Tess Gerritsen: Thief Of Hearts aka Stolen

After a while she heard nothing. Only the faint rumbling of an engine.

Cautiously she pushed up on the lid. The weight of the other crate had redriven the nails into the wood. Luckily she still had the crowbar. It took some tight maneuvering, but she managed to work the tip under the lid and yanked on the bar.

The lid popped open.

She raised her head and inhaled a whiff of diesel-scented air. She was in a storage bay. Beside her were stacked the other crates from the warehouse annex. No one was around.

It took her a few moments to crawl out. By the time she dropped onto the floor, her calves were beginning to prickle with renewed circulation. She hobbled over to the steel door and opened it a crack.

Outside was a narrow corridor. Beyond the corner, two men were laughing, joking in that foul language sailors employ when they’re away from the polite company of women. Something about the whores in Naples.

The floor lurched beneath Clea’s feet and she swayed sideways. The engine sounds were grinding louder now.

Only then did she focus on the emergency fire kit mounted on the corridor wall. It was stamped with the name Villafjord.

I’m on his ship, she thought. I’m trapped on Van Weldon’s ship.

The floor swayed again, a rolling motion that made her reach out to the walls for support. She heard the engine’s accelerating whine, sensed the gentle rocking of the hull through the swells, and she understood.

The Villafjord was heading out to sea.

Hugh Tavistock’s limousine was waiting at the side of the road just outside Guildford. The instant Jordan and his two Scotland Yard escorts pulled up in a Mercedes, the limousine door swung open. Jordan stepped out of the Mercedes and slid into the limousine’s rear seat.

He found himself confronting his uncle Hugh’s critical gaze. “It seems,” said Hugh, “that I retired from intelligence simply to devote my life to rescuing you. ”

“And a fond hello to you, too,” answered Jordan. “Where’s Richard?”

“Present and accounted for,” answered a voice from the driver’s seat. Dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform, Richard turned and grinned at him. “I picked up this trick from a certain relative-to-be. Where’s Clea Rice?”

“I don’t know,” said Jordan. “But I have a very good idea. Did you confirm the shipping schedule for Portsmouth?”

“There is a vessel named Villafjord due to sail at midnight tonight. That gives us plenty of time to stop the departure.”

“Why all this interest in the Villafjord? ” asked Hugh. “What’s she carrying?”

“Wild guess? A fortune in art.” Jordan added, under his breath, “And a certain little cat burglar.”

Richard pulled onto the highway for Portsmouth. “She’ll jeopardize the whole operation. You should have stopped her.”

“Ha! As if I could!” said Jordan. “As you may have surmised, she doesn’t take to instruction well.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about Miss Rice,” said Hugh. “Uncooperative, is she?”

“She doesn’t trust anyone. Not Richard, not the authorities.”

“Surely she trusts you by now?”

Jordan gazed ahead at the dark road. Softly he said, “I thought she did…”

But she didn’t. When it came down to the wire, she chose to work alone. Without me.

He didn’t understand her. She was like some forest creature, always poised for flight, never trusting of a human hand. She wouldn’t let herself believe in him.

That lifting of his pocket watch-oh, he understood the meaning of that gesture. It was part defiance and part desperation. She was trying to push him away, to test him. She was crazy enough to put him to this test. And vulnerable enough to be hurt if he failed her.

I should have known. I should have seen this coming.

Now he was angry at himself, at her, at all the circumstances that kept wrenching them apart. Her past. Her mistrust of him.

His mistrust of her.

Perhaps Clea had it right from the start. Perhaps there was nothing he could do, nothing she could do, that would get them beyond all this.

With renewed anxiety he glanced outside at a passing road sign. They were still thirty miles from Portsmouth.

MacLeod and the police were already waiting at the dock.

“We’re too late,” said MacLeod as Hugh and Jordan stepped out of the limousine.

“What do you mean, too late?” demanded Jordan.

“This, I take it, is young Tavistock?” asked MacLeod.

“My nephew Jordan,” said Hugh. “What’s happening here?”

“We arrived a few minutes ago. The Villafjord was scheduled to sail at midnight from this dock.”

“Where is she, then?”

“That’s the problem. It seems she sailed twenty minutes ago.”

“But it’s only nine-thirty.”

MacLeod shook his head. “Obviously they changed plans.”

Jordan stared out over the dark harbor. A chill wind blew in from the water, whipping his shirt and stinging his face with the tang of salt. She’s out there. I feel it. And she’s alone.

He turned to MacLeod. “You have to intercept them.”

“At sea? You’re talking a major operation! We have no firm evidence yet. Nothing solid to authorize that sort of thing.”

“You’ll find your evidence on the Villafjord. ”

“I can’t take that chance. If I move on Van Weldon without cause, his lawyers will shut down my investigation for good. We have to wait until she docks in Naples. Convince the Italian police to board her.”

“By then it may be too late! MacLeod, this could be your best chance. Your only chance. If you want Van Weldon, move now. ”

MacLeod looked at Hugh. “What do you think, Lord Lovat?”

“We’d need help from the Royal Navy. A chopper or two. Oh, we could do it, all right. But if the evidence isn’t aboard, if it turns out we’re chasing nothing but a cargo of biscuits, there’s going to be enough red faces all around to fill a bloody circus ring.”

“I’m telling you, the evidence is on board,” said Jordan. “So is Clea.”

“Is that what you’re really chasing?” asked Hugh. “The woman?”

“What if it is?”

“We don’t launch an operation this big just because some-some stray female has gotten herself into trouble,” said MacLeod. “We move prematurely and we’ll lose our chance at Van Weldon.”

“He’s right,” said Hugh. “There are too many factors to weigh here. The woman can’t be our first concern.”

“Don’t give me any bloody lecture about who’s dispensable and who isn’t!” retorted Jordan. “She’s not one of your agents. She never took any oath to protect queen and country. She’s a civilian, and you can’t leave her out there. I won’t leave her out there!”

Hugh stared at his nephew in surprise. “She means that much to you?”

Jordan met his uncle’s gaze. The answer had never been clearer than at this very moment, with the wind whipping their faces and the night growing ever deeper, ever colder.

“Yes,” said Jordan firmly. “She means that much to me.”

His uncle glanced up at the sky. “Looks like some nasty weather coming up-it will complicate things.”

“But…they’ll be miles at sea by the time we reach them,” said MacLeod. “Beyond English waters. There’s no legal way to demand a search.”

“No legal way,” said Jordan.

“What, you think they’ll just invite us aboard to comb the ship?”

“They’re not going to know there is a search.” Jordan turned to his uncle. “I’ll need a navy helicopter. And a crew of volunteers for the boarding party.”