Hunt Her Down (38 page)

of the celebration, it had been easy to slip down to the conservator’s stateroom and steal the

key. She’d return it tomorrow while Charlotte and Sam Gorman had breakfast, no one the

wiser.

The metal door of the cleaning lab squeaked, making her cringe, as she entered.

Inside it was dark, except for one wedge of pale moonlight through skinny horizontal

slatted portholes. But she didn’t need much light. She’d been in the lab enough times to know

exactly how the worktables were arranged and where the chain would be hanging on alligator

clips in an electrolysis tank.

She took a few steps to the left, reached out to touch the table, and then glided her hands to

the row of tanks. From her jacket pocket she pulled out a latex glove, slipped it on, and then

dragged her fingertips over the thin metal bar over the stainless steel plate.

But there were no clips draped with a silver beaded chain.

Hadn’t Charlotte started the electrolysis yet? She’d naturally done the initial cleaning that

afternoon, and then she should have prepped the chain for the electrolysis that would take up

to twenty-four hours.

But the tanks weren’t even on; there was no soft vibration of a low-volt current. So where

had she put the chain?

The nitric baths, no doubt. There were beads on the chain and it wasn’t all silver, so

Charlotte probably added a wash of nitric acid as an in-between step. Damn. Getting the chain

out of a nitric solution would be much tougher.

But not impossible.

She pulled the other glove from her other pocket and headed to the closet-sized room at the

opposite end of the lab, where the nitric acid baths were. Lizzie slipped a pinpoint flashlight

out of her pocket, because accidentally knocking over even a five-percent solution of nitric

acid could cause chemical burns.

Stepping deeper into the closet, she aimed the flashlight at the tiny worktable along one

narrow wall and—

Thwack!

The door slammed behind her just as a powerful arm encircled her whole body from

behind. A warm hand smashed over her mouth, silencing her scream as the flashlight clunked

to the floor.

She jerked one way, then the other, but she was no match for the mighty arms that

immobilized her. She tried to see him, but all she could get was an eyeful of shoulder.
Big

shoulder.

“Looking for something in particular?” His voice was a low, menacing rumble, sending

shivers over her skin.

She jerked hard, grunting into his hand. “Met me mo!”

“No can do, sweetheart.” He punctuated that with a squeeze, forcing her body against his,

her backside right up against his hips.

White-hot terror seized her. In all the dive trips and salvage efforts she’d been on, she’d

never been on a ship that had been attacked by pirates. But on this treasure hunt? Entirely

possible.

She tried to swallow, tried to breathe, but he just pinned her tighter. She fought again, but

he was rock solid and unyielding.

“Mwat do you want?”

“What do
you
want, is the question.”

She tried to wrest away one more time, but it was fruitless. She forced herself to be very,

very still despite the adrenaline coursing through her, fueling her fight.

Three or four interminable seconds rolled by, her heart whacking at her rib cage in triple

time.

“Good girl,” he said softly, the tone ominous enough to almost stop that beating completely.

“This is a very bad room for a wrestling match.”

Yes, it was. Unless you had gloves and long sleeves on, like she did. Only her face was

vulnerable. Did she dare?

What was worse, a minor burn or . . . rape and murder?

No contest.

“Now, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said, his mouth still pressed to her ear. “We’re

going to back out of this closet, very calmly and quietly, before you help yourself to a single

item that doesn’t belong to you. Then you’ll pay for your misdeeds, and the punishment will

be severe.”

If he let go of either arm, she could grab a cup of acid and back toss it in his face. And

scream like hell for help.

“Let’s go,” he said roughly, lifting her off the floor.

She had one finger free, her arm trapped under his. If she could just . . . close around his

pinkie and
yank.

His knuckle snapped and he loosened his grip just enough to free her arm. She went straight

for the row of tiny cups, seizing one in a gloved hand.

He jerked her backward, but not before she tossed the contents of the cup over her shoulder.

Instantly, he whipped them both to the right, hard enough that remaining acid splashed over

the rim of the cup.

