Blind Ambition (15 page)

Holding the rifle, Dan followed the ceaseless sound of waves hitting the shore, and led them to the beach, keeping his eyes and ears alert for security guards, squatters, and SIR fighters. They passed a swimming pool full of muck, and a deserted gazebo, before spotting the boathouse. The paddles tacked over the door made it pretty clear they had the right building.

He examined the padlock. Should he pick it or just…? He opened the pocketknife he’d lifted from the guard and popped the lock hinge from the rotting wood.
Piece of cake.

The door creaked open and a shaft of moonlight revealed a wall stacked with kayaks, paddleboards, and life vests. Dan snagged a vest from a hook, backed up, and tossed it to Alexa. He slid one over his own arms and snapped it on before dragging a tandem kayak made of molded plastic from its perch. Damn, the bitch was heavier than it looked.

Or he was running out of gas. But he knew how to push through the fatigue. He lowered the boat to the sand and took two double-bladed paddles off the wall.

“Come on.” He waved to Alexa, who now wore the bulky vest. “Do you think you can paddle?”

“Absolutely.”

God, he loved her spirit. He wanted to kiss her, but he resisted the inappropriate urge and pushed the boat toward the water with the paddles inside. Once he had it bobbing in about a foot of surf he motioned her to climb on. “I’ll hold it still,” he said. “Sit in the front.” Since she was lighter, it made sense for her to sit up front and paddle to steer, while he propelled the boat from the back.

He held the kayak steady. She hissed as soon as her feet hit the water.

“Hurts like a son of a bitch, doesn’t it?” His abraded feet and legs stung as if attacked by a jellyfish, but he did his best to ignore the pain.

Alexa nodded, but kept moving. “I’m fine.” As soon as she settled in, he waded out a little farther, then hoisted himself into the back seat. If he kept the moon behind him and to the right, they should find the yacht.

“We’ll just go straight out for now. I’ll tell you when to pull left.”
 

He dipped the paddle and pulled, alternating sides until he got into a rhythm and they picked up speed. The muscles in his arms and upper back screamed with exhaustion, but he kept going. What else could he do? He focused on his breathing, on performing a perfect stroke every time.

Going into a “zone” was how he’d survived the brutal pararescue training pipeline. Physical strength was never enough for success. Most of the guys who applied for the PJs—or any special ops for that matter—were in superior shape already. Surviving the cut came down to mental stamina and an absolute unwillingness to fail.

Those who could push aside thoughts of the endless days and months of torture ahead and live moment to moment were the ones who earned the maroon beret and the right to tattoo their asses with green footprints.

All Dan had to do was make it to the yacht. He’d deal with whatever came next when he got there.

The dark water undulated around them, reflecting scattered moonlight across Alexa’s rigid back and the threads of blonde in her muddy hair. Under the too-bright sky, out on the open water, they were like worms stuck on a sidewalk after the rain. No cover, nowhere to hide.

A few sparse lights were visible from the island, but couldn’t compete with the brilliance of the quarter moon and endless stars. At any other time, he would have taken a minute to appreciate the amazing view. He didn’t see many stars or come close to catching a glimpse of the Milky Way back in Virginia.

He paddled harder, giving a wide berth to a peninsula of land that stuck out into the sea like a crooked finger. Waves slapped the sides of the kayak, blocking out all but the noise of his paddle splashing through the water. After about ten minutes, he spotted the thirty-five-foot cruiser, glowing white as it danced on the swells.

Slowing his approach, he surveyed the sleek craft. It appeared just as he’d left it. No lights, no noises, no movement. He maneuvered the kayak as close as possible without crashing into the boat, then slid into the cool water holding a rope that was tied to the bow of the plastic two-seater.

Every cut and scratch on his body burned, but goddamn if he wasn’t awake now.

He removed his vest, and ducked beneath the waves to wash the mud from his body before he thrashed his way to the stern of the yacht. His arms shook as he dragged himself onto the swim platform, but he managed to tumble aboard. He gripped the stern with one hand and used the other to pull the kayak close and tie it up. At his urging, Alexa clutched his hand and let him help her up onto the boat.

She unlatched her life vest and dropped it to the deck, then he ushered her to the aft bench and left her to sit. “I’ll be right back.”

