Dangerous Attraction Romantic Suspense Boxed Set (133 page)

“I loved your mother. The two of you meant everything to me.” He reached out and patted her hand. He could tell she didn’t know what to believe.

“Gramps, I’m going to make some more coffee—I need a real caffeine injection after everything you’ve told me.” Land was on the distant horizon now and giant ships inched inexorably by, too far in the distance to be of any real danger to his plans.

He pulled a shiny-looking pistol from beneath the cushion at his side. The metallic click made her chin jerk upwards.

“I’m afraid I don’t completely trust you, Axelle. Not yet. Once we’re in Russia, maybe, but until then you can’t be allowed to ruin my coup d’état. There is too much at stake.” Honor and glory. Recognition after a lifetime spent in the shadows. He jerked his head toward the steps.

“You wouldn’t shoot me.” It sounded more like a question than a statement. He smiled sadly. She stood shakily, almost in a trance as she went down to the cabin. It was only when he got duct tape out of a drawer that she made a run for it, only to be brought short when he grabbed her hair.

She shoved him but he put the gun under her chin. “I will kill you, child, if I have to.”

Fear shone in her eyes.

“Hold out your hands,” he ordered.

She refused and he sighed.

“Don’t make me hurt you. I love you but I don’t have time for games.”

She suddenly seemed to realize he was deadly serious. She shoved him with all her might and he fell, bruising his hip. Furious, he caught her ankle and she went down hard, her chin slamming into the hardwood. As she lay dazed, he pulled her hands in front of her and circled her wrists with tape. He repeated the duct tape on her ankles. Satisfied she wasn’t going anywhere, he swept the hair out of her face and put another strip over her mouth.

“You always were a spirited child.” He kissed her on the forehead and went back up the stairs, heading toward fame and glory.

* * *

They were all locked, loaded, and ready to go. His cell phone rang. He checked the number, hoping it was Axelle, but it was HQ. He ignored it.

Taz’s phone rang and he answered.

“Haven’t seen him, sir. Yes, sir.” He snapped it shut. “We’ve been officially ordered back to base.”

Things were going pear-shaped. He would not risk his friends’ careers. Getting into the SAS took more effort and determination than anything else he knew. They didn’t need this. “You two drop me off and head back to Hereford.”

Taz and Baxter looked at one another.

“I’m not even on duty,” Baxter said, glancing at his watch.

“And I need to get some jumps in.” Taz nodded to the parachute school. “Might as well start now.”

“You could be RTU’d if this blows up in our faces. I’m not worth that sort of sacrifice.” But Axelle was. She was worth it to him anyway. Dempsey felt his throat close.

Taz stared at him coolly. “You underestimate yourself, Sergeant.”

Baxter screeched to a halt outside a spare looking hangar. “Come on, let’s get going, ladies.”

Dempsey ran after them. These guys were his family. Not the screwed-up bunch he’d left behind in Ulster. Two minutes of fast talking persuaded the guy in charge of the jump school to do what they wanted—and then he got into it. He already had a plane on runaway. They packed chutes, jumped in and Dempsey called Cullen during takeoff to give them the latest situation report.

“We’ve finally got eyes on Jonathon Boyle,” Cullen told him. “He’s got a nice little yacht heading east at a speed of about twenty knots. There is a
lot
of traffic in the Channel today, boys and girls.”

Dempsey wrote it on the map they’d borrowed from their pilot and new jumpmaster.

“Any sign of Axelle?” He held his breath. It was possible that Jonathon Boyle had somehow taken Axelle’s phone with him. Maybe even accidentally. Maybe Axelle had planted it on him as a tracking device—except where the hell was she?

“No, but thermal imaging suggests there’s another person below deck.”

Boyle might not know his cover was blown and he might just be out on a jaunt. But he’d have to have heard the report that Volkov’s family had requested political asylum in Paris. Dempsey figured the guy would try to leg it with the new specs on Britain’s defense systems lodged safely in his head, but he and his squad weren’t about to let that happen. Especially if Axelle was in danger.

“We’re in position to intercept. Where are the other teams?” Dempsey asked Cullen.

He heard him talking to someone in the background. “Still en route. Nice wings, Sergeant.”

