Beautiful Russian Monster: Chapter 9

Annoyance filled me as I stood up. We couldn’t afford any delays.

Blaire hastened to shove her feet into her runners.

I double-checked that both my weapons were loaded. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She looked at me, baffled. “To see what’s going on.”

The last thing I needed was her distracting Skipper. I didn’t need his tough-guy routine when we were troubleshooting. I wanted all his energy focused on this problem. I looked over my shoulder toward the stern. The fact that I heard nothing didn’t bode well for an easy fix.

“I said stay here.”

She looked incredulous. “Why can’t I come see? What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

She crossed her arms. “You sure about that?”

“You’re a distraction we don’t need right now,” I told her bluntly.

Disbelief crossed her face. “You’re seriously telling me I can’t come back there because I’m a woman?”

I took a step back from the table. “I’m saying you’re a distraction.”

She glared at me. “I got my CANSail 4 when I was twelve, and I have my basic cruising certificate, which allows me to race.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m letting you know that I’m capable of sailing a boat up to ten meters in length.”

I took off my hat and put it back on, working to stay patient. “You think you know anything about run-down Cambodian fishing boat engines?”

“A boat is a boat.”

That didn’t sound promising. “I’ll call you if we need you.”

“I can help this situation.” Her words followed me. I didn’t even feel bad as I walked away. We could afford few distractions, and Blaire was the biggest distraction I had ever met.

I found Skipper kneeling over an open hatch, peering down at the engine. In his hand, he had a phone app open.

“What’s the problem?”

He squinted up at me, looking confused. “I think it’s weeds, but the cell service is a bit spotty here.”

Blaire’s voice asked from behind me, “Did you try to reverse your engine?”

“The engine stalled before I could try that.”

I gave her a dark look for disobeying a direct order.

She ignored me. “It’s obviously an issue with your intake.”

“What’s my intake?” Skipper looked confused.

She stepped in front of me and peered at the engine. “It’s a small tank that uses fresh water and coolant to keep your engine cool. If you took in weeds instead of fresh water, your engine couldn’t cool, and now it’s probably overheated.”

Skipper was clueless. “What do I do?”

“Someone is going to have to get in the water and clear the weeds.”

I could feel my blood pressure spike as I thought about the clock. We didn’t have time to solve new problems.

“Do it,” I told him.

“Don’t suppose you want to go for a swim?”

I stared at him without blinking until he gave a nervous laugh. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. Let me get my wet suit on.”

He started toward the back of the boat, and that’s the moment Blaire decided she would slip away.

“I thought I told you to stay at the front of the boat.”

She paused and looked over her shoulder. “It appears I know more about boats than the two of you put together.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is? What is more important that getting this boat started?”

“You need to listen to direction.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms. “I don’t need to follow arbitrary directions that have no purpose.”

I was ten seconds into this conversation and already flailing.

She continued her rant. “And to think I had the chance to get away from you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“In the car at the cargo airport. I woke up, and I didn’t have handcuffs on, and I could have run away. I should have!”

She didn’t know the truth. That had been a test to see how far I could trust her. I never would have let her get away, but she didn’t know that. “What’s your point?”

“I chose to stay. I chose this. This is my doing.”

“Wrong again.”

“I thought we were going to get what Drake needed so I could find my grandfather. I thought we would work together to save everyone—but where are we?”

I waited.

She threw up her hands in frustration at my lack of participation. “We’re somewhere in the middle of Cambodia on a boat that isn’t working.” She swallowed and looked around, as if baffled by our surroundings. “Literally in the middle of nowhere!”

“We’re following the plan.”

“We’re following your plan.”

“Didn’t see you coming up with a better one.”

I was encouraged to see her anger spark even more. “Was it your plan to pick the worst boat you could find?”

“It was the only boat for hire.”

“It’s a piece of shit.”

I gave a short laugh. “You done?”

“No, I’m not done.”

It was ridiculous that I was starting to enjoy this exchange—but I was. I worked to keep all the expression off my face. “Okay, keep going.”

Her cheeks were flushed pink. She scowled at me. “Well, now I don’t want to.”

“So you’re done?”

She crossed her arms, looking damn cute. “I guess—but not because you suggested it.”

