Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

" L ights," Dahlia said as she rolled off the bed. Montana slapped the switch, and Dahlia breathed easier now that she could see. The room hadn't been totally dark, she could tell that much, but she couldn't see well enough to get what she needed. Vadisk and Montana could probably see perfectly fine. She swallowed hard against the anxiety knot just behind her breastbone and focused on what she needed to do.

Dahlia had her bra and underwear on in less than thirty seconds. Clothes weren't the next priority; passports were. She dug her passport waist bag out of her luggage and strapped it around her bare stomach.

"Nik," Vadisk said, his phone to his ear. She didn't catch the rest of what he said because he was speaking Ukrainian.

Nik. Nikolett. Vadisk's admiral.

Now wasn't the time to think about Vadisk's relationship with his admiral, but Dahlia was worried about it. If Vadisk was secretly in love with Nikolett, this marriage was in trouble before it even really started.

Of course, this marriage was in more immediate trouble if they didn't get out of here before Sinaver's people arrested them.

"Passports," she demanded.

Montana finished yanking on shoes and passed his over. Vadisk rushed out of the room, still on the phone.

Right now seemed like a good time for her to make a phone call too.

Dahlia picked up her phone, hit the emergency contact number she'd been given, and then set the phone on the bed so she had both hands free to yank on pants and a long-sleeved shirt.

"What's wrong?" the Grand Master asked, and Dahlia could have laughed in relief that the number worked, and that she'd gotten the Grand Master directly instead of one of the counselors.

"We're about to be arrested," Dahlia said.

"Crimean police or Russian military?"

"Neither. Crimean Security Force."

There was a beat of silence. "There's no such thing."

"Sinaver Abduramanov." She spelled the name. "He's the blackmailer, Minister of the Interior, but also head of this Crimean Security Force, which appears to be a volunteer militia."

The Grand Master didn't waste time with more questions. "Any chance you can avoid capture?"

The word capture made Dahlia swallow. Capture and arrest were very different words, resulting in very different situations. Arrest meant being in a cell in a police station somewhere, or maybe back in that windowless room in the airport. Capture evoked images of dungeons and torture.

"Yes." Dahlia had to clear her throat and try again. "Yes. There's an escape plan. The warrant was just ordered."

"And it's…three a.m. there?"

"Yes." Dahlia put on socks and shoes, then a light jacket. Vadisk, now fully dressed, raced back in, still on the phone, and handed her his passport. She lifted her shirt and stuffed his passport in with hers and Montana's.

"Hopefully that means they're planning to come in the morning and you have a few hours. But I want you out of there. Now."

"We're leaving." Dahlia snatched up her phone and followed Montana out of the bedroom. He shoved bottles of water into the pack on Vadisk's back, then into a second one, which he strapped to his own back.

Dahlia looked out the windows at the night and dark sea and swallowed hard.

"We'll track you and liaise with the Masters' Admiralty," the Grand Master said.

"Thank you, Grand Master."

"Be safe."

Dahlia ended the call, shoving her phone into her pocket. Her hands were shaking. Montana laced his fingers with hers as he watched Vadisk finish his own call. Vadisk looked at them and his expression was dark and resolute.

Without a word, he headed for the stairs. The lights in the rest of the villa weren't on, and Dahlia had to take slow breaths to keep herself calm as she followed Montana down the stairs to the front door.

"What's the plan?" Montana asked.

"There's a boat hidden in a cave down at the shore, not far from here. We get in the boat and go due south. Once we cross out of Ukrainian water, a larger ship from Ottoman with a Turkish flag will meet us. We board and they take us to Istanbul."

"We're just supposed to find a Turkish ship in the middle of the Black Sea at night?" Montana didn't sound like he liked this plan.

"I have coordinates. We'll figure it out."

"Fuck," Montana muttered. "But a boat is a good idea. Let's go."

Vadisk opened the door, letting in the faint light from the moon and stars. It wasn't enough for her to really see by, but she could tell there was more light out here than in the dark villa.

