Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(39)
“Yep. I feel your pain.” She curled her lip. Her hands and feet hadn’t turned blue yet, but an hour and a half was a long time to have plastic cutting into your skin. What had started out as a fairly painless manacling was growing more and more unpleasant by the minute.
As if Captain Harry were reading her mind, he adjusted himself on the love seat beside her. “Is it just me, or have the cushions of this settee turned themselves into bricks?”
“I wouldn’t know. I can’t feel a piddlee-O thing. My butt is completely numb.”
“Wish I could say the same,” he grumbled. “If I’m not mistaken, my posterior has made a permanent imprint on this cushion.” He frowned at the cushion in question.
“It could be worse. We could be stuck outside with Bruce and Nigel.”
Captain Harry grimaced. “Can you see them? Are they still on the front deck?”
She craned her head to try to get a peek out the bridge’s forward window. But no amount of straining gave her the right angle. And the movement caused the zip tie around her ankles to dig painfully into the top of her bare feet. She settled back into the love seat, blowing out a frustrated, worried breath. “Nope. I can’t see anything lower than the front rails.”
“I’m sure they’re fine,” he said. She knew he was trying to soothe her, but there was no mistaking the concern in his voice.
Much to her dismay, Bruce and Nigel had not heard her screams and had subsequently been yanked from their cabins and trussed up on the front deck where not one sliver of shade protected their pale English skin from the harsh rays of the relentless subtropical sun. Add one more thing to my list of regrets. Then again, if the worst thing the men suffered from this ordeal was a sunburn, she’d count her lucky stars.
For a couple of minutes after Nigel and Bruce were properly tied, the dusky-skinned men had spoken in sharp tones while gesturing wildly toward her and the captain. Maddy got the impression they were trying to determine what was to be done with them, and she wondered why they were being treated differently than Nigel and Bruce.
But it all became clear after she and the captain were marched up to the bridge where they were quickly shackled and assigned permanent spots on the love seat. The man who had punched her in the throat said to Captain Harry in broken English, “If passing vessel call on phone, or…eh…” He shook his head and frowned like he was searching for the word. Then his expression cleared. “Or radio. If someone contact boat, you answer. My accent”—he pointed to his lips—“it bring questions, yes?”
When the captain just blinked at the man, his face took on the mien of a hurricane. Both Maddy and the captain shrank back, trying to dissolve into the love seat. “Answer me!” the man shouted, spittle flying from his lips to cling to his black beard, his obsidian eyes wild.
“Uh, c-certainly,” Captain Harry stammered. “It’s easy enough for someone to use a boat’s name to check marine registries for the vessel’s corresponding captain and crew. And I suppose if that someone heard your accent when they were expecting to hear mine, it would raise a few eyebrows.”
“Yes.” Their captor nodded matter-of-factly, smiling. Or…his face contorted into what Maddy suspected was supposed to be a smile. The corners of his eyes crinkled and his lips pulled back to reveal a string of discolored teeth. Then his smile turned to a sneer. “And no you yell for help. If do, my friend put bullet in woman.”
He clapped a hand on the shoulder of the grubby guy standing beside him. In response, the scrawny A-hole raised his weapon, pointing the barrel directly between Maddy’s eyes. Her lungs caved in on themselves at the same time her mind conjured up a series of satisfying mental images that involved her sticking forks into the necks of every one of her captors.
“Understand me?” the lead A-hole asked, glowering at the captain. Something seemed to move behind his eyes. Something dark and zealous. Something Maddy figured she could go her whole life without ever seeing again.
“I understand you perfectly,” Captain Harry replied.
“Good.” Lead A-hole dipped his bearded chin. “Then you sit. Stay. Like dogs.” He threw his head back, laughing at his own joke, and disappeared through the bridge’s door.
He hadn’t been back since. Not once. Not when Skinny A-hole Number Two put the Black Gold in gear, sailing her to some mysterious spot in the Straits before cutting her engines. Not when the sound of the anchor motors buzzed, alerting Maddy and the captain that they’d reached their destination, which appeared to be exactly…nowhere. Not when a deep-sea fishing boat passed by a mile or so off their starboard side. And not when Skinny A-hole Number Two kicked back and fell flat asleep.
Not that she was complaining about Lead A-hole’s absence, mind you. In fact, more than once she’d praised the Lord for small miracles. Amen! Because she could go the rest of her—
“Zzzzz-hhhgwww-pppwww.”
The resounding snore dragged Maddy’s attention over to their lone…uh…she supposed the odorific man was now acting as their captain and guard. But given that he was sawing logs like a professional lumberjack, she wasn’t exactly sure how much guarding he was actually doing.
She leaned over the love seat’s armrest, craning her head until she could see around the sleeping man to the top of the console in front of him. Right there. The satphone was right there. If she could manage to hop over without waking—