Skipper interrupted our exchange by reappearing, wearing a short wetsuit. We watched as he attached a line to the back of the boat and tied one end around his waist. “Worse comes to worst, you’ll pull on the line, right?”

I didn’t respond.

Blaire shoved my arm and spoke. “We’ll both be here and ready to react if anything happens.”

“Thanks.” He jumped in and his head went under before he reappeared and held onto the back of the boat. “Bloody hell. It’s deeper than I thought it would be here.”

Behind him, something big splashed in the weeds. We all paused and listened. He looked over his shoulder toward the sound and then looked up at me.

Blaire spoke in a reassuring voice. “Probably just a fish.”

People don’t perform well when they are afraid, so I opted not to mention that the stingrays in this river were over a thousand pounds and the giant catfish could weigh in at 750. “Let’s hustle.”

Digging for weeds didn’t look fun. Knife in hand, Skipper had to reach beneath the boat and cut the long green vines free while water splashed over his face repeatedly. By the time I hauled him back onto the boat, he was shaking with exhaustion.

“How does it look?”

He was out of breath. “I got what I could.”

Blaire stood over us. “If you manage to get the engine to start, you’re going to have to drive very slowly so you don’t overheat.”

I scowled at her. “How slow?”

“Half speed or less.”

Skipper lurched to his feet and took his time toweling off his hair.

This would add hours to our trip. “Can we move it?”

Ten minutes later, the engine sputtered and then roared to life. From somewhere above me, Skipper gave a triumphant cry. Blaire lay in the hammock with her eyes shut.

Within moments, the boat was slowly pushing forward. I stood silent in the middle of the deck. The humidity hung thick in air that didn’t seem to move, magnifying all the smells of the river. The distant landscape seemed paused, giving the illusion we weren’t moving at all. I doubted we would make it to the border before nightfall.

It had been forty-eight hours since Drake had taken Andrusha and Olivia, which meant we had just over three days to get into Vietnam, find my old contact, get fake identification and make it to Singapore to meet the ship. No one could hear the ticking of the clock louder than I could, but without a backup team, and with dwindling funds, there was precious little I could do other than troubleshoot the situation at hand.

We couldn’t afford any more delays. I also needed to call Drake and check in with him. I wanted proof of life from Andrusha—and hopefully more insight about his cryptic warning about Beirut. Someone had tracked us to Cambodia, and it was only a matter of time before they caught up to us. I needed to know who they were and what they wanted. Andrusha had alluded that he knew, but I still hadn’t been able to work through his clue. I moved to the table, took out my rifle and started to clean it.

Blaire interrupted my thoughts. “How often do you have to clean your weapons?”

I shrugged. “It’s just habit. It helps me think.”

“Are you worried?”

I lifted my head and looked at her. “Why do you say that?”

“You have an intense look on your face. Just wondering what it means.”

“This boat trouble isn’t helping.”

“Do you think we’ll get there in time?”

“Hope so.”

“Can you teach me about guns?”

“Why?”

She climbed awkwardly out of the hammock. “Because they scare me. And I think I would feel better if I knew how to lock it and stuff.”

“You want to learn how to put the safety on?”

She moved forward and grabbed the back of her chair. “Under the circumstances, it seems like a good idea.”

“You want to learn how to shoot a gun?”

“No!”

I squinted up at her. The lines between us were getting blurred. My default was to treat her like a hostage, but that only worked in theory. In reality, I was hardwired to protect women, so in the end, I let her break all my rules. And then I responded unfairly by giving her more rules. Rules I knew she’d eventually break. Hell, half the time I wanted her to break them.

I didn’t know how to navigate this situation, but when I worked in the field, if someone indicated they wanted to learn something, I always bent over backwards to accommodate.

And she had brought up a valid point. It made sense to teach her gun safety. People who knew how to handle guns were less likely to shoot themselves or someone else. “I think teaching you gun safety is a good idea.”

Her eyes were glued to my face.

I couldn’t help but smile. “You thought I was going to say no, didn’t you?”

“Totally.”

“It’s about keeping yourself safe when you are in the vicinity of guns.” I put my rifle away. “Have a seat.”

I pulled out my Glock.

“Watch carefully,” I instructed her. I removed the magazine and then racked it back several times to ensure the chamber was empty.

“I’m doing this to make sure there aren’t any bullets in the gun.”