Silently, Dahlia followed them out but almost tripped on the last stair. Montana caught her.

"You okay?"

"I can't…I can't see." The admission hurt because it made the fear too real.

"Right. I'm sorry. I'll be better," Montana swore.

"It's okay, but I'm going to slow us down if we have to hike down to the shore."

"Then we don't hike. We drive." Vadisk's voice was farther away, and she turned toward it. There was a large pale blob near where she thought he was. Wait, she knew what was going on. Vadisk had just pulled the cover off the golf cart.

"We're running for our lives in a golf cart?" Montana's voice was strangled, and Dahlia pressed her face against his shoulder to muffle her near-hysterical laughter.

"Get in," Vadisk commanded.

Montana wrapped an arm over her shoulders as he hurried her across the driveway. Dahlia and Montana slid into the back seat, Vadisk up front, driving.

The next fifteen minutes felt surreal. Dahlia couldn't see where they were going, but they were headed downhill, their path constantly turning and curving. She wanted to ask a million questions, but no one had spoken since the cart started moving, so she stayed silent too.

"Hold on," Montana murmured against her ear.

A second later, the cart jolted and bumped before coming to a stop.

"This is as far as we can go," Vadisk said in a low rumble. "We have to go on foot from here."

Montana helped Dahlia out. The ground under her was uneven and the air smelled like vegetation and salt. They were in one of the heavily verdant areas near the shore, if she could smell the sea this distinctly.

She took one step—and nearly fell, having to grab Montana.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, hating to feel this helpless. Hating that she might be the reason they were caught.

She heard a zipper, and a second later, Vadisk's hands were at the waist of her pants, sliding something cool between the material and her skin. There was a click, then light illuminated her feet.

"We're in cover now," Vadisk said. "But you'll have to turn it off when we're out in the open."

The clip-on flashlight was directional, a narrow beam that created a circle of light on the ground right in front of her.

"This is perfect," she breathed in relief. "You lead, I'll follow and make sure I don't trip."

"Final girl energy," Montana said approvingly.

Dahlia smiled. "Nerd."

"Explain later. Let's go." Vadisk's footsteps crunched as he started walking. Dahlia tucked her fingers around Montana's belt, focusing on the ground and watching where she stepped as he started forward.

They walked for what felt like hours, but the sky stayed dark, so it couldn't have been that long, or the sky would have started to lighten with dawn. The smell of salt increased. They were closer to the shore. Then they pulled to a stop.

"Sorry, Dee." Montana clicked off the flashlight, using the same shortened version of her first name that he'd also given Vadisk, who grinned every time Montana called him V. If she wasn't completely blind and scared out of her mind, she might enjoy the new moniker more. "We're about to be in the open."

Vadisk moved closer, and it was reassuring that she knew that without being able to see him. "Here."

He slid his backpack onto her back. She took it, though she wasn't sure why he was giving it to her.

"Help her up," Vadisk said, clearly speaking to Montana.

"Help me up on what?"

Montana's hands gripped her hips. "Vadisk is giving you a ride." A second later, she was lifted and pressed to Vadisk's back. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders as he grabbed her knees, hiking her legs up alongside his hips.

For a moment, she gave in and closed her eyes, resting her cheek on his hair. "You can't carry me, it will?—"

"Yes, I can. Quiet."

Dahlia's lips twitched. They were back to a classic. Terse, one-word-answers Vadisk.

She kept her eyes closed and focused on holding on tight, trying to make sure he wasn't having to hold up her entire body weight with his hands hooked under her knees. They were still going downhill, and she let out a few whimpers when Vadisk took a particularly big step. Each time, he squeezed her legs in reassurance.

His movements changed, the ground evening out. "We're on the beach," he whispered. "I'm going to put you down, but I can pick you back up."

"Okay."

Dahlia slid off Vadisk's back. He guided her hand to the waistband of his pants rather than giving her back to Montana.

