e was hit.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Ric had been expecting it, but it still knocked him down and took him into another dimension, where everything moved in fits and starts.

It didn’t hurt. He wasn’t sure where he’d been hit, but he saw the blood. It was on his jeans and his jacket—it was everywhere, and he knew from experience that the lack of pain was only temporary. In a matter of seconds, he was going to be screaming.

He hit the deck as he wrenched the skinhead’s weapon from his hand, as he turned it on the man and fired. Once. Twice.

Skinhead fell on top of him, solid and unmoving. Ric felt Jules grab him and drag him, but as they moved he still felt that deadweight, bumping against him, and he realized, Christ, Jules was using the skinhead’s body as a shield.

It was Junior’s shaved-headed friend that Ric had just killed—that kid who’d been in the limo with Junior on the night that Ric had saved his life.

Ric had saved Junior’s life.

And now, because of that, Annie was going to die.

Fueled by fury, he finally snapped back to here and now—just in time to realize that Jules had pulled him to safety. They were already in the galley, hunkered down. Jules had possession of both that gun and a switchblade knife, and he was pulling extra clips of ammunition and everything else he could find from the dead kid’s pockets. A cigarette lighter and a pack of smokes. A roll of twenty-dollar bills. Two vials of crack cocaine.

“Cell phone?” Ric asked.

Jules shook his head. “No luck. How bad is it?” He sat on the floor beside Ric, their shoulders against the restaurant-size oven. Wedged there between the refrigerator and bank of below-counter cabinets that included a heavy-duty dishwasher, they had a clear shot—literally—at all entrances and exits from the room—including the door that led down to the lower-level pantry.

“I don’t know,” Ric admitted. “I don’t even know where I’m hit.”

“Right leg,” Jules told him without even looking. His full attention was given to watching for another attack, listening for sounds that would let him know from which direction it was coming.

Ric could hear Junior screaming at his men, from wherever they’d run to safety.

“We get any of the others?” Ric asked.

Jules’s response was terse. “No.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Jules asked. “You did great.”

In Ric’s opinion, great would’ve been Junior and all five of his henchmen lined up on the deck, ready for body bags.

As it was, they were trapped here, indefinitely.

One thing was in their favor, though. Someone had closed the door leading from the galley to the game room, as well as the door leading up to the deck-level dining room.

Someone? No doubt it had been Jules—while Ric was off in la-la land.

“Now what?” Ric asked.

“We stall,” Jules told him. “You need me to help you stop the bleeding?”

“No,” Ric said. “I’m, uh, just…you know…” Moving a little slowly on account of having been shot.

And oh yeah, he’d definitely been hit in his upper thigh. The wound wasn’t that bad as far as entry and exit went. The bullet seemed to have missed both the major arteries and the bone, which was good.

But oh. Christ. Now it hurt.

Jules took off his T-shirt so that Ric could use it to stanch the flow of blood.

“Proof of life, Junior,” Jules shouted as Ric pressed the shirt to the top of his leg. He was going to need something else for the exit wound. He started opening drawers, hoping for a stack of rags or…Dish towels. He grabbed two.

“I want proof that Robin and Annie are still alive,” Jules continued. “You get me proof of life—only then will we negotiate. Do you hear me?”

Negotiation was a classic stall tactic.

“Fuck you!” Junior shouted back. “I’m calling Foley and telling him to kill them.”

Ric was ripping Jules’s T-shirt into a longer strip of fabric to tie the towels in place, but now he froze. Was this going to backfire? He looked at Jules.

“We don’t know that Foley really has them,” Jules reminded him, then shouted back to Junior: “You do that, and we will sit right here until my team discovers I’m missing. You got mere hours, dude. They will come looking and they will find me. You want to kill me? You’re going to have to do it soon. You want me to surrender? Give me proof that Robin and Annie are alive and that you’re going to keep them safe.”

Annie couldn’t find any matches.

She’d checked everywhere and then she’d checked again.

She’d searched the pockets of all of the raincoats and slickers hanging in the stateroom’s cabinets. She’d emptied everything out of every bench compartment. She’d searched the bar and the bathroom more than twice.

To no avail.

Robin had worked his magic on the suitcase filled with C4, adding a blasting cap and that long length of time fuse.

“This stuff works underwater,” he told her as he worked. “They call it underwater demolition. It’s pretty amazing—but what’s really amazing is how into it some of the SEALs are. Not so much Cosmo”—Robin’s brother-in-law was a SEAL—“but the others…There’s a SEAL named Izzy. I swear, he likes blowing things up better than sex.”

Robin was talkative to start with, but the Johnny Walker had loosened his tongue even more than usual.

As he piled the suitcases back into a stack, leaving the det cord dangling out from the one with the largest amount of explosives, he talked about Jules.

“It’s more than just sex,” Robin told Annie, “although the sex is…We could have sex 24/7 and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

That sounded pretty familiar.

