"Didn't I tell you not to get yourself dead?"

"I'm not dead yet," I tell Tyler over the radio. "Good news, though. Have them move the boat to the back. Jones is gonna let the rest of the hostages off."

"How the hell did you manage that?"

I ignore the question and say, "He took off the explosives so Stevens needs to move his ass before this guy changes his mind."

"They've deployed boats to remove the hostages. You stay there and keep your man calm while we direct them off the ferry."

"I'll do what I can." My voice low, I add, "And see if there is anything you can find about former customers I've had or rescue operations involving anyone named Jones. Maybe someone I dealt with during my time in the Corps. I don't know what the hell this sonofabitch wanted with Emily, Ty, but we need to find out. And as soon as you can."

"Jones," Tyler repeats back. "I'm on it, Gabe. I promise."

"How are things on the mainland?"

"Smooth as they can be. Will you and your lady friend be ready to move if our friends over here rock the boat?"

I hiss out a string of curses, but don't let my body language communicate anything. "Jesus Christ, Ty, are you trying to get me killed."

"Starting to think you're like a cat, Rossi. I'm sure you've got a couple lives left to spare."

"Try not to use them all in one go," I tell him.

After I hang the radio back on the hook, I press my lips into a line and turn to face him. Chloe stands between us, her whole body trembling. I catch her gaze with my own and communicate my concern with a twitch of my brows. She frowns for a second and then she nods. With my hands loose, unassuming and unthreatening by my sides, I take a tentative step toward them both.

Jones jerks his gun and twitches it toward the bench. "No fast movements," he says. "You take a seat there and keep your hands where I can see them."

I do as he says and I keep him in my eyesight the whole time. When I'm sitting with my hands resting on my thighs, Jones shoves Chloe across the room and I catch her just before she goes down on her injured wrist. She doesn't make a sound, but what little color remaining in her face drains away. I try to help her up, but she gives her head a little shake and stands on her own. By the time she collapses in the seat next to me, her lips white. Her body is as taut as a bowstring, but she jerks her chin up and maintains eye contact with Jones.

The stubborn jut of her chin almost makes me grin. She may appear to be an angel, but she's got the spirit of a warrior.

"You two stay right here while they unload the cargo from below," Jones is saying when I turn back to face him. "Put out your hands."

I won't gain anything from arguing with him, so I do as he says, even though it makes my skin crawl to be at his mercy. He zip-ties Chloe's wrists in front of her first and I don't miss the wince when he jostles her injured wrist. It's already turning colors and I'm worried it may be broken instead of just strained.

A chilling grin pulls at Jones' lips by the time he finishes with her and gets to me. First is the collar around my neck followed by restraining my wrists. He's humming and all the earlier tension that seemed to grip him about the surprise visit from the sheriffs is gone. In fact, he seems...happy? For someone with no less than ten weapons trained on him this very moment, he's too relaxed. Especially considering we outwitted him and he's cornered, giving up the one bargaining chip he had. Three hostages—including the captain—is nothing compared to the dozens he's voluntarily giving up.

Something about it nags at me.

I know there's an ulterior motive at play. A man doesn't just hijack a boat with this many hostages on a whim and then relinquish them at the first chance. Which means either he has what, or in this case who, he wants, and he no longer needs those hostages, or he has something else planned for us.

It's pitch black out, but the spotlights from the Coast Guard's boat are trained on the area where they're preparing to unload the small crowd of people. They've situated a makeshift ramp and are helping everyone off one by one, a few uniformed officers guiding them along the wobbly plank.

If I were him, I'd have contingency plans. He has to know a boat isn't the most secure place. He has to know being ambushed by the cops was an option. Since he's got me, they're no longer important.

And then it hits and before I can second guess myself, my brain goes into auto-pilot and I move.

Jones has his attention on the people unloading, no doubt to calculate his next move, so he doesn't see me dive for the throttle. I engage it with my bound hands, but it does the job. The ferry jerks forward, throwing me to the ground. The people down below squawk and I hear their distressed screams before they are swallowed by the ocean.

All this happens in a manner of seconds, but it's enough to wipe the cheerful expression off the bastard's face and it gives me some level of satisfaction.

Then another explosion rents the air and throws us both to the ground. The boat shudders and for a moment I'm terrified we're going down, then it stabilizes and sputters forward. I've seen a lot of shit in my life, but for a few seconds, I can't bear to look up. The fear of seeing what horrifying thing is waiting for me paralyzes my thoughts.

"Gabe," comes a desperate whisper. "Gabe!"

