HIGH TIDE (15 page)

Caught off guard by his kiss, Briana splayed her palms against his chest and stuttered.

“I—”

He cut her off with another searing kiss, and she yielded to it with uncharacteristic abandon. Briana made a strangled sound as her fingers weaved up his neck to delve into his hair. Nick’s response was immediate. He pulled her tight against him, his hands on her bottom, but this time with less than chivalrous intentions.

Briana wanted to speak, but
Nick was there, filling her with heat. The sensible side of her brain demanded that she retreat. The wicked, passionate side could find no credible reason to do so. She clung to him and boldly traced Nick’s teeth with the tip of her tongue, toying with him to give her more. His growl of approval purred against her lips, and he accommodated with a precision that made her quiver.

Briana tipped her head back and gasped as she felt his mouth slide down the sensitive cord of her neck. With a ragged sound that was her name, he returned to her lips, possessing them wholly.

Finally, the fingers that gripped her hips began to relax. Nick lifted his head and let loose a husky whisper. “So help me God, I wanted to do that. I
wanted
to kiss you, Briana.”

Still reeling, she clutched his biceps for leverage. Only a thin cotton barrier separated her heaving chest from the
solid planks of his. She forced her eyes open to devour that tanned plane. A patch of black curls scored an enticing trail into his jeans. Oh, how she wanted to follow it, but instead she raised her gaze and was paralyzed by the desire staring back at her.

“You—you made it sound—as if—” she gulped, riveted by his mouth.
Oh, to taste it one more time.
“I thought you didn’t want—”

Nick’s hands were on her again. “Let
’s get something straight,” he growled. “I
want
.”

Briana felt lightheaded.

“Look,” he eased his grip, “I’ve got some issues. Yes, they’re hang-ups about relationships.” He pierced her with smoky eyes and rasped, “But don’t ever be mistaken. I
want
you.”

As if to declare this, his lips
crushed hers again.

Even when he had withdrawn, it took Briana several seconds to lift her heavy eyelids. The
combination of Nick’s kiss and his words still anesthetized her, but she regarded him warily.

“I sense this tremendous
but
coming.”

“You do have a tremendous butt,
” he whispered and kissed away her laugh.

“The
but
is—” he continued quietly, hitching a finger under her chin, “—is that it’s not going to happen here. I want you.
God,
I want you. But not here.”

Briana shivered. She glanced around the dark parking lot, searching for possibilities.

The back seat of her car, maybe?

What was wrong with her? She was acting like a horny teenager. And was this really what she wanted? A quick roll in the back seat of a Nissan?

Wicked Briana
screamed, yes.

Nick watched her. He seemed to
await her response, and when she held her tongue, he dipped his head.

“But it
is
going to happen. I
am
going to have you.”

It was too much. Too fast.
 
Practical Briana
possessed a calculating mind. She needed time to assimilate these foreign emotions. She needed to corral them and make sense of it all before she caved into the inevitable.

I want
him too.

“Look, my jeep is in the park.” Nick began, but stopped as a pair of headlights suddenly eclipsed Briana.

“Expecting guests?” he asked gruffly.

“No.”

Nick flicked his head to the right. Briana didn’t hesitate. She obeyed the silent command and darted between two cars, crouching out of view.

“I don’t suppose that’s the Musketeers coming back?” he murmured.

The vehicle approached, the loud rotation of its front tire hinting that a rock was caught in the tread.

“No, that’s not Naoki’s car.”

“I was afraid you would say that.”

Satisfied that Briana was out of view, Nick inched up to study the looming sedan through the window of the station wagon behind which they hid.

“This could be innocent.” He dropped down. “Of course aside from you, I can’t imagine anyone coming out here at this hour.  It’s after midnight.”

Keys jangled, and a moment later the protesting screech of the gate sounded as it swung open.

Nick touched Briana’s shoulder. “Stay here, I want to find out which slip they go to.”

She snagged his arm. “Be careful.”

Beneath her fingers, a muscle twitched. With a quick nod, he stalked away and merged into the night.

Briana prayed that the darkness would cloak him. Threatening her prayers was the presence of two lumbering profiles dragging a sack down the pier. Wildly, she searched for any sign of Nick, but the night did just what she had asked of it.

It held its secrets.

Choking on a scream as Nick’s breath dusted across her shoulder
when he reemerged behind her, she tried to hear his words over the thunderous pulse in her ears.

“They went to the
Merryweather
,” he confirmed.

Under the stark glow of the overhead light, his face looked sober.

“What do we do?”

“
We
don’t do anything.
You
go back to your car, and go home where it’s safe.”

“Oh no you don’t. If you weren’t here I’d be down
on that pier following those guys. I know it’s not the wise thing to do, but…”

“
Exactly. What are you trying to prove? Bree, we know it’s not
Manale Palms
. You can step back now.” Nick’s hands captured her shoulders, diligent not to aggravate her wound. “Look at me.”

She obeyed and felt a lump grow in her throat.

“I am serious when I’m saying that this isn’t a game. I’m getting a real bad vibe, and if I didn’t think they were just about to pull out to sea right now, I would call in a higher authority to handle this, but I don’t want to miss this opportunity to find out what they’re up to.” His voice gentled. “Please Bree, please stay out here and wait for me.”

Her mouth opened to protest, but expelled a slow breath. “Does it matter that I’m going to
worry about you?”

