Red Hot BOX SET: Complete Series 1-4: A Patrick & Steeves Suspense (17 page)

E
mily shielded
her face from the spray of the waves, her stomach churning with the constant rise and fall of the deck.

“Did they call?” Dal asked his friend.

Kris shook his head. “Not yet.”

“I think I should try,” Emily said, looking from Dal to Kris.

“To defuse it?” Kris asked.

“It’s our best option right now.” She lurched to the side, worried she was blowing smoke. With the boat moving around so much, intricate work with the wires would prove difficult.

Dal agreed. “What do you need?”

“Wire cutters. Maybe a flashlight.”

He disappeared below deck and she eyed Kris. His color wasn’t good, she couldn’t blame him.

“You can do this?” he asked, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I can try,” she said. “I’ve worked with bombs before.” What she didn’t say was what had happened the last time she worked with bombs.

“Here we go.” Dal returned and handed her the wire-cutter.

“You keep the flashlight,” she said. She unbuttoned Kris’s shirt and tucked it out of the way, exposing the explosives. The explosives had been taped, several layers over, just below his rib cage. She ran her hand lightly over the bulk and around to the small of his back. Wires hung everywhere, a riot of colors, knit together in what appeared to be a random pattern. She drew her brows together, squinted at a tangle of wires to the side where they ran up Kris’s arm.

“Dal, can you get in here with that light?”

He slid in behind her, aiming the flashlight over her shoulder. She’d gotten used to the movement of the boat over the swells, but each time the bow crashed down into a wave she lost her footing. “This is a bit of a mess,” she said, regretting the words the instant they came out of her mouth. She glanced up at Kris. He peered through the windscreen into the storm.

“Isn’t it just red and green?” Dal asked.

“Sometimes,” she replied. “But you need to know when to cut them, usually closer to detonation, and …”

“And we don’t know when it’s set to go off,” Kris said.

“I’ll have another go at Diego,” Dal said. “Let me beat it out of him.”

“Quiet.” Emily gingerly followed each wire through the jumbled maze. She could do this, she’d done it before. She wished the bomb squad would call back, she wished she was anywhere but here. Doubts began to creep in, what little confidence she’d had waning. She squinted into the mess. Had she already looked at this wire? Was this one too taut? That one too loose? Her focus scattered and she was back in Afghanistan, in the desert, on that final night. If only —

“Em.” Dal’s voice, as if from a great distance, broke into her thoughts.

“What?”

“You’ve been holding that one wire without moving for almost five minutes. Is that the one you need to cut?”

“No.” She shook her head. Five minutes? She’d blacked out for five minutes?

“Is there something I can do to help you?”

“No.” Her bottom lip trembled, a huge wave hit the boat broadside, sending them all staggering to the left. Kris’s feet slipped in the spray on the deck as he fought to keep his hand on the wheel. She pushed back into him, righting him, relieving the tension on the wires under his hand. Behind her, Dal held her solidly in place.

“You okay, Kris?” he asked.

“Yeah. Fuck, this is stressing me out.”

Emily barked out a laugh, folded over as her body trembled with nausea. She glanced down at her shaking hands. It was miserable weather, wet and cold, but it wasn’t the temperature making her shake. She felt Dal’s hand on her shoulder and peered up at him. “I need to sit down.”

“We’ll be back in a minute,” she heard him say to Kris. He guided her down the ladder and over to the bench. She collapsed onto the vinyl seat, vaguely aware of Diego stretched out on the floor, his face bloodied.

Dal wrapped a blanket around her shoulders to stop the shivering. Her entire body vibrated with fear. A hissing in her ears drowned out everything around her - the pounding of the waves, the soothing sound of Dal’s voice, the horrible patter of the rain. That night in the desert, she and Trevor had been surrounded by artillery fire, a constant barrage of gunshots and grenades. They’d lain under the night stars, awaiting their orders, pretending the gunshots were heavy rain, a thunderstorm, a reminder of home, grasping at small comforts.

Tears blurred her vision and slid down her cheeks unhindered. She bawled like a baby, bending into the sobs that threatened to burst through her belly. Frustration ripped through her. Fuck, here she was again in a situation without the proper training, the lives of others in her hands. She tried to shake the images flooding her mind but all she could see were her hands shaking, not knowing which wire to cut, and Trevor pleading with her to save herself. Her stomach clenched remembering the blast that had thrown her forward as she ran for shelter, her voice screaming over the horrible silence of Trevor left behind.

