Hide From Evil Page 32

  He put the wrench next to him on the floor and flexed his fingers experimentally, swearing as another shudder rippled through him. Weapons secured, he scooted as close to the engine as he could without getting burned and waited to make his move.

  Krista yelped as Maxwell ripped the duct tape off her mouth in one cruel jerk, taking what felt like several layers of skin with it. She tried to scramble away but there was nowhere to go, and then she was pinned up against the headboard with Maxwell standing at the foot of the bed.

  He put one knee on the bed and jerked her toward him. A switchblade appeared in his hand with a metallic snick, and Krista held her breath as the blade slashed down.

  The ties on her ankles slackened, and she winced as the sudden rush of blood made her feet tingle painfully. Minor discomfort was nothing to the horror that flooded through her as Maxwell pinned her down with his knees on her hips and the wicked blade came arcing down to her chest. Fabric ripped and she realized he was cutting her shirt down the middle, and her bra too.

  Goose bumps prickled as cold air hit her bare skin. Every muscle shrank back in revulsion as the icy-cold tip of the knife skimmed down her belly, up under her breasts.

  Krista’s head flooded with images of Nate Brewster’s victims, the bloody slashes he’d cut into their bodies. “Please don’t,” Krista whispered.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t share Nate’s taste for blood. But I’ll cut you if you make me.”

  He rested the blade of the knife against her throat and covered her breast with his other hand. A cruel twist of her nipple made her cry out. “You’re a beautiful woman, Krista, even though you tried to hide it under those suits. Most of the people I deal with like the younger girls, but you’ll do well, I think. But we will have to do something about this hair.” He moved his hand to her head and gave the short strands a sharp tug. “They like to fuck the blondes, you know. I always liked brunettes, myself.”

  Even with the knife at her neck, Krista couldn’t stop herself from struggling as Maxwell reached for the waistband of her pants. She kicked and tried to wrench free of his hold. He kept the knife in his fist and laid his forearm across her neck so hard she could feel her windpipe start to give as she struggled for breath.

  She was going to pass out, her vision darkening around the edges. Suddenly Maxwell let up with a violent curse. As the buzzing faded, Krista realized it was oddly silent.

  The motor was out.

  “Don’t move,” Maxwell said as he turned and left the room.

  Krista threw herself off the bed and looked around frantically for anything that could be used as a weapon. She kept one eye on the door, knowing she could have only a few seconds to save herself.

  Sean smiled into the darkness as the engine gave a choke and then died completely. He heard the click and whine as someone tried to restart the engine, and then muffled angry shouts as they realized the engine was dead.

  His body warm and his brain mostly in check, he held the wrench in one hand, ready to strike when they came to investigate.

  He didn’t have long to wait. Within a minute the panel that covered the engine popped open and a man climbed inside. Sean struggled to keep his breathing quiet and steady when all he wanted to do was suck in the fresh air as he ducked from the glow of the flashlight.

  “What is it?” a voice called down.

  “Give me a minute,” the man snapped back.

  “You need to fix it now,” the thug said.

  “For fuck’s sake, you can’t just drag a guy out of bed in the middle of the night and expect him to be firing on all cylinders. My brain isn’t even awake yet.”

  He moved closer to the opening. Sean could see the thug looming overhead. The thug took a draw on his cigarette, muttered something under his breath, and started to pace. The second he stepped clear, Sean made his move on the guy working on the engine.

  Pouncing from behind, he locked his arm around the guy’s neck and pressed with his opposite hand. The guy struggled, choking, but Sean had at least five inches and forty pounds on him. In seconds the man slumped to the floor.

  Sean quickly patted him down but found no weapons. He shoved the guy into the corner just as the thug paced back over.

  “Simpson, you fix it yet?”

  When Simpson didn’t answer, the thug leaned over to peer into the engine room. In one swift move, Sean aimed the flashlight right in the thug’s face, blinding him. Sean reached up and grabbed the guy by the collar and toppled him into the engine room.