There was a flash of something akin to pain in his eyes
. Slowly, his smile replaced it. “It matters,” he whispered. “It matters a lot.”

Nick leaned forward and kissed her.

And then he was gone.

CHAPTER NINE
 

Her foot
fell asleep. Briana leaned around the front bumper of the car to watch Nick hurdle the fence. The athletic maneuver fascinated her. To judge lapsed time, she began to count. When she reached two hundred and heard the engine of the
Merryweather
rev up, fear became her primary motivator. It imposed a call to duty as she darted on numbed toes to the far end of the fence. Cautious, she flanked it and peered through the rungs, but could discern nothing in the darkness.

A muffled yell penetrated the stillness followed by a hollow thump that spurred her into action. She launched over the gate.

Plastic-healed sneakers tread quietly down the planks, homed to the yellow glow of the
Merryweather’s
bridge. Tempted to call out Nick’s name, Briana held her tongue. She advanced as far as the filtered light would allow, and then squinted to better distinguish the forms locked in conflict near the ramp.

A cloud shifted and moonlight blanketed the pier. Nick stood with his chest heaving and his long legs poised for flight, but the gun to his head rendered him immobile.

Biting down on her lip to contain her scream, Briana watched in horror as Nick was shoved on board the fiberglass deck. Banking on the fact that the night and this heavy wooden column rendered her invisible, she barely gave a moment’s consideration before darting to the next post for a closer view. Anxiety had her gulping in the rank air. Aside from the action on the
Merryweather
, nothing else stirred.

Less cautious and more concerned, Briana jogged closer to the vessel and heard Nick’s condemning oaths. With a sense of satisfaction she identified the solid smack of his fist against a crewmember’s jaw. Any moment now she expected Nick to sprint from the shadows and join her, but another blow from the dark silenced him.

Frantic, she searched for a way to intervene. A silhouette count calculated that there were at least three of them, two physically restraining Nick and one immobilizing him with the gun. Daring to advance one more pillar she was spurred on by the altered rhythm of the engine. The
Merryweather
was about to pull out of port,
and Nick was still on it.

As surreal as this chaotic encounter was, Briana was
certain of one thing. If that boat went out to sea with Nick aboard, the premonition that he would not return was too menacing to dismiss.

She needed a distraction.

Anxious, she scanned the pier. An orange, semi-deflated life preserver was mounted to a post near the closest trawler. She dared a brief interlude of exposure as she rushed into the open to grab it. Safe again in her hideout, she realized that Nick was no longer on deck, presumably ushered down below. As dismal as her plan was, there was no recourse but to execute it.

With a hearty pitch, Briana sent the preserver arcing through the air to land with a deadened thud on a tourist vessel three slips back from the gate. She sank into the shadows and watched two murky profiles snap to attention. With agile moves, they hurdled the gap between the deck and pier, the metallic glint of weapons evident in their hands.

Briana slunk around the pole in tandem with their approach, and held her breath. The gangly shadow with a sharp hook to his nose took the lead, while his stocky counterpart paused to inspect the bow of each vessel and finally jogged to catch up. She was afraid the pounding of her heart would expose her, but they passed by as she cautiously back-pedaled.

This was her chance. Briana cringed at the soft thump of her feet when they connected with the fiberglass deck. Fear over noise was swiftly replaced with
panic over the undulation beneath her. As quiet as it was, the soft lap of water against the hull had her stomach in knots. Instinctively, her hands flung out to seek equilibrium.

Tucking her head down into her chin, she forced herself to breathe.

What the hell do I do now?

I
f she could make enough noise to coax the third crewman from downstairs, then once he alighted, she could bash him over the head.  
With—what
?  It was a foolhardy plan, one that was never productive in the movies.

Propped at an angle against the bridge was a long gaff, a pole with a metal hook affixed to its end. The
wooden rod alone was solid and bulky enough to do damage. It would have to suffice
.

Unable to locate the two henchmen, Briana had no choice but to trust that they were still engaged in their hunt. With little more than a swift appeal to
Pele
, she reached for the staff with her right hand and searched for a method to create a little noise as bait.

Hip extended, Briana bumped a rubber canister over, and cringed when it made enough of a racket to trigger the island seismographs.

Reacting on instinct and self-preservation, she swung the rod at anything that moved. The first target was a charging, ruddy-complected man ascending from below. His roar of pain made her shrink back from the stairwell, anticipating that another goon would storm up in his wake.

The skin at the base of her neck tingled.
Someone was behind her.

With the rod extended, she swung around and aimed at the burly figure that jerked back just in time to avoid the hook
slicing past his stomach. His sneer was malevolent—so much so, Briana nearly lost her grip on her weapon. She lashed out again, while at the same time taking a step forward to nudge him into retreat.

A frenzied thrill that she was gaining ground spurred
her on, but intuition buzzed again, warning that her triumph was about to end. She froze, the pole extended, her eyes locked on the dark prey before her.

The flash of pain at the base of her skull was so brief, she was barely aware of it. In oblivion, though
, such fundamentals were often suppressed.

***

The first conscious thought was nausea. The second was pain. Both sucked.

P
itched onto her side by the rocking motion of the Hatteras, Briana fumbled for stability. Discovering that her wrists were bound made it a futile attempt. With a moan, she shoved off on her sore shoulder and hoisted into a sitting position only to feel her stomach protest against the sway. To distract from the pain, she kept her eyes closed. A hushed call from the shadows prompted them back open.