by Dee Davis
Simon fired, but the shot went wide, and the man leaped over the railing and onto the boat, the motor roaring to life as he pulled the first mooring rope free. Simon couldn’t see Jillian, but he could see the killer, the man concentrating on the second rope, the tension from the boat pulling it taut, making it more difficult to untie the knot holding it in place.
Taking advantage of the moment, Simon pushed forward, his injured leg muscle screaming with pain, but he ignored it, his only thought to reach Jillian. He was probably less than fifteen feet away when the rope suddenly gave, and the boat was free, roaring away from the dock.
Jillian felt the boat moving beneath her and struggled to push to her feet, to fight to escape. She knew that the farther the boat got from shore, the more likely her fate was sealed. The killer had his back to her, coiling up the mooring ropes, but there was nothing at hand to use as a weapon. The deck was empty. And he was twice her size. Better to just use the opportunity to try for the side. If she could jump into the water, maybe she’d have a fighting chance.
Eyes glued on the man in front of her, she pushed to her feet, using the side of the boat to balance herself, fighting against a wave of dizziness. She’d hit her head when he’d thrown her on board, and her vision was blurry, her mind foggy. But fear urged her onward, a shot of adrenaline temporarily giving her a boost.
With both hands on the railing, she climbed up, lifting a leg to throw it over, but before she made it, the boat jerked forward, and she fell backward onto the deck again. The man grabbed her around the shoulders, pushing her toward the front of the boat as it pulled away from the jetty.
Glancing behind her, she saw Simon standing on the quay, and just for a moment, her heart filled with hope, and she opened her mouth to scream. But before she could utter a sound, the world went black, her last cognizant thought that she’d never told Simon how much she loved him.
“Over here,” Drake called, but Simon barely heard him, his mind on Jillian and the rapidly departing cruiser. Leveling his gun, he shot after the boat, knowing he was too far away to hit it, but needing to do something—anything—to make him feel less impotent.
“Simon,” Drake said again, this time his voice cutting through the haze of self-pity and rage. “Come on. Avery’s commandeered a boat.”
The words sank in, registering, and Simon spun around in time to see Avery maneuvering a small speedboat next to the jetty. Drake was already climbing aboard. Crossing the distance in two strides, Simon jumped onto the back of the boat just as Avery hit the throttle, and the little racing boat began to skip across the water in pursuit of the cruiser.
“We have to hurry,” Simon yelled above the noise of the engine, knowing it was a blinding glimpse of the obvious, but his frustration made the words still necessary. “If they make it into the harbor, we don’t have a chance in hell of catching them.”
Avery nodded, gunning the engine as Simon made his way forward to stand beside Drake, all three of them watching the cruiser in front of them.
“How are we fixed for weapons?” Simon asked, pulling his gaze back to Drake.
“Just handguns.” Drake shrugged. “I didn’t realize we’d be hitting the high seas. Do you have any idea about the people on board?”
“No. Just that there are at least two of them. And they were planning on escaping across the water.”
“Which means they’re probably prepared.” Drake nodded, clearly considering the situation. “With your leg, can you still swim?”
“Yes,” he replied, studying his friend, trying to follow his train of thought. Hell, he’d swim across the fucking harbor if it meant he could save Jillian.
“So if Avery could pull alongside, even for a minute or two, we could try to board the ship and take them out that way.”
“If I’m going to get close enough for you to get on board,” Avery said, his attention still locked on the cruiser as they began to close the distance, “I’ll need someone to provide covering fire. Or you’ll both be dead before you hit the deck. Which means only one of you can make the jump.”
“Well, it’s going to be me,” Simon said. “It’s my fault she was up there on her own. I should have had her back.”
“You were tasked with protecting Bilaal. And that’s what you did.” Avery’s tone brooked no argument. “Splitting up so that Jillian could intercept the assassin was the right call. Under the circumstances, there was no other way to handle it.”
“But if she dies…” He trailed off, just the idea untenable.
“She’s not going to die,” Drake said. “She’s got us. And we never leave anyone behind. You’re sure you’re up for the jump?” Again Drake shot a look at Simon’s leg.
“I’m positive.” Simon nodded, pushing aside his fears, concentrating instead on the cruiser and the quickly narrowing distance between it and the speedboat.
“As soon as they realize we’re in range,” Avery said, “they’re going to open fire. If we’re lucky, it’ll just be the one shooter. The driver’s up top so there’s no way he can get off a shot. But for all we know, the damn thing is crawling with men and guns.”
“I’m betting they’re alone,” Drake offered, drawing his gun and moving to stand beside Avery behind the boat’s windshield. “Makes more sense for a getaway. And if they were to get caught, there would be fewer chances for successful interrogation.”
“Well, let’s hope you’re right,” Simon said.
“Go ahead and move to the back.” Avery motioned with one hand. “I’ve almost closed the gap. I’m going to do a test run to see what kind of firepower we’re up against, and then I’ll pull away long enough for you to get in place.”
