrupt shake of his head to reinforce his warning.

Crossing to her, he gathered her into his arms, his mouth close to her ear. “They
likely have the place bugged and can hear every word, so be careful what you say.”

The look she gave him when he eased away made it clear she didn’t consider herself
completely stupid.

He grinned. “Sleep, Anna,” he ordered loudly.

He didn’t need to kick off his boots before sliding beneath the sheets to join her.
Dice had provided replacement clothing but not footwear. Anything to slow him down
should he try and make a run for it. Idiot man—should have figured out by now that
he’d walk willingly barefoot over semi-molten shards of glass if it meant keeping
Anna safe.

Easing an arm beneath her shoulders, he drew Anna close. He never thought he’d say
it but the danger of eavesdroppers had its compensations. “You okay? You look hellishly
pale.”

“I’ll live.”

“Yes, you will,” he responded, giving her a little squeeze. “But I still have to leave
you, sweetheart, I can’t let the team down. You okay with that?”

She nodded mutely before qualifying her acceptance. “Just move fast, Nick, because
if they catch you—”

He hugged her tighter. “They won’t. But I have to figure out a way to get out of here.”

Devil’s Whim
rose and then dipped. A glass on the cabinet beside the bed skidded across the wooden
surface and crashed to the floor. Anna damn near left her skin and hit the ceiling.
“I’ve got an idea,” she cried.

Before he could stop her, she was hammering on the door, yelling that Antila had better
get his ass down here fast, or she wouldn’t be answerable for her own actions.

The man didn’t stand a chance when he entered the cabin. Anna was on him immediately.
“I want to go up, way up near the top deck. It’s too far away from the life rafts
down here. The stateroom, I’ll sit this out up there, but I am not being locked down
here in this floating coffin.”

Antila made the mistake of trying to calm her as if she were a hysterical child convinced
a monster lurked in the cupboard. “You have nothing to be scared of. This yacht can’t
sink. You need to remain rational, maybe a glass of warm milk would help.”

Teutonic plates shifted as she let the man have it. Nick almost felt sorry for the
mighty crime lord.

She was midway through her rant when
Devil’s Whim
heaved heavily to one side. She would have fallen had Antila not reached out to steady
her.

“That’s it. I’m definitely not staying down here. It’s not safe. We’re going to sink;
I know we’re going to sink.” A touch of hysteria skirted the high notes of her whimper.

Nick frowned. He’d never heard Anna whimper, not like that. She wasn’t the sort.

Antila didn’t know that. He issued orders for the stateroom to be prepared, and with
his arms around Anna, made to herd her out the door.

She turned and snarled at Nick. “You’re not coming. I don’t want you anywhere near
me. This is your bloody fault. If you hadn’t interfered, I would still be on dry land,
not out here waiting to drown.”

Nick did his best not to gape. Just what the hell was Anna playing at?

“You’re not going to drown,” Antila insisted sharply before issuing a curt order to
the men. “Take him down below. Make sure he’s locked up. I’m going to have my hands
full keeping this woman calm without worrying about him running free.”

Anna may have suckered Antila—who looked insufferably smug that he was the one to
whom she had turned—but not Nick. But for the risk it would give the game away, he’d
have crossed to her and kissed her stupid. She’d engineered this scenario to give
him the chance he needed. The chance, once he’d dealt with his guards, to put their
escape plan into effect. She’d even managed to ensure he knew where she’d be taken.
The stateroom, where it would be easier to get her off the yacht. Smart woman, his
Anna. Utterly fucking reckless, but smart.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t give her hell later though. He could have done with some
warning. Her communication skills needed work.

Chapter Sixteen

Anna didn’t like the fact that Antila kept disappearing, leaving her, though never
alone. Two guards always remained behind. She’d guessed he was checking on his wife.
He certainly looked more strained each time he returned.

She couldn’t bring herself to admire the man he was, but she had to credit him for
the man he could have been. In his own way, he cared. Deeply. For the boy-child he
thought she carried, and for his unstable wife, Antoinette.