“Good idea.” Her eyes were glued to my hands.

“This is the slide.” I removed the slide.

“This is your spring, and you unclip it like this.” I unclipped the spring.

“And this is your barrel.” I took it off. “That’s it.”

She leaned over the gun to get a closer look.

“Watch again.” I repeated my actions in reverse, reassembling the gun without putting the magazine back in.

I laid the gun down on her side of the table. “Your turn.”

She lifted her hands but hesitated. “Can you do that one more time?”

Without speaking, I slowly demonstrated, pulling the gun apart and then reassembling it.

She took a deep breath. “Okay, I think I’ve got it.”

I set it down in front of her. “Give it your best shot.”

I watched as she awkwardly worked to disassemble the weapon and then put it back together.

Five minutes later, she proudly laid the gun back down on the table between us. “I did it.”

I picked up the gun and inspected it. “Did a good job too.”

She seemed quite pleased with herself. “What now?”

I took off my military watch and set it down beside the gun. “When you can do all of that in under a minute, we’ll add bullets.”

“Why do I need to get faster?”

“You don’t, but the practice will give you muscle memory.”

“Why do I need bullets?”

I shrugged. “Maybe you want to do some target practice?”

Her eyes went wide. “Seriously?”

Was I really considering giving my hostage a loaded gun? Apparently I was. “Only if you get under a minute.”

My arms were crossed, my chin on my chest, and my eyes were shut. I could hear the steady, slow chug of the engine, and I hovered in that space between being awake and being asleep. I could hear the birds in the distance and the splash of the water against the side of the boat.

What I couldn’t hear was Blaire.

I lifted my head and opened my eyes.

She remained sitting across the table, and the gun was in front of her. She was watching me sleep.

I ran a hand down my face. “What are you doing?”

“How old are you?”

“Old.”

“Tell me.”

I studied her, wondering why she was asking me this. “I just turned thirty-three. How old are you?”

She lifted her chin slightly. “Twenty-six. I’m ready for your test. Would you like your watch back so you can time me?”

I nodded, and she set my watch down in front of me. I blinked hard a few times, trying to bring my reality back into focus.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Maybe ten minutes.”

Which was why I felt like shit. I really needed to get some more sleep.

Her voice was filled with impatience. “Are you ready for me?”

I checked the watch. “Go.”

She totally owned my Glock. With the confidence of an expert marksman, she dismantled it and then reassembled. She set the gun on the table and lifted both hands up. “What was my time?”

I dragged my eyes away from her. “Forty-eight seconds.”

She gave a squeak of joy. “That’s my best time yet.”

“I’m impressed.”

She flushed slightly. “It took several attempts to learn that.”

“Anyone on my team who can dismantle a gun that fast deserves to learn how to shoot it.”

Blaire stood beneath a makeshift tarp that I had hung so she could stand in the shade, something I wouldn’t think of doing for a man. It’s too hot. I don’t need her to get heatstroke. I handed her an unloaded gun.

“Take your stance just like I showed you.”

She planted her feet and lifted the gun in front of her. Her right arm was bent, which was making her aim just slightly to the right.

“Straighten your arms.”

“They are straight.”

I stepped up behind her and used my hand to elevate her arm. “See how your gun was leaning to the right?”

I felt her shiver—the kind of shiver that a woman had right before I kissed her. My nostrils flared as I inhaled her scent before I stepped back. Fresh—she smelled so fresh and delicately feminine.

Stop it. Working not to react to her nearness, I focused on her aim.

“Straighten out your right elbow.”

“Show me again,” she demanded.

That was exactly what I was trying to avoid. I stepped in behind her, even closer than last time. I put my right hand beneath her arm and straightened it out.

Only this time, I bent down and shamelessly put my face next to hers, so close we almost touched. Mostly it was so I could inhale her scent again.

“You see how this point lines up between these two tips?”

“Yeah.” Her breath hitched.

“Center that, and that’s where you aim. What are you aiming for?”

“There’re no bullets in here, right?”

“Gun is empty.”

“Then I want to try and hit that tree over there.”

I gently directed her toward the tree. “Things will get tricky since we are moving, but try to keep it lined up.” With regret, I stepped back.

“Can I fire?”

“Dry firing a chamber isn’t good for it, but go ahead and do it a couple of times. No more.”

