Sin and Sacrifice (10 page)

Her dependence on the two
agents had just ratcheted up another notch.

“
Thank you for your time.”
About facing, she departed the bank without stopping by the service
phones. Nothing would be gained by wasting time with
representatives that wouldn't give her access anyway.

Squinting into the
sunlight, she let her eyes readjust before stepping toward the
waiting taxi. A hand on her elbow whirled her around and she gasped
in surprise, drawing several stares from people passing
by.

Rhett glared down at her,
mouth a thin, white line. “What the hell do you think you're
doing?”

Speechless for a moment,
she regained her equilibrium and frowned. “I needed to get some
money out of the bank--”

“
So you just went
wandering along the marina, leaving yourself wide open for them to
grab you. Why didn't you just call them and set up a meeting
place?” He ground the words out past clenched teeth and 'guided'
her along the sidewalk, away from the bank.

“
Mister
Nichols. You have no right--”

“
Don't I? Do you want our
protection or not, Miss Grant? Because when you do things like
this, you're not just putting yourself in danger. You put us in
danger, too.
Think about it.”
After another glare, he helped her into a black
car parked at the curb and got into the back seat with
her.

Christian sat in the
driver's seat looking quite unhappy. He said nothing though while
he pulled them into traffic and turned back toward the
docks.

“
The last I knew, Mister
Nichols, I wasn't
your
prisoner, either. I'm free to see to my business.” His
brusque manner made her confrontational. If she was honest with
herself, the strain of it all didn't help her mood any.

“
All you had to do was ask
one of us to come with you,” he said, leaning back against the
seat. Knees sprawled, he rested a fist on the arch of his muscled
thigh and appeared to struggle to contain his irritation. “And
since you didn't, it means you're trying to hide something. What,
Miss Grant, are you trying to hide?” The knife sharp edge of his
gaze came her way.

Evelyn bristled under the
insinuation—which was the truth, damn him—and under his glare.
“You'll excuse me if I didn't realize I needed to obtain permission
to get my own money out of the bank. You said we were safe enough
here. I took you at your word.”

“
Which still doesn't
explain what you're trying to hide.”

“
I'm not hiding
anything.”

“
Really? Then why didn't
you ask me to go with you?”

“
Because I don't need a
babysitter. It was a trip to the bank. And as you can see, nothing
happened.” Engaged in a heated stare down, she refused to look away
first.

Leaning closer, he
obliterated the space between them and said, “What just happened is
that you probably tipped them off to your whereabouts by accessing
your account. And you could have fooled me about needing a
babysitter when I found you in their basement.”

The warmth of his
mint-scented breath washed over her lips and chin. He was so close
she could see the gold flecks in his turbulent green eyes. So close
that she felt like she had to whisper an answer. “Actually, I'm
sure I didn't tip anyone off because I couldn't access my account
at all.”

His brows shot up and he
leaned back. “Why not?”

“
I don't know how, but
someone put a hold on it. The money's in there, but I can't get to
it. And the manager confiscated my card.” When she broke eye
contact and looked forward, she met Christian's frowning gaze in
the rear view mirror. Just a brief second of concern before he
swerved the car into a slot not far from the
Selena Marie
.

“
They've got more pull
than I gave them credit for,” Rhett said. “Checking your use of the
card is one thing. Putting a freeze on the account is another.”
Swinging open the door, he got out without another word.

Seething and annoyed,
Evelyn climbed out as well. She cracked the door closed and marched
toward the tethered yacht a few feet behind Christian. Rhett fell
in behind her. The tension, a palpable weight between them, made
Evelyn uneasy. She knew she was defensive and wary because trust in
other people, no matter how much she wanted it, didn't come easy.
Rhett's efficiency and normally amiable demeanor tempted her like
no one had tempted her in a long time to confide things she knew
she couldn't. He just had that I-can-fix-anything-if-you-let-me
aura about him.

They boarded the yacht and
within twenty minutes, Aristo had maneuvered them out of the harbor
and the port and back into the broad, blue waters of the
Mediterranean.

Chapter Five

The dark surface of the
ocean hypnotized Evelyn while she watched out the window in her
stateroom. Little whitecaps peaked and receded like the spikes on a
heart monitor machine, and, if one watched long enough, it was easy
to sync with the rhythm and be lulled by its eternal consistency.
There was something soothing about the perpetual flux of the
tide.

Earlier, after arriving
back on the boat, she and Rhett had gone their separate ways. She
suspected he gave in and went to get some sleep while Christian
stood watch. Rhett was only human, after all, and needed to refuel
like the rest of them. Christian announced there were deli
sandwiches for dinner—although he hadn't made her a plate like
Rhett—but she'd politely refused and sought the refuge of her room
instead.

Propped on a chair with her
legs tucked beneath her, she'd been sitting here for hours,
thinking over the tension between her and Rhett, the status of her
sisters and what repercussions the freeze on her bank would have
down the line. No clear answers presented themselves to any of it.
Disconcerted by her reaction to Rhett, Evelyn tried to reason it
out. It was more than that he'd saved her from the Knights. More
than his persistence in keeping her safe.

There was an inexorable
pull, an undeniable
something
that she couldn't recall feeling around any other
man. It went beyond simple attraction. She knew he felt it too,
although she wouldn't have been able to say exactly why or how.
Even the friction between them didn't offset the draw. Maybe it had
to do with his saving her, or that she detected a capacity for
caring underneath his tough exterior.

Unable to grieve properly
for Galiana, she had the compelling urge to confess to Rhett her
pain and agony and let him bear some of the weight.