She was almost envious. She’d yet to be the center of anyone’s universe. Nick just
wasn’t that kind of man. Didn’t stop her loving him though, with every fiber of her
being. If he thought he stood a hope of her disappearing from his life again, he had
another think coming. She’d smashed through the doors he’d slammed against her in
the past. She fully intended to keep doing so.

She shot a quick glance at Antila’s profile, and a rush of sympathy washed through
her. Had the choices he’d made in his life been different, he might have made a fine
man. She refused to believe anyone was born bad. Just as she refused to believe the
sins of the fathers were revisited on sons or daughters. She’d teach her daughter
that. Would continue to convince Nick of the same, if he gave her the chance.

She noticed the strain lines around Antila’s mouth. Sod discretion. She opened her
own, to urge him to go to his wife.
Devil’s Whim
pitched wildly. A cry of alarm escaped her instead.

Antila reached to steady her. “Have the doctor attend my quarters immediately. He
must stay with her,” he ordered Dice.

She presumed by “her,” he meant his wife.

“Don’t feel you have to stay with me. I know you must have other…um…things to be dealing
with. I’ll be fine. You said yourself this boat can’t sink.”

“That’s right, it can’t, but the storm is likely to get worse before it blows itself
out. I can feel you shaking. I will remain here with you.”

She wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not, but as the vessel lurched again,
she was damned glad that he’d chosen to stay. The remaining guard even had to resort
to gripping one of the ornamental pillars to keep upright.

“But for your irrational fear of water, you’d have made a fine sailor, Anna. Most
would have been losing their suppers by now, but not you. My son will be strong. He
is lucky to share your genes. Both our genes. He will be a worthy successor, when
the time comes.”

The roll of the ship didn’t affect her stomach, but the possessive pride behind his
words did. It was all the reminder she needed. Antila, however caring he might appear,
only wanted a son. The little girl growing inside her would never be good enough to
satisfy his ambition for an heir. With little to lose, she was tempted to tell him
the truth. Hiding it felt like a betrayal of her daughter.

She eased away from the man as if he might contaminate her. God, she hoped Nick was
all right. She needed him. Did he know that? Had she ever told him? Had she ever really
admitted that to herself or just taken for granted he’d always be around to get her
out of trouble? Unpleasant challenges, guilt-inducing questions, but at least they
distracted her. If she got out of this alive, she’d face them and put things right.
If she was going to bare her soul, the least Nick could do was listen.

When Dice returned, her relief was immediate but lasted less than a nanosecond.

“Marshall is loose. He took advantage of a particularly deep roll to overpower the
guards who were escorting him below.”

Antila thrust to his feet “Kill them,” he ordered without hesitation.

“Marshall saved us the time. One suffered a broken neck; the other two he shot.”

“Find him, and when you do, throw him overboard. Wait, I will come with you. The men
need to know I mean business. I will not tolerate further failure.” He pointed to
the remaining guard. “You stay with her. Fail me, and I will have your family hunted
down, and they will die a death you would not wish on your worst enemy.”

Anna almost felt sorry for the guard, but she’d made the mistake of allowing that
weakness to bite once tonight, and look what kind of animal Antila had turned out
to be. She didn’t doubt he would have Nick thrown into the dark, heaving sea. He’d
do it himself if he got the chance.

She dug her nails into her palms. If Nick got caught, she’d kill him herself. And
the attack-and-extract team had better be as good as he’d promised.

Seconds later, her anger forgotten, she found herself making silent promises to any
deity that might be listening. About how she’d change, how she’d make it up to Nick
for not fighting hard enough to save their marriage. She pleaded for a chance to show
what type of mother she could be, rational, responsible, guiding, protective. She
offered up every sacrifice she could think of in exchange for him being safe.

She knew she had a problem when the doctor appeared, panic-stricken and bleeding from
a head wound, blood running in rivulets from his temple.

She leaped to her feet to help.

He didn’t get a chance to warn her. Before the words left his semi-open mouth, he
pitched face-first onto the rug. In an instant, her guard followed suit, his death
mask one of shocked surprise.

