Black Ops Warrior Teaser!
The entire boat appeared to be sleeping, except for the pilots in the wheelhouse. Niall climbed all the way to the top deck, but he saw no one. The night pressed in all around, and the stars seemed to mock him as he stood at the stern watching the moonbeams reflected in the rippling water the boat left in its wake.
He stood there a long time, his thoughts going round and round the way they had in Savannah’s bed. Finally he gave himself a mental shake. Cut the pity party, Jones. It is what it is, and no amount of wishing will change it. You’ve got work to do. Focus on that. Find out who’s targeting Savannah and why. Put them behind bars. Then kiss her goodbye and don’t look back.
“Don’t look back,” he whispered to the night. The stars. The moon. But none of them answered him.
Niall was descending the narrow, outside staircase that would take him back to Deck Five when something caught his eye and he froze midstep. “Son of a bitch!”
His sharp gaze cut from the stairs to the deck above and the one below, but he saw no one. Someone had been here, though. Someone who’d known he’d be descending this staircase, and had laid a very clever trap.
He carefully stepped over the narrow, clear plastic fishing line stretched across the stair right below him, and went down a few more steps so he could examine the trap more closely. He whistled between his teeth, then whispered, “Nice job,” acknowledging he couldn’t have placed this trip wire better himself. If he hadn’t seen a flash of the line in the moonlight, if his reflexes had been a half second slower, he would have pitched down the staircase and broken an arm or a leg, if not his neck.
Which meant someone was trying to get him out of the way. Which also meant someone did want to kidnap Savannah, and saw him as a roadblock.
He pulled out the Swiss Army pocketknife he had to put in his checked luggage every time he flew but which he’d retrieved along with his Beretta and ankle holster before they’d gone down to dinner. He cut the line close to the knots on each side. Fingerprints off the line were impossible, of course. But he might get lucky if he came back with his fingerprint kit and dusted the metal bars to which the line was attached, which was why he wanted to leave the knots in place. He also took the precaution of counting the stairs above and below the step that had held the fishing line, just in case the knots loosened now that the tension had been removed, and the tiny bits of plastic fell off. Or in case someone is watching and removes them the minute I leave.
He shoved the fishing line into his pocket along with his knife, then continued down the staircase with a seeming nonchalance. But he remained alert and watchful all the way back to Savannah’s stateroom.
She was still sleeping peacefully the way he’d left her, and he made a mental note to tell her everything in the morning, so she’d be on her guard. He unlocked his suitcase without turning on the light, and felt around for his fingerprint kit. Then he headed out again.