How had she forgotten about the cutter that was three nautical miles off their port side?Oh, of course. Finding myself sitting on Christian Watson’s lap, that’s how.
“It’s the HMCValiant,” Rusty answered for her, pointing at the tiny gray speck on the horizon. The sky was overcast, and the Channel was the color of wet cement on a Chicago sidewalk, so the cutter was only visible when one of its windows caught a stray ray of light. Rusty kept one hand on the wheel and lifted the binoculars to his eyes. “She’s a Border Agency vessel. Think something along the lines of our Coast Guard back home. I’ve seen her patrolling these waters plenty of times before.”
“So where’s the trouble then?” Zoelner asked.
“The trouble is I’ve made two course corrections that theValianthas mirrored. Unless I’m mistaken, she’s following us.”
“Oh. Well…fuck.” Zoelner raked a hand over his beard.
“You said it,” Rusty concurred.
“Why would she be following us?”
“Talk over the marine channels makes it seem like they’re checking all the ships in the Channel that are coming from England.” Rusty lowered the binoculars and glanced at the group sitting behind him. “Just who did you guys piss off anyway?”
“You haven’t turned on your television or radio today, have you?” Zoelner asked.
“No.” Rusty’s eyes narrowed. “Should I have?”
“Probably best you don’t,” Zoelner assured him. Some men would pace back and forth, given the situation. Zoelner just got ghostly still and asked, “So what now?”
“Well”—Rusty shook his head—“as always happens when you’re dancing with the devil, thereisan alternative. But none of you are going to like it.”
Chapter 16
“Please tell me that what we’re about to do will be the mint on the pillow at the end of this day,” Emily muttered.
Chelsea glanced over at her with a sympathetic expression. They were hunkered down outside the wheelhouse, watching the shoreline race by them. The low-hanging clouds overhead seemed almost close enough to touch.
Rusty had been right. The cutterhadbeen shadowing them. The minute he turned the catamaran back toward England, the Border Agency ship pursued, slowly closing the distance between the two vessels. Rusty was convinced they would be boarded the instant they put in to port. Which was why Chelsea was in the process of donning her courage like a suit of armor made by the Dwarves of Middle-earth. Or, in short, she was going to need every ounce of chutzpah she possessed for what came next.
“Because I have to admit,” Emily continued, “I’ve had about all the excitement I can stand for one day.”
“It’s not just me, right?” Chelsea asked. “This harebrained scheme feels like seven kinds of wrong to you too?”
The wind and sea spray coming over the side of the boat raised gooseflesh on her arms. The salty smell of the Channel reminded her of the Atlantic back home—and the endless winter storms that had fascinated her as a child.
She recalled the time she and her father stood on their back porch, and her father pointed at the heaving waves tipped in white and hurling themselves against the coastline of Port Royal Sound.
Look at that, sweet girl, he had said.See how mouthy Mother Nature can be when she has something to say?
Chelsea hoped Mother Nature went against type now, took pity on her, and had onlynicethings to say.
“More like seventeenkinds of wrong,” Emily agreed, her long hair flying wild. “So help me take my mind off what we’re about to do and tell me what happened between you and Zoelner when you two disappeared belowdecks.”
Chelsea opened her mouth to deny thatanythinghad happened, but before she could, Emily interrupted with “And don’t try to say it was nothing. Because Zoelner’s hair looked like it’d gone through hurricane-force winds, and judging by the rash around your mouth, you either gave him a good tongue tango, or else you spent the day lip-locking a porcupine.”
Gritting her teeth, Chelsea wondered what would happen if she told Emily to mind her own damned business. On second thought, sheknewwhat would happen. Emily would scoff and brush her off, and then wheedle until Chelsea eventually gave in. It was a well-known fact within the hallowed halls of Black Knights Inc. that Emily Scott had only a passing familiarity with the wordprivacy. Nosiness was just her nature.
Having no energy to withstand any wheedling—and still feeling drained and strangely disappointed by the way things had ended belowdecks—Chelsea admitted, “Yup. We did some…”
She racked her brain for the right words to describe the wonder of being in Dagan’s arms. “Adultthings,” she finally finished, wrinkling her nose becauselame-oh!
Turning back toward the railing, Chelsea concentrated on watching the coastline whiz by. Brick houses with white dormers came into view to the south. A gray stone building clung to the side of a hill, its tall, pitched corners giving it a vague castle-like feel.
The town of Folkestone.
If she craned her head around, she could see the long arm of the pier jutting out into the Channel. It was crooked as a dog’s hind leg, a monstrosity of human construction that looked eerily out of place amid the brown and green vegetation of the countryside, the soft gray waves that lapped at its base, and the cheery English town at its back.