“And yet…at the same time, just being in the same room with him is enough.” He tucked the length of fuse around the edge of the room. “You’re not supposed to coil it on top of itself,” he explained, then went right back to Jules. “You know what I love? I love just sitting next to him. Just talking to him. When our eyes meet, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing or, I don’t know, laughing at the same stupid joke, or even just enjoying the same instant of time…It’s…unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”

He poured himself another drink.

“You sure you want that?” Annie asked.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’m sure. You know, I can picture Jules smiling at me like that, the same way, when we’re both, like, eighty years old.”

He swayed and it wasn’t just the movement of the boat beneath his feet making him unsteady. Annie took the glass away from his mouth and poured the rest of it down the bathroom sink. “Help me look for matches, okay?”

“He was the love of my life, you know,” Robin confessed as he obediently started searching through the bench storage area, even though she’d already been through it. Maybe he’d find something she’d missed. “And it was mutual. I know that he loved me. I read this e-mail that he wrote to one of his friends, and…I probably shouldn’t have read it, but…I’m glad I did now, because I know. It really helps to know.”

In a way, Annie could completely relate. Ric had told her he’d loved her, so she, too, knew.

But she’d been too much of a coward to admit that she’d loved him—and what was she doing, thinking in the past tense? She was going to see Ric again, and when she did, she was going to tell him that she was in love with him, too. Present tense. Simple as that.

“At first, I was all freaked out,” Robin continued, “because I found out in this e-mail that Jules was in line for a promotion. And I started thinking I should walk away, you know, for his sake? But I’ve been thinking more about it and, if we get through this…” He looked over at her. “When we get through this. I’m going to grab hold of him and I am never going to let go. And I’m going to do it for his sake. Because finding someone who loves you as much as you love them? It’s a gift. It’s a…a…motherfucking miracle, Annie.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I do know.” Although she probably would have used a different adjective.

“Most of the time it’s one-sided,” Robin told her earnestly. “Like it was with Jules and Ben.” Last night, Robin had told her about Ben, Jules’s Marine friend who’d died in Iraq. “And with Jules and Adam. And with me and Adam.”

“Who’s Adam?” Annie asked.

“We kind of share an ex,” Robin told her. “Not at the same time,” he quickly added. “That’s not…Just…Don’t ask. It’s…a long, ugly story. In a nutshell, I screwed up because I was too much of a coward to realize what I’d found. With Jules, I mean.”

“This was back when those pictures were taken?” Annie asked. “The ones on the Internet?”

Robin nodded. “My point,” he said, “is that finding someone who loves you, too, the same way you love them? It’s a one-in-a-million thing. But I’ve seen it happen—it’s real. My sister, Janey, and her husband, Cosmo…They are so connected, so solid…I’m telling you, it’s not something you can just throw away, especially not just because you’re a little scared.”

“What if you’re a lot scared?” Annie asked.

“Tough shit,” Robin said. “Even if you’re a lot scared, you just have to…grow a pair. You have to take the risk and to tell yourself that you’re willing to do whatever it takes both to make it work and to make it last. Because it’s worth it. I mean, sure, okay, it might not work out. Life has no guarantees. You might try your best and still crash and burn, but what if it does work? Then you get a lifetime with someone who loves you as much as you love them…” He stopped himself, listening. “What’s that?”

It was more like, what wasn’t that? “Foley killed the engine,” Annie realized.

Sure enough, he was coming downstairs.

“Matches?” Annie asked.

Robin shook his head, as empty-handed as she was.

And Foley unlocked the door.

Pulling himself up to push the elevator call button took everything out of him.

It was all Martell could do, when the door finally opened, to stick a foot in to keep it from closing and disappearing again.

It was harder to push himself forward than back, but he got down to work, inching his way into the elevator.

He was leaving a trail of blood, so that if someone came looking for him, they’d find him in about four seconds. But even that thought wasn’t enough to make him move any faster. Apparently, he was already going at his top speed.

When the door tried to close on his shoulder, the pain was so intense, he nearly blacked out. Maybe he did. God knows how long he lay there, with the elevator buzzing angrily at him for holding the damn door too damn long.

Getting angry was good. It was sheer anger that took him those last few inches, so the door could finally close.

Martell didn’t have the strength to push any buttons, but the elevator moved, going up, thank you, Lord Jesus.

The door opened with a ding and Martell found himself looking up into the stunned faces of a woman and a little boy. They both started to scream.

It was nice that they did it for him, because he had nothing left.

Still, he knew he couldn’t quit. Not yet. He had to tell them—tell someone—that Robin and Annie had been taken.

But he couldn’t remember the FBI agent’s name. He couldn’t remember and…

Martell fought the darkness, but it was too much.

He had nothing left. Nothing.

And the darkness won.

Foley was on the phone.

As the door opened and Robin moved to stand in front of Annie, he heard Foley say, “You’re lucky. The water’s been choppy, so I stayed up on deck.” He paused. “Yeah, I get fucking seasick, but you’re a fucking idiot. And now they want proof of life. Just waste ’em. How hard could it be to just plug the sons of bitches?”

Another pause, during which time Robin looked at Annie.

Hope made her almost glow. “They’re alive,” she told him.

