Before he could make his way downstairs, the sliding door opened and his friends came inside.
“How are they doing?” Viper asked.
“Tired. Scared.” Roarke folded his arms across his chest as Striker dropped onto the couch and Viper helped himself to foodfrom the bar. “Any concerns out there?” he asked, motioning outside.
The spread of ebony ocean connected with the dark sky, erasing the horizon. Only the moonlight traveling in a line on the water revealed which was which.
“Quiet right now. A couple of boats went by in the last hour but didn’t pay any attention to us.”
Roarke stood, satisfied Hassan had done what he was supposed to with half the money—paid the bribes. “Good. It’d better stay that way. I’m going to sleep.”
“Yeah, me too.” Striker kicked his feet onto the sofa.
“Shit, man, aren’t you gonna brush your teeth?” Viper asked, as he bit into a sandwich.
“Tomorrow, Mom.” Mockery dripped from Striker’s words. “Promise.”
Viper shook his head. “Fucking gross.”
Roarke didn’t have the energy for their bickering. He said good night and made his way downstairs. His gaze slid to the bedroom door. No sounds came through the thin walls, so he hoped like hell they were sleeping and Emmy wasn’t too scared.
Keeping his shoes on and his rifle nearby, he lay on the couch and was asleep in minutes.
Lights shone inside the yacht’s window, jerking Roarke awake. He stood, grabbing his rifle. It was still dark out. He couldn’t have slept more than a few hours. A voice over a speaker sounded from outside.
Fuck.
Looping the strap of his rifle across his chest, he raced upstairs and bumped into Striker. “Authorities are here. They want to search for a missing child.”
Tension wound around his neck like a noose. There was nowhere to run. He couldn’t just grab Laine and Emmy and jump out a goddamn window.
He stormed across the boat and through the open sliding door, stepping onto the deck. He kept his weapon trained on the men who’d stopped their boat.
Hassan had his hands raised and spoke rapidly in Arabic, in a placating tone, money in his hand.
Sonofabitch.
The newcomers wore black tactical gear and carried rifles. Hostility rolled off their backs, and they boarded the watercraft as if they owned it. The leader’s eyes met Roarke’s with menace. These men weren’t the authorities.
“Coast guard. Weapons down. Hands in the air.”
Roarke found Viper’s eyes. His friend had analyzed the situation as quickly as he had.
“Show us your badge,” Roarke countered.
The man’s lips twitched. He pointed his gun at Roarke’s face and jerked his head to three men at his back. “Search the cabin.”
Logic left Roarke. His thoughts worked at breakneck speed. They were outnumbered. There were at least seven men against them. If these guys got ahold of Laine and Emmy, he’d never see them again. He couldn’t let that happen.
Roarke fired. The bullet sent the leader backward.
A man screamed with rage, barreling into Roarke. His back slammed against the railing and the guy threw a fist at his face. Roarke grappled with his attacker, catching his fist before he could send another punch.
Three men burst through the sliding doors and into the yacht. If he didn’t stop them, they’d get Laine.
He searched for his friends. Viper was on the deck throwing punches at one motherfucker. Striker was crouched down, shooting at the men firing at them from their watercraft. “Striker!” he hollered. “Get them safe!”
His attacker threw his elbow into Roarke’s gut, making him grunt. Careening forward, Roarke bashed the fucker in the face with his head.
