Flame’s eyes widened in surprise. Nimbus vanished. The image alone was thought provoking—and really
really
disgusting. She should have known Fire would protect her body from herself, even if she were hell bent and determined to go through with this. She scowled wondering what would happen if someone attempted an unwanted kiss. Flame looked warily around and taking a Kleenex from a pocket, she spit into it. The sheet caught fire with acid. Screeching, Flame dropped it overboard.
“Creepy,” she whispered. “Albeit, effective.”
Flame settled back against the hard surface of the raft; she gazed up at the clear blue sky. Few clouds marred the heavens’ perfection. A dark object rolled with the waves to her left and Flame watched a blue whale lift its formidable face for her admiration. And she did admire it. The creature was no doubt added protection, a body guard. The largest sea-faring mammal in the world. At a thought, Flame swallowed hard. Fire had asked his brothers to watch over her. The whale could snap a yacht in half otherwise.
It was hard being protected by the elements. Their wrath was formidable; just ask any who had witnessed a natural disaster. The waves that guided her on her course rose and fell in a gentle motion, with Nimbus at the helm and Ventus fueling the wind. Flame clutched the survival rations close. There were more important issues that needed addressing. Flame had a woman and her three children to save. With only Fumus as protection, she would need to move that much more quickly; darn Fire and his overprotective streak. The only way Flame could do that would be to get Barkley onto dry land. Her mission was to disable the yacht. She would not fail. Her biggest challenge
would be keeping Fire calm while she did her job.
Barkley will be easier to handle.
In the distance, Flame could just begin to make out the outline of a craft. She knew Barkley would settle the yacht beyond the reaches of the coastguard. She was again reminded of the complexity of international waters. She would have to be doubly careful. No doubt, Barkley had hired skilled marksmen with the dangers of pirates. There was most likely a weapon already trained on her.
With the elements propelling her in a steady direction, Flame had cut three quarters off her traveling time. With reluctance, she slipped the gun unobtrusively from her sock to settle the weapon between her ass cheeks. She wiggled then shifted to her knees where she remained. The last leg of her journey wasn’t going to feel pleasant.
Damn this is uncomfortable.
The yacht grew larger until Flame could make out the images of a number of people, all male, standing port side and near the bow of the vessel. A number of them were armed, and for a split second, the raft seemed to stop dead and then moved cautiously forward. The raft lumbered in a rolling fashion amidst the waves, the rise and fall aiding in making her sea sick. Anytime a man shifted a weapon ever so slightly, the raft did a duck and weave behind a large wave.
Flame steadied herself against the side of the raft, praying she wouldn’t blow a hole in her ass if she fell back. The idea stayed with her until she felt the blood drain from her face. By the time she was close enough to see Barkley’s face, Flame didn’t need any acting expertise to look like warm death.
“Oh my God, get me out of this damned ocean.” Flame’s words sounded pathetic to her own ears and she gagged. Salt water splashed her in the face making her gasp in surprise.
“Where the hell did you come from?” Barkley asked. “I haven’t seen any vessel on our radar.”
“I’ll answer anything you want if you will just get me out of here.”
Barkley seemed to think it over. Flame lifted her face to gaze forlornly up at him. The water had dripped from her face to soak her t-shirt outlining her breasts, made that much more rounded and melon-sized while hiding the warrant for Barkley’s arrest in a water proof sealed bag. Ocean water in the raft soaked her pant legs. She knew she was a disheveled mess, but Flame also knew a damsel in distress turned Barkley on. He pictured himself as a great knight, saving the ladies, making them reliant on him until he could reveal his brutal nature. By then it was too late, a woman was trapped and at his mercy, when he had none.
“What’s your name?”
“Flame.”
He laughed. “Sounds like a stripper.” She could see he enjoyed the idea.
How about I strip tease my sock down your throat and the gun up your ass?
“Haul her up. Send her to my sitting room after she’s cleaned up,” Barkley said to a man. He then gazed down at Flame. “Welcome aboard.”