They remained silent, though the sound of the waves probably would have hidden any conversation as they walked on the hard-packed wet sand, which made it much easier for Dahlia to put one foot in front of the other and follow.

"That's a good-looking boat," Montana whispered after ten minutes of walking, during which Dahlia was fairly certain they'd gone around some kind of curve in the shoreline, appreciation clear in his tone.

"They said it's easy to drive," Vadisk replied.

"If it floats, I can pilot it."

"Okay, then it's your boat."

"My boat," Montana said in satisfaction.

Dahlia smiled.

They kept going for a few more minutes before Vadisk stopped, turning to pull her up against his side. Rather than bend to put his lips by her ear, Vadisk lifted her so she was standing on a flat rock, their heads almost even.

"Montana may be sexually attracted to the boat," he breathed in her ear.

Dahlia sputtered out a helpless laugh. "What?"

"I know you can't see, so I'm going to describe what's going on. Montana is looking at that boat the way I look at your ass."

Dahlia leaned her head against his, chuckling softly. She loved that she now knew Vadisk's sense of humor. With his arm around her hips, the fear that had dogged every step faded somewhat.

"Now he's swimming to the boat."

"How far out is it?"

"Far enough that his balls have definitely retreated, thanks to the cold. I don't understand how he's actually going to get up onto it…oh wait, there's a ladder."

Dahlia blinked against unexpected tears. She knew this running commentary didn't come naturally to Vadisk, but he was doing it for her. And she loved it. Loved…him. It was probably too soon for such a strong emotion, but she wasn't going to fight it, wasn't going to deny that she was definitely falling for her big, gruff Incredible Hulk husband.

She only hoped that when this was all over…

Dahlia sighed, hating that her concerns about Vadisk choosing to remain in the Hungary territory with Nikolett kept sneaking into her subconscious.

"Okay, he is on the boat. Doing…boat stuff?"

"How big is the boat?"

"Bigger than a car, smaller than an airplane."

She snorted in amusement.

"It's really long and pointy at the front. There's a windshield, and it looks like some seats."

"Individual seats or a bench seat?"

"Individual."

"It's probably a speed boat," she said. "That's what I'd give someone as a getaway vehicle."

"Grigoris picked it, so that's?—"

Vadisk stopped speaking abruptly, his entire body tense.

A second later, she heard it. A whistling sound.

Vadisk started to lurch away from her, toward the water.

She could see.

Dahlia's eyes widened as, for a moment, she could see everything—the long, narrow beach bracketed by rocky cliffs, the dark water, and a white boat.

Pieces of a white boat.

The sound of the explosion nearly knocked her back, the flash of light when the boat exploded now gone, leaving her blind once more.

The boat had exploded.

Montana.

"Montana!" Dahlia lurched forward, nearly falling off the rock. Vadisk grabbed her, yanking her back against his chest, one hand slapping over her mouth.

Oh God, he was dead! The boat had exploded, killing Montana. No, no this couldn't be happening.

"He jumped overboard," Vadisk breathed in her ear, pulling Dahlia back until they were up against the cliff that sheltered the crescent of the beach. "He heard the rocket launcher and jumped."

Rocket launcher? The whistling sound.

Even if he jumped…

"I see him," Vadisk breathed.

Dahlia yanked his hand away from her mouth. "His body?"

"No. I see him. Hold on." Vadisk let go of her, though he didn't move, their bodies still pressed together. She could feel he was doing something with his hands.

Montana was alive?

"Okay, let's go. We're going to walk along the cliff, so put your right hand on the rock, left hand on me."

"Montana?" her voice shook.

"Alive. We're going to go get him, and then we're moving on to plan B."

He was alive. She let out a shaky breath. "There's a plan B?"

"Something Montana is really going to hate," Vadisk said grimly. "Hopefully almost exploding will distract him."

Dahlia swallowed the hysterical laughter as she walked behind Vadisk, the fingers of her right hand trailing against the damp rock.