  The guy went down on his knees, disoriented as he fumbled under his coat. One blow of the wrench to the side of the head sent him to the floor. Sean gave him one more whack for good measure.

  The flashlight revealed the thug to be the one who got away from the warehouse with Maxwell. A quick pat down scored Sean a semiautomatic pistol and a pocketful of flex ties that he used to bind the thug and the guy called Simpson.

  Two down. Sean wondered how many more there were besides Maxwell himself. The engine block was covered in thick black grease. Sean palmed a handful and smeared it down his face and the backs of his hands to cut any glare on his skin before he climbed out of the engine room. He listened for any sign of movement as he carefully closed the hatch.

  Krista was searching the stateroom’s adjoining bathroom to no avail when Maxwell returned.

  He was less than pleased when he saw that she wasn’t where he had left her.

  Krista cried out as he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her out. He threw her down on the bed, a savage look on his face as he came over her. “You never listen, Krista. If you’d listened and kept your nose out of it, none of this would have happened.”

  “Is that what you told Talia? That she better listen or you’d hurt her and her sister?” Krista swung her doubled-up fists at his head and felt a sickening crunch as she miraculously managed to hit him in the nose. “Is that what happened to those other girls? They didn’t listen so you sent Nate to kill them?”

  Blood spurted and he held his hand to his face as he fell back. He staggered a bit and charged at her like something out of a horror movie. “I’ll make what Nate did look gentle by the time I’m done with you.”

  Krista kicked out with her legs, caught him hard in the chest, and sent the knife clattering to the floor.

  She dove after it, scrambling to get her legs under her as her bound hands strained for the knife.

  Maxwell landed on top of her with a roar, fisted his hand in her hair, and slammed her head into the floor. Dazed, Krista felt herself being dragged back to the bed, landing face down this time. Maxwell secured her bound hands to the headboard and she kicked wildly as he dragged her pants and underwear down her hips. Pain throbbed in her head.

  “You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” he said and grunted as he jerked her legs apart. “Nate’s dead, Flynn is out of jail, you got what you wanted, but you had to keep digging.”

  Even through her terror, one question demanded an answer. “Why Sean? Why did you frame him?” The sound of her own voice made her head throb harder.

  Maxwell let out a little huff of laughter. “Because Nate needed a scapegoat for Evangeline Gordon, and he wanted it to be Sean. I had no beef with him. As far as I was concerned, he could have lived the rest of his life in peace until he decided to try to come after me.”

  Oh God. Sean hadn’t been in any danger until she’d put him there. As fervently as she’d prayed for him to come rescue her, she started to pray he’d stay away, stay safe. She couldn’t live with the guilt if anything else happened to him because of her.

  But the way things were going, she might not have long to live with her guilt, period.

  Maxwell wrapped something around her ankle and bound it to the bed. He then did the same to the other until she was bound facedown and spread-eagled on the bed.

  Helpless.

  Sean crept quietly up the stairs that led to the main deck, keeping to the shadows as he determined how many he was up against. He l
istened in the distance for the sound of a motor indicating Ibarra and Brooks were in pursuit, but as of yet, nothing.

  He quickly found the first man, stationed on the outside of the main deck, at the stern. Not wanting to draw attention, Sean took him out with a blow with the wrench and secured him as he had the others. He sifted through the guy’s pockets and used the roll of duct tape he’d lifted from the engine room to gag him. He took the guy’s AK-47 and slung it over his shoulder.

  Gun cocked and ready, the screwdriver tucked into his waistband, Sean crept along the side of the main cabin. Inside, he could see one of Maxwell’s men pacing restlessly as his AK lay on the table of the dining area. No sign of Maxwell, Krista, or the other girl.

  Sean forced himself not to dwell on what Maxwell might be doing to them and focused on taking down Maxwell’s muscle.

  He ducked below the window line and combat crawled his way to the front of the boat. There were two men up here, both smoking and speaking in low voices. They were speculating on how many days it would take to meet up with their contacts, and how much their cut of the sale of the women would be.

