Water Bound (8 page)

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Authors: Christine Feehan

BOOK: Water Bound
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“I have to get you to my truck and then come back and take the catch to the processing dock. Someone will have seen me coming in, so we have to hurry.”
The woman bent over him, trying to slip an arm around his back. Lev slapped her arm away and looked her steadily in the eye, wanting her to know he meant business. “If this is a trap, I’ll kill you.”
“I know, tough guy,” she responded.
There was something wrong with her answer—with her voice—with that steady gaze. She didn’t fear him.
Everyone
feared him. They looked at him and saw the killer. She reached for him again and he blocked her arm. Exasperation crossed her face. Not anger or fear, but the exasperation one might feel toward an unruly child. She rubbed her forearm.
“Listen to me,
Lev
.” She pronounced his name wrong, but he liked the way it rolled off her tongue. “We’re about to have company. I’m trying to get your sorry ass into the truck and out of sight before that happens. Cooperate with me, or stay here and let whoever is hunting you shoot you.”
He stared into those black, black eyes. Soft and liquid and stunningly beautiful. Where the hell had she come from? She was like a sea nymph, rising out of the ocean to drag him from a watery grave. He shook his head at the pure nonsense. He didn’t read fairy tales and he sure as hell didn’t believe in them. She sure as hell didn’t talk like the princesses in the books either.
He nodded his head but waved her to his left side, leaving his right hand free. He was ambidextrous—he could kill with equal precision from either side—but he was weak and he wasn’t taking chances. She wrapped her arm around him and surprisingly, considering how thin she was, the woman was strong.
His legs were pure rubber, but he forced them to move. One foot in front of the other. He could hear her breathing with the effort of taking his considerable weight. She barely came up to his shoulder. It made him feel like less than a man, leaning on her that way. He hated it, hated the idea of being so helpless that he had no choice. He muttered under his breath.
“Are you swearing at me in Russian?” She looked up at him as she helped position him near the dock. “Put your hands on the gunwale and for God’s sake, don’t fall in. I’ll get off and help you onto the dock.”
He thought he’d been swearing silently, not out loud. That only served to remind him he was very far gone. He wasn’t grounded enough in reality to trust himself. He gripped the gunwale, allowing his gaze to sweep the harbor. It was surprisingly empty. He knew immediately that he hadn’t been here before. He remembered places, like maps laid out in his head. He could actually “see” grid marks, and once he’d been somewhere, the map was indelibly printed in his mind. Of course, he couldn’t trust his mind right now. He wasn’t even absolutely certain who he was—which of those numerous identities was really his—or what he was supposed to be doing.
The woman stepped easily onto the dock and reached for him. There was determination on her face, and God help him . . . compassion. What the hell was he? A lost puppy? He kept his head down, although he didn’t see anyone close or paying attention. She walked him to an older model truck kept, like her boat, in great condition. He’d bet if he raised the hood, the engine would be gleaming and polished.
“I have to get my gear and take care of the uni. If I drive you to the house and come back, I’m doing something out of the ordinary and someone will notice. You can lie on the seat while I take care of business. Stay under the blanket and out of sight. The thing is, this is going to take a little time.”
He tried not to look alarmed. He was already swimming in and out of reality. He wanted to be hidden away, to be out of the open, where he had a better chance of regrouping and surviving. “Why so long?”
“They’ll hoist the nets off my boat, weigh them and put them in totes for the forklift to take them to the truck. It takes time, but most of the boats didn’t go out so it doesn’t look like there’s a wait at all. I’ll have to clean my boat as well. I can’t take the chance of spines from the sea urchins on deck. I can bleach my gear at home.”
It made sense, but all he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep. He needed somewhere safe. He forced a nod.
“Are you absolutely certain you’ll be fine? I can take you to a hospital . . .”
“No.” He said it firmly. “I’d be dead inside an hom.”
“So you’re certain someone’s looking for you?”
They’d tried to kill him, hadn’t they? Otherwise, she wouldn’t have had to drag him half-dead out of the sea. He shrugged and concentrated on getting into the truck without his head falling off or falling in a heap at her feet.
She helped him inside and handed him the blanket. He caught her hand, his thumb tracing circular patterns in the middle of her palm. “Tell me your name.”
“Rikki. Rikki Sitmore.” She flashed a small grin. “I have a last name.”
He had the impulse to smile. There was something irresistible about her. He wanted to tell her he had multiple last names, but he refrained.
“I’ll try to hurry, but it will take time.”
“You said that.”
Rikki made a face at him, rolled her eyes and slammed the door closed. There were reasons why she didn’t go near people—they were all crazy. She’d pulled him out of the sea, and if she’d been thinking
at all,
she would have left him there. Now he was her responsibility. Shoving her sunglasses firmly onto her face to cover her usually direct stare, she climbed back aboard her boat. For some reason she could look straight at Lev, and strangely, the way she looked at him hadn’t bothered him as it would most people.
Shrugging, she pushed off with her boat and swung around the other boats tied up to the dock to bring hers under the platform. The hoist was already in position and Ralph lowered the hooks for her to attach her nets to the scale.
“You came in early,” he called to her. “I just got here.”
She shrugged.
“No one else went out today,” Ralph said, scribbling on paper and attaching the name of her boat to the white totes he filled with her urchins.
Rikki was relieved at that. She liked the other divers, and the thought of that monstrous wave running them over was frightening.
“Saw you had company. Something wrong?”
She stiffened but forced a casual shrug. “No,” she muttered after a long awkward silence. The men were used to her sullen answers and rarely tried engaging with her.
