Deep Blue

Part 13

They made their way to where Eric's friends had towed his boat. The sight of it with its radio blown to bits and bullet holes pocking the hull made Zoe's stomach heave. She breathed through it and watched while they looked it over. "Least she's not taking water," Von intoned in the deepest voice Zoe had ever heard. While Ans was a tank, short and packed tight with muscle, Von's bulk was more spread out, not quite as tall and lean as Eric, but thicker and strong. Leo, at a couple inches shorter than Zoe, was especially intimidating. She'd heard about how tough the military was on women and couldn't imagine what kind of struggles Leo had faced as a black female helicopter pilot.

The competence these people exuded made Zoe feel amateurish and small. Though safe, she had to admit.

"I'll bring her back in when this is over," Von offered.

Moments later, they were on the water in what was apparently Ans's boat, heading silently toward the rig.

"Here." Leo handed Zoe a dark nylon jacket, which she slid into with a happy sigh.

"Thanks." She could feel Leo's curious examination, even in the dark. It made her wonder for a few seconds if there'd ever been anything between her and Eric.

"How's this boat so quiet?" Zoe whispered.

"Electric." Leo's almost black hair caught the light from the platform. She threw Zoe a quick smile.

Zoe smiled in return and glanced at the others. Dressed in some kind of combat gear—including Eric now—every one of them had that barely hidden blend of excitement and anticipation on their faces. Like they lived for this.

Their equipment was bananas—earpieces and night- vision goggles and belts filled with all kinds of stuff Zoe couldn't even begin to identify. Well, aside from the guns and canteens.

She exhaled, hard, doing her best to work the nerves out of her system.

The plan was simple: climb up and split into three groups—Eric and Zoe, Leo and Ans, and Von on his own.

Leo and Ans would cut power. Then each group would sweep one level of the rig, grab whatever prisoners they could, and question them. Easy.

Yeah, right.

Zoe couldn't stop shaking. Halfway up the rig's south leg ladder, with Eric above her and Von below, Zoe was walloped with a megadose of déjà vu. Had it been just yesterday that she'd done this on her own, with no idea what kind of trouble lay ahead? Hardly seemed possible. But this time, she reminded herself, I'm not alone. She eyed Eric as he paused at the top. He signaled for her to wait and pulled himself up, his movements eerily quiet. The man must have been really good at his job.

After the day she'd had—not to mention the night— she should be completely exhausted. But she wasn't. She was...revved up, excited. A little scared and out of breath, but also ready. Funny, out of everything she'd imagined in her life, she'd never pictured herself doing this—laying siege to one of her platforms.

Eric's head and hand appeared briefly, telling her to follow. She climbed the last few rungs, wondering if she'd have to use the gun he'd made her take. Could she, if she had to?

She pictured the men who'd hit her and locked her up in that room. Maybe she could hit them, knock them out, but use the gun?

An image of Sea Lion Bob popped into her head. What if they'd killed him? That thought sent a rush of certainty through her.

Yeah. I'll pull the trigger if I need to.

Without letting herself look down, she cleared the top and was back on the rig.

It all looked different in the near-dawn light. It felt crowded, more claustrophobic, as if everything had shrunk—as if the red metal piping with valves and nozzles and switches had moved closer, narrowing the already tight walkways. She blinked at a gauge, its glass cracked with what had to be a bullet lodged between the six and seven.

That bullet had been meant for her. To kill her.

She swayed and caught herself on a railing. Her heart pounding in her ears, hands cold, face weirdly hot, she was overwhelmed by an attack of nerves, along with a fresh shot of What am I doing here? I shouldn't have come.

Shit. I'll be in the way.

Her feet had stopped moving, and Von came up beside her. He gave her a thumbs-up, a question on his face.

Am I okay? Can I do this?

Eric, who'd moved farther into the rig, caught her eye and came back, while the others spread out and up to cut power and begin their sweeps, every movement sure and silent. Von disappeared up the ladder like a ghost, and even Ans, despite his bulk, climbed with the light, confident grace of a dancer.

I don't belong here.

Close enough to whisper, Eric slid a hand behind her nape. "You okay?"

"What if I have to kill someone?"

"You won't. And you can wait in the boat, if you want to."

She hesitated. Did she? She'd been so certain before, but this was way out of her comfort zone. Coming back here, attacking people and maybe hurting them. It made her throat tight and her stomach queasy. But still... "I want to help."

"Then stay. I've got your back." He meant it. He trusted her. She couldn't let him down. Zoe squared her shoulders. "I'm fine. Let's go."

Eric squeezed her nape one last time. After a second's hesitation, he leaned in and pecked her on the mouth before turning away with a funny little grin.

When her belly flip-flopped this time, it was from something other than fear.

They headed silently toward their assigned floor. At the first metal door, Eric stopped to look over what appeared to be a blueprint of the rig for emergency evacuation. After that, he advanced quickly through long, lit corridors. The place was eerily quiet as they walked past the mess hall and an engine room before spotting what was clearly marked as the engine control room. The last place to check on this level.

Zoe and Eric each stood to one side of the door. He signaled to her to keep back. Breathe in, breathe out. He opened the door, slid inside, and, right on time, the lights went dark.