by LENA DIAZ,
His eyes widened. “Mark. No, damn it.” He rushed around Heather and strode to the door. “Stay here.” He hurried into the hallway, firmly closing the door behind him.
Heather couldn’t resist a quick peek through the blinds. The slamming door must have been Mark going out front, because he was now standing on the walkway talking to the two police officers. Heather clutched her hand to her throat, fervently hoping Nick’s worries about the policemen were unfounded.
One of the policemen suddenly drew his gun and pointed it at Mark’s chest. A gunshot rang out. Mark flipped backward onto the lawn.
Heather screamed. The policemen swiveled toward her, looking right at her.
She dropped the blind and flattened herself against the wall.
Oh, no, Mark. No, no, no.
Where was Nick? Was he already outside? Were they going to shoot him next?
Oh, no, please.
Muffled footsteps sounded through the house.
Heather clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from making any noise. Was that Nick? Or someone else?
Oh, God. Please let Nick be okay.
The footsteps pounded down the hallway, closer, closer. If that was Nick, wouldn’t he have called out to warn her?
Heather whirled around. Nowhere to hide. She ran toward the door and lunged for the vase on the dresser as the door flew open. She swung the vase like a bat, aiming at her attacker’s head.
The man’s arm jerked up. The vase thunked against his forearm and fell to the floor, exploding into a dozen pieces.
Heather shoved at him and tried to escape through the doorway.
An iron grip clamped around her wrist and brought her up short.
“Heather, it’s me,” Nick’s harsh whisper sounded near her ear. He flipped off the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.
She sagged against him, wrapping her arms around his waist, hugging him. “Nick, oh, my gosh. You’re okay. They shot Mark. I thought you were outside, too, that they were going to shoot you.”
“The men who shot Mark had disappeared by the time I made it to the front door.” His voice was still a harsh whisper, as if he was afraid of making much noise. “They could be anywhere. We’ve got to get out of here.”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her down the hall toward the main room, forcing her to run to keep up with his long strides. He must have flipped the lights out when he ran to get her because the entire house was dark except for the moonlight filtering through the French doors off the back of the main room and through the skylights overhead.
“Can’t we just grab Mark, get in the car and get out of here?” Heather whispered.
He peered out through the glass panes in one of the back doors. “The police car is blocking the garage. I can’t get the car out.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Shade the screen to help conceal the light,” he whispered.
She did as he said. “What are you doing?”
“Calling for backup.” He pressed a button on the screen.
A soft “pfftt” sound echoed through the room. One of the glass panes in the French door next to them exploded.
Heather let out a startled yelp.
Nick pushed her down onto the floor. He aimed his gun toward the front of the house and fired off three quick shots. He shoved his phone in his pocket and threw open the door behind them.
“Come on.” He grabbed Heather’s wrist.
They took off running, with Nick pushing her ahead of him, using his body to block any attack from behind.
“What are we going to do?” Heather called back to him.
“Get to the woods,” he said. “We’ll use the trees for cover. I’ll try to hold them off until we can get help.”
They practically flew across the soft grass toward the woods behind the house.
Another shot rang out behind them.
Nick swore and pushed Heather harder. He fired a shot, then yanked Heather behind the first stand of oak trees.
* * *
HEATHER STARTED TO SLOW.
“Don’t stop,” Nick whispered harshly, urging her forward with his hand on her back. “Get to that next stand of trees. The bushes are thicker there, more cover.” He had to get some distance between them and their pursuers.
When he thought they’d gone far enough, he pulled Heather to a stop. Her breathing was loud and choppy. He needed her to calm down, or anyone within ten yards of them would hear her breathing.
“Shouldn’t you call for backup now?” she panted between breaths.
That last shot had shattered his phone holstered at his hip, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. She was already so scared her face was ghost-white.
“In a minute,” he said, trying to think of a lie that would make sense. “The screen is too bright. It will let our pursuers know right where we are.”
She nodded, probably remembering the shot the last time he’d tried to use his phone. The person who’d shot the French door had a silencer, which told Nick far more about the men who were after them. They definitely weren’t cops. And at least one of them was a highly paid assassin. The average drug dealer thug couldn’t afford a silencer.
“Nick,” Heather whispered, her breathing slower and much more quiet now. “Mark is hurt. Shouldn’t we try to go back and—”
He stared down at her. “I figured he was just playing dead for the gunmen, because he lost his gun back in town. He was wearing a Kevlar vest. And so are you. Right?” At her hesitation, his eyes narrowed. “Please tell me Rickloff didn’t send you and Mark into that bar without bullet-resistant vests.”
Heather blinked at him and swallowed hard. “I seem to remember him saying something about not being able to conceal a vest beneath T-shirts and shorts like tourists wear in the summer.”
Nick swore viciously and shoved his gun back into his belt. He yanked his shirt over his head and threw it on the ground. He tugged at the Velcro straps of his vest, wincing when the ripping sound seemed to echo through the trees.
