Two Evils (37 page)

Rage—and fear that he would lose Billie before he had the chance to tell her how he felt—engulfed him, and mindless of the danger he moved out from behind the tree, firing his gun at the man who had shot Presley. The second shooter was on the
flybridge of a small yacht not unlike the one now pulling away into Boundary Channel. In mere moments, the engine would pick up speed and they’d escape to the Potomac.



Billie had examined every inch of the tiny cabin…and found nothing that might help her get out of the handcuffs. Frustration and anger clawed their way into her mind as she sat on the bed opposite Rebecca and tried to figure another way out of this mess.

And though she tried her damnedest not to think about it, she was worried too. John and the others were walking into an ambush—surely they’d figured that out by now. Who knew how many reinforcements the general had called in? Her friends were going to be slaughtered trying to rescue her and she was helpless to stop it. Feelin
g that way was really beginning to piss her off, as ‘helpless’ had never been a word in her vocabulary.

A niggling thought at the back of her mind forced its way forward then: Why hadn’t General Wainright asked about the flash drive? Certainly he was aware of—or at least suspected—Rebe
cca’s snooping. He obviously knew that she had seen the Pleasures file, but was there any way for him to know that she’d copied it?

Billie perked up a little at the thought. If indeed Wainright was oblivious
to the files having been copied, it meant that even if he had destroyed or transferred the originals on his office computer there was still evidence to be used against him.

The downside to that, she realized, was that his not knowing about the flash drive meant he was planning to kill her and Rebecca simply because of what they
might
know. Great.

She started looking around the room again, hoping to spy something she had missed on her first perusal—there had to be
something
in here she could use as a lock pick. Her eyes hadn’t gone far, having fallen on Rebecca’s closed eyes as she took deep, steady breaths, when the sound of a key in the door lock intruded into the relative quiet of the room. Rebecca opened her eyes and both of them turned to face the door as Stan pulled it open.

Naturally, he had a gun in his hand.

“Did the general send you here to kill us?” Rebecca snapped angrily. “Wouldn’t have thought he’d be happy with you getting blood all over his precious boat’s décor.”

Billie was surprised at the strength of the venom in her voice. Clearly Stan was too, as he raised an eyebrow and regarded her with renewed interest. “My, my, my…” he said with an exaggerated drawl. “Looks like the little kitty has teeth after all. Don’t you worry, pussy cat, you’ll get your turn to purr. But right now
, I’m just a little more interested in the lioness over here.”

He stepped into the room further, shutting the door behind him. As the already minuscule space was reduced even further by his entrance, he had only to take one step and he was at Billie’s side. The nerve endings along the length of her spine started dancing a jig when he put the muzzle of his gun to her temple and started drawing lazy circles with it.

“The general and Malone seem to think that you’re some kind of hellion,” he taunted softly. “They seem to think that even in handcuffs, you’re still dangerous.”

They’re right
, she agreed silently.

“I gotta say… I don’t see it. Ain’t much even a shooter with your record can do with her hands locked behind her back.”

Stan suddenly swung the gun away from her and pointed it squarely at Rebecca’s face. His eyes remained on Billie as he said, “Tell me, She-Devil… how much of an angel are you willing to be in order to save the lieutenant’s life?”

B
illie didn’t hesitate to answer: “I’ll do anything.”

She looked to Rebecca then, and knew without a doubt that it was true. The young woman before her was family, as a Marine and as a sister to one of her team brothers. Though she barely knew her, yes, she would to anything to save her.

Eddie would come back from the dead and kick her ass if she didn’t.

Stan grinned lasciviously. “I was really hoping you’d say that,” he said, grabbing her under the arm and hauling her to her feet. “You and me are gonna go somewhere a little more private.”

With that, he stuffed the gun in the waistband of his pants and reached for the door, shoving her out into what might have been a corridor if it was about ten feet longer and four feet wider—as it was, the space separating the twin-bed cabin from the kitchenette and lounge area was barely wide enough for the two of them to stand together comfortably.

Not that I’d ever be comfortable anywhere near this pervert
, Billie mused sourly as he was re-locking the door behind them. Stan then turned her toward another door, which he opened to a somewhat larger stateroom with a full-size bed covered by a satin bedspread. He pushed her inside and stepped in behind her, shutting the door with a snick and a chuckle.

“I’d really like to have a good time here,” Stan said as she turned to face him. “
It doesn’t have to be unpleasant for either of us, you know.”

A plan quickly began to form in her mind, and though it nearly made her gag to think of what it might take to overpower him, all Billie had to do to shove her displeasure back down was remember the fear in Rebecca’s eyes as Stan’s gun was pointed at her face. She had only to recall the terror-filled scream the younger woman had cried out as the truck plowed through the concrete siderail of Memorial Bridge and they’d
plunged toward the river.

