Lexie frowned, feeling slightly uneasy. Aside from the rumble of the ship, it felt too quiet. No, too still. Trust your instincts, she thought. Where were the deck attendees? If she was being honest with herself, her instincts were telling her to get up to the passenger decks, find a cup of hot tea and get back to examining her file on Maria, the missing young woman she’d been searching for these past few months. She had clues to piece together before they docked in Argentia, Newfoundland’s historic port town and former United States military base.
Despite the ferry’s protection against the early March air, Lexie shivered, looking forward to the warm lounge above. Her footsteps clanged as she walked alongside the cars, weaving through them to get to the stairs. As she crossed between a tall blue van and an oversize SUV, arms circled around her neck and waist, pinning her from behind.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” a scratchy, masculine voice growled.
Lexie tried to scream, but the pressure on her neck made it hard to breathe. She gasped for air and lifted her boot to stamp on his foot. He squeezed tighter, and tears streamed down Lexie’s face as sparks flew in her vision. Every movement she made only increased the pressure on her throat. In moments, she would pass out, or worse. As Lexie’s vision turned blurry, she thought she heard something—like shouting, from far away. Pounding footsteps came toward her and, as quickly as she’d been grabbed, her attacker released his grip, shoving her forward.
Lexie tumbled to the floor, gasping for air.
Pain shot through her limbs with each breath, and she could still feel where the man’s arm had pressed against her windpipe.
The footsteps stopped as they came close, and she sensed a presence beside her. A gentle touch on her shoulder sent waves of relief flooding through the pain. “Steady,” said a calm male voice. “Are you all right? Do you need medical attention?”
Did she? Lexie squinted through the haze in her vision. She’d feel a whole lot better if someone had taken off after the attacker. He might still be caught, but this man in front of her would have to get moving.
“Go,” she tried to croak, but it sounded more like a raspy gasp than an intelligible word.
“Let’s get you to the upper deck,” he said. An arm snaked around her back to rest under her shoulders. She tried to push his arm away and gesture in the general direction of her attacker’s escape, but either her signaling skills needed some serious work, or this man was less motivated than he should have been to catch a criminal.
Lexie leaned against the nearest tire and squeezed her eyes shut. Her head and heart pounded. Had the attacker truly known who she was, and why she’d boarded the ferry? The warning had been unspecific, and he could have mistaken her for someone else—the lighting in the car deck made the whole area appear gray and muddled.
If anything, the attacker’s threat only made her more determined to get to Newfoundland. Until now, she’d had no possible evidence that Maria’s disappearance was anything more than another case of “runaway teenager.” Maria’s parents were convinced their daughter had skipped town out of anger after they’d forbidden her to spend time with a boy she’d been sweet on—but unlike most of Lexie’s clients, Lexie had actually met Maria in person before. Lexie occasionally volunteered to drive the local youth group to their community events, and Maria had always come across as one of the most level-headed young adults among the group. On the other hand, she’d spent the drive to the ferry dock questioning how well she’d known the girl after all. Lexie hadn’t even realized Maria was seeing anyone. Not that they’d had any deep conversations about life, but the whole situation hit far too close to home. For Maria’s family’s sake, Lexie would figure this out, no matter how long it took.
As for the man crouched in front of her, asking over and over if she needed medical attention...she could barely hear her own thoughts over his repeated questioning. When she finally shook her head in response, he took her left hand and turned it over, uncurling her fingers.
“Your palm is bleeding,” he said. He traced gentle fingers around the scraped and dirtied base of her palm. “I’m going to call for medical assistance. The emergency phone is five feet away from us on the wall by the stairs. I’ll be able to see you. You’re safe.”
I know I’m safe, and it’s not because of you. “Fine,” she rasped. The effort brought on a fit of coughing, which did nothing to ease the throb in her throat. It was ridiculous, sitting here. She had serious work to do, and only sixteen hours to do it in. “But I don’t need a doctor. Just need to get to the upper deck.”
The man huffed in frustration and stood. Moments later, Lexie heard him phoning for medical assistance. To her surprise, he didn’t explain on the phone why she needed help, but told them to bring a first aid kit and a few extra, oddly specific, supplies. She didn’t need an ophthalmoscope or penlight or whatever—a bit of iodine and a small bandage and she’d be fine.
Lexie braced against the car at her back and pushed upward, placing her hands on the hood for a few moments to catch her balance. Using one hand on the car for support, she reached to pick up her purse and travel bag from where they’d fallen.
“A medical team will be here in a minute,” the man said, hanging up the phone and coming toward her. “Sit back down. They’ll check to make sure no serious damage was done to your throat, since—”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Lexie managed to lift her head to make eye contact with the man who’d come to her rescue. Her heart leaped into her throat as every muscle in her shoulders tensed. The man wore a red plaid shirt, a puffy black winter vest, jeans and a red knit toque. He looked like a lumberjack—or someone trying really hard to look like a lumberjack. Except that she knew him, or she had, eight years ago, and he definitely hadn’t been lumberjack material.
In fact, the man in front of her was her own missing sister’s former beau, looking as gorgeous as he did the day he broke Nikki’s heart and sent her into a downward spiral...a spiral that led to Nikki’s kidnapping almost eight years ago, only months after they’d met.
What were the chances she’d end up here and now, being rescued by him?
* * *
Shaun Carver blinked in surprise at the piercing hazel eyes that glared at him in fury. Eight years separated the last time they’d met, and she looked good.
Really, really good. She had longer hair than he remembered, and a maturity about her that replaced the teenage awkwardness of all those years ago. “Alexandra?” He extended his hand for a proper greeting, but she shook her head and hoisted her bags farther onto one shoulder. “Is that really you? Nicola’s sister, right?”
Instead of acknowledging his question, she mumbled an incoherent phrase under her breath and broke eye contact. “I can take it from here, Carver.”
Hearing his real name jolted Shaun out of the moment of incredulity and back to reality. “Just Shaun these days,” he said, glad that they were the only people within earshot. He’d boarded the ferry under an alias, and there’d be a heap of trouble if the wrong people overheard and figured out his true purpose aboard the vessel. He doubted the CIA would appreciate him blowing his cover on a three-year, multi-continent human-trafficking operation thanks to an unexpected reunion with the little sister of a girl he’d briefly been friends with years ago.
“Whatever,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “Did you get a good look at his face? I need to report the incident to ship security. It would help to have a description.”
Shaun shook his head. “Ski mask, wide shoulders. That’s about it. His head and body were covered in black gear, so there’s not much to go on. He had a distinctive gait—jerky but quick—so that might help, but I can take care of it. I saw the guy and can describe the incident. No need for you to relive it if you don’t have to. Let’s have the medical team look you over so you can enjoy the rest of the trip.”
“You’re