needed to get to Columbia University before Godrick Osborne’s goons did. She needed to solve this mess and bring Max’s – and Teresa’s – killers to justice. She needed to do this. For so many reasons. And for Dylan.
And she wanted drugs. And she needed a gun. She was goddamned tired of being beat up.
Sam looked up from the helm as Jack ducked into the captain’s quarters. The older man nodded in greeting. “How’s she doin’?”
“Well enough,” he said. “Hard head and all.” Jack made his way across the cabin. He looked out through the windshield, watching the multitude of barges and yachts make their way from Upper New York Bay, into the endlessly traveled waterways of the Hudson.
“She saved my life,” he said then, before he even knew he was going to say it. He hadn’t realized it had been on his mind. But his sudden words made clear the fact that he’d been subconsciously mulling it over. Annabelle had saved his life. She’d taken down the man who would have otherwise shot Jack point-blank. And now that he was openly considering it, he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Stunned, maybe. Overwhelmed, certainly. If he hadn’t already known he couldn’t live without Annabelle Drake, this would have been the waving flag.
Sam looked over at him. Then he turned back to the windows and shook his head, whistling low. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch, Jack Thane. One lucky son of a bitch.”
To that, Jack said nothing. It was true. And there was nothing more to say on the matter.
He spared a glance at the large chest in the corner of the cabin. Holes had been shot into its lid to provide for breathing. He wasn’t at all sure what to do with the chest’s occupant. In this Business, you either befriended a fellow assassin or you killed him. Jack hadn’t yet decided which route to go with Reese.
“You tell Annabelle’s friend about us?” Sam asked then.
Jack looked over at Sam. He was talking about Cassie. “Yes,” he replied.
Sam nodded to himself. “Figured you would. Probably best. Think she’ll keep quiet?”
Again, Jack said, “Yes.” Then he changed the subject before Sam could ask about Dylan, which he knew he would do if given the chance. “Where’d you get the skiff?”
“Borrowed it.” Sam made small corrections with the steering column, his eyes skirting the horizon as the yacht rode above the gentle waves to some unknown destination. “Like I said, Jack, you’re lucky. If the Colonel’s hole hadn’t been on water, you’d be dust.”
Jack could second that. If Sam’s arrival had been timed any later, Jack would be dead and Annabelle would have been carted off to Osborne, only to be killed later. As a point of fact, Sam’s timing had been next to godly.
“Chalk it up to karma,” Jack muttered under his breath.
In the corner, the man inside the chest laughed heartily. And Sam shot Jack an incredulous look. If there was such a thing as karma, Jack Thane, the assassin, couldn’t have collected a whole lot of the good kind.
“What’s our heading?” Jack asked, trying his best to ignore both of them. In his tired state, his Sheffield accent was particularly strong.
“Columbia University. ‘S’where you needed to go, right?”
“Yes.” He should have known that Sam would be one step ahead of the game. “Dock just after Lincoln Tunnel and we’ll take a bus onto campus.”
“Was plannin’ on it.”
Jack looked over at Sam and his gaze narrowed. “By the way, when did you learn to operate a bull dozer?”
“Had to put myself through school, now, didn’t I?” Sam smiled at Jack and winked. Samuel Price had been a professional killer for more than thirty years. But before that? The truth was, Jack wasn’t at all sure what Sam had done in his youth.
The two fell into a companionable silence then.
After a few minutes, the Holland Tunnel floated over them. The sound of the boat’s engines echoed off of the cement of the bridge’s foundations.
Jack instinctively looked up as the shadow engulfed the boat’s small captain’s cabin. Absently, he rubbed one of the bandages encircling his many wounds. He’d never liked tunnels. He’d never been overly fond of dark, wet spaces. But their trip was nearly done. One down, one to go. Lincoln Tunnel was next.
They traveled the remaining four miles upstream and crossed under the second bridge. Jack faced this one as he had the first. Then he turned to glance back toward the opening to the boat’s deck and the approaching port.
“Tools are in the cupboard,” Sam told him, gesturing to a cabinet against the wall of the cabin. Jack moved to it, opened it, and stood looking over the guns, ammunition and other implements of their trade. There were at least a dozen to choose from. He considered them a moment and then took what he needed.
“I want one.”
Both Sam and Jack turned at the sound of the female voice.
Annabelle stood in the doorway, watching Jack place a second gun in a hidden holster just above the inside of his motorcycle boot.
He watched her for a moment and then straightened and turned his full attention on her. As they stood there, appraising one another, she was joined by Dylan, Cassie, Beatrice and Clara, who came to stand behind her.
“So do we, Jack.” Beatrice said, her tone deadly serious for once. All Five of them stared at the two men in the captain’s cabin. Again, the occupant of the chest snickered loudly. “Shut it, ya manky shite-hole!” Beatrice directed at the chest’s closed lid. The snickering stopped.
Sam cut his gaze to Jack, and Jack took a deep breath.
He chewed on the inside of his cheek for several long, silent moments, and then sighed. “Very well.” He addressed Annabelle and his daughter first. “Bella, Clara, you know what to use.” He nodded to each of them in turn, and Annabelle and Clara moved into the room, toward the open cabinet of weapons. Jack turned back to the other three still standing in the doorway.
“Dylan, you and my ex-wife will have to decide which of you two wishes to carry the stun gun and which of you prefers the mace. Both are in the cabinet as well.”
Dylan and Beatrice eyed each other for a moment and then, respectfully, Dylan gestured into the room, allowing Beatrice to enter before him. She nodded her gratitude and, saying nothing, joined the others.
Jack turned back to Cassie. She still couldn’t quite meet his gaze. He wasn’t sure what to make of her as far as weapons were concerned. She’d thus far proven herself to be more than capable of quite a lot of intelligent deeds, but could she fire a gun? He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose.
“Cassie,” he started. “I-”
She saved him from any further deliberation on the subject by raising her hands in a defensive gesture. “I don’t want anything, Mr. Thane. I’d probably shoot myself in the foot or spray myself in the eye. I’m basically the little kid from A Christmas Story when it comes to weapons of any type.” She was rambling a little nervously, but she managed a smile. “I’m fine.”
He watched her for a moment and then nodded. “Good.”
Jack turned then and strode to Annabelle as she chose the gun he knew she would select. A Smith and Wesson .357 magnum revolver, the spitting image of the one she kept in a chest in her apartment. It was a tried weapon for her, so despite the fact that it only held six rounds, it was a wise choice. She was fortunate that it happened to be Samuel Price’s favorite brand.
“Let me,” he told her softly, as he bent to help her strap on a shoulder holster and tighten it down. His fingers lightly brushed against her collar bone as he adjusted the straps and, ever observant, he didn’t miss the shiver that went through her at the brief contact. Something decidedly old-brain and male within him reared its head to smile a terribly satisfied smile.
But he said nothing, instead pretending to ignore her reaction and concentrating on buckling the gun down securely in its holster. “Good?” he asked her once he’d finished.
She licked her lips and didn’t seem to want to meet his gaze. This brought back the smile to his lips as the self-satisfied monster within him grew considerably larger.
She nodded. “Yes. It’s fine.”
He straightened and, with some difficulty, tore his gaze off of her in order to face his daughter. Clara was
