Page 59

Okay, dinner too.A pizza, with lots of pepperoni and mushrooms.
Mostly, Austen just wanted off this danger train.
She sat on the bench of the boat, Steinbeck now manning the wheel as he followed Phoenix or Belle or whatever her name was west into the moonlight.
They’d slowed in the darkness and the churning sea and hadn’t been able to catch Belle, losing her now and again in the swell.Somehow, they’d managed to stay on her tail, despite the darkness.
Declan sat next to her on the bench, looking a little undone and beat up by the events of the last few hours.His face still bore the bruises, but now he also wore a hint of dark whiskers, and it turned him into a rogue.Fact was, she felt a little bit like she’d been kidnapped and set into some action-adventure movie where everywhere she turned, she was running.
Literally, not metaphorically, so that was a change.“At least I’m not in the ocean,” she said mostly to herself, but Declan cocked his head at her.
“I’m just saying, it could be worse.”She turned her attention to Belle.“Where do you think she’s going?”
“She’s trying to get away from me,” Steinbeck said.
“Why you?”
Austen’s brother had been standing as he drove, and now he sat down on the back of the seat, his feet on the cushion.Austen guessed they’d eaten about an hour since they’d left the yacht, which put the night nearly at midnight.No wonder she wanted to lie down and sleep.She simply wanted to stop thinking about the escape from the yacht, and even before that, about being taken hostage, and even beforethat,about seeing Declan get beat up.
She’d also like to erase the sight of Steinbeck leaping off a boat with bullets flying around him.And the terrible clench in her gut when Belle had gone off into the darkness to find him.
Yes, Austen really just wanted her boat and her very quiet, normal life back.Especially since she was no closer to landing on a decision about Declan.She didn’t know what to think, and his words on the yacht about double-crossing the Bratva didn’t help.But it made sense why they’d come after him.And that made him a good guy, right?
The stars scattered above them, the moonlight rippling on the water.“‘Whom do I have in heaven but you?’”she said quietly.“‘For you know my coming and my going.You are my strength and my shield, and you I will trust.’”
Declan looked over at her.
“It’s a bunch of verses from the Psalms, in the Bible.Talking about how we can’t hide from God, no matter where we are.”
Declan looked away, and it seemed she’d hit a nerve.
“Declan?”
He sighed.“Do you ever wonder if you’ve walked outside of God’s favor?Done something to set yourself at odds with Him?”
“We set ourselves at odds with God all the time.Whenever we take control of our own lives and say, ‘Thanks, but I’m in charge now.’”
She glanced at the boat in the distance.“There’s a verse in James that talks about how doubting God’s love, his faithfulness, is like being a wave tossed by the sea, driven by the wind.Out of control, no mooring.”
Steinbeck hit a wave hard, and she grabbed the edge of the boat.
“Doubt keeps us from having a firm foundation when the world erupts into chaos.”
Silence, but he nodded.
Declan moved to sit next to her.“I’m sorry I got you into this.I thought I was outsmarting them.Clearly, I didn’t count on them coming after me.Or you.”
Sweet.She didn’t know what to say except, “It’s not your fault.”
“It istotallyhis fault,” Steinbeck said, looking over at her.“Completely, one hundred percent his fault.We would not be out here fleeing from the Russian mob and chasing down a spy if it wasn’t for him.”
“She’s aspy?”Declan said.
“She’s a Black Swan,” Steinbeck said.“She works for an all-women clandestine international agency that helps thwart terrorists around the world.”He stared at Declan for a beat before turning away.
Terrorists?Steinbeck had called him a criminal, not aterrorist.She looked at Declan.“Is that true?Are you a?—”
“No,” he said, glaring at Steinbeck.“It isnottrue.”