He nodded. “Yeah.” How hard could it be to plug Jules and Ric? Pretty hard, apparently. He should have had faith. He shouldn’t have had that last drink. Could he swim like this? He honestly didn’t know.

“Jesus Christ,” Foley said in exasperation. “All right. Just…give me a few minutes.” He hung up his cell phone and drew his gun. “Up on deck,” he ordered them.

They hadn’t lit the fuse. With no matches in the stateroom, that part of the plan had to be aborted.

But apparently Annie wasn’t ready to give up on anything, because as Robin followed her out of the stateroom and through the tiny galley to the companionway stairs, he saw her reach out and take a cigarette lighter from the countertop.

She palmed it as she pretended to lose her balance, as she used the counter to steady herself.

Robin could feel Foley right behind him, and he braced himself for the man’s retaliation. But it never came. He hadn’t seen her theft.

“Move it faster,” Foley said as Annie slipped the lighter into the front pocket of her jeans.

Part two of their plan was to grab something and knock him over the head. It was ridiculous—the idea of their getting the jump on someone like Foley, even though it was two to one.

But Foley was seasick—fucking seasick was how he’d described it.

Maybe they actually had a chance.

Junior was stalling.

Jules had good ears, and a few minutes ago he’d heard what sounded like Junior, sotto voce, ordering one of his men to call Foley. Make sure he keeps Robin and Annie alive.

Of course, it was possible that Junior had intended for Jules to overhear him. It was possible that Foley didn’t have Robin and Annie—that they were still safely back at the hotel.

Junior’s voice was plaintive as he shouted to Jules now. “How the fuck am I going to give you proof of life?”

Jules shouted back to Junior: “Call Foley, have him put Robin and Annie on the line, then toss your phone in here so we can talk to them.”

“I’m not going to give you my phone,” Junior said. “What? Do you think I’m a moron?”

Ric glanced at Jules. “Nice try.”

Ric was in serious pain, and he’d lost quite a bit of blood, but he looked less shocky and more with it to Jules, as every moment passed. No doubt about it, he was using sheer will to keep himself alert and focused.

“No one’s coming to help you,” Junior shouted. “I know you think they are, but they’re not. They’re all heading for the Everglades, following a UPS truck. We found your tracking device and mailed Alvarado’s alleged ex to Belle Glade—same-day delivery.”

Okay, so that wasn’t the best news, but again, it was no surprise. Jules made a mental note to make sure tech support knew that their untrackable tracking device had already been compromised by a two-bit Florida criminal.

“You may have found that one,” Jules called back, “but you didn’t find the long-range wire I’m wearing. This conversation that we’re having? It’s being monitored, right now, by the FBI. It’s just a matter of time before a wall of helicopters comes over that horizon.”

Junior laughed. “You’re full of shit. If you were wearing a wire, they’d be here by now. No one’s coming,” he said again. “And we can sit here for as long as you can.”

But it was possible, because he’d given the order for that call to Foley, that Junior was bluffing, too.

Just jumping overboard wasn’t an option.

Unless Annie could somehow stun Foley before they went over the side, she and Robin didn’t stand a chance against him in the water.

Foley had a gun, and like his co-workers who’d shot Martell, he wasn’t afraid to use it.

Annie had never been seasick, but her sister-in-law had. Bruce had booked his bride a surprise cruise for their honeymoon, and Val had spent most of the trip in bed, and not in the good way. It had been years, but Val still talked about it as being the most awful week of her life. She was so self-absorbed, she never noticed how quiet Bruce got whenever she brought it up.

And okay, yeah, so Bruce and Val weren’t exactly role models in terms of the allegedly perfect relationship Robin had been talking about just before Foley came to the door. In fact, Annie had had exactly zero role models when it came to good relationships.

But it was definitely time to stop thinking about that, to focus on the here and now.

Her heart was pounding so hard, it seemed strange that Robin and Foley didn’t comment on the noise. Please God, let this work…

The only thing on deck to grab and swing was a pole with a hook on the end that looked as if it might’ve been used to pull the boat in to a dock, or maybe help with the deep-sea fishing in some mysterious way.

There were no other obvious choices—a seat cushion, a life ring—so Annie again pretended to lose her balance, going down on her knees with a thud, right onto the deck. As she waited for Robin and then Foley to climb up the stairs, her fingers closed around the cool metal of the pole.

And then Robin was past her, and Foley grabbed her by the arm to pull her up, and it was time to fight back.

She swung the pole with all of her strength, bringing it up, as hard as she could, between Foley’s legs.

The pole was ridiculously light—it must’ve been aluminum—and it bent from the force of the blow.

Still, her aim was true, and Foley went down, shouting in pain. He dropped his gun, and although it slid across the deck, it slid away from both Annie and Robin.

Seasick or not, even with crushed testicles, Foley was a formidable opponent. He used one leg to kick Annie, hard, into the bulkhead next to the stairs, even as he grabbed Robin, who’d immediately jumped into the fray.

