"Yeah."
"Give me five minutes, and then come alongside."
"Make it ten—we've got storm surge."
Sykes switched off the radio and then yanked out the cord of the handset, tossing it on the floor. Then he came out and motioned Kaz toward the stern. She staggered, almost tripping over the can of gasoline that was sitting against the winch.
Keep him talking. "What did you do—stow away?"
Sykes' expression was smug. "I figured you wouldn't check the head. I was in there the whole time."
He motioned to her to sit on the stern bench, then took out a roll of duct tape, taping her hands and feet so tight that her circulation was cut off. He gave her a hard shove, and she fell onto the deck.
Pain shot through her shoulder. She swallowed a yelp. "So you were the one who broke into my house and attacked me. I knew there was something familiar about you."
He laughed. It was an ugly sound. "Yeah, I enjoyed that. It's a shame I was in such a hurry, or I could've had some real fun with you." He picked up the can of gasoline, opened it, and started pouring it on the deck. The acrid smell burned Kaz's nose as the liquid flowed across the planking toward her. She rolled as far away from it as she could.
He walked toward the bow, pouring the gasoline as he went, then put the can down and stepped inside the wheelhouse, pulling a small timer and some rags out of his pocket.
He was going to burn the boat, with her on it. If she didn't do something, and quickly, she would die. She thought of Michael. By now, he had to be frantic.
Trying not to alert Sykes, she felt along the edge of the stern compartment, but she found nothing she could use as a weapon. She kept her bait cleaver in a slot behind the winch. Could she get to it? She would have to scrabble across the deck, through the gasoline, which would soak into her clothes. And if the fire started before she freed herself, she'd burn to death in seconds.
She pushed herself along the deck toward the winch, using the rubber edges of her running shoes to fight the rolling of the trawler. Spray slapped her down, soaking through her clothing. She closed her eyes, now stinging from the salt, and kept going.
When she heard a slight thump on the decking, she jolted. Was someone else on board? Or had it just been the wind moving the gear around? Craning her neck, she glanced at Sykes. He was busy pouring gasoline and hadn't seemed to notice the sound.
Quickly, she used her feet against the stern bench to shove herself the last several feet. The pooled gasoline was slippery, making her progress easier. She maneuvered around so that her hands and back were to the winch, feeling frantically for the cleaver.
There. Her hands closed around the handle. She slid it under the edge of her sou'wester just as Sykes came back out of the wheelhouse.
He stared down at her in her new position, and his expression clouded with fury. He raised his gun.
"Drop it!" Michael appeared around the corner of the wheelhouse, his feet braced, his gun trained on Sykes.
Sykes kept his gun trained on Kaz and glanced over his shoulder. "I don't think so. You shoot me, and I shoot her."
Michael shook his head. "You don't want to die, Jim."
Sykes tightened his finger on the trigger. "Drop your gun, Chapman, or she dies. Now."
Michael's lips tightened, and he shot a tormented look at Kaz. Then he complied, leaning down and placing his gun on the deck.
"That's better," Sykes said, turning and aiming his gun at Michael. "Kick it away."
Michael did as he was told, and the gun slid across the deck and over the edge, disappearing into the waters below.
Kaz closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping. They were going to die if she didn't do something. Sykes' finger tightened on the trigger, and he took careful aim at Michael.
"No!" Kaz raised her bound feet and kicked the back of Sykes' knee. The shot went wild as Sykes lost his balance. Michael launched himself through the air, taking Sykes down with him.
They rolled, grappling for the gun. The gas can toppled, spraying gas in all directions, some of it hitting Kaz. She shook her head to clear the burning liquid out of her eyes, trying to focus on the two men. They rolled toward the stern, fighting silently, viciously.
Sykes landed a punch, then managed roll on top of Michael and slam his head into the deck.
Kaz whimpered. Positioning the cleaver, she sawed it back and forth against the edge of the tape, her hands now so numb that she couldn't control the angle of the cleaver or what she was cutting. She felt something warm flow ever her fingers, but she kept sawing.
Michael scissored his legs, throwing Sykes to the side. Sykes raised his gun. Michael gripped his gun hand, deflecting his aim. A second, deafening shot went wild.
Kaz felt the tape on her hands give and she wrenched them apart, then sat up to work on her feet. She was almost finished when the gun went off again. Her head flew up, terror locking her throat.
Michael fell back, and Sykes shoved him out of the way so that he could get to his feet, gun in hand. "Nice try, Chapman." He was panting heavily.
Kaz got to her feet stealthily, the cleaver still in her hand. She advanced on Sykes quickly, the cleaver raised. But he turned, and seeing her, kicked her feet out from under her. On a deck covered with a mixture of seawater and gasoline, she never stood a chance.
She went down hard, the cleaver flying out of her hands. Rolling onto her back, she looked up. He pointed the gun at her head, his finger on the trigger.
She glared at him defiantly, daring him.
He laughed.
Then he jerked, his face registering surprise. Lurching awkwardly, his fingers sagged, nerveless, as he dropped the gun. Twisting around, he tried to grab the fishhook that was embedded in his back. Staring at Michael, he started to fall, his arms flailing wildly. Landing on the deck railing, his momentum carried him over the side.
Kaz got to her knees and crawled to the rail and peered over, but there was no sign of him in the churning waters.
She slid and scrambled toward Michael. He lay where he'd fallen, his eyes closed. A dark, rapidly spreading pool of blood stained the decking beneath him.
~~~~
Chapter 28
"Michael!" Sobbing, she grabbed the front of his shirt. "Don't you dare die on me, dammit!"
"Okay," he said calmly, not opening his eyes.
"What do you mean, okay? You're bleeding!"
"Yeah, but I got the bastard." He opened an eye and tried to smile at her, then frowned at the blood on her hands. "Are you okay?"
"You're the one who's been shot!" She started pulling at his clothes, ripping open his shirt, feeling along his rib cage.
"My leg," he managed. "I think he got lucky and hit the bone." He tried to rise up on one elbow, but the effort was too much and he sank back, closing his eyes. "Go into the wheelhouse and disconnect the timer before this damn boat goes up."
She glanced back at the wheelhouse, then at Michael. She didn't want to leave him. Taking off her coat, she quickly pulled off her sweater, then her cotton turtleneck. Folding it into a pad, she pressed it to the bloodiest area on his leg. Then she laid her coat over him to conserve his body heat. "Hold the pad in place until I get back."
Getting to her feet, she slipped and slid into the wheelhouse, clad from the waist up only in her bra. She might be freezing, but at least she had less gasoline on her. Grabbing the timer and the pile of rags, she leaned out the door and threw them overboard. Then she started searching for something, anything she could use as a tourniquet.
The Kasmira B rocked to port, hard. She glanced out the window. They'd drifted north, putting them closer to the river bar. The swells were getting huge. Restarting the engines, she turned the trawler into the oncoming waves. Leaving the engines on idle, she ran back out onto the deck.