“Well?” she asked, sounding impatient.
“Give me a minute. I’m trying to decide.”
For a moment, he savored the silence, but it didn’t last long. There was yelling up above, deep, guttural shouts that carried on the wind and seemed to echo through the old stone and rusty metal.
“What are they saying?” she whispered.
“Keep searching,” he translated softly. “Find them.”
Motorcycles roared to life and took off, probably chasing after the boat full of tourists. But Sawyer knew they might not all go. And some would certainly circle back. Soon, the banks of the Seine would be swarming with mobsters and badges. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he heard her gulp. He knew exactly how she felt.
“So we’ve got a small window.” She winced and shifted and almost lost her grip. The sharp edges of the beams were cutting into his arms. They had to be cutting into hers, too, as they held on, forearms wrapped around the metal. He felt ridiculous. But also . . . alive.
“So what do we do now?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. He could hear traffic overhead and feel the cold wind blowing down the river. A few minutes before, he’d thought they were going to have to carry him away in a body bag, so it wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful. It was more that this felt like a classic frying pan/fire situation.
“Do you have any ideas?” he asked as the air around them seemed to change. Another boat was passing below. And, suddenly, her eyes went wide. Her whole face glowed. She didn’t look at all like Alex when she said, “Yeah. This.”
And then she just let go.
He tried to lunge for her, catch her, pull her back and hold on tight. But she was too far away and he felt her slip through his fingers. He looked down, expecting to see her disappearing into the icy water, but, instead, she was rolling across the deck of the ship that was moving in the opposite direction from the boat full of tourists. And, presumably, the Russians.
So he dropped down beside her, onto a deck that looked like it had been put in a press and squeezed flat. Everything was horizontal, collapsed. Smushed. There were disassembled deck chairs and tables, and was that a big umbrella? But it didn’t matter what kind of ship this was, all he cared about was that it was still moving and, in three seconds, they’d be exposed unless . . .
“Ooh! What’s that?” she asked, but he didn’t have time to think, or look, or debate the strategic advantages of hiding under patio furniture because he was too busy pushing her under that giant tarp, pressing against this total stranger and squeezing in—lying perfectly still.
Waiting for the danger and the world to pass them by.
Chapter Fourteen
Her
Really, as escape plans went, they could have done a lot worse. The tarp was thick and the water was smooth, and to the world at large, the deck no doubt looked entirely empty. The sounds of Russian curses and police sirens were growing more faint by the moment as they lay side by side in the bright sun that filtered through that piece of off-white canvas, casting them in a hazy kind of glow.
They’d been together for hours, but somehow it felt like she was seeing him for the first time. Probably because he was close. So very, very close. It would have been rude not to admire his dark eyelashes and strong jaw, or how he kind of needed a shave but in the way that actually looks really, really nice.
She wanted to curl up and cry, but he was barely breathing hard—as if he did this every day. And, hey, maybe he did do this every day? She didn’t know him. She didn’t even know . . .
“Uh . . . can I ask you a question?”
“Yes. That is a gun in my pocket.”
“Uh . . . okay. Good to know. But I was just going to ask . . . Uh . . . What’s your name? I mean I’ll understand if you can’t tell me. You probably go by a number like Agent Double-O-Forty-Seven or—”
“That’s not how it works.”
“I mean, you probably have a code name. So if I have to call you Falcon or Dragon or the Denominator—”
“I think that’s for math?”
“—or something I totally will. It’s just . . . what should I call you? Or, well, is there something I can call you that won’t make you have to kill me? Because I’d really prefer it if you weren’t trying to kill me, too.”
They were close enough that she could feel his breath, the rise and fall of his chest. She could see that his eyes were really two shades of blue—a ring of navy surrounding the light, clear blue that she had noticed on first glance.