Page 29 of Velvet and Valor (Platinum Security: Shadows of LA #4)

JUNE

The wind shifts direction, making it easier to control the yacht. The engine has been smoking for several minutes now, and about half the instruments just flash at me. I guess I’m lucky it still works at all after the rogue wave washed over it.

I inch my way back toward the marina, a task made easier now that I’m no longer fighting the waves.

But the engine keeps smoking worse and worse, and I’m losing power by the second.

At last, I manage to eke the yacht into the marina’s artificial cove, but that’s all the engine has to give. I start drifting toward the dock.

I’m no sailor, but I’ve seen enough movies to know I need to throw a mooring rope to anchor the boat in place. Of course, seeing it done and doing it yourself are two different things. Then I notice that the yacht’s rear deck is only about a foot from the dock.

One badly-timed, stumbling jump later, I’m struggling up to my feet and sighing in relief. I can’t believe how good it feels to be on solid ground, so to speak. At least it’s not moving constantly.

Now that I’m not in immediate danger, I start to realize my other discomforts. Like the fact I’m soaked to the bone with sea water. Already it’s starting to leave a white, cakey layer on the driest parts of my clothes. I get a whiff of my hair and it makes me want to gag.

I see the Go For Broke yacht bobbing serenely in its spot at the marina. I’m tempted to try and go aboard, to see if I can find Axel. But I quickly reconsider that plan. I’d better go see if his friend Dane is still around before I go poking about on the yacht.

I’ve got to tell him what I found out from Ricky, about what Moorcrock has been after this whole time.

On my way back to the marina, things started to fall together slowly.

First, it was just a flash of my collision with the woman at the airport terminal.

After that, the puzzle pieces started to really click.

The way she scurried to gather her things from the pavement before she realized she was bleeding.

The horror in her eyes when I passed her a napkin to wipe the blood away.

The way the behemoth’s eyes fell to the scarf and briefcase in my hands before he pushed me into the car.

I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. They were so desperate to pry my case from my hands, and I never put two and two together. It wasn’t my briefcase at all. It was the couriers. I was sure of it, even if I hadn’t opened it since all of this started.

I was willing to bet my life that the goods everyone was willing to kill for, were sitting snuggly in the case at the beach house, just waiting to be found.

It’s too bad my cell phone is somewhere out in the Pacific Ocean. I could just call Axel.

When I exit the marina, I don’t see Dane or his car. I try asking the security guard for help.

“The big guy with the shades?” The guard’s face scrunches up in a frown. “He left up outta here about half an hour ago.”

I curse silently, looking around the parking lot as if I’m going to glean some clue as to his whereabouts.

“What about my fiancé?” I ask, referring to Axel. “The man I went into the marina with. Have you seen him?”

“Oh yeah,” he replies. “He left a while ago, too. Seemed to be in a hurry.”

“Did he say where he was going?” I ask.

“Nope, sorry,” he said. “He left in an uber, though.”

Now I’m stranded at the marina with no phone, no money, and no way to get a hold of anyone. I go to ask my friend the security guard for more help, but he’s not in the booth. Curious, I walk around the side and see him on his cell phone.

“No, she’s still here. I’ve kept her busy. I don’t think she’s got a car or nothing—”

I duck back behind the corner before he can see me. Shit, he’s selling me out. And to think that I didn’t cuss him out! I should have let him have it with both barrels.

Instead, I need an idea. The guard has a gun on his belt. I can’t get into his booth, so I can’t reach the phone. I try sticking my arm through the tiny hole at the bottom of his interaction window but I can’t reach very far. All I can get my hands on is the valet parking cabinet…

I grab a set of keys and rush toward the parking lot. I push the fob again and again, hoping to hear the telltale sound of a horn.

Then, at last, an answering beep. I follow the sound to a slab of metal masquerading as an SUV. Perfect.

I get inside and pull the seat way up before turning the engine over. The guard runs out into the parking lot, waving his arms wildly in an attempt to stop me from leaving. The only problem is, I’m not trying to leave.

I can only imagine that the guard sees his image growing larger and larger, reflected in the truck’s grill as I bear down on him. At the last moment he realizes I’m not stopping, and he tries to run. I slam on the brakes, because I don’t want to kill the poor man, but I do it a little bit late.

I feel the impact reverberate through the steering wheel as I smack right into him. The guard jerks forward and tumbles across the parking lot.

I quickly get out and rush over to where he lays on the ground, groaning.

“Where?” I ask, because he knows good and well what I mean.

He gestures at his cell phone. The screen is cracked, but it still functions. I hand it to him, but one of his arms is broken. I have to hold the cell for him while he scrolls through his contacts.

“Here,” he says, tapping the screen. “That’s the address…please call me an ambulance.”

“In a minute,” I say. “I’m going to make a phone call first.”

I have trouble getting a connection to the Platinum Security office, but eventually I get through to the voicemail. I leave a frantic message about my separation from Axel and then send a text directly to Jax saying pretty much the same thing.

When I call Axel, it goes right to voicemail with no ringing whatsoever.

“Axel, call me god dammit!” I snap. I text pretty much the same thing and sigh. It’s all I can do for now. The man on the ground whimpers, and I feel a stab of pity.

I use his phone to dial 911 and then toss it onto the ground beside him. I could take the phone, but I’m worried it could be used by the wrong people to track me.

“Good luck explaining all of this to the cops,” I say before leaving. I stop and give him one last once over. He doesn’t appear to be bleeding, or to have any life-threatening injuries. His broken arm seems to be the worst of it.

And I remind myself that he was gleefully going to hand me over to terrible people who would probably kill me.