There was no stopping the floodgates. She cried like she’d never cried before, cried for every pain, every loss, every wrong she’d ever encountered and hadn’t been able to right. After some time, she realized the keening she was hearing was her own voice; broken, terrified. Gulping in air, she felt the emotional storm brewing inside her begin to subside. Her body relaxed, she was so tired, exhausted. The sobs quieted. She became aware of Dal’s arm around her shoulder, her hand in his, her fingers biting into his flesh.

She dug deep. The past needed to be behind her. She’d failed once with a bomb. Now, despite her meltdown on deck, she had another chance to make it right. She’d never received proper training in Afghanistan and this bomb - well, this bomb was just a mass of fucked up wires like nothing she’d ever seen before.

The despair she’d felt crystallized to anger. Resolved to fix this, she raised her head and met Dal’s gaze. “I’m going to make this right, Dal.”

He ran his hand over her hair, leaned his forehead against the side of her head, and whispered into her ear. “It’s not your responsibility.”

“It is,” she countered.

“No,” he said. “We’re in this together. Look at what just happened—”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, embarrassed, swiping the tears from her face. “I… I guess I lost it. I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’ve seen PTSD before. Something triggered you up there, didn’t it?”

She nodded, fixing her gaze on her feet.

“Something horrible happened to you over there, that’s why they sent you home … That’s why you have this new job with the Embassy.”

A noise she didn’t recognize burst from her lips, like she was being strangled, like the truth was being wrenched from her. “This Embassy job was supposed to be easy.” She turned to him, tried to grin but failed.

“Not the greatest first assignment,” he agreed. “You want some water?”

She shook her head. “No, we need to get back up there. That bomb could blow at any minute.” Her stomach felt hollowed out; she imagined herself standing in an assembly line, ready to have a clock inserted in the empty space. Her throat burned raw from sobbing, the salt from her tears made the skin on her face feel dry and tight. She started to stand, but lost her balance. “I’m completely out of my depth with this thing.”

“No,” he said, pulling her back down. “Sit, for just a minute.” She perched on the edge, leg bouncing with tension and let him continue. “You did your best. It’s almost impossible up there with the boat rolling and pitching in the storm.”

“But Kris—”

“Shhh,” he soothed her, rubbing his palm against her thigh. “The bomb squad will come for us.” His words rang hollow.

“In this storm?” She grasped for the positive, wanted to believe.

“They’ll come for us,” he said.

“How? I can’t imagine how they would even board us in these seas.”

He squeezed her hand. “They’ll come, Em.” He kissed her forehead. “They’ll come. The Coast Guard deals with weather like this all the time.”

She held his gaze, felt strength in the connection, wanted to allow herself to believe. The alternative was too horrible. “Still,” she said, standing again. “I need to get back up there. I’m not going to sit down here when there’s something I might be able to do.”

“Hey, lovebirds. How about something to eat?”

She started and turned toward Diego.

“Tell us when the timer is set to go off and I’ll consider it,” Dal said.

“I have no idea,” he yelled, face getting red as he tried to sit up. “And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you.”

“No food, then. That’s easy enough.”

“Look, you fu—”

Dal squeezed her hand. “You want to listen to this crap?”

“Not especially,” she said, grinning as she stood and stretched.

“I’m going to gag him, see if that won’t keep him quiet for a while.”

“You broke his nose. Will he be able to breathe if you gag him?”

Dal huffed. “No. Look, I’ll figure something out, you go ahead.”

She squeezed his arm, still embarrassed about her meltdown, and smiled up at him. “Thanks, Dal.”

“Don’t give it a second thought,” he said. “You saved me when I was ready to beat this asshole to a pulp earlier. I’m just repaying my debt.” His lopsided smile charmed her, and she stretched up on her toes to peck him on the cheek.

“See you topside.”

T
he constant rocking
of the boat was wearing her down. Years ago, she’d spent a lot of time on the ocean with her father. He’d taught her how to shift her balance from one leg to the other to counteract the movement of the deck. For the first time, it wasn’t helping. Her queasy stomach kept her on edge. That and the enormous amount of explosives attached to Kris.

She held onto the rail at the stern, out of earshot of Dal and Kris. They had their heads together. She left them alone and fixed her eyes on the horizon, willing her stomach to settle, her mind to clear. She needed to think.

Dal had already called the dispatcher again. As luck would have it, they couldn’t reach anyone to help with the bomb. All available men were in a school that had received a bomb threat. They promised to have someone get back to them as soon as possible.

