Riptide (42 page)

Gunfire erupted on the other side of the ship. How soon before any number of those men glanced down, saw the Sessa? They’d take it from there.

Four minutes forty seconds to detonation.

He wanted the Sessa with her sleek shape and fast engine. That would put a nice distance between her and the
Scorpion
in minutes. Nick calculated the odds of the two of them taking the faux Visconti and his thugs.

The armed men stood with their legs braced against the tide that the sinking
Scorpion
was causing. Off balance, yeah. But at this close range, they couldn’t miss hitting one or both of them.

One of the men spoke in rapid Italian, and the fat man smiled unpleasantly and replied in the same language. “Look how she holds it like a baseball bat. Do you think she will club all of us to death one by one? If
he
gets it, shoot it out of his hand. Knowing it’s there will keep you on your toes!”

Overconfidence
and
stupidity.

“Both of you stay put. Tell my men where to find my merchandise, and do it quickly.” The man wiped his face, holding on to the rail on the Sessa as it rocked with the slap of the waves against her sleek hull. The guy was oblivious.

Nick gave the men clear and specific directions to the hold, and the three bin numbers, in fluent Italian. “Want me to repeat that in English?” he asked politely.

They shook their heads, and were told to hurry by the man pretending to be Draven Visconti.

The good news was that the immediate threat was cut in half. The bad news was that he’d better come up with a way to highjack that Sessa, because they only had four minutes thirty-one seconds more to play with.

The two men on the narrow deck lifted their weapons, keeping them covered, Nick presumed, until the other two returned with the diamonds. After that, they’d be toast. Not that the other two guys would make it down to the flooded hold and back in the time remaining, especially without any diving gear. Idiots.

“You’re going to regret this, Draven Albion Hilderprad Visconti!” Bria snarled. “What’s
happened
to you? Have you lost all sense of honor that our father taught us?”

“Shut the
fok
up,
teef
.” His eyes all but disappeared in the fat of his cheeks as he leaned against the pilothouse wall, flanked by his men. “I
will
have my men
foking
shoot you!”

“Oh, for— You wouldn’t shoot your own
sister
!” she told him furiously.

Nick held on to her so tightly he was afraid she wouldn’t be able to breathe. “You’re going to be the fucking death of me, woman,” he hissed under his breath.

Fighting mad, she struggled to free herself.

Nick kept his eyes on the Sessa and bent his head, his breath harsh in her ear. “He’s not Draven, Gabriella. This man’s an impostor.”

It took a moment for her to stop trying to break free him. She went dead still. Her head dropped back against his chest. “What?!”

“He’s not Visconti.” Suddenly, Nick could hear the faint sound of powerful engines approaching from the north, barely audible over the susurrus of the water, which was now up to Bria’s knees.

Nick prayed that he was hearing the fast approach of Max Aries and his team. Unfortunately, he suspected the Moroccans and this guy had beat out the good guys by a good half hour or more. It was more likely to be backup for one or both sides.

Two against a horde was shitty odds. And where was Jonah?

“Who the hell are you?” Bria demanded hoarsely. “Where’s my brother?”

The man smiled. “It’s too late to mourn the king, you stupid bitch. He died ten years ago.”

Bria froze. He could only see the top of her head, but he knew the news shocked her to the core. “You killed Draven?” she demanded, sounding bewildered and shell-shocked. “Why?”

“He was thrown from a horse—” He smiled. “But someone might’ve seen to the bridle…”

Nick met the fat man’s eyes. “Who are you?”

Had Jonah managed to secure the other inflatable? If so, he could very well be on his way back here right now.

Or not. Nick couldn’t count on Jonah
or
Aries saving the day. Shitfuckdamn.

Three minutes and change.

The impostor dismissively waved a ringed hand with fat sausage fingers. “Where are my men? Why aren’t they back?” Sweat and splashed water rolled down his chins as he seemed to suddenly notice that the dive platform was submerged, and that Nick and Bria were knee-deep in rising water.