I follow the vehicle GPS coordinates and realize I’m going somewhere familiar.

A couple of years ago, one of our films secured the rights to film in an old, abandoned shipyard for a few pivotal scenes.

I remember it being out in the middle of nowhere, and that we had to bring generators in because there was no power.

I also remember there were two roads leading to the site. One was an offshoot of the main highway, guaranteed to be watched.

The other was a little used service road that ran along the rocky beach for a half mile or so. I turned off the main drag and made for the service road. A thin chain and Keep Out sign are all that prevents my ingress. I figure, I’ve already run somebody over today, what’s a chain?

The chain snaps easily, and I don’t even slow down. At first. But the paved road quickly gives way to gravel, which then gives way to sand. The SUV struggles to make it up a rise in the terrain as I try to keep myself oriented to the shipyard.

I come up over the rise, and my heart leaps with joy. I can see the service road plain as day. But then I realize that there’s a problem. The tide is coming in, threatening to wash over my chosen path. Already flecks of foam and sea spray dot the road at intervals.

I could try to turn back, but Axel could be in trouble, and I still think this is my best bet to approach unseen. I throw the car in drive and peel out down the other side of the hill, kicking up gouts of sand behind me.

The ocean seems perilously close as I turn onto the service road. The shipyard disappears behind a curving cliff for a short time, but I’m not looking that way much. My eyes are focused either on the sandy road ahead of me, or the ever-encroaching Pacific Ocean.

I come around the cliff at last, and the shipyard comes back into view, much closer now. But the tide has washed over this section of road already. The SUV slows down as I hit the wet sand. I don’t know what else to do but hit the accelerator and hope I make it through.

“Come on,” I say as the truck fishtails and slows to a crawl. “Come on!”

I finally catch some traction and the truck surges forward. The road rises a bit, taking me out of the water at last. My elation is short-lived, however, because I can see another dip ahead. The road has completely vanished under the waves.

I don’t have much choice but to try and make it through. I pick up as much speed as I can going down hill and hit the water with a big splash. The wipers go on automatically as a deluge hits the windshield.

“Come on, come on,” I plead and beg as the SUV threatens to slow. Whenever a wave comes in I can feel it push the truck.

At last, I come out of the dip and make it onto a beach a stone's throw from the shipyard. The truck hits an unexpected ditch and lurches hard to the right. I struggle with the wheel, but I spin out and wind up with the back wheels in the water.

I try and power my way out, but a wave hits the truck, lifting it enough that I lose all traction. Worse, as the wave recedes it drags the truck along with it. With mounting terror, I realize I’m being dragged away from shore and into the ocean.

And I’ve had quite enough of that for one day.

I decide to abandon the truck. On a whim I check the center console as I unbuckle the seat belt. I find a bottle of water…and under that, a loaded pistol.

“Holy shit, whose car did I steal? James Bond’s?” I whisper.

I’d probably be afraid to touch the gun under normal circumstances. These are far from normal circumstances, however.

I grab the gun and the bottle of water and awkwardly exit the truck. I stagger through knee-deep water, my feet getting sucked in by wet sand. I lose both of my shoes but keep on going until I make it onto dry sand.

I know time is of the essence, I know Axel could be in danger.

But I don’t have any choice but to collapse on the sand and gasp like a fish out of water.

I look out over the ocean as the waves slowly devour the truck.

Already the breakers are above the roof.

If I were still in the truck, I’d already have a tough time trying to get back to shore. I’m lucky I got out when I did.

Laying here on the beach, I'm realizing something. I think I appreciate life a hell of a lot more for having faced death so many times in so short a time. Before, I always felt a little bit sluggish. Like I'd lost something or was missing something I’d had in my more idealistic days at college.

Now I know the truth. It’s easy to get complacent, to forget how precious life is until you think you’re going to lose it. I’ve been dancing around my feelings for Axel this whole time. Why? Because I’m afraid of getting hurt? That’s no excuse not to take a chance, and I know it.

The truth is, I was being wishy-washy because I thought I had plenty of time to do so. But life can end at any second. While I’m holding myself back and not acting on my feelings, the grim reaper could be creeping up behind me and lifting his scythe.

Well, not anymore. I’ve come too close to dying too many times for it not to mean something. Getting my old life back is great and all, but it’s not enough. I want more. I want to be happy. And I want Axel to be the person who helps make me happy.

I have to tell him how I feel. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? No, I’m just looking for excuses not to tell him. I have to get this out of me, or it will drive me crazy.

Of course, first I have to find Axel. And survive long enough to tell him.

I look down at the gun in my hand and sigh. It’s a .38 revolver, not very powerful but reliable. At least, that’s what the master of arms told me on a movie set once. It does have the advantage of being less prone to jamming than automatic models.

It’s so heavy. I look at the bullets inside of the chambers and shudder at the thought of what they could do to a human body. Some people just aren’t meant to be soldiers, and I’m one of them.

I don’t want to hurt anyone, let alone kill them. But I’m not an idiot. I know that, to protect myself and Axel, I might have to use this gun. I might have to kill someone. The scary thing isn’t that I’m afraid that I can’t.

The scary thing is that I’m afraid I CAN. No, I know I can. If it came down to mine or Axel’s lives, or one of Moorcrock’s goons, I wouldn’t hesitate. Does that make me a bad person? Or at least selfish? Why do I deserve to live more than someone else?

Axel would laugh at that question. He’d probably say something like while you’re moralizing, the poor bastard you feel sorry for is lining up a headshot. Maybe he’s right in this case.

I drain the bottle of water, then stare up at the shipyard. Here goes nothing.