Heiress Under Fire Page 3

  She sprayed his eyes, pumping the nozzle as fast as she could. With a shout, he wiped his eyes.

  Farren ran for the door, snatching the toenail clippers from the dresser on her way. Just as she made it out of the cabin, the man grasped some of her hair and yanked. She lost her balance and they both fell to the floor of the salon with grunts. She’d purposefully left the clippers open, and now the pointed file was between her fisted fingers. He rolled on top of her, straddling her hips, taking a handful of her silk top and ripping it down the front.

  She hit him in the face with her artificial claw.

  “Ahh!” he yelled. Blood sprouted from the puncture she’d made.

  Encouraged, she started pummeling him again and again. He blocked her swings and grabbed her hand, squeezing until she yelped again and let go of the clippers. They fell to the floor beside her.

  He went still and looked toward the doorway of the salon.

  Farren wiggled beneath him. Was that a motorboat she heard? Had the crew come to rescue her? The man looked down at her with another angry scowl and arched his arm for another backhand.

  “No!” She used her forearm to block him.

  Instead of fighting her, he rose to his feet, grabbing her by the hair again and taking her with him. She fought, yelling in pain, kicking his shins as he forced her out of the salon and onto the deck. He yanked hard on his tether. She kicked again, then turned her head and tried to bite him. Near the stern, he hauled her up against him and put the knife to her throat. Only then did she realize he’d taken it from his holster.

  She stopped breathing. Sick dread flooded her. Would he slice her throat before she made the wire transfer? She spotted another man crouched on the swim deck, poised and still, aiming a pistol. “Drop the knife,” he said. He sounded uncompromising.

  “I will kill her,” her captor said.

  “You’ll be dead before that. Drop it.”

  The knife pressed harder against Farren’s skin. With a pathetic whimper, she struggled to force her attacker’s hand away from her throat.

  The man on the swim deck slowly straightened, thick, dark hair waving in a slight breeze. He was a towering man with big shoulders and unwavering light-colored eyes. He climbed the stairs one step at a time, stopping on the main deck, his aim never faltering. He didn’t seem ruffled at all. There was a chilling certainty about him.

  Appearing to have sensed the same thing, her attacker hissed something in what she guessed was Arabic and gave her a shove. She stumbled right into the big man. Her heart raced with adrenaline as he caught her seconds before he fired his gun.

  Her attacker grunted, blood sprouting on his shirt at his shoulder, as he ran down a second set of stairs leading to the swim deck. The big man steadied her as she tried to regain her footing. His body felt rock-hard and immovable against hers. Her attacker jumped into the motorboat the man holding her had used to get here and sped away from the yacht.

  The man let go as he moved to the rail, methodical and unrelenting. He fired twice. Her attacker’s body jerked and fell against the boat wheel before going limp and slumping out of sight. The boat kept speeding away.

  Farren lifted a shaking hand and touched the base of her throat where her pulse thudded wildly. She heard her rapid breathing and felt light-headed with residual fear.

  The man standing at the stern rail lifted his shirt and tucked the gun into a holster strapped to his bare skin, letting the shirt fall back into place. Turning, he faced her. He wore jeans with a white cotton, short-sleeved, button-up shirt that showed off his tanned and muscular arms.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She lowered her hand. Her entire body trembled, but otherwise she was fine. She gave him a shaky nod.

  “If you hadn’t come when you did…” She shuddered with the thought. “That man was so strong and I didn’t know what he was going to do. But then I heard you approach and, oh, my God, you have no idea how scared I was. I thought you were the crew coming back. They went ashore before our scheduled departure and I stayed on the yacht and…I wish I would have gone to shore with them. Then none of this would have happened and—”

  The big man passed her and climbed the stairs next to the salon entrance.

  Was he ignoring her? He headed for the stairs leading to the upper deck. She lost sight of him until he reappeared on the flybridge. She watched him work the controls in an attempt to start the yacht. No engine sounded. He tried the radio next. It must not have worked because he slammed his palms on the instrument panel before turning away and leaving the flybridge. He disappeared until she saw him step onto the main deck and stop at the edge of the aft deck.

  In the distance the speedboat still moved away, beginning to turn to the right without anyone guiding the wheel. Farren wondered how long it would take for it to run out of fuel and begin to just drift.

  The man headed toward the bow. She started to follow on unsteady feet, then stopped. She didn’t know him or his purpose. Why was he here? He’d saved her, but not knowing anything about him made her nervous.

  As waves lapped gently against the yacht, the sound calming, she held the rail while her pulse finally began to slow and she was able to breathe normally. Moments later, the man reappeared, coming back toward her. Dark chocolate hair accentuated pale blue eyes. The white shirt conformed to his impressive chest.

  “Is there a dinghy aboard this yacht?” he asked, stopping before her.

  “The crew took it. I told you they went to shore. We were moored near the docks and they said they were going to get supplies. There was an inflatable dinghy, but the captain took that one to take care of something in town. But I’m sure he’s noticed his yacht is missing by now. Someone will come looking for us. They probably already are. I mean, it’s been—”

  “Are there any others?” He cut her off.

  She frowned at his rudeness. “Any other what?”