Before leaving the boat, he’d taped a spare key to the interior wall of the scuba locker. He removed it from its hiding place and unlocked the hatch that led to belowdecks. Down a small flight of stairs the yacht had a well-stocked galley that appeared undisturbed in the faint moonlight that crept in through the portholes. He grabbed two bottles of water from the tiny fridge, broke the seal on the caps, and returned to the cockpit.

She lay on the bench with her arms wrapped around her waist, eyes closed. He stared at her, for a moment letting the ache in his chest nearly overwhelm him. How had he thought he could do this without getting hurt again?

She’d done such a number on him last time. He’d gone back to Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, run into Mary at the mall, and married her three months later.

He’d been such an idiot.

Alexa’s eyes opened, jolting him from his thoughts. He stepped forward and held out one of the bottles.

“Thank you.” She sat up to accept the water, removed the cap, and took a long drink.

He followed suit. They were both dehydrated.

“You should let me take a look at your leg,” she said, gesturing to the long scratches running up his calf.

God, no. The last thing he needed was her touching him. “Nah, I can do it.”

She frowned but didn’t press the issue.

“I’ll get us underway and then you can take a shower. I’m mostly clean from my quick dunk, so I can wait.”

She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Okay, thanks.”

He started the yacht’s engines with a hearty rumble and turned smoothly toward St. Lucia, operating in the dim glow of the instrument panel. When they were several miles from shore, he set the autopilot and flipped on a small lamp over the helm.

“Come on.” He led Alexa down a small flight of stairs into the salon, turned on the overhead lighting, and pointed out the head. “There are towels in the cabinet and shampoo and stuff on the counter. Help yourself.” In the duffle bag he’d left on the queen bed that was tucked into the bow of the boat, he found the T-shirt and chinos that Tara had insisted he bring, along with a bra and panties.

Resisting the urge to rub the smooth satin between his fingers and imagine it against Alexa’s bare skin, he rolled the clothes into a bundle and handed them to her. “Tara, the business manager at work, bought these for you. I hope they fit okay.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” she said, her smile weak and her eyes half closed.

“There’s a small first aid kit in there if you need to bandage your feet. Or I can do it for you when you’re done.” He couldn’t decide if he wanted her to ask for his help or not. “I have a backup phone stashed down here. I’m going on deck to call Kurt and see what he can do for us.” He glanced at the digital clock on the wall. It was twenty-one hundred.

She thanked him and disappeared into the tiny room, closing the door behind her.

Dan took the satellite phone upstairs. Time to get the ball rolling and rescue those kids.

Kurt was sitting in his office waiting to hear from Todd Brennan and Jason Chin when his cell phone rang. He checked the number before answering the call. “Goddammit, Dan. You had me thinking the worst. What the hell happened?”

“Sorry, man. It was dicey there for a while. We’re both a little worse for wear, but nothing too bad.” He gave Kurt a brief recap of their night.

“Shit.” He knew how resourceful Dan could be. It was one of the reasons he valued him so much as a friend and an operator, but he was still shocked that Dan had been able to pull off an escape. And if Kurt were honest, jealous that he couldn’t be right there with Dan.
 

“Can you get us a plane?”

“I can do better than that. Todd and Jason should be landing in Miami any minute. Alyssandratos has a jet from his charter service waiting to take them to St. Lucia, so they can be there in about three hours. I’ll brief them before they take off again.”

“You would send Jason, asshole.”

Kurt chuckled. “Suck it up,” Kurt said. “He’s one of the best we have, after you.”

Dan sighed. “I know. He’s solid. My biggest concern is getting the kids away from the rebels quickly enough. And we need transportation that will hold them all. I was thinking a cargo plane that could land at the nearby airstrip. We don’t even have to take them off the island, just get them to safety somewhere else.”

“Good idea. I’ll see what I can scare up on short notice and call you back when I have something.”

“Roger that.” Dan paused. “Thanks, man.”

“Of course.” Kurt wasn’t going to get all touchy-feely now. “Now go save the kids and get that woman home, for God’s sake. Her dad is riding my ass.”

“Sir, yes,
sir
.”

“Fuck you, Molina.”