She turned quickly away, leaving him to deal with the bins himself. Normally she helped, but she didn’t want to chance him asking her any more questions. She drove her boat back to her berth and scrubbed it down meticulously as she always did, losing herself in the task while the water lapped at the
Sea Gypsy
, rocking her gently. She focused completely, not allowing anything into her mind but the sheer feeling of her boat, the sky and gulls surrounded by water. She loved the way the droplets of water glistened on the deck like diamonds, prisms of glittering colors, each unique and beautiful. Sometimes she got caught up in looking at them for long periods of time. She had to force her mind to stay focused on finishing as quickly as possible, and it took discipline not to disappear into the routine and flow as she usually did.
Each net was put away carefully, her hoses rolled in the way she
had
to roll them, a loose, precise circle that appealed to her. No one ever touched her equipment. They didn’t put it away exactly as it was supposed to go, which was another reason she didn’t have a tender on her boat. But how could she explain how uncomfortable it was to Blythe—people touching her things and meaning to do well, but only making her crazy by not putting things
exactly
where they should be. There was a right way, and no one seemed able to comprehend that.
She sighed and pushed her glasses on her nose. She’d stalled as long as she could. Her boat and equipment were as clean as she could get them. She had inspected her air compressor and the hoses, and now, if there wasn’t a dead body on the seat of her truck—yuck—she would have to face the music and do something with him. Better the dead body. If none of her family was home, she’d be stuck with him, and she had absolutely no idea what to do with him because no one—
no one—
came into her house while she was in it.
Blythe was the only person she let in and she couldn’t be inside while Blythe was. She pushed her thumbnail into her mouth and chewed on it, frowning as she made her way back to the truck. She stood outside for a moment, drawing in air, steeling herself to be in such close confines. He was in her truck. That was almost as bad as him being in her home. She was beginning to wish she’d never pulled him out of the water.
Biting her lip hard, she yanked open the door. Lev exploded out of the blanket, wrapping both hands around her neck and pinning her head to the seat. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Fury shook her before panic set in. His fingers were like steel pins, cutting off her airway. Her world began to go black and small stars burst in her brain. Just as suddenly, he let her go. She slipped to the ground, coughing, holding her throat, gasping desperately for air.
Her glasses had come off. When she could finally breathe, she glared up at him, her eyes meeting his. He looked more confused than ever—not remorseful, confused. And damn it all, she was the one with no social graces, and at least she knew enough to know that he should be feeling
tons
of remorse.
“Get the hell out of my truck,” she snarled, reaching to snatch her dark glasses and shove them back on her face. She avoided rubbing at the marks she knew would be on her throat. It felt swollen and tight. He could have easily killed her. She recognized that he could have in seconds. The knowledge didn’t make her any less angry.
“I’m sorry.”
“Get. Out.”
Instead of obeying, he moved back across the seat to give her room. She sat there in the dirt a moment, swearing under her breath.
“Everything okay?” Ralph called. He stood on the platform, frowning, hands on his hips.
Color swept over her face—she could feel it as she scrambled to her feet. Ralph squinted, trying to see into her truck. She glanced at Lev. He was hunched over, his face hidden, the blanket around him.
“Just slipped in the gravel,” she called, and climbed into her truck. She started the engine without looking at Lev and lifted a hand toward Ralph before driving out of the parking lot. She counted to a hundred before she glanced at her silent passenger. “Are you insane? Because if you are, just say so. I’ll drop you wherever you want to go and we’re done.”
“I said I was sorry. It was a reflex.” He shivered continually beneath the blanket.
“A reflex. I see. Killing people is a reflex.”
He looked at her then, his blue eyes piercing through her sunglasses. “I didn’t kill you.”
She snorted. “You tried.”
“If I’d tried, you’d be dead.”
“That’s twice.”
“I said I was sorry and I am. My head is pounding, and I can’t seem to tell the difference between what is real and what I’m hallucinating.”
“Then you’re going to the hospital.”
“No. You might as well kill me yourself.”
Rikki sighed. “Don’t tempt me.” She stopped at the stop sign at the top of the hill and tapped out a rhythm on her steering wheel while she considered what to do. He was unstable, no question about it, and she was no nurse but ... She sighed again and turned right toward Sea Haven.
The farm was located just off of Highway 1. The drive to the property was lined with trees of every kind, great towering giants. Even redwoods. She loved the redwoods, which were so majestic and regal. She thought of them as sentries guarding the way to the farm. The double gate was ornate. Lissa had made it, welding and twisting the iron into a work of art. All of them loved it. Once the gate was open, she drove in slowly, making certain it closed behind her. She focused completely on her surroundings, blocking out Lev while she entered the farm.
She knew every tree and shrub. She knew where everything was and if anything had been disturbed, and she always paid close attention to detail. Blythe warned her that she was paranoid, but before entering her home, Rikki always walked around it, circling to look for signs of someone nearby. Footprints. Crushed leaves. Gas cans. Kerosene. Anything flammable.
She drove to Blythe’s home first. She was the first choice to rid Rikki of Lev. He needed someone strong, and Blythe was no-nonsense and would see right through him if he lied—she hoped. Mostly she just wanted to get rid of the man. She knew the minute she pulled up to the large house that Blythe hadn’t returned.
“Damn it,” she hissed aloud. “How long does it take to get married? Five minutes?”
“Do you want to get married?” he asked, confused.
“No. Let me think. I was going to find somebody who could take care of you. Blythe or Lexi are the best ones I would think, but . . .” She didn’t want Lexi with this stranger. She was too young.
“I want to stay with you.”
She flicked him a quick, angry look. “Well, you can’t. No one comes in my house. I don’t like it.”

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