With a shriek, she flipped the whole cup just as he threw her to the floor, covering her body

from the rain of acid.

“What the hell!” he grunted, writhing over her.

“Get off me!” She shoved at him, not knowing if any of the acid had touched her clothes, or

his. “Get the hell off me, you bastard!”

She tried to scramble away, but he snagged her sweatshirt. “Take it off!” he insisted. “Now!

Take it off!” He grabbed the zipper and started to yank.

“No!” She slammed her hands into his chest, just as she felt the air on her arm, where a

hole in her hoodie suddenly appeared and grew, the acid on it centimeters from her skin.

“You’ll burn! You have to take it off!” He pushed the jacket down, stripping the sleeves as

he pulled her to her feet and ripped off her cotton tank top, leaving her entirely bare.

“Your pants! Hurry, before you burn!” He seized the waistband of her sweats just as she

saw two gaping holes widening over her thigh.

“Off!” he demanded, dragging them down her hips and taking her underpants with them. In

one more lightning move, he flung them away. “Water! Wet your skin!”

He pushed her to the sink and flipped the faucet on, the water shockingly cold on her arm.

Then he tore his dark shirt over his head and ripped his jeans off, whipping his clothes into the

same corner he’d thrown hers.

“More water,” he said, pushing her closer to the sink and cupping his hands. “Give me your

leg.”

Who
was
this guy?

She lifted her leg and he started splashing handfuls of water over her thigh with one hand,

and onto his shoulder with the other.

“Why the hell did you do that?” he demanded. “You could have blinded me.”

“That was the idea. You
attacked
me.”

He snorted softly, looking at her face. “I caught you stealing. Big difference.” He lifted his

own leg to the sink and started splashing.

“I was not—” She grasped the side of the sink, adrenaline pumping through her like a

straight shot of whiskey, her body rubbery and wobbly as she stared at the huge, dark, naked,

furious stranger next to her.

“Who
are
you?”

“The new diver.”

Oh, no. Oh,
no
.

“The new . . .” Her voice gave out under the force of his laser-beam glare. Embarrassed,

she looked down . . . right at the dark nest between his legs, his manhood fully exposed

against the wet thigh he held up to the sink.

The new diver.

Please—this
wasn’t
happening to her.

She finally managed to meet his cold blue eyes again, her stomach flipping around like a

hooked fish. “I thought you were going to rape me,” she said quietly. “Or . . . worse.”

He stopped splashing water long enough to drop his gaze over her body, as if he were . . .

considering it.

“This isn’t enough,” he said gruffly, still studying her.

“What?” What the hell did that mean?

“We have to shower. There could be droplets on your skin, and they’ll burn. They might

already be burning. Come on.”

She hesitated for only a millisecond; he was right.

“In my cabin.” He shoved her toward the door.

He really
was
the new diver. The one who was coming . . .
tomorrow.
The one who was

going to sleep in the small cabin next to the lab because it was the only unoccupied bunk on

the boat.

The new goddamn freaking diver. “I thought you were . . .”

“I know. Rapist. Killer. Pirate. I got the picture.”

“It’s only five percent nitric acid,” she said as she led him through the shadowed lab.

“It’ll still burn you. And scar.” She turned to look over her shoulder. His gaze was sharp as

steel and trained directly on her bare bottom.

Flynn had told them they were getting a new diver. But he failed to tell them the new guy

was tall, dark, and so far past handsome that he was in another time zone. And she’d tried to

burn
that
face?

He nudged her into the hallway and the first cabin, then whipped open the door to the head,

a typical combination toilet and shower in one fiberglass closet.

With one hand, he shoved her into the tiny area, lifting the shower hose off its hook as he

flicked the water knob.

“You know what they say, don’t you, Lizzie Dare?” He stepped inside, stealing every

remaining inch of space with his big, bare body. He pulled the door firmly behind him and

looked down at her with a dangerous gleam in his eye as he pointed the ice-cold spray right at

her breasts. “Payback’s a bitch.”