Читать книгу Love, Lattes and Danger - Sandra Cox - Страница 8

Water drips off my fingers and runs down my legs, forming puddles on the warm wooden deck beneath my feet. Four tough-looking men face me. Survival kicks in.

I take a quick step back onto a canvas shoe and feel a sharp prick between my shoulder blades. “Get off my foot and don’t try anything funny or I’ll slice you.”

This isn’t good.

I can’t see the man behind me but the four in front of me look dangerous. They appear to be in their mid-twenties and sport a variety of scars and tattoos. One with short thick hair and a mustache swaggers up to me. “Is this him?”

Him who? What the hell is going on? “I don’t know who you’re after but you have the wrong man. I just came on board to tell you your motor’s leaking oil, lots of it.”

The taller one, who has a skull and crossbones tattooed on his arm, gives a command. I’m spun around and one of them touches my birthmark.

“That’s him.” In spite of the warm sun, a chill courses through me.

I jerk my arm back and whirl around. “What’s this about?”

The man with the knife pokes me. This time I feel a trickle of warm liquid run between my shoulder blades. I step to the side and hear the click of four triggers. Ignoring them, I turn to the man holding the knife. He’s my height and has a good twenty pounds on me. His skin is tanned but lighter than his associates. His hair is brown, slicked back from his face.

I hold his gaze, my hands flexing at my sides. He’s got the knife but takes a step back.

“What do we do with him, shoot him?” the man with short, thick hair asks.

The leader considers then shakes his head. “I don’t want the noise. If we screw this up, the boss ain’t going to like it.”

The ringleader looks at the water. “Is your sister around?”

“My sister? What do you want with my sister?”

He makes a remark that has the rest of them laughing uproariously. Guns or no guns, I’m going to smash his face.

He prods me with his gun. “Is she with you?”

“No.” Thank God. What would have happened if she had been?

He steps closer. “So you like to swim, do you?”

His friends step closer too. I balance on the balls of my feet trying to keep them all in sight. “We can help you with that. Georgie.”

The man with the knife rushes me. I leap to my right. Instead of gutting me, the knife slides down my arm, bicep to elbow. Blood flows. Two of the other men grab for me. I elude them, jump overboard, and hit the water with a splash.

Blood is streaming. God, I hope there’re no sharks nearby.

“Want us to go after him, boss?” one of the men yells.

“No need. With all that blood in these waters, he’s not going to survive.”

“Goodbye, fish boy,” the leader calls. They rev the boat and take off. I swim fast and hard. How long can I go before I begin to feel light-headed?

Two miles. I have three to go and my speed is slowing. I’m leaving a blood trail but there’s nothing I can do about it. I push harder. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a finned shadow. I flip over on my back, watching the shark approach. Preparing as best I can, I fist my hands. It streaks toward me.

Just before it hits, a bullet of gray comes at it, two others in its wake. Dolphins! The shark may have no hesitation about taking on a dolphin but it’s not prepared for three. It swims away to easier prey.

“Thank you,” I chatter, blowing bubbles out of my mouth.

One floats closer and nudges me. I grab hold of a fin. Another comes below me and moves upward till I’m lying on her back.

The lead dolphin gives pulsed squeaks before rising to the surface and turning in a circle.

He’s asking what direction. I stretch my arm out in front of me. “Straight ahead.” I’m beginning to see lights behind my eyes. My hand keeps slipping off the fin. The other two position themselves beneath me, a dolphin safety net.

The water, so comfortable before, is cold. My vision blurs. I no longer know how many dolphins surround me as we continue through the water. I’m shivering uncontrollably. How long can I hold on? How far is the rig? The water grows darker, murkier. I’m having trouble breathing. I need to surface.

Just as the world begins to tilt, the dolphin carrying me flips me through the water. A cloud of bubbles erupts from my mouth as I land in the rig’s water-elevator. I just manage to hit the button before I collapse, forgetting not to breathe. Salt water pours into my lungs, choking me. I’m drowning.

Suddenly air, not water, is pouring into my abused, waterlogged lungs. From a long way off, I hear men shouting. My head is turned to the side and someone pounds on my back. I spew water, again and again.

Everything goes black.

* * * *

A crack sounds seconds before the pain hits my cheek. “Come on, freak, wake up. You’re too heavy for me to carry.” Craven is propping me up, dragging me to the helicopter. I stumble along beside him. “God, you may be skinny, but you weigh a ton. Must be those damn fish parts you’re made from. Now get in.”

He shoves just as I manage to pull myself in and my head hits against the steel side of the chopper. I sink face down into the back seat.

“Let’s go,” he yells to the pilot.

“The back door’s not secure,” the pilot responds.

“Of course it is, now let’s go.”

“Sir, I really don’t think—”

“You’re not paid to think, asshole. Let’s go.”

“What about his arm? It needs bandaging. I’m afraid he’s going to bleed out before we get back to four.”

“That’s my responsibility. Now fly this damn thing or I’ll find someone who will.”

The chopper lifts. I drift under the pain, my mind hazy. The wind picks up and we hit an air current. Clang. Air is flowing through the chopper, pulling at me.

“I told you the door didn’t catch,” the pilot yells.

I’m slipping. My good arm is pressed between my body and the seat and my bad arm is next too useless. The air current has pulled my feet and legs outside of the chopper.

“Help him,” the pilot screams.

Guiding the chopper with one hand, he twists around, grabs my bad arm, and holds on. “Help me or by God, I will see you up on murder charges.”

“What, because the door didn’t catch?” Craven takes his time about reaching back and hauling me in. He finally shuts the chopper door.

I lie gasping for air like the fish he accuses me of being, my body going from hot to cold as I shake uncontrollably. The bastard would have let me die.

