In Enemy Hands (30 page)

She grabbed Vandergriff’s shoulder and twisted him roughly around. Slipping her fingers through his back belt loop, Nadia jerked him close to her. Sweat dampened his shirt and Nadia could almost smell his fear.

“What’s the matter, lover boy?” she whispered in his ear. “I thought you
wanted
to get close to me.”

He growled, low in his throat, and she laughed. She gave the place a final glance, then prodded him toward the door.

As Nadia marched them across the yard, she stared at the back of Vandergriff’s head and fantasized about his death.

What a macabre little parade we are
, she thought, when they began the slow, steep trek down the wooden steps.

The storm clouds were rolling off, allowing a little moonlight to peek through. It wasn’t much, however, and the darkness made Nadia nervous. She squinted ahead, trying to watch the armed men in front while hiding behind Vandergriff.

The walk down the narrow steps to the dock was torturously slow. Nadia had to worry not only about the men in front of her but also anyone who might be slipping up behind.

Finally, they stood in front of the boats. Nadia gave Vandergriff a shove that sent him sprawling across the wooden dock. He flipped over on his back and glared at her with murder in his eyes.

“Huh uh.” She waved the remote. “Be nice.”

She looked at Peterson. “Are you as ready as I am to get out of here? Help Dante onto the boat.”

Without looking at Vandergriff, Peterson did as she commanded, struggling under Dante’s weight. Nadia carefully climbed in behind them, never taking her eyes off Vandergriff and his companions.

“Now, Peterson!” Vandergriff shouted, when Nadia turned her back to the man.

Nadia smiled when Peterson replied, “Sorry. I forgot to tell you, Mr. Vandergriff. I quit.”

Shock dawned on Vandergriff’s face.

“Go!” she yelled at Peterson.

When the boat pulled away from the island, Nadia blew Vandergriff a kiss. She had to laugh at the look of impotent rage she received in return.

“Go, go, go!” she shouted and, as expected, his men were already climbing into their boats by the time Peterson rounded the first bend in the river.

Vandergriff was coming after them. No big surprise.

He knew she wouldn’t blow herself up unless she was sure to take him with her. On the water, his gunmen would try to take her out at a safer distance. And he was certainly mad enough to give it a try.

“Are you guys okay?” She dropped the remote on the seat beside her and crawled over to where Dante lay in the bottom of the boat.

“Easy there, princess,” he said, staring at the remote.

“What?” She grinned. “Are you worried about this little thing?”

Nadia picked it up and pressed the button.

Dante stared at Nadia in horrified disbelief. Somehow the realization that she’d bluffed her way out of there with nothing at all was more frightening than the thought of actual explosives.

She tossed the remote to him and watched for Vandergriff’s men, her dark hair whipping in the wind.

With an impish smile, she said, “I have no idea what that goes to. Some damn thing of Waynie’s.”

“Nadia!” Peterson yelled. “Here they come, and they’re closing fast.”

The two pursuing boats ran side by side, cutting through the frothy water. Dante struggled to his elbows to see what was happening.

Peterson took a sharp turn, blowing by two fishermen who trolled near the bank. One of them lifted a walkie talkie and turned to watch them go by.

It was Ronnie.

“There!” Nadia yelled, and pointed at the houseboat.

Peterson cut their speed and idled up beside it, just as Vandergriff’s boats closed in.

A man in a straw hat and a bright Hawaiian shirt walked out on deck. In his hand, he held a remote that looked somewhat like the one Nadia had used.

Nick Branson.

Shocked, Dante glanced from Nick to Vandergriff’s approaching boat.

Vandergriff had seen him too. He waved his arms and frantically shouted orders to his men. They lifted their guns to fire at Nadia’s father.

Nick gave Vandergriff a friendly wave and pressed the button.

The world around them exploded.

T
he boat pitched violently, and Nadia almost tumbled over the side. While she clawed for a handhold, she felt Dante’s hands grasp her waist. He yanked her down on the floor beside him as a piece of metal whizzed by her head. A wall of heat slammed into them and Dante twisted to shield her with his body. Finally, the roar subsided and she heard her father shouting.

“Nadia, are you all right?” he yelled.

She tried to answer him, but her reply was muffled against Dante’s chest.

“Nadia!” he cried frantically.

Dante shifted and stared down at her. Nadia touched his face and smiled.

“She’s okay, Mr. Branson,” Dante called over his shoulder. He exhaled softly and wrapped her in his arms, planting a kiss on top of her head.

Yes
, she thought, burying her face against his chest.
I’m okay now
.

Slowly, they sat upright. Nadia stared at the chaotic scene before them in numb detachment.

It was over. It was really over.

The water was on fire. Bright flames danced across the black water as the gasoline burned off the wreckage. Huge chunks of the debris blazed, filling the air with acrid black smoke that stung her eyes and constricted her throat. Nadia turned her face into Dante’s shirt, coughing.