He scowled. “Shoot the girl if the men haven’t returned with the diamonds in five minutes. Shoot his kneecaps if they’re not back in six.” He turned to go inside his craft.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw a small glimpse of red just beyond the white water froth. If that was Jonah ready to save the day, he had two minutes to get into position.

Nick wanted the faux Visconti on deck where he could see him, where his men
couldn’t
see one another because his bulk was a massive wall between them.

“Parents Afrikaans speaking,” Nick told him coolly, buying seconds now. The man paused at the door, then turned to look back.

Three minutes forty seconds. Nick squeezed Bria’s waist in warning, then angled her slightly so she could see what he was looking at. A slowly moving inflatable raft hugging the swirling waters around the hull of the rapidly sinking
Scorpion
.
Jonah?
Jumping overboard at the wrong moment could, hell,
would
prove fatal. Nick knew he’d only have one opportunity. He had to time this perfectly. Jonah knew exactly where they were. He’d navigate the inflatable boat as close as possible without risking detection. Now all Nick had to do was be walleyed so he could observe both Jonah and the faux king at the same time. And any minute now, the second act would begin and then he could just kiss his ass good-bye because that would be all he wrote.

Three minutes twelve seconds.

“You lived in Jo’burg most of your life.” A light strafed the water. Damn it, now he didn’t see the inflatable. Had he imagined it? “Educated at an expensive private boys’ school. Durban?” The guy’s flat brown eyes sparked with surprise. “Yeah. Right on the mark. What happened? Did you go to school with Visconti and decide to assume his titled position?” Nick heard the soft clatter of a boat striking the hull of the
Scorpion
. Then another. And another in quick succession. Not the soft sound of a rubber boat. Fiberglass. Wood. Not Jonah. The arrival or departure of more bad guys.

The whop-whop-whop of a military helicopter sounded like a faint heartbeat in the darkness of the night, getting closer, but not nearly close enough to help them—if that was their intent.

Three minutes.

The ship moaned a low mournful death rattle that made the hair on Nick’s body rise and his chest constrict in mourning. His goal had been to be gone before they got caught in the crossfire. But it was already too late. Had Jonah managed to survive the firestorm?
Was
he the one in the inflatable, or had Nick just fucking wished it was? He could see Bria out of the corner of his eye. She still hadn’t moved. “That’s it, isn’t it?” he prodded. “Visconti told you all about his idyllic childhood on Marrezo. I bet the more you heard, the more you wanted it. It wasn’t hard to remember a mere thirteen years of his life there. What did you do? Kill him when you were in school, or did you wait until just before he planned to go home triumphant?”

Out of time. It was now or never.

Under his breath, barely moving his lips, Nick whispered, “Let’s prove what a good marksman you are. Three seconds. Three o’clock. One!”

Two minutes thirty.

“Two.” Nick grabbed up a filled oxygen canister, swung back his arms, and with every ounce of strength he possessed, flung it up and out, as far over the deck of the Sessa as he could. Then yelled, “Now!”

Bria fired a burst from the Uzi.

The tank exploded over the small boat in a fiery eruption and with an ear-splitting bang.

That was all the distraction Nick needed. Grabbing Bria up in a bear hug, he threw them off the dive platform into the midnight black water.

*   *   *

Bria barely had time to suck in a breath before Nick catapulted them sideways off the edge of the dive platform. How he’d known where the edge
was
, when it was under several feet of churning, frothy water, was a mystery. How they missed hitting the small boat that carried Draven and his men was also hard to wrap her brain around.

But she had more urgent concerns as they sank beneath the water.

Black.

Cold.

All-encompassing darkness.

Nick’s arms, wrapped like steel bands around her, were literally her lifeline in a world gone crazy.

Bria let herself go. To fight the water was impossible, and she allowed her body to sink. Eventually, please God, they’d pop to the surface some distance away. Because the suck and pull as the
Scorpion
sank would drag them under if they didn’t get out of range.

How far? Her lungs were already bursting. She let out a small breath to relieve the pressure, part of which was Nick’s death grip around her waist. That was okay by her, and she tightened her arms around him, gripping the waistband of his jeans.