  “Dinghies.”

  “Oh. I don’t think so.” She put her hand on her churning stomach. She felt worn out from fighting the man who’d commandeered her yacht.

  The man’s gaze traveled from her stomach up to her chest. She looked down at her lacy bra and exposed cleavage and pulled the ruined shirt together.

  “Did he hurt you?” he asked in a less demanding tone.

  “No.”

  “Looks like he did.” He reached over and fingered her hair.

  The drying blood in her hair reminded her that the man who’d taken over her yacht had bashed her head.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Elam Rhule.”

  “Were you chasing that man?”

  “I better take a look at your head,” he said instead of answering.

  She followed him into the salon. “It seemed like you were chasing him.” And she wanted to know why.

  Still, he didn’t answer.

  “Are you some kind of cop?” she asked anyway. “What are you doing in Turkey? You talk as if you’re from the United States. Where are you from?” He didn’t say anything, but she realized she hadn’t really given him a chance.

  He led her to the bathroom and started opening cabinets.

  “Who was he? A drug dealer?” This time she paused to give him time to answer. He didn’t. “He had creepy eyes. As if there was no life in them. He scared me like you would not believe. Look at me.” She held up her trembling hand. “I’m still shaking.”

  Turning on the water, Elam looked at her while he kept a finger under the stream. “Do you always talk this much?”

  “Do you always ignore people when they ask you questions?”

  Dampening a piece of gauze, he moved close to her and began washing the injured area of her head. She looked at his face. She’d never seen one so rugged before. The man oozed masculinity. A blocky jaw contrasted with sensual lips, but not in a way that detracted from his manliness. Rather, the mix between soft and hard enhanced the effect. And those eyes. Fringed by thick lashes, they were the color of pool wa
ter.

  “Have you ever seen the original Sniper movie?” she asked.

  His gaze rolled down to look at her.

  “You remind me of Tom Berenger in that movie,” she said when he didn’t answer. “Except your jaw is wider and your hair is longer. Darker, too.” Sexier. “And your eyes are really blue.”

  He stopped washing her cut and observed her with those magnificent eyes.

  “You’re probably taller, too,” she went on despite her fluttering nerves. “Bigger.” Okay, so maybe he wasn’t all that much like Tom Berenger. It was just the way his eyes glowed that made her think of the comparison.

  “Hollywood always makes actors seem so much bigger than they really are,” she said. “So many of them act like big tough guys, when really they’re nothing but short little wimps.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I don’t like that.”

  When he turned and opened the medicine cabinet, she tried not to notice his butt. It was too hard not to in those jeans.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me who that man was?” she asked.

  He faced her again. “Take these.”

  She looked down at his hand and saw three aspirin. Plucking them from his palm, she looked up at his ruggedly handsome face and waited for an answer. When none came, she left the bathroom and headed for the galley. Opening the refrigerator, she took out a bottle of water.

  “What’s your name?” he asked as she swallowed the last pill.

  “Farren Gage,” she answered. “Why were you chasing that man?” This time she wasn’t going to let him not answer.

  He contemplated her, taking his time as he considered whether to oblige. She doubted anyone could force him to do anything.

  “I came here to kill him,” he finally said.

  “You came to Bodrum to kill a man?”

  Nothing changed on his face. He didn’t say anything, either. He had a scary way about him, and yet…she wasn’t afraid of him.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He just kept looking at her.

  “How did you know he came aboard this yacht?” she pressed.

  “I saw him boat to where you were moored and climb onto it. ”

  “You followed him? Is that why he commandeered this yacht? Because you were chasing him?” She wanted to find out how much he knew about the man.

  “He didn’t know I was following him.”

  Because he’d come to kill the man. “Why were you?”

  “Why did he choose this yacht?” he asked.

  Whoa. This guy didn’t miss a thing. But she didn’t think he knew the man had come to kidnap her. “I don’t know,” she lied. She knew nothing about him and wasn’t sure how much she should say about the threatening phone call.

  His gaze floated over her face, her mouth and her eyes, where they stayed. She felt interrogated without words. Did he know she wasn’t being truthful? It seemed that way. But he didn’t force the issue. After meeting her eyes a few seconds longer, he turned and left the galley.

  Elam rooted through the refrigerator for something to eat. The sun had set and he was starving but he hated cooking. Everything in this fridge would take too much effort to prepare. Figures, a rich lady all by herself on a yacht wouldn’t have any pot pies or pizza. From the salon, an Avril Lavigne song started to play. This was the third time Farren had played the same CD. It was starting to grate on him. At least she wasn’t talking his ear off. The woman was tireless.

  A light came on behind him. He straightened and turned.

  Long blond hair still damp from a shower hung to Farren’s fantastic breasts. Her amber eyes were soft and magnetizing. She’d put on white cotton shorts and a black-and-white sleeveless top. No shoes. She looked delicate standing there. Soft. Feminine. Not a drop of military blood in her.

  He’d sworn off women like her the day his wife walked out on him. So why did he like looking at her so much?

  “No luck with the engine?” she asked, moving to the counter where he’d put a bag of chips and anything else that wouldn’t require a fuss.