Robin was no lightweight, and in that moment, as Annie struggled to pull air back into her lungs so she could go to his aid, as she saw Robin’s knee connect again with Foley’s groin, Foley picked him up and threw him in the opposite direction from which his gun had gone.

“Annie!” Robin cried, but then his head hit the edge of the boat with a sickening crunch, and the weight of his body took him over the side.

“Robin!” She launched herself after him, but Foley was there, blocking her. She bumped him and he pushed her back.

He laughed as he saw her gaze flicker over to his gun, still lying there on the deck. Too far away to go for. Damn it. Damn it.

“Whatcha gonna hit me with now?” Foley asked.

“Robin!” she called again, her eyes never leaving Foley’s.

But Robin didn’t answer.

He didn’t so much as splash.

“What’s taking so long?” Ric couldn’t stay silent another moment. They had to do something, instead of just sitting in the galley, waiting, in siege mode. It was driving him mad.

It was hot as hell in here, too, which wasn’t helping. Junior had turned off the air-conditioning, presumably to make them as uncomfortable as possible.

“The longer it takes,” Jules said, “the more I’m convinced that Robin and Annie are safe.” He took a sip from one of the bottles of water he’d found in the refrigerator. It had been sealed, so it was safe to drink. “It’ll be hard for Junior to give us proof of life if Foley doesn’t really have them.”

Jules was as calm and controlled as he would’ve been had they been sitting on a park bench, taking a break from a Sunday-afternoon stroll.

“Or if Foley’s already killed them,” Ric offered.

Jules shook his head. “It doesn’t help to think that way. I know you want to take Junior down. I know you want to go on the offensive, but…” He shook his head. “Let’s wait a bit longer before we get ourselves killed, okay? I’ve got a lot to live for.”

“I thought you were going to walk away from Robin,” Ric said.

“Yeah,” Jules agreed, “but I’ve got about three months’ worth of hope that he really will stop drinking. That’s ninety days, and call me selfish, but I want every one of them.”

Ric glanced at him. “You’re even optimistic when you’re pessimistic.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then Jules said, “I’m sorry for…what I did.”

“For being optimistic?”

“For disrespecting you. This morning,” Jules explained. “I hate that I did that, and I wish I could take a do-over and…do it differently.”

“Sometimes,” Ric told the other man, “I speak Spanish just to piss people off. So don’t sweat it, man. It’s one of your weapons—you worked it with Junior. We all just…use what we’ve got.”

“I know,” Jules said, “but I shouldn’t have used it against you.”

“So now that you know me a little better,” Ric said with a shrug, “you won’t make that mistake again.”

This time he broke the silence they fell into. “It doesn’t bother you?” Ric continued. “The way Junior was talking to you before? Calling you and Robin…those names?”

Jules shrugged this time. “I’ve got a pretty thick skin.” But then he sighed. “Robin doesn’t, though. If he ever does come out, that’s going to be one of the hardest things for him—the name-calling.” He glanced at Ric. “There’s no way to protect him from that. I have entire arguments with myself about whether or not he should just stay in the closet for the rest of his life. And you know, I can win, taking either side, so…I don’t know the right answer.”

“Maybe you should let Robin decide what he wants to do,” Ric said. He had to smile at his sage advice. All he’d ever wanted to do was protect Annie. And all he’d done was make mistake after mistake—by staying away from her, by making decisions for her, by making choices that he thought would be best for her.

It made him crazy—sitting here, thinking that she was in trouble. And yet her willingness to take risks, to put herself into danger, was one of the things that had made him fall in love with her.

“You know, when I first met Annie,” Ric told Jules, “she was eleven years old, and she had her arm in a sling. Her father was a violent drunk, and she put herself between him and her mother.”

Jules laughed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Robin hit his head,” Annie told Foley. “We have to pull him back in, or he’ll drown.”

“It’s up to you,” Foley said. “You gonna cooperate?”

“I’m cooperating.” Annie was frantic. How long could Robin go without breathing, before brain damage set in? Plus, she had no idea what the currents were like out here. If they didn’t hurry, he might float away from the side of the boat.

“Lie down,” Foley ordered. “On your stomach, hands on your head, face turned away.”

As Annie obeyed, she heard him crossing the deck. It was all she could do to follow his instructions, to keep her head turned as he surely picked up his gun.

She then heard his feet as he went back across, and then, “Fuck,” she heard Foley swear. “Fuck.”

Oh God, please, no…

Annie got to her feet. She put her hands back on her head as she, too, went to look over the side.

Robin was gone.

But the water was choppy. It would be hard to see anyone floating out there, let alone someone unconscious.

“Get back down on the deck,” Foley ordered her.

“Please,” she begged him. “Let me go in after him. Maybe he’s just below the surface.”

“No way am I losing both of you,” he said.

“Please,” she said again.

“Move back,” he ordered, shouting when she didn’t move. “I said, move back and sit down!”

He pulled his gun, and it was only then that Annie finally did as she’d been told.