She slowly moved, tracking the tree like a boss. “Why is it bad for a gun?”

I appreciated how focused she was. Most soldiers could benefit from her level of concentration. “It’s hard on the firing pin.”

She pulled the trigger twice in succession and then lowered the gun and looked over at me.

“That tree is thankful your gun was empty.” I took the gun from her. “This is a magazine. See how the bullets are lined up this way?”

The boat jerked hard. I caught her as she lurched.

“You okay?”

“Yes.” She looked flushed. “I think the engine cut out again.”

Skipper moved from the boathouse and called over his shoulder. “I think it’s weeds again. The water in this river is too damn low.” He disappeared to the back of the boat.

I swore. At this pace, we’d never make it to Vietnam. The longer we were out on this river, the longer we were exposed. “I should help him.”

“I’ll come and help too.”

“How many times is this?” Skipper gasped as he slowly pulled himself onto the back of the boat.

Blaire stood above us, holding a lantern up for light. “This is your seventh time in the water.”

I shivered in the dark water, waiting for Skipper to move so I could pull myself onto the boat. For the last nine hours, our boat had repeatedly caught weeds. The last few times we had stopped, the engine had come so close to overheating that we had to sit around and wait for it to cool before we could start the whole process over again.

Blaire handed Skipper a towel. “Are you okay?”

My shoulder muscles ached as I pulled myself out of the water and sat, dripping wet, on the end of the deck while I listened to them talk.

“I’m so exhausted I’m trembling.”

“I’ve made some coffee,” Blaire reassured him. “It’ll warm you up. Why don’t you go change?”

“Thanks, Blaire,” he mumbled.

I felt a towel drop over my right shoulder.

“Thanks.” Without looking back at her, I started to dry off.

“I’m worried about Skipper. He seems extremely tired.”

“He’s fine,” I told her, not wanting to worry her, but I had the same concerns. I recognized serious fatigue. The last two times we had gotten in the water, he had held up a light for me while I hacked away at the weeds. And he had barely been able to do that.

“Do you think these weeds are going to keep on happening?”

I stood up and looked at her in the pale lantern light. Despite wearing a hat all day, her nose was pink and starting to freckle. The rest of her skin looked sun-kissed. And her dark hair was slightly curly and messy. Her mouth made me think of kissing.

“Water seems a lot deeper here, and the flow is stronger. I think we might be in the clear. What’s our max speed?”

“Anything over ten knots and we’re in danger of overheating.”

“What’s that in miles per hour?”

“Roughly eleven.”

I shook my head in disgust. “We’ll be lucky if we make it to the border before light.”

“I’m going to make some food, and I think one of us should give Skipper some relief tonight so he can sleep for at least a couple of hours.”

“Agreed.”

She looked surprised. “Okay.”

“I’m going to change, and then I’ll help.”

The sweetest smile in the world flitted across her face. “Deal.”

I moved downstairs to the galley and changed into dry clothes. The whole day, Blaire had worked hard alongside us, bringing us towels, preparing food and keeping us hydrated—not to mention probably saving us with her extensive boat knowledge.

As I moved back up to the deck, I thought about how I needed to acknowledge her tireless efforts.

I stopped in the shadows and took a moment to watch her. She stood beneath the netting, cutting something on the table. Tendrils of her hair moved softly against her neck in the gentle breeze. She was barefoot, and she was softly humming. As if she sensed me, she turned and caught me staring at her like a stalker.

Her face brightened with a smile. “I hope sandwiches are okay. I can heat up some canned soup for you if you want.”

I stepped beneath the netting. “Sandwiches are fine. Need some help?”

She moved over to the sink. “I think I’m all done here. I’ve cut up some fruit.”

Movement above her caught my eye. It was a black-and-white-striped krait, which was a lethally venomous snake. It was hanging off the frame and holding its head directly above Blaire, almost as if it were trying to determine if her neck was another sturdy place to explore.

If it touched her, she was bound to scream. And if she startled the snake, it would strike her. We were miles away from treatment and our boat barely worked, which meant a snakebite to her neck could prove fatal. I slowly raised my pistol and took aim, but I didn’t have a clear shot.

I spoke in a low, steady voice. “Blaire, don’t fucking move. Stay completely still. This is life or death.”