“Well, come on, then,” her father said. “We’ve got to get moving.”

Something bumped against their boat and Nadia realized it was a body. It floated face down beside them.

Was it Vandergriff? Nadia craned to see, but she couldn’t tell.

From the houseboat, one of the bodyguards reached for her hands and Nadia shook her head. “Help Dante board first. He’s hurt.”

Brent nodded and Peterson helped Dante to his feet. They struggled to the helm of the boat and Nick joined the men who helped pull him aboard.

“Come on, Nadia.” Her father reached down for her. “We need to get out of here.”

Covering her face against the smoke with her jacket, Nadia nodded. She leaned over the edge of the boat and took his hands.

When Nadia stepped up onto the bow, Gary Vandergriff exploded out of the water in front of her.

He seized Nadia’s ankles and ripped her from her father’s grasp. Her fingers scraped against the side of the houseboat, seeking purchase and finding none on the slick surface. She had just enough time to suck in a breath before Vandergriff dragged her underneath the frigid water.

They shot downward, rocketing away from the surface. Nadia saw the glow from the fire for an instant and then there was nothing. Nothing but blackness.

She grappled with Vandergriff, trying to break his iron grip, but her movements felt slow and ineffective against the weight of the water. The surface was so far away.

Just when she thought he was going to drag her to the very bottom of the river, Nadia wriggled one of her legs free. She kicked viciously at the area where she thought his face might be.

Her boot made contact with something and suddenly she was free. But her relief was short-lived. Before she could kick her way to the surface, one of Vandergriff’s arms clamped around her waist.

Her lungs burned, begging for oxygen, and she nearly panicked. Frantically, she fought him—twisting, kicking, flailing.

Nadia couldn’t hold on much longer. At any moment her tortured lungs would force her to take a breath that wasn’t there.

Dante threw himself over the rail of the houseboat, his injuries forgotten in his terror. Plummeting into the cold water, he glimpsed Peterson splashing in beside him. Nick had already gone under.

Where was Nadia?

Dante opened his eyes and strained to see in the darkness. Already he sensed Peterson moving up beside him. Night diving could be a claustrophobic experience for the uninitiated. The dark water was heavy, oppressive. Smothering.

Propelling his body deeper, Dante groped blindly in the inky blackness. His fear spiked with every second that passed and he had to block the horrible images that threatened to break his will.

He couldn’t lose her now. Not now, when they’d made it through so much.

His fear broke his concentration. When Dante started to push to the surface for another gulp of air, his fingers snagged something solid.

Something human.

Fingers clutched at his wrist. Dante grabbed a fistful of cloth and kicked his way to the surface.

This wasn’t Nadia. He knew that already.

And if it was Gary Vandergriff, he’d beg to return to his watery grave before Dante was through with him.

Dante broke through the surface and realized he held a sputtering, choking Nick in his grasp.

“I-I can’t see her,” Nadia’s father gasped. “I can’t see anything under there.”

Dante didn’t respond. He simply took another deep breath and dove.

Vandergriff clasped Nadia, pulled her against him like a partner in a grotesque death dance. When she pushed at him, fighting to break his grip, her hand brushed something hard. Her reflexes—even her thoughts—were slowing, but she realized what it was.

Vandergriff’s knife. The one he’d used to cut Dante free.

With a burst of hope, Nadia grabbed for the leather sheaf and fumbled with the snap. At the last moment, Vandergriff must’ve realized what she was doing because he released her waist and tried to twist away from her.

Too late
, Nadia thought.

The ivory handle of the knife felt solid in her hand. With a smooth upward motion, she buried it to the hilt in Gary Vandergriff’s chest.

Air bubbles hit her face when he gasped. Then he let her go.

Nadia kicked her way toward the surface.

Her lungs gave out just when she broke the surface and her first breath was a mixture of air and water. Choking, sputtering, she went down again. A pair of strong hands seized her hips and pushed her back up.

“I got you! I got you,” Dante said, hoisting her above his shoulder. Nadia sagged against him.

“Here, let me have her.”

Nadia recognized Ronnie’s voice, but she couldn’t see him. Her eyes burned and she couldn’t stop coughing.

The next thing Nadia knew, she was lying on one of the narrow beds on the houseboat and a sea of anxious faces hovered over her.

“There she is.” Dante tried to smile, but his face was gray. “You okay, princess?”

“A little waterlogged, but I think I’ll make it,” she said with a weak smile.

Nick Branson cupped his hands over his face, blinking back tears. Nadia reached for his hand.

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you for helping me,” she whispered.

Nick tucked a damp lock of hair behind her ear and said, “I almost blew it. I almost blew the whole thing. You were taking too long, and I was so scared the plan wasn’t working—”

“We don’t have to be afraid anymore,” she said. “I killed him.”

Nick stared at the space over her head. “I know. We found his body.”

“What about the police?”