Vadisk stopped, and a second later, she heard the crunch of footsteps on the rocky ground at the back of the beach.

"They touched my boat," Montana panted.

"Are you okay?" Dahlia demanded, letting go of Vadisk to reach toward Montana's voice.

He took her hand in his, bringing it to his chest. His shirt was wet and plastered to him. He smelled like the ocean and gasoline.

"They touched my boat," he said again, clearly incensed. Maybe he'd hit his head.

Vadisk snorted. "You can be weird about boats later. Plan B."

"Whatever plan B is, I hope it's fast and close because it won't take whoever shot that thing long to get down here."

"It's close, but you're not going to like it. Dahlia, hold on to me, I'm going to need my hands free to deal with Montana."

"Why," Montana said slowly, "would you need your hands free to deal with me?"

Vadisk didn't answer. Dahlia followed, grasping tight to his belt. They were moving fast, far faster than was comfortable, given that she was blindly following. Montana moved beside her, one hand on her lower back to help steady and guide her.

Then his hand fell away, his sharp inhale making Dahlia's stomach clench.

"No," Montana said.

"Yes." Vadisk's tone was hard, unyielding.

"Fuck."

"I know."

"Vadisk, I won't be…I'll be a fucking liability!" Montana sounded panicked.

Dahlia bent her head. She was already a liability. If she could see, they could have gone faster, made it onto that boat before Sinaver's people had time to blow their escape vehicle out of the water.

"I know neither of you is going to like this," Vadisk said. "But this is our only way out."

"It's a cave, isn't it?" Dahlia asked. Given their location and Montana's reaction, that was the logical conclusion.

"No, not a cave," Vadisk said, at the same time Montana said, "Yes."

"It's a set of connected caves. A cave is a dead end. This isn't."

There was a beep from Montana's direction. A second later, he said, "Sinaver is making a call. To that same contact. To Spain."

"Any chance you'll get reception inside the cliff?" Vadisk asked.

"No. We need to wait and get the recording."

"We're blind here," Vadisk said. "I can't see anyone coming, and the ocean means we won't hear anyone until it's too late."

"This is our chance to figure out who or what Spain is," Montana countered. "We just have to wait for him to finish the call and access the recording."

"Two minutes," Vadisk said. "Then we move." He hustled them into what felt like a small alcove in the cliff wall.

Montana's phone beeped again. "I've got it."

"Play it, quick," Dahlia said.

"Once we're inside," Vadisk said. "Let's go."

Dahlia shook her head. She'd been thinking fast, running through scenarios. "If we wait to listen to it until we're inside, we won't be able to send out a message. If…if our odds of getting out of this aren't good, at least we can send our people every bit of information we can on the enemy."

The reality of that settled over them. Vadisk cursed, but Montana hit play.

The conversation was brief, terse, and in Russian.

"I said not to call me unless you had someone for me," an unfamiliar voice said, a distinct Spanish accent flavoring their Russian.

"I have them," Sinaver replied.

"Both Americans too?"

"Yes. Are they part of it?" Sinaver sounded eager.

"Maybe. And that's why I want to talk to them. The Ukrainian… The Ukrainian will know things."

"Things you don't know?"

There was a brief moment of silence. "Don't forget who I am."

"Yes, Spaniard."

There was a brief pause. "I'm close. I'll be there by afternoon."

The recording ended.

"Translation?" Montana asked.

"Sinaver's arresting us so he can turn us over to this Spaniard for questioning. He's mostly interested in questioning Vadisk, but wants to talk to us too, and when Sinaver got too familiar, he said ‘Don't forget who I am.' That's when Sinaver called him Spaniard, like it was a name or title," Dahlia summarized.

"And he's coming here, to Crimea, today," Vadisk added. "I've messaged Nik to tell them to look for someone who uses the code name Spaniard."

"We could—" Montana started, but Vadisk cut him off.

"I'm sorry, but we have to go in."