Heart of Gold - By Tami Hoag Page 0,61
the killer’s favor. Obviously Strauss didn’t realize it, but sea would take some of his advantage away. So Shane went about the task of setting the Brutus free, skills he had learned as a boy surfacing without effort. The Atlantic had been a second home to him when he’d been growing up. He could only hope the Pacific would prove to be as good a friend.
Keeping a firm grip on Faith, Strauss motioned Shane toward the ladder that led to the navigation bridge. “You’re driving, Captain Callan.” He flashed a wicked grin in the dim yellow light that spilled out of the cabin. “As you can see, I have my hands full.”
The muscles in Shane’s jaw tightened against the snarl that threatened to curl his lip as he turned and hauled himself up the ladder. He didn’t care if he died trying—his life hadn’t seemed worth much for a long time—but Adam Strauss was going to pay for putting his hands on Faith.
Faith wasn’t sure if the wave of nausea that sloshed through her stomach was seasickness or fear or both. The Brutus had been under way for ten or fifteen minutes, bucking through choppy water, when Strauss ordered Shane to cut the engine. Now it bobbed like a cork on the black water, dipping and swaying beneath their feet as the three of them stood in the cockpit behind the cabin.
It was all Faith could do to keep her balance, and she half fell against her captor as the powerboat rocked. Annoyed, Strauss took her hand and pressed it to the gin pole. “Hold on to that, Ms. Kincaid. If you let go, I’ll shoot you.”
She couldn’t keep from looking to Shane for some kind of sign. He was nearly invisible with his dark hair and clothing, like a panther in the night, but she caught his almost imperceptible nod. Her hand closed around the cold metal pole, and her fingertips brushed across a loosely knotted rope. As Strauss’s attention swung away from her, she stole a glance.
A heavy block-and-tackle rig hung down from the top of the gin pole and was secured to it with nothing more than a flimsy piece of nylon. Praying wildly Strauss would keep his focus on Shane, Faith began trying to work the knot loose with her fingers. She didn’t want to think about what the madman had planned for her, but she knew he meant to kill Shane, and she had to do everything she could to stop him.
“You betrayed me, Shane,” Strauss said, raising his voice so his dramatic accusations could be heard above the wind and the sea and the creaking of the boat. He stood with his feet braced slightly apart, his Italian loafers offering footing that was less than sure on a deck slick with mist. The gun he had pressed to Faith’s temple was now leveled at Shane. “We were like brothers. You were my friend.”
Shane answered him with a curse. “I was doing my job, Strauss. I’d sooner make friends with a cobra.”
“I know differently. We’re two sides of the same coin, you and I, my darling Shane.”
The statement was so close to being accurate, it nearly made Shane sick. He had come so close to that edge, but he had pulled back. He had struggled with the darker side of himself. For a time he had felt he would never escape the shadow of it. Then Faith had let sunlight into his life, and he had felt his soul begin to heal.
Abruptly he pulled back from his thoughts. He had to concentrate, had to find some way to get Strauss’s gun away from him. Strauss had said he wanted to play on Shane’s weaknesses. Two could play at that game. Adam Strauss had an enormously overinflated ego. It was time to start punching holes.
“I’m sick of your theatrics, Strauss,” he said, caustically. He let one foot inch ahead as the deck swayed beneath his sneakers. “Besides being a lousy actor, you’re nothing but a two-bit killer with a fake diploma.”
Even in the faint light that glowed out of the cabin Shane could see the man’s eyes flash with insane outrage. “How dare you! I am a scholar—”
“What’s the plan? Kill me, dump me overboard, and make a run for South America with the woman? You’ll never make it.”
“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do, Agent Callan,” Strauss fairly spat out the words, his wild-eyed stare riveted to the harsh planes of Shane’s face.