“She’s always been able to talk me into doing the craziest shit,” Ric admitted. “Like, this one time, she was convinced that this guy her mother was dating was married. He lived, I don’t know, it was north and east of Orlando—about a three-hour trip from Sarasota. And there I am, driving her across the state to do surveillance on the son of a bitch. Of course, she was right. Her mother had the lousiest taste in men. It’s no wonder she’s jaded when it comes to relationships.”

“Give her time,” Jules said.

“Yeah,” Ric said. He turned to look at Jules. “I don’t know how much longer I can sit here like this.”

Jules knew.

“If Junior can prove Foley’s got Annie,” Ric admitted, “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I know you’d rather wait, but it’s occurred to me that we might want to put a plan in place. I mean, I’m not sure I’m even going to be able to think, let alone—”

From out on the deck came the sound of Junior’s cell phone ringing. Once. Twice.

And all of Jules’s calm just dissolved. “Pick it up, Junior.” He kept himself from shouting it, clenching his teeth around the words. It was important not to let Junior know just how rattled he was by the idea of Robin and Annie in Foley’s hands.

Junior’s phone rang a third time, and Jules turned to Ric. “How about we fucking kill them and take control of this ship?” he asked. “How’s that for a plan? Unless you have something else in mind?”

“Fucking kill them works for me,” Ric told him. “But I have an idea with, you know, a few more details. I don’t know if you’re going to like it, though.”

“Try me,” Jules said.

“It won’t be the first time a movie star’s body washes up on a beach,” Foley said into his cell phone, “and it sure as hell won’t be the last. It’s not a problem we can’t take care of.”

He’d restarted the engine and the fishing boat was moving forward—away from the spot where Robin had gone overboard.

Annie sat on the deck and let herself cry. She didn’t try to hide it, she just wept.

Let him think she was defeated. Let him think her fight was gone.

What was she going to hit him with now?

She was working on it.

Foley turned to look at her. “We still got the girl for that proof-of-life shit. A few words into the phone…Put it on the intercom, it’ll go throughout the yacht. They’ll hear it, wherever they’re holed up.”

Annie tried to hide her reaction to that news. Jules and Ric were holed up somewhere on Junior’s yacht. They were safe. Alive…

“You think he might be dead?” Foley asked. “Okay, so that’s not so good. The one you’ve been talking to isn’t the…” He was not happy. “So we have the wrong leverage. That’s just fucking great.”

She was the wrong leverage. You think he might be dead? It wasn’t hard for Annie to imagine what that meant. If she were the wrong leverage, Ric was the one that Junior thought might be dead.

Oh, God. If Ric were dead…

Foley turned away and lowered his voice, but Annie strained to hear him. “Okay, look. Your father’s going to kill me because he loves that yacht, but here’s what we’re going to do. Get Geo and Pete to use the C4 you’ve got on board to, you know, do what C4 is supposed to do. I should be in sight of you within a few minutes. When we connect, you and the boys just…walk away. Just light the fuse and come onto the fishing boat with me.”

Foley was talking about blowing up the yacht, where Ric and Jules were holed up…

“Jesus H….” Foley was exasperated. “You really think it’s worth a try? Like they’re just going to surrender when they hear her voice? We don’t even know if the boyfriend’s alive.” He sighed, clearly put out. “All right, all right. Let’s just fucking do this.”

Foley came over to her. Spoke to her. “When I hold out my phone, you will speak loudly and clearly so it picks you up…”

Some sort of intercom system switched on, and Ric stopped arguing with Jules about his plan—about who should be the one to go belowdeck to get the explosives.

It was stupid to argue, anyway. It was going to have to be the one of them who didn’t have a T-shirt tied tightly around a bullet wound in his leg.

And that wasn’t Ric.

It had freaked him out a little to see Jules’s cool slip. It was now obvious that the man’s careful control was just an act. He was as much on the verge of losing it as Ric was.

If Junior had Robin or Annie, if he so much as breathed on them wrong, Jules was going to be right beside Ric as he made the bastard bleed.

“Yeah, that’s the right button,” a voice that had to be Donny’s echoed through the ship. “Push this one when you’re done.”

“Thanks.” Junior was louder—he probably spoke more directly into the microphone. “Here comes your proof of life, assholes,” he said.

There was feedback, then another male voice that could well have been Foley’s. “You say your name, you say you’re with me on a fishing boat, you say you’re all right. You say anything else at all, and I will beat you within an inch of your life. Are we clear?”

Ric held his breath, listening harder. But there was nothing discernible in response, just the sound of someone crying. Whoever it was, it couldn’t be Annie. He’d never heard her make that kind of pathetic, defeated noise in his entire life.

“Jesus H. Christ.” Foley’s voice came through the speakers. “Speak the fuck up.”

Still there was nothing—until there was something loud, something that sounded like Foley shouting. “Hey!” It was cut off, though, midword.

Ric looked at Jules. What was that?

Junior’s voice, over the intercom, broke the sudden silence. He was equally perplexed. “What the hell…?”

Annie threw herself down the companionway, Foley’s phone in her hand.

Ric had been right. Tears, along with various other fluids, really worked when it came to putting people off their guard.