  Women. Definitely plural. Sean’s relief at the evidence that Krista was still alive was tainted by horror at what Maxwell had planned for her.

  Sean struggled to keep a rein on his temper when one of the guys said, “I get first go at the woman after Maxwell’s finished.”

  “No way, you got first go last time,” the other thug said.

  “Yeah, and she was worthless after that.”

  The other guy shrugged. “It’s not my fault she couldn’t handle me.”

  “Yeah, well, your needs are likely to kill her before we even hit international waters.”

  The thug laughed, remorseless. “Ah, just as long as I get a taste of that before we dump her off the side.”

  Sean’s blood exploded to a boil and he pounced from the shadows, catching one thug with a blow from the wrench as he rolled to the side as the other thug fumbled for his gun. Gunfire peppered the deck as Sean took aim, hitting the thug who’d talked about dumping Krista over the side with a shot straight to his face.

  The other woozily reached for his pistol, screaming as Sean blew a hole right through his chest.

  Sean took the thugs’ guns and charged inside, diving behind a couch as the guy grabbed his semiautomatic from the table and opened fire on the room, shouting for reinforcements that would never come.

  Sean stayed down and groaned like he’d been hit. Sure enough the meathead came to investigate. Sean opened up and the guy went down, clutching his throat.

  Angry shouts came from the opposite side of the cabin. Through the walls he heard a woman scream.

  Krista!

  He took the inside staircase down, the screams getting louder as he got closer to the staterooms.

  Then silence.

  Heart in his throat, Sean pushed through a door that opened up to a sitting room, and all he could think was that he’d fucked up. He’d lost control and gone out guns blazing, tipping his hand to Maxwell.

  Who no doubt was still with Krista. And there was nothing to penetrate the eerie silence to give evidence she was still alive.

  Krista felt the bile rise in her throat as rough hands grabbed her hips as Maxwell ground himself against her.

  He was fumbling with his fly when the first shots rang out. He froze and then gave an enraged shout when the shooting continued.

  Someone was here! Maxwell sliced the tie that bound her hands to the bed. He went to work on her ankles, and Krista gave a scream as the knife slipped and sliced into the skin of her leg.

  “Shut up,” he shouted and punched her in the back of the head hard enough to make her see stars.

  Maxwell grabbed her by her bound hands and wrapped a blanket around her and pulled her to her feet. He positioned himself behind her, knife to her neck, and backed her toward the adjoining bathroom.

  The door burst open, and there was Sean, his face blackened with grease and a wild look in his green eyes, but the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  “One move and I will cut her,” Maxwell whispered, and Krista felt the sting of the blade biting into her neck.

  She saw Sean’s gun hand lower and felt the pressure of the knife ease. “Now drop it.”

  Sean let both his pistol and the rifle drop to the floor.

  “Kick them over here.”

  Sean did. Maxwell snatched up the gun and opened fire as he backed Krista out of the room.

  Krista cried out as Sean’s head jerked from the impact and he fell backward in a heap.

  Maxwell dragged her through the bathroom and out a door that led to the deck. Sean appeared to be alone, but if he’d gotten a location on the boat, his friends and the cops couldn’t be far behind.

  Maxwell obviously did the same math as he forced her into the dinghy attached to the boat and fumbled with the rope. Krista huddled in the blanket, head throbbing, feeling like a hole had been blown open in her chest.

  Sean had taken a shot to the head. No way he could survive that.

  Because he’d come after her.

  Even if she survived Maxwell, her guilt and grief would consume her.

  She numbly wondered how long it would take for the others to find the yacht, how long Nadia would remain helplessly bound and gagged wherever Maxwell’s thug had put her. And if they managed to escape, how long he would keep her as a hostage before he decided she was no longer useful.

  Maxwell struggled to untie the Zodiac from the yacht. Once he finally had it free, he jerked at the starter, swearing when all he got was a pathetic sputter.

