Colt wasn’t going to get angry, but the very proper English upper-class voice set his teeth on edge—big-time.
Jolly good, motherfucker. Just put her on!That was what he wanted to say. Instead he said, “I’m afraid it’s a personal matter.”
Lord Percy, as Colt thought of him—his actual name was Sir Percival Edwards (His ExcellencySir Percival Edwards)—put his hand over the phone, but Colt could still hear him. “Katherine. There’s someone on the phone for you. He won’t give me his name. Says it’s personal.”
A few seconds later the phone was handed over. “This is Katherine.”
Three years. That was how long it had been since he’d heard her voice.
“Hello?” she repeated.
It took a moment for something to come out. “It’s me.”
There was a dead pause. It didn’t last long. A moment later, the phone was slammed down, and the call disconnected.
Three years obviously hadn’t changed her feelings for him.
He’d known she wouldn’t make it easy.
Colt picked up his phone. Not to call her again, which would be a waste of time, but to book the next flight to Arlington.
Eleven
Annie wasn’t sure whether it was shock or awe that kept her quiet as the captain piloted the small eight-person inflatable away from the dive boat.
The last few hours had been eventful, to say the least. She’d found explosives, learned that not only was her boyfriend a terrorist but he was also planning to embroil her in his madness, had a gun pulled on her by his mentor—who seemed to have no hesitation about the prospect of putting a bullet in her head—and narrowly escaped it all, thanks to the man beside her.
Although “narrowly” probably wasn’t the right word for what she’d just witnessed. Thus the “awe” part.
She’d never seen anything like it—except maybe in movies or on TV. Dan—whoever he was—had eliminated the threat with methodical, cold efficiency. He’d moved so fast. One instant he’d been next to her; the next he’d snapped the plastic ties around his wrists as if they were paper and had his hands on Julien’s arm with the gun—she cringed, still hearing that sickening crack in her head as Julien’s arm had broken—and with a few more well-aimed blows the two men were out cold.
How long had it taken, thirty seconds? A minute at most? A few minutes more to take out the bigger threat of Jean Paul?It had looked like the extreme fighting mixed with martial arts that she’d seen on TV, although it was much more scary-looking in real life.
She eyed him from under the brim of his borrowed cap as he stood at the wheel of the inflatable’s helm station. She was seated next to him on one of the plastic bench seats. They were headed into the wind, and he was pushing the twenty-horsepower engine as much as he could to put as much distance between them and the boat as possible. The lift and slam of the inflatable going over the waves didn’t seem to bother him—nor did the spray beating into his face. He looked utterly in control with the same granite expression on his face. Actually, if she thought he was capable, she would think he was having fun—in his element, so to speak.
She on the other hand was struggling not to fly out of the boat, felt her teeth banging and bones rattling from every slam, and couldn’t feel her face.
Who was this guy? He wouldn’t hear her now if she asked him, but part of her wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Finally, when they’d gone about thirty minutes and the dive boat had long disappeared behind them, he slowed the engine.
She looked around, hoping to see some kind of identifying landmark, but all around them were darkening skies, thickening mist, and the endless dark grayish blue swells of the ocean.
What were they, maybe fifty miles off the northeast coast of Lewis?
The middle of nowhere. It was ocean and stormy skies for as far as the eye could see.Alone.
Her heart skipped a few beats.
She eyed him again, realizing how much trust she’d put in him by just getting in the boat. Out here all alone like this probably wasn’t the best time to be hoping that hadn’t been a mistake. He could toss her overboard with no one the wiser.
Her skipping heartbeat stuttered to a stop. God, why had she thought that?
The boat stopped—or rather idled as the engine was still on.
Cue the dramatic movie music.
“Wh-why are we stopping?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt.
