Chapter 27

27

The HMS Archer loomed before them, a dark behemoth against the twilight sky.

Now they were leaving Iceland’s shores, Abe allowed himself a fleeting moment of satisfaction. The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. They weren’t out of danger yet, but for the first time since this mission began, it felt like the tide was turning in their favor.

He steadied Freya as she rose from the bobbing boat. Her fingers, ice-cold and trembling, gripped his with surprising strength. For a moment, as she found her footing on the slick hull, their eyes met.

Electricity passed between them, as palpable as the salt spray on his skin. Did she feel it too?

A gust of Arctic wind whipped across the hull. Freya stumbled, her feet skimming the wet surface. Without thinking, Abe pulled her against him. She collided with his chest, breathless, her cheeks flushed pink from the biting cold, her eyes bright with adrenaline and something else that made his pulse quicken.

The memory of her undressed flashed unbidden through his mind.

Long, graceful legs he longed to feel wrapped around him. He wanted to explore every inch of her, to trace the curves of her body with reverent hands, to taste the salt on her skin.

With difficulty, he forced the X-rated images away. Now wasn’t the time, but God help him, the longer he spent in her company, the harder it became to ignore the growing attraction.

Fox materialized from the shadow of the conning tower, his bearded face a mix of relief and concern. He clasped Abe’s hand, pulling him in close. “You made it.”

“Never any doubt.” The few words carried more weight than either would admit.

Fox’s grip tightened before he stepped back, eyes scanning the horizon with the same wariness Abe felt. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

Abe nodded, his pulse still thrumming with adrenaline from the boat ride. “Raptor?”

Fox gave a sharp nod. “Eli confirmed—they’ve been on us hard.”

Abe’s jaw tensed. “The radio?”

Fox’s expression darkened. “Encryption held. Bought us some time, but they’re closing in. Haynes has intel to share with us from Leo and MI6.”

Abe placed a firm hand on Fox’s shoulder. “Good. Next move is ours. Let’s get inside.”

He descended the ladder into the submarine’s interior. The familiar smell of metal and recycled air enveloped him. He turned, reaching up to guide Freya down the last few rungs. His hands found her waist, and even through the layers of clothing, the warmth of her skin teased him.

She landed beside him with a soft gasp. He caught her elbow. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was barely audible over the thrum of machinery as she absorbed their new cramped home for the foreseeable future.

The bridge loomed ahead, a complex array of controls that reminded him of certain military aircraft cockpits. Behind them, a narrow corridor led deeper into the sub’s interior. The walls, painted the ubiquitous Navy gray, were a Tetris game of efficiency. Every inch utilized, nothing wasted. Abe recognized com systems, atmospheric controls, and what looked like sonar displays.

A surge of power vibrated through the deck plates. Abe tensed. The generators were ramping up, but they weren’t moving yet.

“Prepare to close the hatch.” The command from the bridge carried a sharp edge of urgency.

A crewman materialized, executing a textbook ascent up the ladder. The hatch swung shut with a resounding clang that resounded through his bones. Sealed in.

“Hatch closed.” The crewman’s confirmation set off a flurry of activity.

An officer with curly blond hair approached. “Neil James, Executive Officer.” His handshake was firm, dry despite the humid air. A kindred spirit. “Captain Haynes will be with you once we’re underway. He’s asked me to make you comfortable in his quarters until then.”

Abe followed James through the sub’s narrow passages, his hands locked around Freya’s, while Fox brought up the rear.

As they passed the galley, the rich aroma of strong coffee stirred memories of long deployments. Simple comforts, but essential. In the mess hall, he caught sight of a life-sized mural of a forest, sunlight filtering through peeling silver birch branches. Several crew members hunched over their meals, stole curious glances at the newcomers.

Deeper into the vessel, Abe sensed Freya’s growing unease. Her breathing quickened, and when he glanced at her, her eyes were a touch too wide. Claustrophobia—common, even among seasoned operators on their first dive. He lifted her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles in a quiet gesture of support, careful not to draw attention.

“Here,” James said, holding a door open. “These are the Commander’s quarters. You’ll be comfortable here. Please, come in and sit down.”

The polished wood paneling gleamed under soft lighting, its rich scent mingling with the crisp, antiseptic smell of military-grade cleaner. Abe’s gaze swept over the room, landing on the bed, its corners tucked with razor-sharp precision.

A pulse of energy vibrated up through his boots. The engines had engaged.

