Sharron McClellan - Breathless

As much as she hated it, she’d have to trust that Nikki could take care of herself and that Delphi would stand by her word to keep Nikki safe.

“Not really,” Jess finally replied. “Unless you know of a way to speed up a Marine Tribunal.”

“Not likely.” Nikki chuckled.

“So don’t worry. Everything will be fine.” Jess tossed her dive knife and mask into the bag.

Outside, a car honked, and Jess peeked between the curtains to see her taxi. Nice timing.

“I gotta go,” she said, jamming the rest of her gear in. “Taxi’s here.”

“Have fun, and don’t worry about the investigation. You’ll be proven innocent.”

“Thanks,” she said. Nikki’s forceful assurance caused a true smile to broaden her mouth. “I’ll send you a postcard.”

She hesitated. “Nikki?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks, and be careful.”

“What?”

She heard the confusion in Nikki’s voice, but she’d already said too much. “Nothing. Just be careful.”

“I will.”

It wasn’t much of a warning but it would have to be enough. Jess hung up, grabbed a small backpack that contained her clothes and hoisted her heavier, much larger dive bag over her shoulder. At the taxi, the driver popped the trunk from the driver’s seat. Jess tossed her bags in then took the passenger side, sliding the seat belt over her lap.

She never sat in the back.

She glanced at the driver. Tall. Thin but muscular. Dark. Dreadlocked hair.

And off, somehow. She cast another quick look in his direction, trying not to stare, but couldn’t quite figure out what it was that bothered her. “I’m Israel,” he said with a heavy Caribbean accent as he pulled away from the curb.

Jess didn’t offer her name, not caring if it seemed rude. Something was making the hairs on her neck rise, and it wasn’t just that he was a caricature of a Jamaican.

“Where you heading?” her driver persisted, intent on chatting. “Vacation?”

“Something like that,” Jess said, watching the road as they entered the freeway.

“You a diver?”

Maybe he was just nosy, she told herself. And her nerves were overtense. Whose wouldn’t be, considering she’d been told that a criminal mastermind was gunning for her? “If you don’t mind,” she said, trying to relax and to stop seeing danger in every shadow, “I’ve had a long day and would like a bit of quiet.”

“Of course, mon” Israel said, “Of course.”

She breathed a sigh of relief and watched the pavement slide by—right up until Israel drove past the exit to the airport. Jess stiffened. “You passed the exit.”

“I know a shortcut,” Israel said. “Miss all the traffic and get you there faster.” He turned off at the next exit, then down a side road that led through a warehouse district.

Shortcut her fanny.

The car slowed.

“Where are we going?” she asked. “This isn’t a shortcut.”

Israel looked at her, all semblance of friendliness replaced by something dark and purposeful. Automatically, her hand went to a gun that wasn’t there—the one she’d had FedEx pick up a while ago.

“No, Miss Whitaker, it isn’t,” he said, reaching into his jacket.

That’s what was off, she realized in the split second his hand moved. The bulge in his jacket. It wasn’t a wallet. It was a shoulder holster.

Her driver was armed.

Even as her mind processed the information, her combat-trained body was in motion. Unbuckling her seat belt with one hand, she swiveled sideways, bringing her legs up and slamming them into Israel, pushing him against the door as his gun cleared the holster but before he could point it at her.

The car jerked sideways, and the gun fell to the floorboard with a dull thud. Jess grabbed the wheel, yanking it toward her and sending the vehicle skidding in the opposite direction. Israel pounded her hands with his fist, trying to make her let go.

He hit her again. It was like having her fingers smashed in a door, but Jess gritted her teeth and refused to loosen her grip. He was bigger. Stronger. And the moment she gave an inch, he would use it against her.

Changing tactics, he bent over, groping for the fallen gun. Like hell, Jess thought. Releasing one hand from the wheel, she undid his seat belt. Reaching across him, she popped open his door.

“Bitch!” Israel screamed, as he realized what she was doing. Forsaking the gun, he grabbed her hair.

Sharp pain reached through her scalp as he yanked her upward. Twisting in his grasp, she bit him until she tasted blood in her mouth.

Screaming, he let go, and she scrambled backward toward the passenger door. With her door at her back for leverage, Jess kicked out with both feet and all her strength.

Israel shot out the open door but at the last minute, managed to grab his flopping seat belt with one hand. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Jess punched the gas with one foot, not caring that she dragged her kidnapper wannabe along the asphalt. She reached for the door handle and yanked it inward, slamming her assailant between the driver’s door and the car frame until he let go and rolled away.

In the rearview mirror, she watched him come to a stop on the side of the road then stumble to his feet. He didn’t run after her, and she didn’t stop to make sure he’d live. Her heart pumping adrenaline through her system, she gunned the vehicle. The tension didn’t recede until Israel disappeared from sight, and she was back on the main road.

Jess took a deep breath, willing her pulse to slow. Delphi hadn’t been kidding. Arachne was ruthless. Determined. And apparently, she could strike anywhere.

Not that it mattered. Arachne might be determined but so was Jess. Plus, she had a purpose.

Retribution.

O ne For The Money. The name made Jess smile. It was appropriate for a salvage boat that hunted sunken treasure. The eighty-foot Swiftship had definitely seen its share of years, but it appeared well maintained. The twenty-foot span of open deck in the back was clean, with gear stowed. There were no oil stains or suspicious spots that hinted at larger problems.

Unfortunately, it also looked deserted.

Jess carried a FedEx box containing her gun in one hand, her duffel tossed over her shoulder and her dive bag in her other hand. Setting box and bags on the pier, she adjusted her black-and-white Hawaiian-print tank top and walked toward the stern hoping to find someone on board. Anyone.

But the deck remained empty. Silent. She frowned, loathed going aboard without permission. Perhaps some people wouldn’t think twice about it, but she equated walking onto a ship with walking through the front door of someone’s house.

You didn’t turn the knob and barge in.

“Hello!” she shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. She waited for a reply, but the only answer was the slight rocking of the boat. “Hello! Zach, are you there?” Arms crossed, her frown deepened. “Anyone?”

“Can I help you?” a voice inquired. She turned to see the questioner on the opposite side of the pier watching her from the upper story of a double-decker luxury yacht.

Despite her sunglasses, she still shielded her eyes against the tropical sun. “Thanks, but I’m looking for Zach Holiday.”

His blond hair sticking up, the man on deck looked younger than her and ready for a beach party. The drink in his hand completed the effect. “Zach? You don’t want him. That boat’s a piece of crap.” He lowered his sunglasses and gave Jess a once-over. “Come on up here, and I’ll show you what traveling in luxury is like,” he finished, his words slurred.

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Jess turned away. She didn’t have time to deal with a drunk.