What troubled her most was not knowing when it would go off. Diego hadn’t been any help. Short of torturing him, she had little hope of getting accurate information out of him. And after her failed attempt to defuse it, she didn’t have the nerve to try again. At least not until one of the experts called back.

Plus, Jack was on his way. No doubt bringing a whole new packet of trouble with him. The clock was ticking in more ways than one. She took a deep breath and tried to let her mind wander, to find a solution.

Somebody somewhere had to be able to help them. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved her phone, turned it on and speed-dialed her father. It went to voice mail after three rings. She left a message that she was on assignment, to please call her as soon as he could. Her father wouldn’t know what to do, but had had a lot of contacts and might know who else to call. Sighing, she tucked her phone away, imagining his shock when he discovered the trouble she was in with her new desk job. The one that was supposed to keep her safe.

Two seagulls cried and swooped, following the wake of the boat, side by side. Side by side. Emily stared at them, excavating the seed of thought below the busy chatter in her mind. There might be a way after all.

She turned to the men. “I have an idea.”

D
al stood
at the bottom of the ladder behind Deigo waiting for him to move. After several moments, he nudged Diego’s shoulder with the gun’s muzzle. “Up you go.”

With his hands tied in front of him and tethered to his belt, Diego dragged his large body up the ladder and stumbled to the side as the boat pitched. Whitecaps slammed the hull, the spray soaking the deck. He slid into the corner, grasping for something to hold onto.

Emily spoke into her cell, keeping her gun trained on Diego while Dal climbed back on deck. Ending the call, she slid the phone back in her pocket. “The Coast Guard will meet us. They want us to keep them updated.” She turned to Kris. “They gave me a frequency for you to use.”

“Negative,” he said, shaking his head. “Diego pulled the radio out yesterday morning.” He motioned to a jagged set of wires hanging above the wheel to the right.

“Can you re-wire it?” Dal asked.

“Asshole threw it overboard,” Kris said.

“We’ll stay in touch by phone,” Dal said. He motioned for Diego to step closer to Kris. “You’re positive you don’t know how to defuse this bomb?”

Diego sneered. “You got a memory problem?”

“You ready?” Dal glanced at Emily.

Emily stepped forward and gingerly unbuttoned Kris’s shirt, and pulled it down over his left arm. “I need a sharp knife.”

Kris indicated a tackle box wedged under the aft deck. Emily rifled through it and returned with a gutting knife.

To the side, Dal kept the gun trained on Diego while Emily sliced through the right sleeve of Kris’s shirt, careful to avoid the wires. Once done, she removed the tape from his chest and shoulder. Dal admired her focus and methodical approach. If she was still stressed, he couldn’t tell. She spoke calmly to Kris as she worked. The waves continued to pound against the hull, the rise and fall of the deck adding movement they could do without.

“I’ll remove the explosives from your waist,” she said. “When I do, I want you to pivot your body away to your left, but keep your hand on the wheel. We still need to figure out a way to keep pressure on that trigger when we make the switch.”

Kris shifted his body slowly away from the wheel. Emily held the explosives in place, careful to keep the same tension on the wire running to the wheel under Kris’s hand.

Dal stepped forward. “Ready?”

Emily nodded.

Dal untied Diego’s hands and threw the rope to the deck. “Okay, Diego, you’re up. Take your shirt off.”

Diego squinted at Dal, then his eyes flew open as he put things together. “No fucking way.”

Dal took the safety off the gun. “Take your shirt off and move over to the wheel.”

The big man’s hands shook as he unbuttoned his shirt and let it drop to his feet. His face blanched as Dal pushed him into position, shoulder to shoulder with Kris. Emily was wedged against the side of the boat, spray soaking her hair. Dal nodded and she reached forward to wrap the explosives around Diego’s waist, who cursed loudly. A rogue wave hit them broadside and they all stumbled to the right. Emily’s arm jammed against the wheel and she lost her grip on the bundle of explosives. She recovered quickly and grabbed them with her left hand, the wires attached to the wheel stretched.

Dal sucked in a breath and pushed Diego back into place, his nerves close to shot.

“Let’s get this done,” Kris hissed, his face the color of putty.

Dal jammed the gun into the side of Diego’s neck. “One move and you’re dead.”

Diego alternated between cursing them and praying to Maria. Emily wrapped the explosives around his waist, and carefully taped them in place. She ran the wires from the wheel up Diego’s right arm and secured them to his arm.

She met Dal’s eyes. “Now what?”