They signed off and Kurt punched the button to end the call. Then he turned his attention to the problem of getting a cargo plane. He only knew one person in that world, but he hadn’t talked to her in years.

Dammit
. Caitlyn was the last person he wanted to call for a favor—or any other reason, for that matter—but Dan was counting on him. And the lives of those kids were at stake.

He glanced at the time on his computer. It was almost eight in Virginia, which meant nearly nine in Barbados. Would anyone even answer? He had to try.

After a quick web search for the phone number, he dialed.

“Brevard Charters.”

At the sound of her voice, Kurt lost his breath.

“Hello?” she asked.

He winced and cleared his throat. “Caitlyn? It’s Kurt Steele.”

“Kurt? What… How are you?”

“Good.” He sat up and shook off the memories. “You?”

“Never better.” Her voice was bright but wary. “What’s going on?”

Skipping the small talk, he jumped right in and told her about Dan and Alexa and their plan to free the orphans. “I know it’s last-minute. Do you have anyone who might be able to help us out?”

“Those fucking rebels,” she said, her voice fierce. “I’d be happy to wreck their plans.”

“You?” Why had it not occurred to him that she might want to do it herself?

“A pilot doesn’t have to sport a pair to get the job done, you know.”

Shit. “No, I…” It wasn’t about gender, it was about putting
her
at risk. “It’s just that the SIR fighters are heavily armed.”

“Yeah, well so am I.”

And she was a crack shot too.

“Still trying to protect me after all these years?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Always.” Like an idiot.

She sighed. “Kurt, there’s no one else for the job. I’m a one-woman show down here, just the way I like it. So if you don’t want me, then—”

“No.” He cleared his throat, trying not to think of all the ways he wanted her. “I do. I’m sorry. Let’s talk details.”

They hashed things out and she asked, “What time do you need me in St. Isidore?”

“I’ll have to check with Dan and get back to you, but I think in the next few hours.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’m in Martinique tonight, so I only need about an hour’s notice.”

“Perfect. I’ll call you back in fifteen.”

Kurt returned the phone to its cradle and dropped his forehead to the desk, lacing his fingers behind his head and letting his elbows rest on the cool surface. He’d locked away the memories of Caitlyn Brevard and her beautiful green eyes years ago, but now they came flooding back like a tidal wave that threatened to engulf him.

Was it possible she was still single? As if he had a right to care. He hadn’t seen her in nine years. Not since she left the Air Force and he went off to PJ training. For all he knew, she was shacked up with some guy on the beach.

And damn if that thought didn’t hit straight to the gut.
Goddamned dumbass.
It wasn’t like he wanted her to see him now. The pity on her face would kill him.

He counted to ten, focusing on each breath in and out. Nice and slow. Then he raised his head and lifted the handset, forcibly banishing thoughts of Caitlyn Brevard from his mind.

He had work to do.

After his talk with Kurt, Dan returned to the galley. He made PBJs and put them on plates with potato chips and carrot sticks. Not a gourmet dinner, but he couldn’t care less. He was so hungry he could eat the white leather bench that ran the length of the salon.

Instead, he took his food up to the cockpit, polished it off, and went back for more, settling his weary body onto the plush seat with a heavy sigh. When Alexa walked out of the tiny bathroom, he nearly choked on a carrot stick. She was scrubbed clean, her face pink—aside from the bruises—and her wet hair shining under the cabin’s lights like liquid strands of gold and copper.

God, he wanted her. Even after the way she’d left him, he still couldn’t resist. Could he have her again and then walk away?
Don’t be an idiot
. But if he could, would it be worth it? Could he feel any worse than he did now?

Assuming she’d even let him get that close. A couple of kisses under extreme stress did not equal an invitation to bed.

He cleared his throat. “Feel better?”

“Immensely,” she said. “I know some women pay big bucks for a mud bath, but I’ll pass.”

Against his will he smiled. She amazed him. He’d seen her stay cool under pressure three years ago, but back then they hadn’t been working under life-threatening conditions. Not like this. Now, she was tired, dehydrated, starved, injured, and stuck with him. She’d been attacked, bound, chased, and shot at, but she hadn’t whined or complained to him even once.