Drake Sisters 05 - Safe Harbor

gear ahead of them while they swam toward it. Jonas felt a nudge against his body as a gray shape slid soundlessly past him. His heart jumped and he whipped his head around, trying to peer through the water to see what was coming up below him. Beside him, Jackson pulled his spear gun out, but it was impossible with the combination of fog and darkness to see anything around them.
    Voices rose and fell in the fog, soft and melodious, feminine. The voices sang of dolphins, sea creatures aiding sailors. The notes danced in the mist and slid easily into their minds. Both men relaxed, and when the dolphins pushed beneath their hands, they caught hold of the offered fins and accepted the ride.
    As they neared the large bulk sitting in the water, Jackson caught Jonas by the arm and pointed at the splash of red on the side, down near the water line. The dolphin pulling Jonas suddenly abandoned him, diving deep, straight down. Jonas moved closer to examine the red smears.
    "Fresh blood, Jackson, and a lot of it."

    Jonas took a slow look around him. Waves slapped his face as the dolphin returned to the surface towing something behind him. Jonas saw the hand first, fingers outstretched and reaching up through the dark water. It seemed to come out of the fog and water, detached, a gruesome macabre sight. The knuckles had a tattoo across it, much like the one Rudy Venturi had described. Jonas reached to snag the sleeve and pulled hard. The dolphin let go, but the body seemed weighed down, too heavy to keep on the surface for more than a few moments.
    Jackson reached over to help, tugging the arm out of the water. Shoulders and chest followed, and then the face with the heavy, handsome features and the gaping wound circling his throat from ear to ear like a ghoulish smile. Karl Tarasov had died hard.
    His eyes were dull and glassy, his face a mask of horror. He wore the coat of a captain, and beneath it, Jonas could make out the shoulder harness with the gun still in the holster. Jackson indicated something under the body weighting it down and Jonas nodded his understanding before allowing the body to drop away, back under the sea.
    Jonas boarded first, moving as soundlessly as possible, trying to puzzle out the implications of Karl Tarasov's execution. He gained the deck and lay flat, waiting for his heart to stop pounding as he oriented himself to the surroundings. Jackson slid into position beside him and they pulled their gear from their waterproof bags and readied themselves for war. Jackson fit the radio piece into his ear and gave Gray instructions for his men. Two guards patrolled the deck. They would take them out as quietly as possible to allow Gray to get his men onboard.
    Jonas signaled Jackson forward and he moved in the opposite direction, circling around to get in position to take out the guard as he came back around. He drew his knife and waited, heart pounding, a bad taste in his mouth. This day would haunt him.
    He knew it had to be done, and he was more than willing to kill these men to keep the Drakes safe, but that wouldn't make killing any easier. He just wasn't wired that way.
    His mother—and the Drakes—had seen to that.
    The guard loomed out of the fog, his footsteps muffled, merging with the sound of water slapping the sides of the yacht and the occasional cry of a bird overhead. Jonas let the man go past him and stepped in, arm whipping up fast, knife sinking deep. He let out his breath, holding the guard while the life drained out of him before easing him to the deck. He asked the universe for forgiveness even as he was making his way down to the next level, seeking Boris Tarasov with every intention of ending his life—and wasn't that irony? Sometimes he made himself sick.
    Jonas heard Jackson whispering through the earpiece. "I'm looking at Karl Tarasov alive and well. He's talking to two of the guards in front of the master state room."
    Jonas frowned. There was no doubt in his mind that Karl was anchored at the bottom of the sea. "Are you sure?"
    "It's him. He just patted a guard on the back. They laughed together and he went into the stateroom. The guards definitely think it's him."

    "One at the helm," Jonas said. "He's got a bird's eye view, Gray, get one of your best on him." He made his way slowly down the stairs, hugging the wall, careful to make no sound as he eased each foot forward.
    Someone laughed as he passed the salon. Jonas crouched down, making himself small as he studied the