Part 6 (1/2)

”Where's the man?” asked Ismail in a deadly quiet voice. ”Your lover?”

Les. But if he wanted to know where Les was, that meant the blood had come from. . .

”Maurice,” she croaked.

”Telekinetic. Not a strong one, but he had to go first.” Ismail said the words in a matter-of-fact tone, dry and cold. It was something he should not have known about Maurice. No one knew that much, except the family and a few trusted individuals. He leaned sideways, and pointed.

It took Jenny a moment to see. Shadows everywhere. But one shadow was darker than the others, shaped like a body. Maurice. Sprawled on the deck. She couldn't see his face, but she saw his white hair. He was so still.

Jenny closed her eyes, fighting to keep her breathing steady. Her heart was beating too quickly. Pressure, building inside her skull. She was going to burst, die, lose her mind. Her throat swelled with grief, but she sucked down a deep breath and ground her teeth. No tears. Not yet.

”Make this easy on yourself,” Ismail whispered close to her ear. ”You don't want me to think you're capable of anything.”

”I'm capable of killing you,” she breathed, finally able to speak. ”You stupid son of a b.i.t.c.h.”

Ismail leaned back, giving her a cold look. ”You lied about the creature being human. But even if you hadn't, this would still be happening. You're a loose end, Ms. Jameson. But the Consortium finally has a need for you.”

Behind him, something moved in the shadows near Maurice's body. Jenny didn't dare look. Ismail was still talking, but she could hardly hear him past the roar of blood in her ears. All she could do was stare at his face, and s.h.i.+ft her legs, ready to kick, fight, roll-anything. Anything it would take.

She was ready when Les lunged out of the shadows. He was completely naked and dripping with seawater. He held a knife in his hand, and swung it down with perfect accuracy toward Ismail's back. The man must have felt him coming-he glanced over his shoulder at the last moment, and rolled sideways with incredible speed. His fists were a blur. He caught the other man in the gut and face, but Les hardly seemed to notice. He had a longer reach, and was just as fast. He feinted-Ismail backed too close to Jenny-and she kicked up and out with all her strength, catching him in the back of his knee.

Ismail staggered. Les plunged the dagger in his chest, and held on-held on as the smaller man dropped to his knees, screaming in pain. There was an expression on Les's face that Jenny had never seen before-wild and determined, and utterly ruthless.

He twisted the knife as Ismail reached up to grab it. Twisted, and pushed, until the man lay on the deck of the yacht, and died.

Jenny shuddered, afraid to breathe. Les stared at the dead man for one long moment, then looked at her.

”You okay?” he asked hoa.r.s.ely, and all she could do was nod.

Les hesitated, then looked down at his hands and wiped them slowly on his damp thighs-leaving streaks of blood against his skin. Jenny expected him to untie her, but instead he walked across the deck toward Maurice. He stared at the old man, too-a long time. And then bent down and scooped him into his arms.

Jenny stared, unsure what she was seeing. Maurice had to weigh at least two hundred pounds, but Les acted like it was nothing. Instead of carrying him toward Jenny, he started walking to the edge of the yacht.

”Les,” she croaked. ”Les, what are you doing?”

He ignored her, and in his arms, Maurice stirred. She was certain of it, despite the darkness on deck. His eyelids fluttered, and his mouth opened, just a little. She heard a groan.

”Les,” she shouted, more urgently. ”Les, stop. Look at me.”

Les kept walking. Faster now. Maurice began to open his eyes.

”He's still alive!” she screamed. ”Les-”

He tossed the old man overboard.

Jenny barely heard the splash, choking on her own voice-too horrified to do more than stare at Les's back, watching that scene replay in her head again and again.

Les stared over the edge, then turned around to walk back to her. She tried scooting away from him, but he grabbed her ankles and pulled her close with ruthless efficiency. His mouth was set in a grim line, though his eyes . . . his eyes were no longer cold. Just weary.

”I'm sorry,” Les whispered, and Jenny wanted to kick him in the teeth.

”You're working with them,” she whispered. ”The Consortium.”

”No.” He shook his head, and drew in a long, ragged, breath. ”This is . . . something else. Ismail was . . . a complication I didn't expect.”

Jenny tested her bonds. Her wrists and shoulders ached, and tears finally leaked from her eyes. She couldn't stop them. This hurt too much. ”Why?”

He didn't answer. Just stood, and grabbed Ismail's arms. He dragged the man across the deck, leaving behind a trail of blood, and threw him overboard as well.

”Why?” Jenny screamed at him, though her voice was m.u.f.fled with grief.

Les still said nothing. He walked back to her, and she said brokenly, ”You'll be caught. You know that. It doesn't matter who's protecting you now. When the others find out-”

”I'm not scared of the old women,” Les interrupted, but his voice hitched on the last word, and his hands trembled. ”Not scared of the family, or any . . . any of those maniacs they employ. I'm done with that.”

”Bulls.h.i.+t,” she said.

Les shook his head. ”No one's going to find you, Jenny. They won't even know you're in trouble. And if they do figure it out, it'll still be too late.”

”Les-”

”I'm sorry,” he said again, his voice cracking. ”I'm so sorry. You don't understand. You don't have a f.u.c.king clue. You never did.”

He walked away and left her on the deck in Ismail's blood.

Chapter Four.

Someone was shaking him.

Perrin drifted on the edge of sleep. He needed to dream. Whatever it took. If he had been in possession of pills, he would have popped a handful, just to fall unconscious and open himself to possibilities.

Like seeing her again.

Even now, she was just an impression-a voice, a small warm hand-but those two parts of her were as familiar as his own voice, his own hand, and he could still feel the press of her fingers entwining with his own, as though she was here, sitting beside him now.

I miss you, he thought. Come back.

No d.a.m.n luck. That dream, the first in eight years, had been fleeting and terrifying-and ever since waking from it two days ago, screaming, he had been unable to go back to that place-or her. Cut off, again. Made him crazy. Made him want to use his fists. Again. He was still picking splinters out of his knuckles from an unfortunate encounter with a palm tree.

He opened his eyes, tapping his sungla.s.ses to make certain they were there. It was still uncomfortably bright.

Eddie stood over him, frowning. Sun high in the sky, blazing through scattered clouds. Gulls swooped overhead, crying out their hearts. The sea glittered like a razor blade and smelled sharp, sweet. He could taste it beneath the stink of Singapore's polluted air. Unsettled him, made his skin chill, and his stomach hurt. He wanted to be sick when he thought too hard about slipping under the water. Of what he would find there.

He stared at Eddie, saw his mouth moving, and realized he hadn't caught a single word. ”What?”

Eddie's frown deepened. ”Everything's been arranged. We're ready.”