Captain Rourke by Helena Newbury

Author:Helena Newbury [Newbury, Helena]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Foster & Black
Published: 2017-08-22T16:00:00+00:00

35

Rourke

Jesus, it was dark. One of those nights where the air seems solid, a blanket that hides the rocks until it’s far too late.

But my family had been doing this for a long time. Back in 18th century, my ancestors used to smuggle liquor and tobacco into Scotland. The sea was in my blood. I couldn’t see the rocks but I could hear the waves breaking against them, feel the change in the wind against my face as we came into the lee of them. I got the oars slicing the water with barely a splash and Hannah was managing to keep the bailing quiet, too. We slid over the water like a ghost, threading past rocks I could only see in my mind. All it would take would be to clip one and our momentum would crush the damaged hull like an eggshell. Then we’d be in the water with an injured, vengeful shark.

Steady, said Edwards beside me. And I took a deep breath and focused.

Seconds later, I heard voices and laughter. The clink of beer bottles. Then Ratcher’s voice, snapping at his crew, telling them to keep it down.

I leaned forward and tapped Hannah on the shoulder, trying to ignore how good that smooth skin felt. She stopped bailing and sat there frozen.

I concentrated and gave one last hard pull on the oars to keep our momentum up. Then I lifted them clear of the water and held them there. We glided past a rock the size of a house and—

Ratcher’s boat was right there, it’s stern towards us. They’d killed their lights but Ratcher hadn’t been able to stop his crew smoking. I could see the glowing tips of their cigarettes, cherry red in the darkness. And inside the wheelhouse I could see the glow of screens and control panels: Ratcher was too nervous a sailor to shut down his technology. We were going to drift by less than ten feet from him.

The voices became distinct. “It’s too dangerous,” said one man. From his accent, it was Trujillo, Ratcher’s dive expert. Not a bad guy: he’d just signed on with the wrong boss. “Grainger said he saw a shark.”

They were just silhouettes in the darkness but I recognized Ratcher from his bulk. Heard Trujillo’s gasp as he was lifted clear of the deck. “Rourke and the bitch are down there somewhere,” spat Ratcher. “The divers keep going until either we find the fucking clue or we find them and get it off them.” He dumped Trujillo on the deck. “If they’re too scared, tell them I’m raising the bounty on Rourke. Ten thousand. That’ll get them moving. And fifteen if they bring him in alive. I want that Scottish bastard to watch while I fill our hold with gold. Then he can watch while I throw her face-down over one of the chests and fuck her ‘till—”

I forced myself to tune it out but I couldn’t stop my hands tensing in white-hot fury. An oar twisted. Water dribbled and dripped.

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