Anna backed away from a woman who looked terrifyingly calm. Almost normal, bar for
the ugly-looking pistol in her hand. Christ, it was like looking at her own double.

“So you’re the chosen one,” the woman said casually, treating Anna to a slow, considered
look, “I can see why. The resemblance between us is quite startling. You look just
like me.” Antoinette sighed and appeared to lose herself in a private moment. Then
she shrugged. “Or how I used to look, many years ago.” She crossed to the bar and
calmly poured herself a drink.

Anna kept her eyes on the gun that Antoinette had set aside.
Devil’s Whim
rolled. The weapon would have skidded from the wooden bar had the woman not had the
reflexes of a cat.

Tiny beads of iced sweat pushed through her skin. Jesus, the woman was quick. Making
a run for it was out of the question.

Devil’s Whim
reared again. Anna staggered sideways before catching her balance.

“You should sit down,” Antoinette recommended. “My Antila wouldn’t want you to fall.
It might damage the baby.” There was no animosity beneath the woman’s words—more an
empty boredom, which was infinitely more frightening.

Ignoring the invitation to sit, Anna shifted close to a deep reading chair fixed to
the floor and used it to steady herself against the pitch and roll of the boat.

Rain, like gravel blasted, battered the stretch of panoramic windows comprising three
sides of the stateroom. The lights flickered. She gripped the chair more tightly.

The woman raised her glass high. “Want one?” she asked, arching her eyebrows.

“Not right now, thank you.” Antoinette Borosky-Antila certainly lived up to her reputation.
She was beautiful, in a serene Madonna-like kind of way. But it was all in the eyes.
The windows to the woman’s soul seemed remote, disconnected but for an unholy glint.

She determined there and then to keep at least one piece of fixed furniture between
them at all times.

Antoinette smiled. “Very responsible of you. Pregnant women shouldn’t drink.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she tossed back a weak smile of her own
and stayed silent.

“You look afraid. Tell me, are you scared of the storm, or are you scared of me?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I think you scare me more.”

Antoinette giggled. “With what’s raging out there, I should be flattered. What have
they told you about me?”

Anna shuddered. The innocent little girl laugh didn’t suit the woman. “Nothing. No
one speaks about you. As far as I know, few realize you exist.” Oh, God, where the
hell was Nick when she needed him?

“Hmm, what’s that expression? Out of sight, out of mind. That’s me. Courtesy of my
family and Antila. Are you wondering why it is I don’t use his given name, Niva? Because
he loathes it, like he hates me.” An ugly cloud of anger swept the woman’s face.

Anna’s pulse spiked. Hell, this woman was no Madonna. “I don’t think so. He cares,”
she offered, desperate to calm.

“Does he? I think not. He’s ashamed of me. And afraid of my family.” Again, the woman
smiled slyly. “And, maybe, even a little afraid of me.”

Anna couldn’t fault Antila for his fear. Everything about Antoinette was off, from
the beauty on the outside to the sickness within. From the blatant, sultry sexuality
she exuded to the traces of childlike demeanor.

Yet she couldn’t deny Antila’s concern for his wife and didn’t doubt his somehow twisted
devotion to her. Maybe the woman would be comforted by that reminder and hook back
into some semblance of normality. “I don’t know about your family, but your husband
certainly loves you.”

“Does he? Do you know for how many years I’ve been at sea? I was eighteen when we
married, and I’m now forty-seven. My voyage started when I was twenty-three, right
after our baby boy died. He wouldn’t stop crying. Babies shouldn’t cry. Not all the
time, should they?”

“No,” Anna whispered. She didn’t want to think about why the baby had cried “all the
time.”

“He blamed me, punished me. Called in doctors to ensure I could never have another
child. They hurt me. I don’t call that love.”

A series of muffled thuds rocked the floor beneath her feet.
Devil’s Whim
shuddered. She slammed down the hatches in her mind on what that might mean, too.

Antoinette cocked her head to listen, “I do believe someone is trying to blow us up.”

The fluttering in her chest settled to a dull thud. Her throat thickened. Iron will
alone kept her from covering her ears. She didn’t want to know. Where the hell was
Nick?