“No, it doesn’t,” she said sweetly. “Maybe we screwed up, Stan—me and Rebecca. We shouldn’t have done what we did, but that doesn’t mean we should die for it. Please, if you’ll help us, I’ll do anything you want. We just want to live, that’s all. We won’t tell anybody anything. I’m sure she’ll agree to that. I can make her agree to it.”

Stan sauntered closer, grabbing her by the hips and yanking her body into his. “Baby, if you rock my world, I’ll personally get you and your little friend off the boat alive.”

Billie grinned, then leaned her head forward so that her lips were but a breath away from his. “Will you do something for me first? Help me…get in the mood?”

Stan closed the distance, crushing her mouth beneath his. Billie parted her lips slightly, inviting him to slip his tongue between them. He hesitated for only a moment as though he thought she might bite him, then plunged it in, tangling their tongues together in what she was sure he thought was a passionate kiss.

She just wanted to throw up in his mouth.

But she had to play the game out, and if it meant letting him think she was into this twisted excuse for foreplay, so be it. After a long moment the kiss ended, and he lifted his head to look at her. His eyes told her that he was surprised she was being so compliant, but the lust that accompanied it was quickly growing stronger. His desire to get laid, she thought with dark satisfaction, would be his undoing.

“What is it you want me to do, baby?” Stan asked, his voice husky with want.

Billie teased his nose with hers, brushing her lips against his with the barest touch. “I want you to lick me, Stan,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing gets me hotter than seeing a man’s face at my pussy, lapping up my cream.”

“And there ain’t nothin’ gets me hotter than a slut who loves to talk dirty,” he told her, pushing her back on the bed.

Using her elbows, she scooted back a little as he reached for her left leg, drew off her knee-high boot, and dropped it on the floor. He repeated the move with her right leg and then reached for the snap of her jeans, drawing her zipper down slowly. Billie’s stomach roiled in protest, sending bile burning up her throat. She had to do this, she reminded herself firmly. The men on the boat, while easily handled if she was alone, could use Rebecca as leverage against her—she had to make things a little more even. Stan had also been the one to put the handcuffs on both of them, so it stood to reason he had the key.

Once her still-damp jeans had been peeled away, Stan dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed. With a hand on each of her thighs, he rubbed them up and down. Billie could feel him beginning to tremble with desire, and realized that if she didn’t keep talking, he might forego the cunnilingus for immediate penetration.

“Put my leg over your shoulder, Stan,” she told him in a sweet voice. “Nuzzle the inside of my knee and then kiss down the inside of my thigh toward that part of me that you really,
really
want.”

Stan grinned foolishly—and then did as he’d been told.
He lifted her left leg to place it over his shoulder, rubbing his nose lightly along the soft skin on the inside of her knee as she’d instructed him to before planting the first kiss over that spot. He then moved slowly downward, kissing and licking the inside of her thigh as he came closer to her panty-covered pubis.

When he was positioned exactly as she wanted him—within inches of his goal—Billie achieved hers: in a flash of movement, she had her right leg up and slapped to the side of his head,
crossing her ankles so her knees and calves locked together behind it, the pressure exerted by her thighs cutting off his air. Stan’s face grew red and his eyes bulged as one hand moved to try and pry her legs apart and the other reached for the gun at his waist.

“What’s the matter, Stan? Am I too much woman for you now?” she taunted snidely, lifting her hips and pressing down with her shoulders to incre
ase the pressure. When she had performed this maneuver on Wayne yesterday morning, her hold had been only tight enough to get him to let go of her throat—this time she was squeezing harder, fighting for her life and the life of another. While Wayne had suffered from little more than a headache as a result (which could also have been a result of his IQ-56 withdrawal), Stan would possibly be passed out for hours, and when he woke he would feel as though he had a monster hangover.

Though he did get his hand on the pistol’s grip, his pull on it was sluggish, and by the time the muzzle was clear of his waistband, he was out like a light and the gun simply fell to the floor.
Billie let the unconscious soldier drop face first onto the bed and drew her legs away from him. Sitting up, she crawled on her knees toward him and then stepped off the end of the bed to kneel next to him, looking for where he’d put the keys. Stan had used a key on the door of the double-bed cabin, and it had been on a ring with a few other keys—she remembered seeing him put them somewhere around his waist, or perhaps in his pocket. There, hooked on his belt loop with one of those hooks that resembled a climbing carabiner. Turning her back to him, she reached for it, the keys jingling as she tugged.

At that moment she heard a gunshot, followed by a second, and then rapid firing broke out. Damn it, she had to hurry—the cavalry was here, and she wanted to greet them with open arms.

“
Damn it, Malone—where the fuck is Stan?!
” she heard Wainright shout.

“
I told that dumbfuck not to mess with that bitch!
” Malone replied. “
Start the boat, sir—you need to stay out of the line of fire. I’ll go get him
.”