Dempsey gave a grim smile. He should have known they’d find him. Hell, he had known it—they still had their cell phones. “Are we going to run into another op if we try to gain access to the target’s boat?”

“Negative. They are about thirty minutes behind you. All radio and satellite signals in that area have been blocked, which is creating a frickin’ nightmare in the shipping lanes and means I’m going to lose you in the next five minutes. You’ll be on your own. They’ve scrambled jets from RAF Marham, and they will blow his ass out of the water rather than let him make contact with another vessel. They will commit an act of war to stop him if necessary.”

His heart stopped for a moment. Tornadoes were armed with Storm Shadow cruise missiles. “Axelle…” Christ, he could even speak.

“Your mission—should you choose to accept it—is to capture the target before he gets to international waters. The Tornadoes are on standby and will be only be minutes behind you. Don’t fuck this up.”

Shit.

Again Axelle’s life was being considered acceptable collateral damage, the way all those innocent shoppers had been when his brothers had planted that final bomb. He ground his teeth together. He might have swapped one set of ruthless killers for another, but there was no way on Hell’s earth he was letting Axelle get caught in the crossfire this time.

He checked his weapon and harness. Jonathon Boyle could start a war between the UK and Russia, and there was no way the Yanks would stand back and watch. Dempsey didn’t fancy being responsible for World War III.

They were approaching the drop zone, but this plan wasn’t going to work. If Boyle had a weapon, and he had to assume the man had a gun, they’d be sitting ducks.

Dempsey scouted the scene below him. Boyle’s boat was a speck in the distance. There was a big-ass cruiser about half a mile away. He tapped Taz on the shoulder. “Change of plan.” He pointed toward the cruiser, which had enough power to catch the small yacht—assuming the owner didn’t mind being hijacked. However, national security trumped most things and, more important, Axelle’s life was in danger. He went over to the pilot. “We’re going to jump here. I want you to put out a banner and do a few circles ahead in the distance. Then go home.” The co-pilot nodded. “I’ll be by to pay you for the ride as soon as I get the chance, mate.”

They stood at the door, and he felt that instantaneous and instinctive “oh, fuck” feeling shoot through him as he stepped clear of the aircraft. The wind hit him, the fierce roar of air as he fell through the sky, then the savage jerk on the harness as the primary chute deployed. He maneuvered, watched the deck of the cruiser get closer and closer. The captain was craning his neck to watch him, amused at first. Dempsey saw the expression change to horror as he swung the canopy toward the polished wood. He landed on the deck with a gentle hop. Dumped the silk so Taz and Baxter could get on board.

He strode to the pale, scrawny skipper who stood there openmouthed. “Where are you from?”

“P-P-P-Plymouth.”

“Sergeant Dempsey, British Army.” Shook his hand. “I need to borrow your boat.”

There was a thud, followed by the swish of fabric. Then another thud and a curse as Baxter caught the railing and almost went airborne again. Taz grabbed him and disengaged the chute with a whack.

The captain looked undecided as to whether he should scream for help or jump up and down with excitement. Dempsey went to the steering wheel and opened her up. Jesus this thing could shift. The skip dragged himself to stand next to him at the wheel. “Are you a pirate? Have I been boarded?”

Dempsey grinned. “No, mate. I’m SAS. If we’re successful you’ll earn yourself a bloody knighthood. We’re after a Russian spy.” He probably shouldn’t be saying anything, but what the hell.

The man collapsed into his plush leather chair. “James Bond.” Dempsey raised a brow. “I’ve landed smack bang in the middle of the boat chase in a Bond movie.”

Dempsey nodded. “Only problem is these bullets are real. I hope you’ve got insurance?”

The man’s eyes bugged. “Yes, but I don’t know if I’m covered for this sort of thing.”

“We need you to come with us,” Taz told the skip. They couldn’t afford to have an unknown wandering around during an operation. Hopefully they didn’t sink the boat and drown the poor bastard as he lay tied up in the stateroom.

“Get me something to wear that doesn’t scream
army
, Taz,” Dempsey shouted.

Two minutes later Taz came back wearing a yellow flowery shirt that made him look like he should be tanning in the med.

He handed Dempsey a white shirt with red poppies on it. “Christ, it looks like I’ve already been shot.” He slipped into the shirt that barely went over his shoulders. Baxter had gone with a super-tight light blue T-shirt. Dempsey grabbed the hat off the console. A black sailor number. He slipped on his sunglasses, figured they could audition for
Glee
if their soldiering careers didn’t pan out.