In the distance, the wink
of a light drew her out of her contemplative reverie. The swell of
the water played hide and seek with an ocean liner's lights. It
came again a moment later, a bright but small flicker, almost like
a star on the horizon. She couldn't gauge the distance whatsoever,
nor the direction. Many vessels made the voyage from Crete to Cairo
or other ports close by. This was just one more ferrying tourists
to exotic destinations.

Twisting a length of wavy,
auburn hair between her fingers, she wondered if the occupants were
having a better time of their trip than she was. Contemplation kept
her mind off her sister, off the melancholy that wanted to pull her
under like a riptide.

The door to her room swung
open without warning, startling her. Rhett, dressed in dark colors
with his shoulder holster in place, swooped in on her with a gun
outstretched in his hand. He made and held strict eye contact,
looming like a frightening ghost, as intent as he'd been the night
he'd woken her from a dead sleep.

“
Take this and lock
yourself in here. Don't come out no matter what you hear or what
happens. Shoot to kill if they get past us and get in,” he said,
just as the yacht lurched and the speed increased.

Evelyn sat up straighter in
the chair and closed her hand over the gun even though she recoiled
at the thought of actually coming face to face with the Templars
and being forced to shoot them. But she would, if she had to. She
would.

“
How did they find
us?”

“
I don't have time right
now to talk about it. Later.” He squeezed her fingers around the
gun and left the room, closing the door after a final gesture for
her to come over and lock it.

Shocked that the wide open
ocean wasn't a safe as she'd led herself to believe, she scrambled
out of the chair and threw the locks the door. There were two; one
in the knob and another deadbolt that made a satisfying click when
she turned it. Setting the gun on the bed, she yanked socks over
her bare feet and then jammed them into her tennis shoes. It was
the only concession to comfort she'd made earlier when she'd
retired to rest. All the rest of her clothes were as she'd worn
them earlier, and she wondered again if she'd ever feel safe enough
to dress in pajamas to sleep.

Rattled, she picked the gun
up and checked the safety. Her experience with the weapon was
rusty. She wasn't sure her aim would be as great as it once was,
not after all these years of avoiding the practice range. The irony
of the situation was not lost on her.

From the bed, she went to
the window. Broad, with a three inch sill, it gave her a decent
view to the east. The small light that wasn't so small any longer.
It was closer, bigger, winking in and out like the gleam of a
freshly cut diamond. The
Selena
Marie
approached the fastest speed she'd
seen so far, cutting through the lapping tide with an uptick in the
drone of the engine. Over that, she heard the sound of a distant
bang that she struggled to decipher.

With a sudden dousing, all
the running lights on the yacht went out. From her second level
viewpoint, she'd been able to see part of the lower deck along the
side. Now there was only the hazy, phosphor glow from a half hidden
moon to make out a dark head running below.

Christian. It had to be
Christian. The other boat wasn't nearly in range to transfer people
from one vessel to another.

Still, it made her stomach
ache with nausea and set her nerves on edge. While the other,
smaller boat drew closer, she steeled herself against the unlikely
event that she would have to shoot her way free of the Knights. In
these minutes before possible confrontation, she reminded herself
that it was kill or be killed—or tortured.

Like anyone with a serious
phobia, Evelyn's private pep talks only went so far. The mere
thought of that kind of violence brought bile up the back of her
throat that she kept having to swallow down.

Think of them as still
targets. Like at the range. Nothing more than a wood silhouette,
without souls, without hearts.

She breathed in and
breathed out.

Gunfire erupted, sounding
like firecrackers on the fourth of July. Instinct kicked in and she
ducked down with only her eyes and forehead above the line of the
window sill. It was hard to see and harder to tell who was doing
the shooting.

She thought she heard
shouting, too, somewhere in the din. Recognizing the voices was
impossible. Had someone on the
Selena
Marie
been hit? Dread coursed through her
when she thought about Rhett taking another bullet in her stead. Or
Christian. Or Aristo.

Drawing in a breath, she
worked the latch on the window and slid it open. There was no
screen to get in the way when she aimed the gun out over the water,
angling the muzzle toward the faint silhouette of the smaller boat
that was closer now, veering wildly when the captain tried to avoid
incoming rounds.

Whatever light she had seen
from a distance had been distinguished, leaving only the moon
glinting off the hull to guide her.

Evelyn didn't like violent
confrontations, but shooting at the boat—albeit it moving—was
better than shooting at people. Steadying her hand and her faith,
she braced her arm and cupped the weapon with both
hands.

Aiming low, thinking to hit
the tanks or something else critical to the running of the boat,
she pulled the trigger. And she pulled it again. The weapon bucked
in her hands, sending sharp jolts up her arms.

What she didn't expect was
a return volley; two bullets punched through the frame a foot above
her head. Retreating all at once, she sank below the sill and
crab-crawled over the floor to the opposite side of the bed. As
long as she'd been alive, no one had ever fired bullets at her. She
found it terrifying.

So much for trying to help
out.

Two more bullets slammed
into the wall on the other side of the room, leaving holes in the
window. With every crack and splinter of wood, she flinched. She
half expected the smaller boat to ram the
Selena Marie
.

Steadying herself, she
listened to the barrage of gunfire coming from both sides of the
confrontation. The burst from a machine gun riddled the night,
sounding like chattering, mad laughter. She couldn't tell who was
doing the shooting. Breathing shallow like she'd just run a
marathon, she pressed her back against the bed for support, making
a small package of herself to avoid being hit. It took her three
tries to thumb the safety of her weapon on. Until someone tried to
come in the door—
and please God, don't let
that happen
—she decided to wait it
out.