  Then there was a steady rumble, but not from the Zodiac. Motorboats were approaching.

  A siren sounded and a spotlight shone in the distance. The police were here.

  An instant later, Sean burst from the door. Blood streamed from his shoulder as he thundered onto the deck.

  Maxwell made a grab for Krista as a swell hit the Zodiac, sending him careening to the side. Krista kicked out hard and sent Maxwell to the other side of the small rubber boat. A heavy shadow and then a thump as Sean’s weight hit the Zodiac.

  There was a cry of pain as the men grappled, but in the darkness Krista couldn’t see who had the upper hand.

  She got on her knees and fumbled with her bound hands to find a weapon. Her hands closed over something smooth and cylindrical. An oar? She raised it over her head just as a swell tilted the Zodiac at a precarious angle and a heavy body slammed into her. Krista didn’t have time to even take a breath before she was hurled into the frigid sea.

  “Krista!” Sean realized what had happened the split second before the splash of seawater hit him in the face.

  Maxwell took advantage of his distraction and punched Sean in the head, glancing off the deep furrow the bullet had left in his scalp. Shooting pain stabbed at his head and blood seeped into his eyes as he staggered back. Maxwell seized the opening to pounce. The knife slashed down and Sean hissed as it sliced through the muscle of his forearm as Sean raised it to ward off the blow.

  Maxwell raised the knife as Sean struggled to heave him off. Maxwell was surprisingly strong despite his age and soft life, and he had the advantage of not being wounded. Blood from the wound mingled with sweat to pour down Sean’s forehead. Another swell hit the boat as the rumble of approaching engines grew louder. The high beam of the police boat hit them with blinding strength.

  Maxwell hesitated only for a second. It was all Sean needed.

  The screwdriver arced up and ripped into Maxwell’s throat, tearing through the skin of his neck, ripping a jagged hole in the carotid artery.

  He dropped the knife and fell back clutching his neck. Wet gurgling sounds filled the air.

  “Shine the light on the water,” Sean screamed, wiping frantically at his eyes as he ignored the throbbing in his head. Could they even hear him, he wondered as he frantically searched for Krista. She’d been in the water for less than a minute, but with her hands bound an
d injured from Maxwell’s blows, she wouldn’t last for much longer in the frigid ocean.

  His eyes scanned and saw nothing. He waved his arms and pointed frantically at the water and they finally found something. The spotlight skimmed the surface of the ocean, and there it was: a glimpse of pale skin just underneath the surface.

  He dove in, the saltwater stinging his head wound like a thousand burning needles as he felt frantically for her in the dark, frigid water. She was limp when he grabbed her, unresponsive when Brooks and Ibarra hauled her up on to the speedboat they’d commandeered. They averted their eyes and covered her naked body with their jackets as Sean put his ear to her mouth.

  “She’s not breathing.” He put his fingers to her neck but he was so cold he couldn’t feel anything.

  Brooks’s hand gently brushed his aside. “She’s got a pulse,” Brooks said.

  Sean nodded, pinched her nose shut, opened her mouth, and covered it with his own to breathe air into her lungs. “Come on, baby. Don’t leave me,” he whispered. Her chest expanded—one breath, two breaths, and on the third she sputtered and choked. Sean rolled her quickly to her side as she coughed up about a gallon of seawater.

  “Sean?” she whispered weakly.

  “Yeah, honey, I’m here.”

  She lifted a shaky hand to his face. “I thought you were dead,” she said. “Thank God you’re not dead—” She broke off as another wave of coughing racked her.

  Sean gathered her into him as the spasms shook her body. “It’s okay, honey. I’ve got you,” he murmured over and over, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears of relief. “I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go.”

  Chapter 22

  Fuck,” Sean said, wincing at the way his head throbbed behind the thick white bandage when he bent to pick up his bag. As injuries went, the half-inch-deep groove Maxwell’s bullet had gouged on the right side of his scalp wasn’t much, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch when the blood came rushing to his head.