They checked their ammo. They had carbines and handguns but limited ammo, which was a pain in the ass. They’d been guarding Volkov for the handover, not preparing for an op.

They sped easily past the yacht even though it had all its sails out. Dempsey raised his hand in casual salute as Boyle glared at him because of the wake they were generating. He noted the man slid a hand under the cushion to his right before Dempsey throttled hard on the gas and left the yacht in his wake. No sign of Axelle. “Take over, Baxter.”

Dempsey slipped out of the shirt and got into position on the starboard side of the boat. Then, Baxter slid the cruiser in front of the yacht and Dempsey peeled over the side and into the water, disappearing from sight.

* * *

Axelle lay in the cramped bunk with her hands and ankles tied. Again. En route to Russia like a goddamned sack of corn. She was sick of being treated like a tradable commodity.

Her grandfather had gone nuts, and here she was like some floundering worm trying to get off the hook. Unable to move, unable to talk, unable to make her own decisions. And a man who’d claimed to love her had done this to her.

This wasn’t love.

Just because he was related by blood didn’t give him the right to tell her what to do.

She was hit by sudden blinding insight. Love didn’t give you the right to tell someone else what to do with their lives. Gideon had had every right to go off and join the army and fight for his country. She swallowed emotion because she’d tried to take that right away from him, and they’d been angry with each other at the end, blaming each other for choices they’d made. He’d died with that black emotion swirling between them. No wonder she couldn’t forgive herself. She’d been wrong.

And what about Dempsey?

She lay still as her heart jolted. She’d retreated so rapidly from him when he’d told her to get on that chopper, when all she’d really wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and plunge into the unknown. Why had she done that? Why had she run from that wondrous potential?

Because she’d been scared.

Scared of getting involved.

Scared of being hurt, again.

Which made her a yellow-bellied coward.

An image of Ty Dempsey’s smile flashed across her mind. It was an impossible relationship to contemplate, but she remembered following him through that mountain. It was as if the sheer terror of that experience wiped her senses clean, rebooted her emotions, and gave her the chance of a do-over. The idea of having a relationship with anyone terrified her; the thought of loving a soldier almost paralyzed her. But she wanted to at least see where it led. Life was too short to not follow your heart.

She’d always considered herself fearless, but she’d been kidding herself. Of course, Dempsey might not be even vaguely interested. The thought made her mouth go dry. She wasn’t a good bet. She was going to have to polish her communication skills and try and open up about her feelings. The thought made her nauseous. Then she remembered Dempsey was a guy and grinned. He wasn’t big on idle chatter. Maybe they could explore whatever it was between them without having to spill every sordid detail. They could just rip each other’s clothes off instead.

She stuck her tongue against the duct tape on her lips. It pulled at the delicate skin and did nothing to get rid of the obstruction.
Dammit
. She wasn’t lying here trussed like a stuffed pig, letting her delusional grandfather dictate how she lived her life. She rubbed her face against the rough carpet. At first the smooth tape slid over the fibrous material but then she stuck her tongue in her cheek and worked on loosening one corner. It took a couple of tries to get the first edge loose, but then the material peeled back from her chin and she worked her jaw until it dangled uselessly from one side of her face.

Okay. First obstacle removed.

She used her teeth on the tape on her wrists. It was tough but the key with duct tape was getting it to rip in the right direction. It didn’t take long. After that her ankles were a piece of cake, but she kept noise to a minimum and planned her next move. The portholes could be opened but no way would her hips fit through that gap this side of puberty. She glanced at the steps. There was only one way out of here. She drew in a breath that pushed against the sides of her lungs. It involved going past the man who’d lied to her and everyone else who’d known him for his entire life.

Damn, she faced predators every day—she shouldn’t be scared, but this was different. This was a man she’d always loved. She spotted her bag and grabbed her cell phone. She turned it on but couldn’t access her messages or get a signal. She stared around the room, carefully opened the cupboard beneath the sink and found some kitchen cleaner. Not deadly but a drop in the eye might put his aim off. She swallowed the knot in her throat. He had a pistol and was desperate enough to use it.