After what felt like hours and was probably seconds, Nick start to kick. She couldn’t see him, but she followed suit as he guided her by some internal radar to the surface.

“Grab a breath,” he said, steadying her as the water pushed and shoved them as they crested the chop. His pale eyes, all she saw, picked up some of the light behind her. “You okay?”

Nodding, Bria let out the breath she’d been holding in a gasp, then breathed in, coughing and choking on a mouthful of salty water. It slapped her in the face, and stung her eyes.

The sound of shouting was drowned out by a series of explosions that sheeted the water in brilliant red and amber light and made her squint against the intermittent brilliance.

Bria tried with everything in her not to give in to the panic and fear filling every cell in her body. God. They were only twenty or so feet away from the
Scorpion
. Nick’s ship was circled with foamy white as the sea churned and frothed angrily around her. Only the sundeck and atrium were now above water.

There was no sign of the small boat attached to the dive platform.

Men screamed as they dived overboard. And yet—other morons were still shooting at one another!

Her own erratic breathing was louder to her ears than whatever was happening on the
Scorpion
.

Nick spun her around and gave her an ungentle shove.
“Swim!”

She swam. As fast as she could. Arm-over-arm-over-arm. Every stroke felt as though she was swimming through water as heavy and viscous as cement. Another explosion rent the air, making her flinch. The water around them turned a bright metallic orange, then went dark again.

“Don’t look back. Move it!
Go! Go! Go!”

She went. Arm-over-arm-over-arm. Bria’s lungs heaved with exertion, and her arms, legs, and back burned like fire as she put every ounce of energy into getting as far away from his ship as they could in the shortest amount of time.

Arm-over-arm-over-arm. Saltwater stung her eyes and dozens of small lacerations on her skin, her breathing was labored, and her mouth was dry. Heartbeat a frenetic thud-thud-thud, she put her back into it and swam as if her life depended on it. It did. Breathing when she could, holding her breath when she couldn’t. Her lungs burned, and her breathing was labored and erratic. Nick stayed one arm-stroke to her left the whole time.

It felt like several hard-laboring hours later that he shouted, “We’re good.” His breathing was rough. “Float and rest a bit. Good job, Princess.” He held out his hand to draw her close. “Hell of—”

“Ahoy!” An amplified voice came across the water. “Cutter?”

Nick started to laugh. “The cavalry has arrived.”

“A day late and several millions of dollars short,” Bria said crossly, so relieved to see the large, powerful motor launch approaching them as they bobbed in the middle of nowhere that she almost cried.

Nick wrapped his arm around her to keep her afloat, and yelled, “About fucking time you got here!”

The next few minutes were surreal as she and Nick were pulled from the water by black-garbed men.

Aries and his team arrived just in time to see the end result of Nick’s handiwork. Several other launches had moved into position to pick up swimmers. Overhead, the large helicopter she’d heard approaching circled the area, its light strafing the water. Wrapped in blankets, they were handed steaming mugs of coffee and encouraged to go belowdecks.

Nick refused, and Bria wasn’t about to leave his side for an instant. She used the cup to warm her hands as they stood at the rail and watched the bright flares across the water.

“Took you fucking long enough.” Nick turned his head as a tall man strode toward them. Bria presumed this was Max Aries.

“You should go below,” the guy said in a reasonable tone that got Bria’s back up. “Grab a shower…”

“What do you see?” Nick pointed.

The man came up beside him, curling his large hands around the rail as he watched what was happening. “God, I’m sorry, Cutter.”

Standing on board the motor launch, one arm around Bria, Nick watched his
Scorpion
sink in a churning, frothing foam of white. He rubbed his hand up and down her blanket-covered arm as she shuddered. Her wet hair danced around her shoulders like Medusa’s snakes in the wind kicked up by the helicopters swooping overhead.

Nick didn’t say anything, and she slipped under the arm he had braced on the rail and leaned against his chest as the remnants of the
Scorpion
went up in one last fireball, then sizzled as it dragged everyone and everything under the water with it.

Countdown complete. Game over.

*   *   *

Nick tightened his arms around her as they rode the swells.