Page 16 of Straight Shooter

Rhett balled his hand in Beanie’s jacket, grabbed the back of the man’s head with his other hand, and smashed his forehead into the yacht’s railing. The guard’s head bounced off the metal with a sickening clank, and he slumped to the deck.

Rhett rolled Beanie’s shoulders back, but the stiff muscles protested. The bastard was an ox. He reached into his back pocket and fished out the phone he used to communicate with Eric and Mandy. A spiderweb crack fractioned the screen, and the device wouldn’t turn on. Sonofabitch! He shoved the phone back in his pocket—he’d try to salvage it later.

He rounded the corner of the deck and searched the darkness but was greeted only by stars and the beating of waves against the yacht. “Peyton?” He turned in a circle. No way she’d gone inside. He ran to the rail and caught the cold steel in his hands. His gaze roamed the waves, but there was no sign of her body.

He wheeled around. A dark shape lay motionless against the wall. “Shit.” He dropped to Peyton’s side. Her hand lay open next to her leg, her head was tilted, and her eyes were closed. She was sucking ragged breaths through her open mouth. Her lips were pale. Sweat dampened his collar. If something happened to her it’d be his fault. He couldn’t live with that. Couldn’t live with having Serena and Dani’s friend’s death on his hands. He caught her cheeks in his hands and her cold, clammy skin absorbed his heat.

“Peyton,” he said, as he gave her head a gentle shake. She didn’t move. Dread ate a hole through the lining of his stomach. He scanned the deck for the flashlight but couldn’t see it. She couldn’t have been shot. No guns had been fired. What had he missed? He cupped his hands around her shoulders and worked his palms over every inch of her body. When he reached her right thigh, warm stickiness stopped his movement.

“What the?” He lifted his hand into the moon’s glow. Blackish-red fluid coated his palm. His muscles constricted. He jumped to his feet and ran to Beanie’s unconscious form. After yanking the switchblade from the guard’s pocket, he slashed a hole in Beanie’s tuxedo jacket and ripped off a long strip.

He returned to Peyton and dropped down next to her again. “Peyton, you need to wake up.” He kept his voice hard, stern. “We have to get you off this boat now. You’re hurt and the guards will come looking for Beanie any minute.”

Who the hell was he kidding? He couldn’t put her in a lifeboat by herself while she was bleeding enough to pass out. He worked the material under her thigh. The black night, dark wetsuit, and oozing blood made it difficult to determine the gash’s exact location, but it had to be substantial, given that she was losing consciousness. He tied a knot over the wettest area and returned his attention to her face.

Her fingers reached for her leg. “Ah, what’d you do?” Her brow creased in accusation, and he grunted.

“Probably saved you from bleeding to death. Are you all right?”

She blinked and sat straighter. “Oh my god, I passed out.”

“Yeah. Not very good timing.”

“Where’s—”

“He’s out cold. But we need to get out of here. Can you stand?”

Some color returned to her cheeks and lips. His pulse regulated, and the angst that had gotten his heartbeat jumping eased as she clamped her hand on his forearm. He hauled her to her feet. She gasped, and her fingers dug into his muscle.

“You okay?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and rolled her lips in. “I’m fine.” She pressed more weight onto her injured leg and let go of his arm.

He searched her face, but she nodded again. “Get the lifeboat.”

He turned to where he’d dropped the sixty-pound duffle bag that enclosed the lifeboat, picked it up, and carried it to the stern. He tied the tether to the metal hook on the boat and heaved the red bag over the side. The tension on the cord would prompt the air cannister to inflate the boat. It disappeared into the wake then surfaced. Peyton came up beside him and cupped her hand on the rail.

“Holy cow,” she said on a croak, watching the lifeboat inflate. The base of the raft filled and the tent over top sprang into position.

“See the door,” he said, pointing to the hole in the tent with a ladder climbing the base, leading inside. “That’s where we need to go.”

She jerked her head toward him. “We?” she croaked.

He rocked his jaw. Fuck it. He didn’t have a choice. If she jumped into the water, she’d be at risk of hypothermia regardless of the fact she’d just lost a lot of blood. If she made it inside the raft, she’d probably pass out again, and it’d be next to impossible for Eric and Mandy to find her. Besides, he couldn’t stay on the ship after knocking out Beanie, especially since he’d helped Peyton escape. If he left now, they’d think he’d just decided to leave with her and probably wouldn’t jump to the conclusion that he was undercover.

Lieutenant Jackson wasn’t going to like this one fucking bit.

He reached for the life jackets secured in a box, fit one over her head, and tied the sides. Then he put one over his own head and secured it.

“Rhett.” Her voice rang with impatience.

“Yeah, I’m coming with you.” He turned his attention to the rapids, grabbed hold of her life jacket, and towed her to the railing. “We need to jump in the water first, then climb into the door.”

Her eyes became large saucers.

“How’d you think we were getting inside?” he said dryly.

“I don’t know. A slide or something? That’s what they do on airplanes.”