I roll over to my back with a groan and consider the view. "We have to stop meeting like this," I tell the two of her.

She slaps at me with her bound hands and I grab it, which jars my throbbing head. "Why would you do that?" she screeches. "Do you have a death wish?"

I think about it for a second, then I say, "No, I don't think so."

She grabs a pair of scissors after searching the dash drawers and releases both of our bound hands. My head spins as she helps me to my feet. Mayhem greets me, and it takes a few minutes for my brain to decipher what my eyes are seeing. The tail of the boat is engulfed in smoke and the scent of singed plastic and hot metal. A cacophony of shouts pepper the air and then there's a rapid-fire pop-pop-pop from an automatic weapon.

Chloe wedges her shoulder under my arm to help me to my feet. Still reeling from the rush of adrenaline, I wrap an arm around her waist and we both go back down to the ground at the first sound of gunfire.

I shield her body with my own, tucking her face into my neck and caging her with both of my arms. "Don't move."

Her body vibrates with fear, but when I scan her expression, there's fire in her eyes. "Was that him?" She strains against me to get a better view of the lower deck. "Did they get him?"

"I don't know, but I have a feeling I'm not that lucky."

"Oh, you're definitely not lucky today," Jones says from behind us.

Above me, Gabe's body becomes one long, hard line of hate. My blood is pumping and my reflexes are all heightened so when I feel the six feet of male pressed against me from top to bottom, heat, oblivious to the situation, washes over me.

His glare is lethal and the hand on my shoulder contracts with bruising strength. I don't think he knows he's doing it and I don't dare interrupt their epic stare-down. If they'd been in the Wild West, guns would be drawn.

Jones doesn't point the angry-looking rifle he has slung from his shoulder at us, but I feel it watching me as he strides across the room to the controls. He sets it on top of the dash and I have a hard time turning away from it to see what his hands are doing.

"First chance I get, I will get you off of here," Gabe says in a half-whisper. His breath tickles my ear and I shiver against him.

I pray he doesn't feel it. In fact, I even close my eyes for the barest half-second. But when I open them, I see his slightly widened and want to throw myself overboard.

Then he glances down my body, his grip releasing, and slightly pats me down with his free hand. A moan nearly tears itself from my throat.

I bat his hands away and nearly head-butt him when I sit up. All I can think is I need to get away. "I'm fine," I say, more sharply than I intend. My butt scrapes against the rough carpeting as I put some much-needed space between us. "No need to manhandle me."

Gabe squints at me, like I'm a problem he can't quite figure out, but I turn a wary eye to Mr. Jones, who's taken ahold of the wheel and seems to have forgotten us. While he's distracted, I get to my feet. The air around me is stifling. Tension pours out in waves from both men and I'm stuck right in the middle.

Jones has shifted into full throttle and the cumbersome ferry plows through the waves like they're nothing. We're going faster than I ever expected this thing to go—and we're headed straight for emptiness.

When we're far enough away the rescue boat is but a blip in the distance, he slows us down until he finally brings the ferry to a stop. It couldn't have taken more than a few minutes, but in the middle of nowhere, it feels like we've traveled across galaxies instead of just a couple miles. The adrenaline's worn off and I'm scraped raw inside. If I do make it out of here, I'm terrified of what, if anything, will be left of me.

Gabe is shooting me furtive glances from where he leans against the wall to my opposite. Remembering all too well the way he felt against me, and hating myself for even thinking of it for a moment, I try my best to keep my eyes downcast.

I feel very alone. I press a hand to my knotted middle as if I can contain the ballooning fear inside of me. When it feels as though a scream—or my heart itself—may burst right out of my chest, I bite down on a knuckle. An indeterminable amount of time passes as I try to control the raging tempest inside of me.

All I can think about is the explosion. The injured passengers. Was there anything I could have done to save them? If I hadn't jumped in front of the little girl, would more lives be spared? Was the blood of those who died today on my hands? There were kids amongst those survivors. Did they make it to safety in time?

The thought spurs me to my feet and I pace in tight circles, growing increasingly blind to my surroundings as panic overwhelms me like a rogue wave. I rake my hands through my hair and my fingers snag on snarls. Chunks come away as I try to wrest my hands free.

A heavy weight blankets my shoulders until warmth from the body behind me washes away the icy shroud. "You're okay," he says. There's an indefinite pause as my mind jerks back from the brink of sanity and then I recognize his hold around me. When I tune back in, I hear his calm, steady voice repeating, "You're okay. I've got you," in a soothing refrain.

My knuckles are white where my fists clench around his forearms. "I'm sorry," I whisper so only he can hear. "I just need a minute."