As she’d hoped, Foley had assumed her spirit was crushed. When she’d cowered from his threatening words and mewed a pitiful, barely audible version of his request, he’d leaned over, putting himself off balance as he held his phone closer to her mouth.

Whereupon she’d snatched it from his hand and scrambled away.

But God, he was right behind her now. She dialed 911 as she threw herself into the stateroom where she and Robin had been held, but she didn’t hear more than the phone ringing on the other end before Foley slapped it out of her hands. He grabbed her and threw her toward the cabinets that lined the wall.

She hit with her shoulder and back, turning to try to protect her head, then landing on the floor with a bone-jarring crash.

Foley’d gone after his phone, slamming it shut. He came toward her, now, and the look in his eyes was murderous.

“We lost the connection,” Donny’s voice said over the intercom.

“Get it back.” Junior, too, still echoed through the ship.

“Let’s do this now,” Jules decided. “While they’re distracted.” He held out the sidearm that he’d taken from the skinhead, and Ric reluctantly took it.

“I can’t shoot like you,” Ric told him.

“I’m just looking for covering fire.” Chances were that they weren’t even going to need that. Jules moved the ammo closer to Ric and opened the switchblade knife, testing it with his finger. Yeah, ouch, it was plenty sharp. He snapped it shut.

Junior was probably up on the bridge with Donny. That left three men unaccounted for.

At least one was watching the stairs from the galley to the main deck. No, make that two—they were having a conversation out there. Jules couldn’t make out their words, but he definitely heard the buzz of two different voices. Thanks for that intel, guys.

It meant there was only one man watching one of the three other ways out of the galley.

Although it was possible, from the amount of blood Ric had left on the deck, that Junior was going to assume he and Jules weren’t going to budge from their cozy and protected position there. So maybe he wasn’t watching any of the other exits at all.

Up on the bridge, Donny and Junior had finally realized their words were being broadcast throughout the yacht. It was like a bad comedy routine, ending only as they finally turned off the intercom.

Jules cracked open the door that led to the ladder access down to the food storage area below and listened.

Nothing. No movement. No breathing.

He looked at Ric and nodded. He was going.

He opened the door wider and stuck his head into the passageway—just a quick dip down and back. There was no one in the immediate area, so he swung himself down, feetfirst this time. He dropped as silently as humanly possible onto the metal of the deck below.

It was slightly cooler down there, thank you God.

The entire lower level was badly lit, but it was brighter out in the hall. Jules crept toward that light and…Shit.

One of Junior’s men was down here. Jules could hear him moving about in that nasty little bomb-making room where those extra suits of explosives were stored.

Which was exactly where Jules wanted to go.

He froze, as a sudden noise echoed, but it was just the intercom clicking back on. And then Foley’s voice came through a tinny-sounding speaker.

“We’re going to try that again.” The man’s words were slightly distorted but comprehensible. “I’m here with the girl, and she’s going to say her name into the phone, or she’s going to get hit and then you’ll know she’s here because you’ll hear her scream.”

Annie shook her head at Foley.

She wasn’t going to do it.

Even if he hit her, she wasn’t going to make so much as a sound.

He was just going to kill her anyway. She knew that. As soon as she did as he asked, she was dead.

And she was damned if she was going to help Junior force Jules and Ric to surrender. She put her hand in her pocket, her fingers closing around the cigarette lighter she’d taken from the galley.

“Okay then.” Foley set his phone down on top of one of the bench cushions. “I guess we’re going to do this the hard way.”

As Annie backed away from Foley, she tried to inch closer and closer to the end of the fuse that Robin had run, hidden, along the edge of the room.

“You gonna say it now?” Foley’s voice was muffled as it came over the intercom.

It could’ve all been just a giant head game—Foley, alone in a room somewhere, kicking things over, making crashing noises to make it sound as if he were beating someone up.

He had the girl, he’d said. He’d made no mention at all of Robin—Jules tried not to think about that as he continued to move down the dimly lit passageway on the lower level of Junior’s yacht.

“Is that enough?” Foley asked, but apparently it wasn’t, because there were more thuds and crashes.

The door to the explosives workroom was still locked open. That was lucky. There was definitely someone in there—Jules could see his shadow moving.

The noises coming from the intercom masked any sounds that Jules might’ve made as he peeked around the edge of the open doorway.

Yes, one of Junior’s so-called boys was there in the room, his back to Jules. It looked—sweet Jesus!—as if he were working to connect all of the suits of explosives together. And wasn’t that the nifty plan. Blow the entire yacht. There was enough C4 here at least to put a huge hole in the hull.

But explosions were tricky things. It would be a risk for Junior, who liked having a guarantee there’d be no random DNA evidence floating around for investigators to find. And unless they brought the C4 up and tossed it into the galley…which, of course, was what they were probably going to do, as soon as they had another ride home.

Great.

So much for Jules’s we can sit here all day threat.

“What?” Foley asked over the intercom. “Do I have break your arm to make you scream?”

Annie cried. Silently.

