“Talk? Talk about what?”
“Amhrán M'anama. And quite frankly, what I consider to be your interference with the band.”
“Ms. Monroe, this really isn’t the time for this—"
“I think it’s the perfect time for it considering Dunk is in jail and hopefully can soon be in rehab since he nearly killed me when he got behind the wheel of his truck—”
Jerry lifted his hands in front of him and nodded. “Yes, yes, Steven told me all about that. And I’m very sorry, but I had nothing to do with that. Nothing to do with Dunk’s decision to drink that much. But you’re understandably upset, and the band can definitely talk about what’s going on. Just not now. This is not a good time, and I need you to leave.”
Clay jumped to his feet, his chair falling backward, his eyes pinned on the screen, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. “God dammit! No!” he roared, fear and helplessness coursing through every cell in his body.
The submersible driver slipped up behind Christina. With his hand clamped over her mouth, he expertly pressed against her carotid artery, and she slumped to the dock.
Jerry rushed forward. “Christ! What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of any evidence.”
“No, no,” Jerry cried, dragging his hand through his hair, looking around as though an answer to this predicament would appear out of nowhere. “She’s got nothing to do with anything. She knows nothing.”
The man stepped directly into Jerry’s face and sneered, “You need to remember who you work for.” He glanced down at Christina’s body. “Get her into the sub. I’ll take her out to sea and dump her body where no one can find her.”
“Ms. Monroe?”
Amelia stepped into the boathouse, her gaze landing on Christina’s prone body on the floor.
“Jesus, no… God, no…” came Jerry’s agonized voice as the man grabbed the teen, knocking her unconscious as well.
Watching the men kneel over the two women’s bodies, the Keepers sprang into action. “Make the call!” Mace barked to Levi, who was already reaching for his phone. To Josh, he ordered, “Get the coordinates to follow.”
Josh looked toward Clay. “Is she wearing her necklace?”
Sucking in a hasty breath, he nodded, not trusting his voice.
Mace, still growling, ordered, “Get to the boats.” He turned to Babs. “She’s got a teenage girl with her—”
“I’m on it,” she replied, hustling down the hall with Drew.
As everyone jumped to obey, Clay’s feet stood rooted to the floor, his eyes locked on the sight of Christina lying unconscious.
25
Awakening from a deep sleep, Christina blinked her eyes several times while remnants of a strange dream ran through her mind. The muffled hum of a motor sounded in the distance, and she wondered if she’d pulled the blanket over her head while sleeping. As she blinked more, light was discernible, debunking the idea that she was covered. She wanted to stretch but found her movements halted.
“I know you’re awake.”
Hearing the strange male voice next to her, she jerked her head around, wincing as the pain slashed through her forehead. She continued to blink, forcing her eyes to focus. A man she’d never seen was next to her, his hands on the instruments in front of him. Wearing a leather vest, she recognized one of the patches. Was he from the same group that Steven talked to at the Ottawa festival?
She sucked in a quick breath, her gaze moving away from him and toward the front. A glass dome surrounded them, and for an instant, she imagined they were in a helicopter. Movement outside had her swinging her head back toward the front, pain once again slamming into her.
A school of fish swam by.
Fish?
As understanding pushed its way past her incredulity, she realized she was underwater. A seat belt had her firmly strapped into her seat, and her hands were taped together in front of her.
Moving her head more slowly to still the pain, she asked, “What… what is this? Who are you? What are we doing?” The questions rushed unheeded from her mouth, her brain racing faster than she could speak clearly.
“Who I am is not important. What I’m doing is not your concern. Where we are is obvious.”
She licked her lips, trying to force her mind back in time to the last thought she’d had. The violin. Music. Amelia. I was with Amelia Bennett! The pounding in her head continued as she struggled to remember everything that happened. Jerry Kincaid. The boathouse. The last scene she could pull to the forefront of her memory was standing in the boathouse, demanding answers from Jerry as to what he wanted to do with the band. But what happened after that? How did I get here?
“You were in the boathouse,” she said, her words a statement that was really more of a question.
“You walked in on something you shouldn’t have.”
Something I shouldn’t have? He and Jerry? What were they up to? Another thought slammed into her, and she battled to keep her gasp from slipping out. Clay! She had assumed it was Jerry’s finances that he was investigating and how that affected the band. He must’ve been looking into something else. Jerry must be involved in something he shouldn’t, and I stumbled right into the middle of it!
Trying to keep her body movements to a minimum, her gaze darted around the small space inside. There were plastic-wrapped packages stuffed all around her feet. Shifting her gaze slightly to the side, she could see the same plastic-wrapped packages were also behind the seat next to her. Whatever he’s carrying is probably stuffed behind my seat as well. She had no idea what was in the packages but had seen enough news shows to imagine that it could be drugs. This is how they’re transporting drugs?
A sound of murmuring came from the back, and she jerked around, grimacing at the pain. Seeing a leg behind her seat, she twisted further. Amelia, bound and blinking her eyes open, was in the back as well. Oh, my God! As Amelia’s frightened gaze held hers, she fought the rising nausea, praying for strength. Giving a quick nod, she hoped she was offering comfort—comfort she wasn’t sure she had.
She had no choice but to stay exactly where she was. If they were above water, she could fight, or at least attempt to. But here, she needed this man next to her to steer this tiny underwater craft. Oh, God, no one knows where we are. The image of Clay ran through her mind, causing her heart to pound even more. His beautiful face with his square jaw and intense eyes. His muscular arms that made her feel protected when they encircled her. His laughter and kisses. I’ll lose him before I ever have a chance to be completely his.
Clay forgot every rule in the book on missions, his vision still filled with Christina being hauled over and lowered into the submersible. He had warred between the desire to stay and watch, afraid he would never see her again, wanting to memorize every nuance, and needing to rush to rescue her. Pushed along as he was surrounded by his fellow Keepers, they moved through the caverns, deep into the underground dock that Mace had built. They quickly divided as they boarded two specially-fitted high-tech boats filled with equipment that would rival the best the CIA Special Ops had to offer.
With Walker at the helm of one and Rank driving the other, they fired the engines and shot out into the open water. Until they were closer, there was little for Clay to do but pray. Sitting where the wind cut through and the splash of water slapped against him, he was soon joined by Tate and Blake as they sat on either side.