His hold never falters. "I'm not goin' anywhere," he says. "Take all the time you need."

When I'm sure I won't fall apart, I ease myself out of the circle of his arms. With a rueful smile in his general direction, I straighten my clothes, smooth back my hair, and take a few deep, calming breaths.

I open my mouth to apologize, but he waves it away. "Don't worry about it," he says. "We all have to fall apart every now and then."

His words wring a surprised laugh from me. "I'll remind you of that when this is over."

We both turn toward the sound of footsteps. Before Jones can reach us, Gabe says in a low voice, "You can remind me at dinner when this is over."

There isn't any time to respond because Jones is grabbing me roughly by my uninjured arm and forcing me to kneel in the middle of the room. Much as I've been thrown around in the past few hours, I should be used to it.

I want to turn around. I want to be able to see my fate—if the situation devolves to that. I don't want to die a coward. But at the same time, I'm terrified of what I'm going to find.

"Sit down," I hear Jones say to Gabe. I don't need to look up after all, because I can hear the tell-tale click of the gun pointed in my direction.

From the corner of my eye, I see Gabe's bare feet* come into view. It strikes me as a particularly vulnerable part of a man and this one specifically. He seemed so formidable charging in here like he was the proverbial knight-in-shining-armor.

Only this knight has no armor to stand between him and the path of a bullet.

"Whatever you want, you want it from me, so deal with me," Gabe says. My body is once again wracked with shivers and it yearns for the warmth emanating from his proximity.

"Oh, I am dealing with you," Jones replies. "Apparently, a show of force is the only language you understand."

"Then leave her out of it."

Jones chuckles and it only increases my trembling. "I think this will be a whole lot easier if you have the proper motivation." There's the rustle of clothes, the whisper of his cotton shirt brushing against his body. "Sit down over there while we have our conversation. If you play by the rules, then it will be a civilized one."

Gabe does as Jones instructs and I watch his feet recede while I scan what little I can see of the room from my kneeling position.

Jones pulls up a chair next to me and the gun comes into my line of vision, freezing the breath right in my chest.

"Look at me," Gabe says and my eyes find him. "Whatever happens, you keep your eyes on me, okay, honey?"

"Don't talk to her." Jones moves in Gabe's line of vision.

Gabe holds my eyes defiantly for a few long seconds until I nod, then he glances back to Jones. "What would you like to talk about?" he asks in an even voice.

"You must be happy," Jones says and his congenial tone makes me want to gag. He sounds pleased with himself.

Gabe barely even bats an eye. Because yes, I'm not going to take my eyes off of him until we have the reassuring solidity of land beneath our feet. "What should I be happy about?"

He must be damn good at whatever job he has. I don't think I heard him say exactly. From his ease in this high stakes debacle, it has to be something with a lot of stress because he's cool under all the pressure.

At least one of us seems to be.

"You think you've already won," Jones says. His legs cross in my line of vision. Just passed where the two of them are sitting, I can see the captain's chest rising and falling in his peaceful slumber, the lucky bastard.

"Hard to win a game I don't even know I'm playing," Gabe replies evenly.

"Don't be stupid, Gabriel. We both know you're smarter than that."

"Since you seem to know so much, why don't you explain to me what exactly you want from me."

"I want you to remember."

A furrow between Gabe's brows is the only outward reaction he has to Jones's cryptic statement. "I'll do whatever you want, remember whatever the hell you want," Gabe says and he jerks his chin at me, "as long as you let Chloe go."

"Ohhh. It's Chloe now, is it? Getting friendly, are we?"

Gabe grits his teeth. "She doesn't have anything to do with this."

Jones crosses a leg nonchalantly. "She volunteered for the position." He waves the subject of me away like a gnat. "Besides, you'll be most uncooperative if I give away my leverage. So long as you answer my questions honestly, she'll be completely safe."

"Like those hostages were safe?" Gabe asks acidly.

Jones tsks. "Now, Gabe, I wasn't the one who lured me into a trap. You didn't think you were going to get away with that little stunt, did you?"

"They were innocent," Gabe says.

"Everyone is innocent. That doesn't mean they're exempt. Innocent people die every day, Mr. Rossi, or are you not aware?"

Gabe's response is silence.

"Now, tell me about yourself, Gabriel."

His nostrils flare. "Are you sure this is how you want to spend your limited time on this Earth?" he asks instead of answering.

Jones chuckles. "No, I imagine I'll spend it watching the life drain from your eyes. Until then, answer the question, or I'll shoot your little damsel here and I won't be picky about where."