Shit! She had the keys free of Stan’s belt loop, now it was just a matter of finding the right one.
Double shit—the engine was starting and the yacht was moving, and there were only seconds before Malone found her there with Stan knocked out. When he did, she wanted Stan’s gun in her hand.

Keys jingled as heavy footsteps approached—Malone apparently had a set as well. Only one would have to do, she told herself, getting the handcuff key inserted and twisting it as she heard Malone opening the door to the other cabin. Once her left hand was free, she tossed the keys aside and grabbed the gun, a standard-issue M1911A1, then stood and reached for the door handle.

She turned it quickly, hoping to surprise Malone as she popped into the tiny vestibule before both rooms. Instead, she felt dread pool in her gut when she stepped out to find him standing in the lounge with one arm around Rebecca’s throat, holding his gun to her head with the other hand. Billie drew on him in a flash, cursing herself for being too preoccupied with her own escape to have heard him grab the lieutenant, and spared only a glance for the pilot’s station over her head—she didn’t see Wainright at all.

“Drop the gun, bitch,”
Malone snarled, pressing the end of the muzzle into Rebecca’s temple.

“
Even you, asshole, have to know that there’s only one way a Marine surrenders her weapon,” Billie replied tartly.

“You’re not a Marine anymore, remember?” he countered.

“For some of us: once a Marine, always a Marine. For others—like three of the five people on this boat—never again.”

Malone tightened his grip on Rebecca’s windpipe. Her hands were clasped around his forearm, trying to pull it away.

“Let her go, Malone,” Billie demanded.

“Not a chance. She’s seen too much. The both of you know too much. We can’t let either one of you go,” Malone replied.

“Dude, you know there’s only two ways this could go down,” she told him matter-of-factly. “You shoot her, then I shoot you and the general. You lose. Or you could try to shoot me first, at which time I’ll shoot you and then the general. You still lose.”

Malone laughed. “
’Try’
to shoot you first? Don’t you think hanging out with criminals on the beach might’ve made your aim a little bit rusty? How many people have you killed recently, Miss Deadliest Woman?”

“
In the last three days alone? Five.”

Malone blinked in evident surprise, and to her relief his arm relaxed enough to allow Rebecca to draw air. So the general hadn’t told his little lackey about how she’d taken out the entire hit squad sent to eliminate her? This was interesting news.

“In the half second or so it would take you to turn your hand to shoot me I would drop you—make no mistake about that, Malone,” Billie continued. “No matter what decision you make next, you’re a dead man—so why not meet your maker with one less stain on your soul? Let the lieutenant go, and face me one-on-one.”

Malon
e’s face darkened with anger. Billie knew that he was contemplating his chances of success against her, and found it somewhat sad that he even wasted the time doing so. With a distance of less than ten feet between them, however, there was simply no way he could either shoot Rebecca and then her, or attempt to shoot her first, without her killing him before he completed his objective.

The choice of who was going to shoot first was taken out of their hands when Rebecca suddenly e
rupted, crying out in fury as she performed a series of classic self-defense moves on her captor: she twisted and elbowed him hard in the solar plexus, then stomped on his foot, brought her laced-together hands up to slam then into his nose, and then brought them back down again to grab hold of his groin. Malone was so stunned by her unexpected movement that he failed to react in time, and it was with a loud wail that her grip on his external genitalia sent him crashing to the carpet on his knees, his gun already having fallen from his loosened grip. Rebecca then brought her own knee up into his face, snapping his nasal cartilage. Once he was down she kicked him hard in the head, knocking him out cold.

Billie was fascinated by the display—up until now, Rebecca had been almost meek.
But that?
That
was the Marine she’d known was hidden under the file clerk.

Rebecca dropped to sit on the low table, her face pinched as though in pain, and lifted her foot to cradle it. “I think I might have broken a toe,” she said wryly as she slowly pulled
her shoe off. Her big toe was indeed in the process of swelling.

“A well-deserved battle wound, sister,” Billie said, searching for Malone’s keys and finding them in his pocket.
She finished removing her handcuffs, then removed Rebecca’s and handed her Stan’s gun. Next she put one pair of the cuffs on Malone, then dragged him into the cabin where she’d left Stan. He was still out of it, and so offered no resistance to her application of the second pair of handcuffs. She then picked up her pants and her boots, exited the stateroom, and locked them inside.

“Captain, Stan didn’t—” Rebecca started to say, but Billie cut her off with a shake of her head.

“Made me sick to do it, but I let him think he was about to get what he wanted, then put him in a choke hold with my legs,” she said simply as she yanked her jeans back on. She then quickly shoved her feet back into her boots and stepped up into the lounge, picking up Malone’s weapon—another military-issue pistol—and looked toward the door that led out onto the deck.

“Wow. I never knew a person could actually knock someone out that way,” Rebecca said.

“Takes training and practice,” Billie replied. “I better go deal with the general before he takes us out to sea or something.”