One of her eyes was swelling and her mouth was bleeding, cut from her own teeth. She was battered and bruised, but at least so far no ribs had been broken, thank God.

It had been years since she’d gone into the hospital with a rib-punctured lung, but she still remembered what that had felt like. She would do nearly anything to prevent a replay of that desperate, gasping, lack-of-air sensation.

Anything but risk Ric and Jules’s lives.

Foley’s last punch had made her head spin. She almost wished he’d hit her harder—and knocked her out. But her biggest regret was that Foley’s last punch had taken her farther away from the end of that time fuse.

Annie now looked at Foley and shook her head.

“Look,” he said. “I respect what you’re trying to do, but…”

She just kept shaking her head.

“Last chance.” He waited, just a few more seconds, then grabbed her left arm and twisted and…

Annie felt her wrist give, felt the bones snap, felt the scream ripped from her very throat.

“There,” Foley said, his voice rough as he released her, as she fell back, cradling her arm against her chest, sobbing. “There’s your fucking proof of life.”

No. No, she was not going to let him win. She was not going to let Ric die. Not a chance.

So she shouted. As loudly as she could so the phone would pick her up, even from way across the stateroom. “Ric, I love you—don’t let them kill us both. Robin’s already dead, Foley killed him, and I’m dead, too. I’m bleeding to death,” she lied. “I’m not going to make it—save yourselves!”

Anger and fear.

Ric’s reaction to the sound of Annie’s voice was sheer, blinding anger and soul-shredding fear.

She was alive, but Foley had hurt her. The echo of that piercing scream resounded inside his head, making his hands shake.

He nearly dropped the gun, but he forced himself to breathe. Keep breathing. Annie wasn’t dead yet.

“She’s lying.” Foley’s voice reverberated in the galley. “I roughed her up and broke her wrist—but she’s not bleeding. And, uh, the, uh, movie star’s in the other room, too drunk to speak coherently.”

“I love you, Ric,” Annie sobbed, and Ric felt his heart break. He’d wanted her to say it, but Christ, not like this. Her voice continued over what sounded like Donny and Junior shouting. He didn’t pay attention to them, he focused only on her words. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before. Please—save yourself. Foley’s the liar. I’m dead. Just like Robin. Foley threw him overboard and he drowned. Jules, I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t save him and he’s gone—”

Someone cut the connection—it was the intercom being switched off.

“Hey,” Ric bellowed. “Bring her back! Put her back on! I want to hear her talking!”

But no one answered him and the intercom wasn’t turned back on.

“Hey!” he shouted again, totally bullshit. As long as Annie was talking, he knew she was alive. “Put her back on, and I’ll come out!”

He meant it. He’d somehow pushed himself to his feet and was on the verge of dragging himself over to the stairs to the main deck when he heard a sound. Someone was coming.

He turned, trying to hold the gun steady with hands that were numb. God only knew what Foley was doing to Annie right that moment…

“What the hell are you doing?” It was Jules. He was back, pushing the ladder door open. “Get down!”

Ric realized he was standing right in front of that window. He turned to look out at the deck—there was no one out there. “Junior!” he shouted again. “Put Annie back on, you son of a bitch!”

Jules flung what looked like a vest of explosives onto the floor ahead of himself, then climbed out. “Get down,” he said again.

Christ, the FBI agent was covered with blood. It was mostly on his hands and his arms, but it was also streaked across his chest and face like gruesome war paint.

He was holding a gun, but he’d gone below armed only with a knife and…Jesus God, apparently, he’d used it.

Jules grabbed him and dragged him down to the deck. Ric’s leg was on fire, and even more pain jolted through him at the rough treatment. But it provided a greatly needed reality check. He wasn’t going to help Annie by charging out onto the deck half-cocked.

No, he had to wait until he was fully locked and loaded. He knew that and he made himself breathe. “Are you hurt?” he asked Jules.

“It’s not my blood.” Jules’s eyes were as hard and cold as Ric had ever seen them. “One of the business-suits was down there. I took him out.”

Permanently, apparently.

“Two down, four to go,” Jules continued, reporting the information matter-of-factly, as if he were commenting on the day’s lack of rain. “Purple Shirt, Business-Suit Number Two, Donny, and Junior.”

“And Foley,” Ric said. Who had Annie. Who’d already killed Robin. By drowning him. Except, there was something wrong with that picture, something that made Ric find that concept hard to believe.

“Yeah,” Jules said. “Let’s not forget Foley.” He tucked the handgun into the back of his jeans, then stayed low as he rinsed his hands and arms in the kitchen sink. “I’m going to need my jacket back.”

“No, you’re not,” Ric said. He raised his voice. “Junior! Hey!” Where the hell was the bastard?

“Yeah, I am.” Jules started to pull on the explosives. It was one of Junior’s sweatshirt creations, but the sleeves had been cut off—which made it less unwieldy.

“I’m the one going out there,” Ric told the FBI agent.

“No.” Jules didn’t stop what he was doing. “Annie’s still alive.”