“What are you doing?” Heather shook her head when he lowered the vest over her head. “Wait, you can’t do this. You’re the one who should be wearing this, not me.”
Ignoring her pleas and her struggles, he tugged the straps, tightening them around her.
“No, stop it.” She batted at his hands. “I am not going to be responsible for you getting hurt or killed. Stop it.”
He grabbed her arms, holding her tight to stop her struggles. “Condition number two. Be quiet. And stop fighting me.”
Heather instantly stilled but she continued to glare up at him. The woman was adorable when she was angry. Nick barely managed to squelch a threatening grin as he finished tightening the straps on the vest. He didn’t want to give her the impression they were in the clear now and everything was okay.
Because they weren’t, and everything was definitely not okay.
“Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll wear the vest, but at least give me your backup gun. I’m an excellent shot. I can help.”
He peered around the trees, watching for movement in the dark woods behind them. “What makes you think I have a backup gun?” he whispered.
“Because you’re not the idiot who went into Satan’s biker bar without a bulletproof vest. I’d bet my life, and I totally am, that you have a backup gun.”
His mouth twitched and his gaze shot to hers.
The branch above them popped and cracked. Leaves and bark rained down on them. The assassin with the silencer must have spotted them and fired off a shot.
“No time,” Nick whispered in a harsh voice. He grabbed Heather’s right wrist with his left hand in an unbreakable viselike grip. “Come on. We’re going to do the only thing we can do right now.”
“What’s that?”
“Run like hell.”
Chapter Six
Nick pulled Heather behind a tree, holding her close as he scanned the woods around them. When he looked back down at her, the sick feeling in her stomach told her what he was about to say.
They were in serious trouble.
He held his finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. He held up one finger then pointed to their left. He held up two more fingers and pointed to their right.
Heather’s heart stuttered in her chest as she realized what he was telling her. Two men on one side, one on the other. They were surrounded. She nodded to let him know she understood. When they took off again, instead of pushing her in front of him, Nick held her glued to his side, guiding each of her steps, as if to ensure she didn’t make any noise.
The sound of something snapping off to their right made Heather jump. She stumbled and stepped on a stick that snapped in two from her weight.
The large crack seemed to echo around them like a beacon. Nick tensed and froze, waiting, listening. A shout, something in Spanish, sounded off to their right. Nick took off, towing Heather with him, no longer trying to be quiet. They raced through the woods, hopping over fallen logs, dodging around trees as fast as they could go, trying to outrun their pursuers.
Heather cursed her short legs. She’d never cared before that she didn’t have the long legs of a model. But right now she’d do anything for those longer strides so she wouldn’t hold Nick back. If it weren’t for her, he’d be perfectly safe. He wouldn’t have given her his bulletproof vest and the men chasing them wouldn’t be catching up.
Shouts sounded behind them. Footfalls pounded the ground.
Heather’s breaths came in short pants. Nick was half dragging her along with him, forcing her to run faster than she’d even thought she could run. She knew she couldn’t keep up this pace very long. The stitch in her side was already so painful she was clutching one hand against her ribs to try to keep going.
Ahead, moonlight glinted off the ocean, visible through breaks in the trees. In the daytime, Heather would have welcomed the sight. She longed to explore the thin, rocky, seashell-strewn strips of sand and clear blue-green water beyond. But seeing that water, inky-black in the night, get closer and closer, meant only one thing—they were trapped. With the ocean ahead and gunmen behind, there was nowhere else to go.
Nick shoved Heather behind a tree. He whirled around and squeezed off two shots into the woods behind them. A guttural scream of pain echoed through the woods.
“Vámonos, vámonos!” someone else, farther off, shouted in Spanish.
“Good grief, how many of them are there?” Heather whispered. She breathed in huge gulps of air, clutching her side.
Nick swiveled toward her. “Can you swim?” he asked, his voice low and urgent.
“I’m a Florida native. Of course I can—”
“Go.” He waved toward the water visible through the trees. “Swim out about fifty feet. Then swim parallel to the shore, south, back toward town.” He pointed toward his left.
She hesitated. “What about you? Aren’t you coming with me?”
“I’ll try to take out a few more of our pursuers and lead them away from the water. I’ll catch up with you. Just swim south.” He gestured to the left again to make sure she knew the direction.
“Nick, I’m a good shot. Give me a gun.”
He pressed his lips next to her ear. “I’m not willing to bet your life, or mine, on your marksmanship under pressure, not as long as there’s a safer alternative. Now go.”
A footstep sounded near them.
“Go,” he mouthed, making a shooing gesture with his hand.
Heather fisted her hands in frustration. She whirled around and took off toward the ocean, stepping as quietly as she could, staying close to the trees for cover. Part of her was furious that Nick didn’t trust her to help. But the other part was well aware of how even the most highly trained people—law enforcement officers, soldiers—were notoriously inaccurate with firearms when in a high-pressure situation. She had only ever fired at targets, and the shooting range certainly wasn’t stressful in any way. Maybe Nick was right not to trust her ability to shoot in this type of situation. And if he was worrying about her, he couldn’t adequately defend himself.
