Fool Me Twice (Riley Wolfe 2)

Stretched out as far as I could go, my chains only went about three feet.

I looked around, which I knew was useless. There was nothing in sight that could help me. I cursed Étienne. What kind of shitty sailor puts out to sea with no boat hook at hand? I mean, I know not to speak ill of the dead, and I was pretty sure he was, but seriously. Everybody knows how important boat hooks are. Especially to me, right now.

But there wasn’t one. Maybe Étienne would still be alive if he’d thought to have one handy. Served him right, the cheap-ass bastard.

Okay, deep breath; no boat hook. No nothing except me. Beat-up, half-broken Riley. It would have to be enough. Considering where I’d been over the last day, I was pretty proud of myself for saying it: There’s always a way.

And there was. I dropped down onto the deck, which was harder than it should have been because my right leg wouldn’t bend at all. I eased all the way down onto my stomach, so my wh

ole body weight was hanging from the chain on my hands, yanking my arms half out of their sockets, and right away I learned something important. My left shoulder was in bad shape, too. For a minute the pain was so intense I thought I’d burst into tears. But instead, I stretched out on my stomach and worked my good leg toward Bernadette.

For once, something went right. I could get my leg over just far enough that I could lift it and drop the foot onto the center of her back, right between her shoulders. I raised the leg—and froze. If I dropped it onto Bernadette and it woke her . . .

But if I didn’t do it, I was chained to the wheel and it was all over anyway. I had to do this.

Very slowly and carefully, and even gently, I laid my foot down on Bernadette’s back. She didn’t even twitch. Slowly, carefully, I flexed my foot, hooked it over her, and pulled.

It was slow, and it was hard work. Bernadette was a lot heavier than she looked, and the extra strain on my hurt shoulder was something special. But an inch or two at a time, I pulled her closer, closer—and finally close enough. I got a hand on her, dragged her all the way over, and stuck a hand in the pocket of her pants. There it was—the key. I pulled it out, stood up, and in a few more seconds I was free.

The storm had been getting stronger around us, and the boat was pitching a whole lot more than it should. Especially if I wanted to live a little longer. I did, so I had to get the boat back on course. Aside from stopping the severe motion of the boat, we needed to get safely into the dock that was just about a mile and a half away now. Because if I missed the island, the next stop was Antarctica, and I hadn’t brought my long johns. I grabbed the wheel and swung us back on course.

And now, almost as important—I had to know about Monique.

I’d had no idea what happened to her and no way to find out until now, and this whole time it had been chewing at me. I mean, I cared about her more than I should. I needed her for my work. And goddamn it, we had unfinished personal business, too.

So I hobbled over to the ladder—

And I saw Monique.

She lay there on the deck in an unnatural position, one arm twisted under her and the other flung out to the side. Her body was totally limp and rolled slightly with the motion of the boat, and she looked just about as dead as you can look.

My stomach shrank to a small ball of acid and I lunged for the ladder down—and almost did a swan dive to the lower deck, right onto my head, because of course my bad leg collapsed on me. I caught myself, slid down, and hobbled to Monique. I clumsied myself down to the deck beside her and felt for a pulse; nothing.

I bent over and put my head onto her chest. For an endless moment I couldn’t hear a thing except the rising wind and the waves smashing into us. And then I heard it, faint and slow, but it was there—

Lub-dub.

Lub-dub.

Monique was alive.

I straightened up and examined her. There was a huge swelling on the side of her head that hadn’t been there before. I peeled back her eyelids. The pupil of her right eye was dilated; the left one was not. I tried to remember what that meant—concussion? Or worse?

No way to know—and nothing I could do about it either way, except tuck her into a bunk and get her to a hospital ASAP. No problem—there was a bunk in the cabin, and a hospital only about . . . oh, three thousand miles away?

We do what we can. We do what we have to do. Even when our hearts are pounding and pumping pain out into our brains, and our stomachs are churning knots of broken glass. We do what we can.

I scooped up Monique. She was totally limp, a rag doll with more deadweight than seemed possible. And almost more than I could handle right now. I had to get my bad leg straight out, bend the good one, and drape her over my shoulder. Then I pulled myself up to my feet using the gunwale. It took forever, and I thought I would black out when I finally got up. But I didn’t. Somehow I got up and managed a step toward the door that led below—and was almost beheaded by the cargo hook. It was swinging crazily in the storm wind and it whipped past my ear fast enough to leave a vapor trail.

But it missed me, and I got Monique below without dropping either one of us onto the deck. I pulled back the covers on the bunk. They were pretty far from clean, but there were bigger issues right now. I laid her down and pulled the covers up. She still looked more dead than anything else, and I checked her pulse again. Still going, very faintly.

I straightened up and looked at her lying there on the filthy bunk. That beautiful face battered and slack, all that talent and smartness and ornery independence locked up inside a brain that might be checking out already. Maybe a slow leak in some small blood vessel that would kill her anytime in the next twelve hours. Maybe something in there damaged and straining, stretching, ready to burst and kill her quickly. And maybe she’d wake up and be physically just fine—but it wouldn’t be Monique any more, just a dull stranger with her face.

“Live, goddamn it,” I told her. She’d never been good at taking orders. I really hoped she’d listen this time.

I took another few seconds to tuck her in tight, so the covers would hold her in place when the boat pitched and rolled.

Which it was doing right now, a lot rougher than it had a few minutes ago. I hadn’t paid any attention to the boat or the weather, and it was reminding me just how freaking stupid that was. As I straightened from securing Monique, there was a massive thunderclap, and with one great gust of wind the rain began to slam into the hull. The boat heeled over a little too far for my liking, and I didn’t need to tune in the Weather Channel to know the storm had arrived. And that meant I had get up to the wheel pretty quick.