Читать книгу Love, Lattes and Danger - Sandra Cox - Страница 6

The hair on the back of my neck rises. If I were a dog, I’d bare my teeth. The bastard is talking about my child. Instead, I force out a nonchalant, “Glad to hear it,” and amble out the door, Craven at my heels. He points to the backseat of the chopper and climbs in front. With a whip, whip, the helicopter lifts off.

My mind racing, I lean back against the seat and pretend to sleep. I have to figure a way to get the baby out of the lab and Amy out of the clutches of the oil company. We’re going to have to make a break for it.

The problem is the damn trackers. It’s not going to do a lot of good if they can shadow our every move. Do I run the risk of immobility and try to find a surgeon to take it out? I don’t even know if it’s possible. And if I could, wouldn’t that information get back to Ziccon? Is there some way of blocking it?

Several hours later, when the chopper touches down on the offshore rig, I still haven’t come up with a solution.

I step off the helo onto a dimly lit deck. The night breeze smells of salt and fish. It’s late enough that there are very few people around. Craven hustles me down to the bowels of the ship where there are two identical, small, stuffy rooms, not much larger than closets. He throws open one door, says, “Stay put,” and slams the door shut behind me. His footsteps echo in the quiet as he marches away.

My stomach rumbles. There’s been no mention of anything to eat. No surprise. I didn’t expect food.

I flop down on the bunk, my head nearly touching the wall. “Hey, Ames.” I keep my voice low.

“Joel! Where have you been?”

My sister and I were purchased to check for oil leaks eight months ago. We’ve been on board ever since, though we’re forbidden to spend time together, unless we’re working. We have adjacent rooms, or cells to be more precise. In that time, we’ve knocked a tiny hole in the wall beneath the cots that allows us to talk back and forth.

“Craven took me back to the lab for my six-month check.”

“Any new dolphs there?” Her voice has a muffled, hollow sound to it.

“Yeah. We need to talk, Ames.”

“That’s what we’re doing.”

“Very funny. I mean face to face.”

“Well, we could try it. Craven doesn’t lock the doors.”

“Yeah, arrogant S.O.B. He probably figures he’d pick up any movement we made on the tracker. But he’s got to sleep sometime. Give it a couple of hours and I’ll meet you in front of your door.”

“Okay.”

Silence follows. Is she sleeping? I can’t. I prowl the narrow confines of my cabin for two hours, forming a plan. When my watch shows two, I go to the door and give it a cautious twist. Nothing happens. I shake it. It holds. The bastard’s locked it. I wonder if Amy’s is locked as well.

Beads of cold sweat pop out my pores. It would be so easy to leave us here to die. This section of the ship is almost never used. No one would even know we were here until someone smelled our rotting corpses. Get a grip. Ziccon would never let that happen. They’ve invested too much money. Between Amy and me, we’ve saved them millions finding oil leaks and potential leaks.

I take a quick tour of my room, but I have nothing to pick the lock, not so much as a loose paper clip. I punch my palm in frustration.

“Joel?”

I walk to my cot and sit down. “Hey, Ames. You’re awake.”

“I’m locked in.” Even through the wall, her voice sounds forlorn.

The muscles across my shoulders tighten. I force myself to relax. “Me, too. Let’s figure out how to get out of here.”

“Permanently?”

I hear hope in her voice.

“Soon. Right now we need to get to the computer lab.”

“How?”

“Good question.” I lean against the cool wall and look around my tiny cubicle. Besides the cot, there’s a tiny chest of drawers, a commode, a small sink and a shower that I can barely turn around in. Amy’s mirrors mine.

“I don’t suppose you have a paper clip?”

“No.”

“I know you don’t have a credit card.”

She snorts. “Good one.”

“Yeah.” At least she hasn’t lost her sense of humor.

“A pen?”

“No. Wait. Maybe.”

I straighten as hope rises.

“Yes. I do.”

“Does it have a cap?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.” I punch the air. “We’re in business. Take the metal clip off the pen cap.”

“Okay.”

“Put the metal holder into the lock and push.”

Silence follows. Then she says, “Nothing happened.”

“Did you turn the lock clockwise?”

“You didn’t mention that.”

A chuckle rumbles in my throat. “You’re right. I didn’t. Try it again.”

A few moments later, my door opens.

I jump up. “Good girl.”

She hands me the metal holder.

I slip it into a corner of my top drawer. “Never know when we’ll need that again. Let’s go to the computer lab.” We walk quietly down the dimly lit hall, our shadows thrown in front of us along the wall.

“What’s up?”

I put my finger over my mouth. Even though it’s the wee hours, you never know when someone might be roaming the ship. Amy and I are a well-kept secret. We’ve been spotted occasionally, but what we’re doing on board has never been explained to the crew, at least, to my knowledge.

When we finally reach the computer room, I crack the door a hair and peek inside. Crap. Someone’s using one of the computers. I stealthily shut the door and motion Amy back into the shadows. By now, it’s three. I’ll give it one more hour and if they don’t leave, we’ll have to pack it in for the night.

Time crawls, fifteen minutes, half an hour, finally at three forty-five the door opens and a young crew member steps out yawning, a cup of coffee in hand.

God I’d kill for coffee, or better yet, a latte. I remember the coffee pot in the computer lab and mentally rub my hands. Thank goodness for human addictions.

We slip inside. The first thing I do is make my way to the coffee pot. It’s been shut off but it’s still warm. I pour two cups, load them with creamer and sugar, and hand one to Amy, who’s already booting up one of the five computers in the room.

She absently pushes back blue-black hair that falls across her face then reaches for the cup. I don’t know where she got her lovely olive-colored complexion. We share the same mother but have different fathers. I was four when my mom and I were taken to the labs. Amy was born there.

“Thanks. So what are we looking for?” She takes a swallow and gives a contented sigh.

I settle into the next desk and lean toward her. “Something that can interfere with a tracking device.”

Her breath catches. “You mean it?”

“Oh yeah.” My voice comes out grimmer than I intend.

“Why now?”

There’s so much to tell her. I glance at my watch. “I’ll tell you, I promise, but we’re running short of time.”

“Does this have anything to do with Piper?”

I give a choked laugh. That would be a yes. “You’re such a female, insatiably curious,” I tease.

“You’re such a male, trying to make everything into one big mystery.”

We grin at each other before I say, “Let’s get to it.”

We both start searching. Though I manage to keep it light, tension crawls like a fast moving spider along my spine. There’s so much at stake, both my child and my sister.

I try one false lead after another. There are a lot of wackos online. I glance at my watch. It’s nearly four-fifteen. My stomach spurts acid, either from the coffee or nerves.

“Joel.”

Something in the quality of her voice has me whirling in my chair. “What?”

“Jammers. We can build them or buy them.”