“I’m going to report this,” the pilot says.

Craven laughs, an unpleasant sound that has the back of my neck prickling. “Oh yeah, and what are you going to say? That I tried to kill the freak? Do you think anyone will believe that? What they will believe is that the door didn’t close properly, possibly because you didn’t give it a thorough inspection before takeoff.”

“The kid will back up my story.”

“The freak has lost so much blood, he has no idea what happened. He’s floating around somewhere in la-la land. All you’ll do is make yourself into a laughingstock.”

“Why are you doing this? Why do you call him a freak?”

“Because that’s what he is. A damn freak.” The venom in his voice lies thick and heavy in the air. If I wasn’t already shivering, I’d be shaking. Even in the labs, I’ve never felt this helpless.

I think I hear the pilot mutter, “Just looks like a kid to me.” Then there’s nothing but silence. My body is light. The pain is abating.

When awareness returns, the two men are pulling me out of the chopper. Leif comes running toward us. “What the hell happened?”

Craven answers. “I have no idea. He showed back up at the rig with a knife wound.”

Leif muscles both men out of the way, throws me over his shoulder, and hurries into the rig. He calls over his shoulder to the pilot, “Thanks, John. I appreciate all you’ve done. We’ll take it from here.”

The pilot replies, “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stick around.”

Craven speaks up quickly. “That isn’t necessary.”

“Oh, I think it is.”

Leif moves quickly down the steps. “Craven, get the doctor.”

“But…”

“Now.”

We’ve reached the lower level. Leif places me on the bunk. He grabs a towel and wraps it around my arm. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know how he got his arm slashed, but the chopper door wasn’t secured. It came open and an air draft nearly pulled the kid out. Craven made no effort to save him, until I yelled for him to help.”

Leif swears fluently. Even in my weakened state, his extensive vocabulary is impressive.

“Why is he kept down here?”

“He likes his privacy.” Leif’s voice is dry.

Good one. Ha ha. I’d laugh but I don’t have the energy. Can barely open my eyes. When I do, I’m looking down at them, not up. I’m floating from the ceiling. This isn’t good.

“Go make sure Craven went after the doctor. If what you said is true, he’ll take his own sweet time. And I don’t think we have time to spare.”

The pilot hesitates.

“Hurry,” Leif barks.

The pilot gives him a half salute and trots out of the tiny room.

Leif steps up to the cot and presses my good hand. “Don’t you dare check out on me, kid. You hear me? That’s an order.”

He strides through my door and pounds on Amy’s. “I need you, Amy.”

Amy rushes in. “Oh my God. Is he dead?” She runs to me and takes my hand, but I can’t feel it. I’m cold, so cold. “What happened? Can’t you get the bleeding stopped?” She wraps another towel around my arm. Warm salty liquid is falling on my face.

You’re going to drown me, Ames. That’s what I want to say, but nothing comes out.

An invisible thread connects my spirit to the still form on the bed as I watch and listen, from several feet above, to what is going on in the room.

“The doctor’s on his way. Listen, Amy, he’s going to need a transfusion. Is your blood compatible?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re the best bet he’s got.”

“What if it kills him?” The tears are coming faster and harder.

“He’ll die without it. I’ve seen men bleed out before.”

The door crashes open and the doctor rushes in, Craven and the pilot on his heels. “What the hell happened?”

“Don’t know. Can you save him?”

The doctor rips off the bloody towels. “Looks like a knife wound,” he mutters. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“You’re stating the obvious, doc.”

“Where would he have gotten a knife wound?” Craven asks. “You must be mistaken. He probably caught his shoulder on the sharp edge of a boat or maybe the propeller.”

The doctor snorts then snaps a command to Leif, “Wash your hands and get the sutures out of my bag.” For a big man, Leif moves quickly.

There’s a distant sting and pinch in my arm when the doctor begins suturing.

“He’s going to need a transfusion.”

“I’m his sister. I’ll donate blood.” Amy stands with her hands pressed against her cheek, her olive complexion blanched to yellow.

“Are you the same blood type, young lady?” The doctor continues his work. The bleeding lessens as he pulls the skin together.

“Are you?” The doctor repeats his question.

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s get him up to sick bay.”

What will Leif do? He can’t exactly keep me hidden in sick bay.

He doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll take him.” Once again, he hoists me over his shoulder like a sack of floor. As he passes Craven, he says, “You’re fired. Get your things and get off the boat.”

“You can’t do that. Half the men on this rig are loyal to me.”

“Feel free to take them with you.” He shoves by Craven and Craven thumps against the wall.

“This is your fault, freak.”

“You jerk. If you are responsible and my brother dies, I will find you and you will regret it.” Amy’s voice is low and flat.

Surprise ripples in colorful waves around me. I’m stunned. Amy doesn’t have a violent bone in her body.

“I’m worried,” Craven sneers.

“You should be,” she snarls.

“Come on, little wild cat.” Leif’s voice is indulgent. He loves brash and brave. He has no patience for cowards.

I float above my body as we hurry down the hall, up the stairs and down another hall.

“Get back to work,” Leif snaps at gawkers. He pushes through the door into sick bay, heads for the back, and dumps me on a bed.

“Lie down on the other bed,” the doctor directs Amy. He washes her arm and gets an IV ready.

There are two other patients. Leif pulls the curtains shut around us. I’m so tired. Even from the ceiling, I’m having problems keeping my eyes open. I feel the prick of the needle. This is it. Will Amy’s blood kill me or cure me?

I’m exhausted. I just want peace. I no longer try to fight off unconsciousness, but welcome it. Something thick and potent enters my veins. My last thought is of a child’s prayer my mother taught me before she passed. If I should die before I wake, I pray the lord, my soul to take…