White Hot (33 page)

Had that been a scream she’d heard?

She rose up cautiously from where she’d been hiding, crouched on
Eliza Jane
’s wheelhouse floor, to crane her neck up at the weather deck of the big ship above her. Rain was coming down in buckets and it was tough to make out details, but she could definitely see the silhouettes of her crew standing in a ragged bunch near the rail, and those of their machine-gun-toting guards. They all seemed to be mesmerized by some drama unfolding in front of them, but it was past the point on the deck where Sam could see.

What she did see was Clint. A wave of shock hit her.

He’d been doing his invisibility trick, a midnight wraith blending into the storm-blurred lines of the shadowed poop deck. Now he deliberately stepped out from his cover and revealed his presence in no uncertain terms to those below.

Her eyes widened. What was he
doing
?

Instantly, the two men guarding the crew whipped their guns toward him.

Sam let out a dismayed gasp. “No!” Where was
his
gun?

The hijackers exchanged a look, and one of them took off toward the ladder to the poop deck. Clint made no move to flee. Fear and consternation swept through her. My God, he was giving himself up to the enemy!

But why?

These men had proven they were brutal and without conscience. What would they do to him when they took him prisoner? Or…would they kill him here and now, and be done with it?

Her heart quailed.
No! They couldn’t kill him!

They wouldn’t dare! Not with the pride of the U.S. Navy minutes away, ready to retaliate in kind. They’d have to be insane to do that.

The thought tamed her wild heartbeat a fraction.

Still, she had to do something! Help him! Make them—

No.
She grasped the edge of the console to stop herself from vaulting up the rope ladder and charging into the fray. He was doing this deliberately. He
must
have a plan. She needed to trust him, to trust he knew what he was doing. Not do anything impulsive to ruin it.

She needed to take a breath and let him do his job. But watching the armed hijacker shove his machine gun to Clint’s back and force him to join the crew below was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do in her life.

Terrified, she strained to see what was happening. But the fog had started to swirl around both ships in thick claws, obscuring what little view she’d had.

Edging toward panic, she wondered about his plan. By giving himself over to the Chinese operators, was Clint counting on Xing Guan taking him and leaving the ship and the hostages while he still could?

Surely they’d only leave the ship if he also gave them the micro storage card in his possession. Their mission was to retrieve the stolen card at all costs, according to Clint. But he had been so adamant about getting it safely to
Washington, D.C. Could he really be planning to use it as a bargaining chip and give it up, along with the critical data it held, just to save the lives of the crew?

More important, would the Chinese include Clint himself in any deal of lives for the card?

Her eyes filled with tears of dismay. He’d admitted they were a black-ops assassination squad—whose mission was to kill the man who’d stolen the data card.

“Jesus, chill out,” Clint muttered as he took another jab in the spine with a machine gun barrel. The asshole was really pushing his luck. He might be a great shot—though that was yet to be proven—but Clint had about nine inches and ninety pounds on the guy. The only reason Clint hadn’t grabbed the fucker’s gun and thrown him off the ladder was because Xing Guan still had
his
gun barrel pressed into Bolun’s forehead.

As they descended, Clint had to fight the overpowering urge to glance down at
Eliza Jane
’s wheelhouse again to see how Samantha was reacting to all this. It worried the hell out of him.

She’d done exactly the right thing when the tangos had spotted the escape attempt, hiding herself away so she wouldn’t be taken, too. He prayed she’d be as self-protective now and not do anything crazy. She couldn’t have been expecting this kind of a move from him.

To be honest, neither had he. But when he’d seen the stalwart second mate with that gun to his head, about to pay for Clint’s own sins, there was no way he could stand by and let it happen.

He swallowed a curse as he took another stab to the spine.

Hell, now all he had to do was come up with a plan.

“Ms. Lovejoy?”

“Captain Richardson? Oh, thank God. Please tell me you’re all right.”

Despite the dire situation, a smile toyed briefly with the corners of Sam’s mouth. Familiar questions from a by now reassuringly familiar voice. Strange what passed for comfort now; but she’d take what she could get. She was just insanely grateful the badly cracked sat phone was miraculously still working. She didn’t relish exposing herself by being in plain view behind the windshield in order to use the ancient radio.

“I’m good,” Sam replied anxiously. “But I can’t say the same for Lieutenant Commander Walker. Clint gave himself up to the hijackers. They’ve taken him prisoner.”

“Oh! That’s not good,” Ms. Lovejoy exclaimed with genuine feeling. “But why on earth would he give himself up?”

“God knows. We were separated at the time.” As she peeked up through the trawler’s rain-sheeted windshield, she quickly explained what had happened. “He must have
a plan…but the last time I saw him, he was at the wrong end of a gun.”

“
So
not good,” the other woman repeated, then said, “I’m trying hard to resolve the situation. But the Chinese government is being uncooperative—denying the hijackers are even Chinese, let alone part of a PLA military operation, secret or otherwise.”

“I’m shocked.
Shocked
,” Sam murmured beneath her breath, but the satellite reception must have been amplified by the fog rather than dampened by it, because she distinctly heard DeAnne Lovejoy swallow a troubled chuckle.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid their stance ties my hands quite effectively. I’ll still pursue it, naturally. But I am not optimistic of making any headway in a useful time frame.”

“I understand.” Sam hadn’t really expected it anyway. She asked about the Coast Guard cutter, if anyone had made radio contact yet. “I haven’t been able to see the ship from where I’ve been hiding,” she said. “Any idea what’s going on over there?”

