The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(87)

“I know. Just like I know if you’d tried, he would have killed you.” Journey shook her head, her hair a strange weight in the water. “No, this was the only way. I know this was the only way.”

“I’m here, Journey.” He spoke quietly, his words blending with the soft sounds of water around them. “Not just right now. For always.”

Journey kicked lightly until she bumped Frank again. “I want to go on a real date. Not a fake one because we’re keeping up appearances. Not a weekend away because we’re in danger and we need to wait it out. A real date with two people who are into each other.”

“Who love each other.”

She smiled, tasting salt. “Who love each other.”

“Saturday.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven on Saturday. Pack a bag.”

“Frank, real dates don’t include needing a bag packed.” Her arms started to slip from the cushion, and she spent several painful seconds trying to readjust. Desperate to ignore the fact that she most certainly wouldn’t be able to hold on to it indefinitely, she focused on their conversation. “Real dates are the traditional dinner and maybe something afterward, then you drive me home and we make out on my front porch while I try to pretend like I’m not sure if I want you to come up. Eventually, I get over my bullshit and drag you to my apartment and we spend the rest of the night banging like it’s going out of style.”

His dry laugh lingered in the air above them. “We’ve already established that nothing about this is traditional or expected. Why would a real date be?”

A valid point. She shivered. Her skin felt clammy. Losing heat. It wasn’t that cold in the water, but it was colder than her body, which was enough to fuck her up over time. “So what happens on this nontraditional, unexpected real date?”

“That, Duchess, you’ll have to wait and see.” He went still. “Do you hear that?”

“Don’t toy with my emotions, Frank.” But then she heard it, too.

A boat’s motor.

Journey twisted and kicked, trying to get her head high enough out of the water to see. A rapidly growing black dot appeared, heading their way. “Friend or foe?” Her gun was long gone. They were both tired and waterlogged, and if the boat was filled with Elliott’s men coming to finish the job, they would just have to drive right over Journey and Frank a few times to make it work.

You are just a little ray of sunshine, aren’t you?

“Frank?”

He lifted a hand to shield his eyes as he trod water. He didn’t seem to have the same difficulty that she did, which meant he probably could have started swimming the second the yacht went down and been halfway back to the coast by now. He hadn’t. He’d floated next to her and talked her down even though there was no way he was any surer of rescue than she was. His expression cleared. “They’re mine.”

“Thank fuck.” She couldn’t make herself let go of the cushion as the boat approached and coasted to a spot next to them. She recognized Ethan and José among the half dozen men leaning over the side to help them.

Frank jerked his chin at her. “Journey first.”

She went under as she let go of the cushion, but strong hands grabbed her shoulders and hauled her up. Her legs went out the second she hit the deck, and she slumped into a boneless heap in the middle of the boat. One of the men—a rough-looking guy with a sunny smile—wrapped a solar blanket around her while two more helped Frank into the boat. He knelt next to her and cupped her cheek. “You good?”

“Yeah.” She would be.

He apparently didn’t have the same weak legs thing going on that she did, because Frank stood and addressed the man at the wheel. “Dylan, get the Coast Guard on the line. We have to get ahead of this.” He turned back and crouched in front of Journey. “We play this my way, Duchess. Your father kidnapped me and I shot him in self-defense.”

She shivered and pulled her blanket more firmly around her. “That’s not what happened.”

“I know that. You know that. But I’m not letting you take the rap for this if things go badly.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why they didn’t just turn around and drive away and leave Elliott to his watery grave. She knew the answer. There would be questions. A Bancroft son, even a shitty one like her father, didn’t just disappear without Esther whipping the entire city into a frenzy in her efforts to find him. With her reach, she might even be able to manage to get both the state and feds involved. Eventually, they’d find the yacht, and they’d find what was left of Elliott.

Maybe they’d realize Journey and Frank were involved. Maybe they wouldn’t.

But it wasn’t a risk either of them was willing to take.

That made sense. Letting Frank potentially take the fall didn’t. She knew what would happen if he confessed to shooting her father. Esther would jump at the chance to bury him. The self-defense plea would be overturned and he’d be prosecuted for murder. He’d be convicted.

Just like his father was.

She wouldn’t allow it. This was her mess, and she’d dragged him into it from the start. Journey wouldn’t let him suffer the consequences that were hers to bear. She reached up and grabbed his hand, forcing as much strength into her grip as she could. “The gun was mine and if they recover the body and do a ballistics test, they’ll figure that out. We play this straight, Frank. Promise me.”