Crashing noises sounded in the woods, moving north and off to the east, away from her. Nick’s plan was working.
Hating herself for leaving him, but knowing there wasn’t much she could do without a gun, Heather lunged between the last two trees. She sprinted onto the narrow strip of sand. Her foot hit something hard and she went sprawling onto the ground. A conch shell. Heather shoved it away and climbed to her feet. She made her way more carefully to the water that was only a few feet away.
She didn’t stop. She ran right into the warm water. When she was chest deep, she turned around to look back toward the beach. Thankfully, she didn’t see anyone. Following Nick’s orders, she swam farther out. Her waterlogged shoes kept trying to pull her down. She toed them off under the water and let them drop. She debated pulling off the vest, too, but she quickly discarded the idea. Nick had risked his life to give her the vest. She wasn’t going to ignore his sacrifice by throwing the vest away.
The thought of him being shot sent a flash of panic straight through her. She stared back at the dark line of trees at the edge of the sand. What if he was hurt? What if he was lying in the bushes bleeding right now? Suddenly the fact that she’d been imprisoned in that filthy jail cell all weekend faded to insignificance. Nick had done what he’d done because it was his job. It wasn’t fair for her to hate him for that, especially since his honor and protectiveness toward women were some of the very traits that had drawn her to him in the first place.
When they’d first met, it was on a beach very different from this one, back home. Nick had noticed a guy bothering her who didn’t understand what “no” meant. He’d sent the other guy on his way. Then he’d grinned at her and called her darlin’. If any other guy had called her that she’d have thought he was being condescending. But there was nothing condescending about Nick. He was just pure Southern charm rolled up in a hot package, impossible to resist.
Every muscle inside her tightened at the thought of leaving him in those woods. She desperately wanted to go back and find him. But if she went back she could be a liability again, slowing him down, making him vulnerable.
No, she had to trust him and go along with his stupid conditions. He’d earned that trust a hundred times tonight, and she had to keep the faith that he knew what he was doing.
She drew a deep breath, then another, and submerged beneath the water, swimming farther out. When she thought she might be far enough from the shore, she rose, sticking her head out of the water just enough so she could breathe.
The tiny strip of sand that couldn’t legitimately call itself a beach was still clear. No sign of her pursuers. But no sign of Nick, either.
Another shot rang out, startling her at how close it sounded. She drew a deep breath and submerged, swimming underwater again. She rose several more times for breaths and to make sure she was swimming in the right direction, parallel to shore. Each time she didn’t see anyone. And each time she went right back under.
She hated condition number two, hated following Nick’s orders unquestioningly. If they both survived this night, she was going to renegotiate his stupid conditions.
The next time she surfaced for air, she let out a small yelp before recognizing the figure swimming toward her. Nick. He quickly reached her with his powerful strokes. She would have thrown her arms around his neck with sheer joy that he was okay, but his grim expression held her back.
“Good job,” he said. “You did great. You swam farther than I thought. We can cut back to shore now.”
“What about the gunmen?”
“They’re
a good clip north of us, but the trail I laid won’t fool them for long. They’ll loop back to try to find us. We don’t have much time. We need to get back to the house and take either the patrol car or my car, whatever works, and get out of here.”
They struck out swimming side by side toward shore.
“How many were there? Were those cops after us, too?” Heather kicked her feet to try to keep up with him.
“I didn’t see the supposed cops. But there were five men in the woods.”
“Five?” Heather squeaked.
“Don’t worry. I shot three of them. The odds are in our favor now.”
“Oh, goodie,” Heather grumbled.
Nick grinned. They were in the shallows now. He took her hand and pulled her with him back to shore and into the trees.
He stopped and squatted down by a twisted oak. He pulled his gun from under a pile of leaves where he must have put it before swimming out to get her. While he dusted off the dirt and grabbed whatever else he’d stored in the pile of leaves, Heather glanced anxiously around, keeping watch. Nick stood and grabbed her hand again, pulling her behind him through the woods. They rounded a clump of trees and suddenly they were on the front lawn of the house. Heather was surprised and relieved. She hadn’t realized they were this close.
The police car was no longer parked out front. Had the fake cops left? Or had they just hidden their car to make Nick and Heather think they’d left?
Her breath caught in her throat as they ran past Mark’s body, still lying on the grass. A reddish-brown stain darkened his shirt and spread down one side. She tugged her hand, trying to pull it out of Nick’s grasp so she could stop and check on Mark.
Nick’s fingers tightened around her wrist. He wouldn’t let her stop. “Keep going.”
The urgency in his voice had her pulse pounding in her ears. Had he seen something? Heard something? He pulled her at a dead run to the front door, then pressed her up against the side of the house, again using his body—his half-naked body, dressed only in jeans, without a bulletproof vest—to shield her. Heather wanted to scream at him and tell him how ridiculous and reckless he was being with his own safety, but she didn’t want to distract him, so she stayed silent. For now.