“Yes. Apparently a couple of the crew members own sat phones, so they were able to set up communication with Kodiak that way.”

“Any injuries? How bad’s the damage?” If it wasn’t extensive, maybe there’d be some kind of help coming from that quarter, after all.

“I understand a couple of the officers were seriously injured in the blast, but nothing life-threatening.”

“Thank God.” Sam kept scouring the sky, hoping for a break in the fog. Praying nothing life-threatening was happening up on
Île de Cœur
’s deck while she was talking. She hadn’t wanted to make a move herself until she knew the full situation.

“I have some good news,” Ms. Lovejoy said, as though reading her thoughts. “The cutter’s commander is planning an armed assault on your hijackers.”

“Really?” Sam straightened like a shot, a deluge of relief coursing through her. “When? How?”

“They have a small boarding craft.” There was a slight hesitation on the other end. “I shouldn’t give any other details over an open sat line. I just thought you and your crew should be warned.”

No details? Was she
serious
? “There are only three hijackers left alive,” Sam said in frustration, “and I think they’re a little busy at the moment.”

“Just three?” Ms. Lovejoy asked immediately.

“The Lieutenant Commander has been busy,” Sam said noncommittally.

“Wow, I—” She heard a throat being cleared. “Well. That’s…good.”

Sam could tell the woman was torn between admiration and horror. Kind of like Sam, herself.

As they spoke, Sam continued to stare through the upper reaches of the windshield, hoping for a glimpse of what was going on up on deck. All she saw were watery swirls of gray and white. Nevertheless, she was damned sure the remaining Chinese assassins were not monitoring cell phone traffic.

“Anyway, I doubt the hijackers are listening in,” she assured the woman.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Ms. Lovejoy said, and cleared her throat again. “The problem is, there may be others.”

Sam blinked, focusing back on the conversation rather than straining her eyes on the blanket of fog. “Other what?”

“Others listening in. SOSUS has picked up the signature of a submarine hovering in the vicinity.” SOSUS—the navy’s extensive network of underwater listening stations. A whale could swim past one of the sophisticated microphones a mile away and still be heard, let alone a submarine. “Sonar thinks it’s probably Chinese.”

An icy spike of fear speared up Sam’s spine. In her experience, navy sonar operators seldom made wrong IDs.

Holy crap.
Clint had been right! “A Shan class nuclear sub?” she asked in alarm.

“Shang. Yes, but how—” Ms. Lovejoy began, then broke off the question. “It appears to be hovering on the edges of the situation just observing for now. But that could change
quickly enough. I’ve expressed my concern to the Chinese government, but that’s another brick wall.”

None of which made Sam feel any better. “The Chinese seem to be master wall builders.”

“The Chinese are masters of a lot of things. You just never hear about them. That is what’s so worrisome.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam said, her fear for Clint and the crew growing every second. Good lord, if the Chinese sub was really part of this…“Look, Ms. Lovejoy—”

“I think under the circumstances we can dispense with the formalities. Please, call me DeAnne.”

Sam smiled briefly through her seeping panic. “Thanks. And I’m Sam.” She glanced up. Was the fog thinning? Thankfully, the rain had stopped—suddenly, and completely, as it often did in the Arctic. “DeAnne, can you do me a huge favor and ask the Coast Guard to shake a leg with that armed assault? I could really use some help here.”

God, she hated being alone in this. Hated being alone, period. She missed Clint’s expert input. Hell, she missed
Clint
. Like crazy.

“I promise I’ll do my best,” DeAnne said. “I’m sure they’ll be happy the number of hijackers has been so greatly reduced. In the meantime, try to give a heads-up to the others, if at all possible.”

“I’ll try,” Sam said, though she couldn’t imagine how she’d get close to anyone without being caught herself. But somehow she had to find a way. “I should go. Not sure how much battery is left on this thing.”

DeAnne made an unhappy noise. “Dammit, Sam! I really hate leaving you on your own out there.”

That was the worst swear word she’d ever heard the woman utter.

Sam was more touched than she could say by her sincerity. “I’ll be okay,” she managed to squeeze past a sudden lump in her throat from an unexpected realization. More people had shown her more care over these past hellish seventy-two hours than in her entire previous life. Adversity really must bring out the best in people.

Or…had those around her always been this supportive…and she’d just been blind to it, wallowing in past betrayals rather than present possibilities?

She swallowed down the lump. “Just tell them to hurry. Please.”

“I will,” DeAnne said. “But check in again in thirty minutes, if nothing’s happened. Okay, Sam?”

“Roger that. And thanks, DeAnne.” As she pressed the “disconnect” button, Sam sucked down a deep, steadying breath. It was getting to her—everything. The emotions hurtling through her were nearly overwhelming. Fear—no, make that terror, panic, confusion, loss of control…love. As she stared upward, she laid her hand gently on her abdomen, fighting tears.

Oh, God.

An eddy of fog whirled and parted, exposing the big ship’s upper hull. The weather deck rail appeared high above her, a shiny line of chrome reflecting the dim midnight sun.

She shivered, and a rash of goose bumps tingled over her arms.
Île de Cœur
looked like a ghost ship rising from a haunting mist. Eerie. Silent. Deserted.

A tear spilled over.

There was no sign of Clint, her crew, or the hijackers.

Like the fog, they, too, had vanished.