“I’m sorry about Robin,” Ric said as he pulled himself closer to Jules. “You know I am, but it has to be me out there, man. It’s got to be. You’re the better shot.”

Jules knew that was the truth. Yet still he hesitated.

Ric all but felt a vein pop in his head—Junior’s silence was killing him. “Junior! Where the fuck are you? I want to hear Annie’s voice again!”

But Junior didn’t answer. It was possible he’d discovered the man that Jules had sliced and diced while he was down below, and had decided to stay somewhere protected—like that bridge. Which would totally screw up Ric and Jules’s plan.

“Junior!” he shouted again.

Meanwhile, Jules was determined to self-destruct, wrapping some kind of grayish cord—the fuse—around his waist.

“You disconnected that, right?” Ric asked.

Jules looked up at him. “Yeah.” For the first time since they’d met, Ric couldn’t get an accurate read on whether or not Jules was telling him the truth.

“Come on, man,” Ric pushed, his voice lowered. “Think about it. This plan only works with you as the shooter. If you go out there in that”—he gestured with his chin toward the sweatshirt vest of explosives as he took off his jacket—“leaving me back here, we don’t stand a chance at saving Annie, and you know it.”

Jules looked back at him with those empty eyes, in a face that had turned to stone. He may have checked his heart and soul at the door when he’d heard about Robin, but his brain was still online, thank God. He finally nodded, and yanked off that vest.

“I am sorry,” Ric said as Jules helped him pull the explosives over his head. Damn, but it was heavy—there was a lot of C4 on this thing. “You’re sure you pulled out the right wires?”

“I’m sure,” Jules told him, and then dropped a different bomb. “Junior’s got to stay alive.”

Ric looked at him. He was serious. “Robin’s dead, Annie’s dying, and you’re worried about Junior?” Ric couldn’t believe this.

“I’m worried about Atlanta.” Jules’s hands were rough as he helped Ric back into the jacket, zipping it up so that it hid the explosives—all but a piece of that gray cord that stuck out the bottom. Jules handed him the skinhead’s lighter. “Junior’s our link to al-Hasan. He stays alive.”

“If he kills Annie—”

“He stays alive,” Jules repeated, his voice as flat as his eyes.

“Robin’s dead and you—”

“Yeah,” Jules said, with a sudden sharp flare of emotion. “Keep saying that—it’s really helping me.”

“I’m sorry,” Ric said again. God damn, but those were two of the lamest words in the English language. He turned away from Jules, shouting up to Junior, wherever he was. “Junior, I want to make a deal!”

“I gave you your proof of life,” Junior finally shouted back. “You come out on the main deck with your hands on your heads!”

Ric did a quick scan out the window—Junior wasn’t on the main deck. No one was.

“I want Robin’s death to mean something,” Jules told him quietly. “So let’s do this right. Let’s save Annie and let’s save Atlanta.” His voice was rough as he helped Ric over toward the galley stairs. “You ready?”

Ric nodded. “You call Foley,” he shouted to Junior, “and you get Annie back. I want her voice on that intercom—now!”

“If I don’t make it,” he lowered his voice to tell Jules. He had to say it. “Tell Annie how much it meant to…hear her say she loved me, too.”

Jules made a sound that was little more than an exhale, but it was filled with pain. “You can tell her that yourself.”

Unlike Jules, who would never be able to tell Robin how much he’d loved him. Christ, that was so unfair. Unfair and wrong…

“Fuck you!” Junior shouted back from his hiding place. “It’s my turn to make the demands. You get your asses out here, now, or I’m going to call him and tell him to kill her.”

“No!” Ric shouted.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Jules shouted, full volume, even though Ric hadn’t moved.

“Get away from me!” Ric shouted back, even as he reached out and roughly, impulsively, gave Jules a hard, quick hug.

“I’m not going up there with you,” Jules shouted, and as Ric stepped back, he saw the truth in Jules’s eyes—he didn’t expect Ric to survive this.

“Oh yes, you are,” Ric shouted back.

“You’re crazy!” Jules shouted. “What, you really think she’s alive? She’s dead—she’s as dead as Robin!” His voice broke realistically.

“I have to talk to her,” Ric made himself sob. “Just one more time.”

“What are you doing?” Jules put panic in his own voice. “What, are you going to shoot me?”

It was then, right before Ric dragged himself out onto the main deck, that he realized exactly what it was that had been bothering him—what was wrong with that picture of Robin Chadwick falling overboard and drowning.

“You saw the movie trailer for Riptide, right?” he quietly asked Jules, then shouted, “I wanna talk to Annie! I’ve got to…”

The FBI agent just stared at him, uncomprehendingly, the flat nothingness back in his eyes.

“Robin’s a kick-ass swimmer,” Ric told him, his voice low. “He told me he did his own underwater stunts. A guy like that just doesn’t drown.”

Jules didn’t believe him. There was no change on his face. No flicker of hope. Still…“Thanks,” he said.

“Don’t make me do it!” Ric shouted, then lifted his weapon and fired two shots into the wooden deck.

It was showtime.