Flame felt her heart hammer with victory. A massively-built man helped her on board; no doubt he was a body guard except she detected no weapon. He looked like a Neanderthal, dark hair and soulless dark eyes. Baseball mitts for hands. His pecks looked like they were trying to escape the confines of his tight blue t-shirt. When he hauled her up into his arms, he pressed her against his rock hard chest, up off her feet for a few moments. Flame hoped he didn’t grip her ass near the gun, either he would suspect something—or be totally grossed out.
“Anything to declare?” His voice was deep, throaty.
If he only knew how close she was to blowing a hole in his toe—just an ass crunch away.
“Well, I do declare you are huge,” Flame said batting her eyes flirtatiously. That made him grin. There was something in his look that made Flame wary. Muscle bound and subspecies he may look, but there was a shrewdness about him that sent up warning flags. Perhaps a step up from Neanderthal…
The
Cro-Magnon
set her onto her feet and roamed his hands over her body, checking for weapons. He touched a few intimate places making her stiffen but nothing more.
“Feel anything you like?” She was sassing him on purpose.
“Maybe.”
When he reached for her survival kit, Flame did put up a fuss. “You can’t have this,” she wailed. Cro-Magnon narrowed his eyes onto her, no doubt prepared to snatch the box away. “There’s food in here and a blanket, it’s all I have.” Flame began weeping.
“Now, now dear, everything is fine,” came a soothing voice. A somewhat smaller man came over and patted her shoulder. He scowled at Cro-Magnon. “This young woman has no doubt been through an ordeal. The survival kit is a security blanket. Now, what is it you said your name was again?”
“Flame.” She was snuffling for effect.
“Flame, I promise you Jag will only look through the box at the contents. You can hold it and keep it.” The small man’s gaze was stern and Flame was surprised when Cro-Magnon—Jag—conceded.
Flame opened the box and let Jag search the contents.
“Where’s the flare?” Jag asked.
“I used it days ago,” Flame said now smiling. She wanted to give the impression she was a little unstable. If found wandering somewhere on the yacht she wasn’t supposed to, she needed for these idiots to think she had no control over her actions. “No one came. The light was pretty, like dancing fire. The box takes care of me. It feeds me and keeps me warm. It’s like opening magic. So you see, it must stay with me.” Her eyes widened for emphasis.
“Uh-huh…”
Both men glanced at one another with expressions that made Flame know her ploy was working.
“I think maybe it’s time to take you below and get you something to eat.” The smaller man began leading her away. “I’m Garrett. You are indeed a lucky young woman to have found yourself on Mr. Barkley’s yacht.”
“I know who Barkley is!” Flame exclaimed.
“Really?” Garrett looked surprised.
“Well, of course. He’s that big puppet dog on Sesame Street. Oh, I just love him.”
Garrett sighed. “Never mind. Let’s just get you into dry clothes.”
Chapter 8
The view from the sitting room where Barkley lounged was beautiful. As far as the eye could see, blue sky met breathtaking blue water. His long legs were crossed at the ankle, in the expensive attire he admired. His polo shirt was white as snow. Flame summed him up. He was handsome, clean cut, tall, well groomed. Wealth practically oozed from his entire being. He was a cocky bastard to be sure. Flame disliked him immensely.
Garrett was a doctor who had made certain she was given a warm shower and plenty to drink. He seemed a little out of place on a boat of cutthroats; he was friendly, even nice, but Flame wondered if he was hired in case the children became ill. Flame kept up a steady stream of babbling—sane one moment, loony as a mad hatter the next. She had insisted on showering with the survival kit. The second she had a private moment the gun was placed at the back of the toilet. When they had entered the room, Garrett had leaned to whisper something in Barkley’s ear that made his eyes widen momentarily before he waved him off.
“You can put the box down; I assure you no one will steal it,” Barkley said, his attitude condescending and smug, no doubt he had been informed she was missing a screw.
Flame perched on one of the leather chairs, the survival kit remained in her lap. The tips of her fingers caressed the box in a loving gesture; the gesture did not go unnoticed. Barkley admired her beauty openly. Flame was wearing a simple yet elegant short blue dress, no doubt it had belonged to his wife—or a mistress.