Apparently unperturbed, Antoinette topped up her already empty glass and tossed back
the contents in a single shot.

Anna tracked the movement with her eyes. How much liquor could the woman consume without
keeling over? If she’d been medicated, the cocktail might speed up the process. She
had a chance.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Antoinette warned, as if reading her mind. “My constitution
is that of a hardened addict. Now, tell me about your baby, my Antila’s son.”

Anna splayed her fingers across her midriff. She didn’t want to discuss her baby with
this woman. She didn’t want her daughter mentioned in the same sentence as Antila.
The threat of taint, however irrational, was too great. She wanted no part of the
tragedy defining this couple’s life. Not for her baby. Not for herself.

“There’s not much to tell,” she stonewalled.

“Funny, that’s what I said when Antila found me cradling my silent son in my arms.
He wanted to know how. He wanted to know why. I had the answer to neither.” Antoinette
lost herself in some private place again, pain, delight, confusion, and hate, shading
her face in a play of light and dark shadows. “Do you think your son will cry, Anna?
I do hope not. I don’t like it when boys cry.”

Her skin peeled. She coughed to choke back the burn in her throat. “What about girls?
Because that’s what I’m having. A little girl.” The truth was out of her mouth before
she could stop it. Maybe, she’d needed to crack the woman’s façade of sanity. Maybe
it was the realization that she had nothing to lose. Or maybe it was because, right
now, when shaken to the core without being able to see a way out, she just needed
to hear the truth spoken out loud.

Antila, with Dice at his shoulder, stepped out of the shadows. “Escort my wife back
to my quarters, Dice, and stay with her,” he ordered with ice.

Then he waited. And waited. All the time, holding Anna in a dead-eyed stare. “The
truth. Do you carry a girl?”

She’d have preferred him to yell. It would have scared her less. Mutely, she shook
her head. Then, the futility of denial, and a sharp slap of shame forced her chin
high. Her little girl deserved acknowledgement. “Yes. Your daughter. I intend to call
her Elle. After Elpis, the hope that was released along with the evils from Pandora’s
Box. It seemed appropriate.”

“I’m not interested in your little fancies.” Antila raised his hand and aimed a gun
dead center at her belly.

She closed her eyes, sucked in a sharp breath, and waited for the bullet to bite.

“Wait. Why not strap her into a life jacket and toss her over the side? The terror
she has of the sea should be enough to kill her. Why not make her really suffer?”

Her knees gave way. Her ass kissed the floor hard. What the hell was Nick saying?

…

“Care to come out where I can see you, Marshall? She gets a bullet right now if you
don’t.”

He stepped clear of the shadows, close to Anna. “That would be a kindness. The hull’s
breached. We’re sinking. Shooting her will save her from the terror of slowly drowning.”

Anna gasped and smacked the back of her fist hard into his midriff. He didn’t even
flinch. His gun remained firmly trained on Antila, who laughed.

“Yes. I warned her. She should suffer for her deception. And I will watch her do so.”

“You sure you want to do that? Think about Antoinette. She needs your help to escape.
Put Anna in a life jacket. Toss her overboard. I promise you’ll hear her scream.”

Antila moved to the right, opened a cabinet, and extracted a bright orange floatation
aid. Beside him, Anna stiffened. He dared not look at her. Anticipating panic would
shortly triumph over her shock, and she’d spin and make a pointless run for it, he
fixed his fingers round her wrist in a tight hold. Her pulse raced beneath his thumb.
He could hear her panting, fighting for breathe.

“Put it on,” Antila ordered, throwing the floatation aid to her.

The life jacket hit her chest. She let it fall at her feet.

“You, get her into it, or I’ll shoot her right now.”

He was going to enjoy ripping Antila’s head from his shoulders. Nick lowered to his
haunches slowly, his hand still fixed round Anna’s wrist. He doubted she read his
squeeze as one of comfort. He doubted she was registering anything right now. He placed
his gun under the toe of his boot to stop it sliding the tilt of the deck and grabbed
the deflated orange fold of heavy plastic.