Going Dark Read online

  Carrying him up in a fireman’s hold, Dean deposited him—none too gently (his jaw was stinging, damn it)—next to his future cell mates and helped Annie tie him up.

  Seeing his face, she gasped and unconsciously reached over to cradle the side of his face in her incredibly soft hand. “You’re hurt.”

  He shook his head. It must be as bad as it felt if she could see it through the beard. “I’m fine,” he said, shaking her off, his voice gruff from the strange knot in his chest. “Let’s get out of here.”

  With the men incapacitated, there was really no reason to take her with him, but he could see how traumatized she was by what had just happened, and he couldn’t stomach trying to leave her behind again. Yep, the guy who didn’t shrink from anything was pussying out. But he’d get rid of her as soon as he could.

  Ten

  Colt knew the number by heart, though he’d never dialed it.

  It rang three times before someone answered. The voice at the other end was not the one Colt expected.

  It belonged to a man. “Hello.”

  Colt knew the name that went with the voice but didn’t use it. “Put Kate on the phone.”

  There was a puzzled pause on the other end. “Who is this?”

  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 Excellency Sir 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.

  He ignored her question, which in her limited experience wasn’t unusual for him. “Do you have anything electronic with you?”

  She frowned, not sure what he meant. As he hadn’t let her fetch her bag, all she had was what she carried in her pockets—her phone and her watch, which was an old Mickey Mouse one that she’d had since childhood. She felt around in her jeans. Oh yeah, and some lip balm and a few tissues.

  She didn’t even have her passport. Her mom had bought her one of those waist belts to travel with, but she’d hated it and stuck it in her suitcase as soon as they arrived from the airport.

  “Keep it with you at all times.” She would happily tell her mother she was right just as soon as she got out of this.

  “Just my phone,” she said.

  “Let me see it.”

  Figuring he was going to call someone, she pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to him—nearly going overboard after it when he immediately tossed it over the side.

  Her attempt to reach for it, however, proved futile, and it disappeared beneath the waves forever.

  Outrage made her forget that she should be terrified. She spun around on him. “Why did you do that?”

  “I didn’t want anyone tracking us.”

  “You could have just turned it off.”

  “That isn’t a fail-safe.”

  “I highly doubt Jean Paul and his friends are that sophisticated.”

  “But the police might be. I’m not taking any chances—and OPF is a powerful organization. Don’t underestimate them.”

  “How do you know so much about them?”

  He didn’t answer, instead pulling a radio out of his bag.

  “What about your cell phone?” she asked. “Is yours going overboard, too?”

  “Mine’s a burner and untraceable.”

  Great. That wasn’t what she needed to hear. Why did he have an untraceable cell phone? Weren’t those the province of drug dealers and other criminals? What was this guy involved in?

  She didn’t have a chance to ask him, as he was on the radio—channel 16 was the international distress channel—already giving the “urgent” sig