Barkley uncrossed his ankles, leaned forward and in a quiet tone asked: “Does your box have a name?”
Flame leaned forward too and replied: “That would be insane.”
Barkley sat back. Flame sat back. “How long were you in the raft?”
“I think it was forty days and forty nights,” Flame said in a musing fashion. Her look then brightened. “Oh no wait, that was in the Bible.”
“What happened to the vessel you were on?”
“It was dark,” Flame said, purposely screwing up the features on her face to have him think her mind wandered back in time. “People were screaming.” Her hands flew up to cover ears. Her body pressed forward onto the survival kit, crushing it between her thighs and chest; she squeezed her eyes tight—then they went wide.
“Abandon ship. Abandon ship.”
Barkley shifted from his chair and knelt before her, he removed her hands from her ears. “What’s your last name?”
“Um, Barkley sounds familiar.”
“That’s
my
last name.”
“Oh, what was your last name?”
“Barkley.”
“I know who Barkley is! He’s the big puppet dog on Sesame Street.”
Barkley sighed dramatically. “Call me James.”
“Thank heavens,” Flame said widening her eyes. “If you had said
call me Ishmael
, I would have jumped overboard again. You know,” she whispered. “Moby Dick is out there.” She nodded, trying to look as eerie as possible as she leaned back, once again cradling the survival kit to her chest.
Frowning, Barkley moved to sit in his chair. His finger tapped on the arm rest as he gazed at her. “Flame is an interesting name.”
It was on the tip of Flame’s tongue to tell him he was about to be burnt, instead she just shrugged. “A friend gave it to me as a nickname and it stuck.”
“So what’s your real name?”
Flame gazed at him stupidly. “Flame. I think you’ve had too much sun.” Barkley looked like his mouth was about to hit the floor. He scratched his head.
Jag entered the room with another man. It took only a glance before Flame summed the new man up as one of Barkley’s high-priced lawyers.
“We have two of your packages,” the new man said, he was smiling and looked very pleased. “Two very pretty packages.”
“Really?” That caught both Barkley’s and Flame’s attention.
“Jag, will you please take Flame to her cabin?” Barkley jumped up from his chair, his Cheshire look made Flame’s skin crawl. “We’ll be headed out soon. And make certain our new guest doesn’t wander, we wouldn’t want her to fall overboard.”
Flame was pulled to her feet feeling stunned. From Barkley’s look, she was already forgotten. What the hell just happened? The new man made it sound like Barkley’s wife and children were found. How could that be? Fire was watching out for them—no wait, he was watching out for her, so were his brothers, all but Fumus.
The Alpha elements can’t be everywhere at once.
Her heart sank; in trying to aid Melinda Barkley and her children, Flame had taken away their protection.
As Jag led her to her cabin, Flame’s mind worked at a furious rate. She needed to stall for time, she needed to talk to Fire and send the woman and children more protection. If Barkley got them on this boat, they were as good as dead—at least his ex-wife was. Who knew what would happen to the children.
Outside, the sky was darkening and Jag looked up as the first stars began to appear. He seemed agitated and began moving her more physically. They made their way below deck. The lock clicked in place as Jag practically tossed Flame through the door and slammed it behind him without a word. She sat perched on her bed chewing a fingernail. The man had said two pretty packages; he no doubt meant mother and daughter. But where were the two boys? Had Fumus been able to keep them safe?
There was no way Barkley would dock, he would have his wife and daughter brought to him. No doubt he would remain just out of legal reach; Flame wouldn’t be able to serve the warrant. She hadn’t had time to disable communications. Even if she did manage to break out of the cabin and serve the warrant, she had seen at least ten men aboard. Garret was the smallest, the rest were like Cro-Magnon, all armed and huge. If there was a shootout between Sam’s vessel and this one, Melinda Barkley would no doubt be killed conveniently by her husband. Lisa could be killed. If Fire burst onto the scene with an explosion and sank the vessel, the people who had Melinda and her daughter might have been given orders to kill them immediately. The only safe thing to do would be to keep Barkley alive. This changed her plans. She needed back up—now. She needed to get Fire here somehow before he burned the vessel.