  “We’re out of fuel.”

  “The radios are smashed, too,” she said, popping a chip into her mouth.

  “I saw that.” Ameen Al-Jabbar had not only disabled the radios in the flybridge and the pilothouse, he’d pitched the radar deflector and Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon overboard. Another peculiarity. Why had he chosen this yacht and destroyed all the communication capability? Had he feared Farren would try to attract authorities before he got away in one piece?

  Elam had had him in his crosshairs before a woman and child had blocked his aim. That’s when he left his position in a hotel balcony window and followed him, leaving his sniper rifle behind and taking his pistol. At the marina, his target had gotten away in the crowd. A few minutes later, he’d spotted him motoring away in a small boat. He found a speedboat and followed.

  Ameen hadn’t been in a hurry. He hadn’t looked behind him. He hadn’t seen Elam in the speedboat. That meant he had deliberately climbed aboard Haven. Had he known Farren would be there? He hadn’t seen Elam following him. There was no reason for him to run. She said she didn’t know why the man had hijacked her yacht, but the flicker in her eyes when she’d denied it made him wonder. Why would she lie about that? She was a blond, flowery thing who’d probably never held a gun in her entire life. It didn’t make sense that she’d be tangled up with the likes of Ameen. The contrast between the two was so extreme it almost made him laugh.

  Farren touched the can of tuna sitting next to a can of creamed corn. “What were you planning to make with this?”

  “Dinner.”

  “Tuna and creamed corn?” She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe you should let me do the cooking.”

  “You cook?”

  She sent him an unappreciative look.

  “Sorry. You don’t strike me as the Betty Crocker type.”

  “You should really try to open your mind a little.”

  He grinned at the sass coming from such sexy lips. Leaning a hip against the counter, he watched her put a frying pan on the stove and start mixing flour and seasoning in a bowl.

  “Did you see that movie Six Days Seven Nights?” she asked while she worked.

  “Is it a chick flick?”

  “A pilot and a magazine editor get stranded on this island. The pilot perceives the editor all wrong, like she’s too soft and pampered to handle the wilds. Sure, if you’re accustomed to a fancy office and chauffeured car rides, crash-landing on an island would take a little adjustment. But that doesn’t mean a person is helpless. It might take a while to work up the nerve to pick snakes off you, but if you had to do it to survive you could if you were a strong person. That’s the thing. A person’s strength isn’t always obvious right away…”

  Without pausing in her chatter, she went to the refrigerator and retrieved more ingredients. When she came back and started slicing portobello mushrooms, Elam watched her lips move as she talked. And talked. And talked. He doubted he’d ever met a woman who talked as much as this one.

  “Did you see that movie?”

  He lifted his eyes. “What movie?”

  “The Horse Whisperer. Haven’t you been listening?”

  “No.”

  She fell silent and stared at him.

  “No, I didn’t see that movie.”

  “Don’t you ever watch movies?”

  “I normally don’t have time.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I work a lot.”

  She put the mushrooms in the frying pan along with some olive oil. “Killing people?” She glanced at him.

  “Only the ones who deserve it,” he said.

  She stopped in the middle of picking up an onion. “What are you? Some kind of bounty hunter?”

  “No.”

  “What then? An assassin?”

  “I was a sniper in the army.”

  “You were a sniper?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you still?”
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  He didn’t want to answer that. It would only lead to questions he couldn’t answer. He watched her interpret his silence, and wariness mixed with curiosity in her eyes. Yes, he was still a sniper. He killed terrorists for a living and he didn’t mind it at all.

  “Are you still in the Army?” she asked.

  She wanted him to assure her he at least operated within the law.

  “No,” he said. No one who worked for TES operated within the law. They’d never get anything accomplished if they did.

  “Who do you work for now?”

  There it was, the question he couldn’t answer. TES operated under the guise of an infrastructure security consulting company, but how could he explain why he’d come to Bodrum to kill a man? “I’m a consultant.”

  “A consultant.”

  He smiled at the derision in her tone. She might be a blond beauty with a great rack, but she wasn’t stupid. He took the onion from her. “I’ll cut this for you.”

  “Who was that man you killed?” she asked.

  “A bad guy.”

  “Why won’t you tell me who he is?”

  “Why won’t you tell me why he boarded this yacht?” he countered.

  Her beautiful amber eyes searched his. Did she know how transparent she was? She didn’t trust him, but he sensed her hesitance didn’t stem from anything depraved. She wore the body language of a victim. Why had someone like Ameen come after her? And had Elam solved her trouble by killing him or not?

  Chapter 3

  After dinner, Farren started Avril Lavigne’s newest CD again. The cheerful and upbeat rhythm relaxed her. She was afloat with a man who killed people as a form of employment, one who didn’t believe her when she said she knew nothing about why her attacker had singled her out. She couldn’t explain why she didn’t trust him. Maybe it was his deadly profession. What she knew of it. He obviously wasn’t talking much about it, and his secretiveness made her uneasy.

  She was afraid of what would happen to her after her attacker was discovered dead. Would the man who threatened her send someone else? Maybe she’d have enough time to go to Marmaris. She hoped so.