We’re moving.

Freya lowered herself gingerly onto a chair at the small mahogany table in the center of the room. Her fingers drummed a nervous rhythm against the polished surface, her eyes flitting around the confined space. The rich aroma of brewed coffee wafted from a steaming pot on the table, cutting through the recycled air.

Abe’s stomach growled as he lifted a silver dome, revealing fresh sandwiches. The sight of proper food made his mouth water, reminding him just how long it had been since he’d eaten. Christ, when was the last time I even thought about food? His mind had been consumed with staying one step ahead of Raptor and keeping Freya safe. Everything else had fallen away.

The bread was freshly baked. A far cry from the ration packs eaten as a SEAL. Maybe he’d picked the wrong area of the military.

He put several slices on a side plate and handed them to Freya. “Eat.”

“I’ve never been on a submarine before.” Her voice was a whisper, her face pale. She glanced upward as if she could see through the layers of steel to the crushing weight of the ocean above. “I read somewhere the odds of dying in a plane crash are around one in eleven million. But military subs have a different risk profile. There’ve been accidents, but they’re rare. The U.S. Navy’s only had about 15 major ones since the fifties.”

Her fingers laced jerkily together above her untouched sandwich.

He understood the effort it took for her to maintain composure, her fear simmering just below the surface.

Fox, quiet until now, paused, his coffee halfway to his lips, his head tilting. “Sometimes, you have to take risks to live.”

“I’m learning that now.” Freya’s eyes flickered with acknowledgment, her fingers unclenching as she picked up a sandwich and took a small bite.

Fox’s gaze softened, though his tone stayed even. “It takes some getting used to. I did some deep-sea time when I was with the Special Boat Service. You’ve got nothing to worry about here—Commander Haynes is one of the best. You couldn’t be in safer hands.”

The stiff line of her shoulders relaxed a little at his words, and Abe felt a surge of gratitude toward Fox. Sometimes, the right words at the right moment made all the difference.

A sharp knock cut through the brief calm. The door swung open, revealing a submariner standing at crisp attention. Haynes strode in, his presence commanding.

Abe had met the commander once before. The memory surfaced—a night at the naval gentlemen’s club in Mayfair, the edges blurred from too many brandies shared with Haynes and Leo. He’d heard on the grapevine that Haynes had recently married.

“Knight,” Haynes said, extending his hand.

Abe clasped it with his uninjured hand. “Good to see you again. Congratulations are in order, I hear.”

A broad smile spread across Haynes’s face. “Thank you. I’m a lucky man.” His gaze shifted. “MI6 leaned on us to divert from our patrol near Norway, and here we are—His Majesty’s government at your disposal.” His attention settled on Freya. “And you must be Dr. Freya Jonsdottir.”

Freya shook his hand. “Just Freya is fine.”

“Freya it is, then,” Haynes said with a nod. “I’ve been instructed to get you safely to MI6 in Plymouth. Once there, you’ll be met by one of their agents, Katarina Landon. She’s holding intel, but it seems she’ll only share it with you—face to face.”

Leo’s contact in MI6. Kat Landon. There’d always been a certain unspoken tension between her and Leo, something more than professional exchanges. Abe had never understood why they hadn’t taken things further.

“Kat Landon?” Freya’s brow furrowed. “How is MI6 involved in this now?”

Haynes glanced at Fox and Abe, clearly out of his depth. Abe stepped in. “She’s one of Leo’s contacts. We can trust her.”

“Does this mean MI6 has the laptop?” Freya asked, hope creeping into her voice.

Abe pursed his lips. “Unlikely. We would have heard if that was the case.”

Freya sagged back in her seat, running her fingers through her hair. “Okay. I guess we go find out what she has to say then.”

“We’ll dock in Plymouth in just over 24 hours,” Haynes said, his tone business-like. “From there, MI6 will escort you to London.”

He paused, his expression softening, a trace of empathy breaking through his polished demeanor. “In the meantime, eat something and try to rest. Trust me, sleeping through the journey is the best way to deal with the Gray Lady. Sub travel’s an acquired taste. James will show you to your quarters.”

Haynes stood, prompting Abe and Fox to rise and shake his hand once more.

Settling back into his seat, Abe took hold of Freya’s hand. “We’re going to get through this, I promise.”

He caught Fox’s eye, reading the same grim determination in his teammate’s gaze. They both knew it. Promises couldn’t change facts.

They were sailing straight into the heart of the storm.