hand from the wheel, she undid his seat belt. Reaching across him, she popped open his door.
“Bitch!” Israel screamed, as he realized what she was doing. Forsaking the gun, he grabbed her hair.
Sharp pain reached through her scalp as he yanked her upward. Twisting in his grasp, she bit him until she tasted blood in her mouth.
Screaming, he let go, and she scrambled backward toward the passenger door. With her door at her back for leverage, Jess kicked out with both feet and all her strength.
Israel shot out the open door but at the last minute, managed to grab his flopping seat belt with one hand. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Jess punched the gas with one foot, not caring that she dragged her kidnapper wannabe along the asphalt. She reached for the door handle and yanked it inward, slamming her assailant between the driver’s door and the car frame until he let go and rolled away.
In the rearview mirror, she watched him come to a stop on the side of the road then stumble to his feet. He didn’t run after her, and she didn’t stop to make sure he’d live. Her heart pumping adrenaline through her system, she gunned the vehicle. The tension didn’t recede until Israel disappeared from sight, and she was back on the main road.
Jess took a deep breath, willing her pulse to slow. Delphi hadn’t been kidding. Arachne was ruthless. Determined. And apparently, she could strike anywhere.
Not that it mattered. Arachne might be determined but so was Jess. Plus, she had a purpose.
Retribution.
Chapter 3
O ne For The Money. The name made Jess smile. It was appropriate for a salvage boat that hunted sunken treasure. The eighty-foot Swiftship had definitely seen its share of years, but it appeared well maintained. The twenty-foot span of open deck in the back was clean, with gear stowed. There were no oil stains or suspicious spots that hinted at larger problems.
Unfortunately, it also looked deserted.
Jess carried a FedEx box containing her gun in one hand, her duffel tossed over her shoulder and her dive bag in her other hand. Setting box and bags on the pier, she adjusted her black-and-white Hawaiian-print tank top and walked toward the stern hoping to find someone on board. Anyone.
But the deck remained empty. Silent. She frowned, loathed going aboard without permission. Perhaps some people wouldn’t think twice about it, but she equated walking onto a ship with walking through the front door of someone’s house.
You didn’t turn the knob and barge in.
“Hello!” she shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. She waited for a reply, but the only answer was the slight rocking of the boat. “Hello! Zach, are you there?” Arms crossed, her frown deepened. “Anyone?”
“Can I help you?” a voice inquired. She turned to see the questioner on the opposite side of the pier watching her from the upper story of a double-decker luxury yacht.
Despite her sunglasses, she still shielded her eyes against the tropical sun. “Thanks, but I’m looking for Zach Holiday.”
His blond hair sticking up, the man on deck looked younger than her and ready for a beach party. The drink in his hand completed the effect. “Zach? You don’t want him. That boat’s a piece of crap.” He lowered his sunglasses and gave Jess a once-over. “Come on up here, and I’ll show you what traveling in luxury is like,” he finished, his words slurred.
Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Jess turned away. She didn’t have time to deal with a drunk.
“Come on, honey, I got enough for two,” he wheedled.
“Jeez.” Trust-fund baby.
Trust Fund started whistling at her, and she eyed Zach’s boat. The whistling turned into hooting and catcalls. “Time to barge in,” she muttered. Hoisting her gear onto the deck, Jess stepped over the railing. Ignoring the drunk’s continuing comments, she made her way toward the open door that led below. “Hello? Anyone there?” she shouted down the stairway.
Again, no answer, but from the opposite end of the ship came the distinct sounds of swearing and the clinking of metal.
Walking down the stairs, she made her way to the stern, following the loud clanging noise. Reaching the engine room, she found the origin of the swearing.
Whoever he was, he was on his back, his upper body hidden by the engine. Tools lay scattered at his feet.
“Hello,” Jess said.
He jerked upward at the sudden sound of her voice, banging his head with a resounding clunk.
“That’ll leave a mark,” she said, wincing.
“You think?” the male voice replied. Sliding out, he stared up at her from the ground.
Wearing grimy khaki shorts, a once-green Sex Wax T-shirt, his hands coated with who-knew-what and a greasy red mark on his forehead, he looked like the boat’s mechanic.
She knew better.
Zach Holiday. She’d looked him up on Google before she left her apartment, and he’d come up on a number of pages. An independent computer programmer, he solved problems that others couldn’t. His skill and business savvy had left him wealthier than most self-employed geeks.
Even more interesting was that he wasn’t just a cerebral know-it-all that lived in front of a computer 24/7. He did a lot of physical activities, including extreme sports. Mostly, he used his monies to take time off with his father and hunt for gold in the warm waters off the coast of the Americas.
He presented an intriguing duality of intellectual and adrenaline junkie.
Along with the articles were pictures, which were what gave him away now, despite the grime.
Dark brown hair. Tall, strong body.
And emerald eyes that were so green it was impossible to look away. She stared into them, mesmerized.
He met her steady gaze and raised a brow. “Can I help you, or do you prefer to stare?”
Heat rose in her cheeks, but she blinked, regaining her composure as fast as she’d lost it. “You must be Zach.” She held out her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t expect to see you working on the engine.”
“You’re Jessica?”
“Jess.”
He took her hand, using her as leverage to rise. Once on his feet, he shook her hand. His grip was firm. Warm. He nodded toward the engine. “I like to work with my hands, and it’s not that different from computers,” he said. “Logic and patience will get you what you need.”
She gave a brief nod. Interesting man. “Sorry I just walked on board,” she explained. “I called out but the only person who answered was some drunk across the way.”
“Blond? Invited you on board?”
She nodded. “I guess that’s his modus operandi?”
Zach grinned, his teeth bright against his tanned skin. She couldn’t help but smile back. “That’s Eric. His family has more money than God, but he’s harmless.”
That was her impression, as well. “What’s going on here?” she asked, now that the niceties were complete. She looked past him to the engine.
“Broken belt,” Zach said. “One of those parts that are neither expensive nor difficult to install, but essential if we plan to use the ship. So, since we’re waiting for Liz to return with parts, how about we get a cup of coffee and talk about this project of yours.”
It was a standard request—nothing out of the ordinary— but the shield Jess worked so hard to cultivate rose. Delphi said she’d provided Zach with minimal information. Was he going to try and pump more out of her?
Probably. It was what she’d do under the same circumstances.