“Copy that,” Simon said, tucking his gun firmly between his jeans and the small of his back.
“Once you’re there, I’ll pull back into range and give you a sign when you’re good to go. We won’t be able to stay with you. We don’t have enough ammo. But we’ll hang in as long as we can.”
“No worries. I’ll signal you when we’re in the clear.”
“Happy hunting,” Drake called, as Simon made his way to the back of the boat.
Avery maneuvered the little craft closer, and as expected, bullets started to fly. Drake returned fire, and Simon focused on the cruiser, trying to pinpoint the number and location of guns.
“Looks like I was right.” Drake turned back with a smile, as Avery reduced the throttle and the speedboat pulled out of range. “Just two hostiles. That ought to give you a fighting chance.”
Avery lifted a hand to signal Simon to get ready. He pulled back the little door that closed off the railing and stepped up onto the fiberglass edge of the boat, his muscles tensing in anticipation. Beneath his feet, he could feel the roar of the engine as Avery throttled it forward, the boat skimming across the water, quickly closing the distance again with the cruiser.
The gunman on board opened fire. Drake shot back, and Avery tried to hold the boat steady as he pulled alongside. Simon pushed off the edge of the speedboat, diving over the aft railing of the cruiser, landing on the deck, and rolling to his feet.
Avery held the speedboat in place, the sound of gunfire popping over the water. Simon knew he only had a few minutes before Avery had to disengage and the gunman came looking for him. He needed to find Jillian—fast. And the best bet was the cabin.
Fortunately, the door to the cabin was on the starboard side. And based on the trajectory of the bullets, the shooter had been on the deck somewhere midship, port side. The guy captaining the boat was in the control station, with access to the rest of the boat via a ladder on the starboard side. But it was situated toward the bow, so with a little luck, Simon would be able to gain entrance to the cabin without coming into the direct line of fire.
Leading with his gun, he rounded the corner, keeping low, and in just a few seconds, he’d reached the hatch. With a last look both fore and aft, he slipped inside, the sound of gunfire still echoing through the air.
The cabin
was on the small side, with stacking bunks on one wall and a tiny galley on the other. A table sat in the middle of the floor, a set of blueprints spread across the top. There was no sign of Jillian, and Simon fought a wave of fear. She was here somewhere. He just had to figure out where. He crossed to the back of the cabin and a small storage area. On the floor was a second hatch, this one closed.
After checking behind him again, he reached down to pull it open, revealing a second narrow storage space that ran the length of the boat. Holstering his gun, he climbed down the ladder, heart pounding, as he searched the cramped space.
At first, he thought she wasn’t there. But then he saw a hand extending from underneath a tarp, and his stomach lurched, his heart twisting as he pulled back the plastic sheet and knelt beside her, reaching for her arm, praying to find a pulse.
He slid his finger across the inside of her wrist. For a horrifying second, he thought she was dead, but then he felt the beat of her heart as it surged through her veins, pulsing against his finger.
“J.J.,” he whispered, sliding an arm beneath her head. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?” She had a hell of a bruise on her forehead, the deep purple already spreading across her temple. “J.J—Jillian?”
“It’s okay, Simon. You can call me J.J.” Her eyes fluttered open. “But only you.” The words came out on a breath of air, like a sigh, and he smiled. Despite their precarious position, everything suddenly seemed right in his world. “Is it over?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, brushing the hair from her face as he helped her to sit up. “We’ve still got to get out of here. You think you can walk?”
“Yes, definitely.” She nodded, her voice sounding less foggy as she tried to push to her feet.
“Hang on. Let me help you.”
He stood up and then reached down to pull her gently to her feet. “I’m going to go first, in case we’ve got company,” he said, nodding toward the hatch behind him. He waited for her agreement and then pulled his gun and climbed back up into the cabin.
After making sure they were still alone, he reached down and helped her up and out.
“So what next?” she asked, her eyes clearer, her voice strong.
“Now that I know you’re okay, I’m going to find the asshole who did this to you.” He reached over to touch the purpling skin on her temple.
“I’m going with you,” she said. “No way am I getting separated again.”
“All right,” he agreed. “But you stay behind me, okay?”
“I promise.” She held up two fingers, Scout style.
They made their way back onto the deck and retraced his initial steps back to the stern. Then, after signaling her to wait, he cautiously inched around the corner to the port side. There was no sign of the shooter, and everything was quiet, which meant that Avery had been forced to drop back out of range.
Something behind him shifted, and Simon swung around, gun leveled, to find the assassin standing near the corner of the cabin, one arm around Jillian’s neck, the other pointing a gun at her head.
“Drop it,” he said, his gaze locking on Simon’s. Neither man moved—seconds stretching to what seemed like hours. “Drop it,” the man repeated. “Or I’ll kill her.”
“And then you’ll die,” Simon said, playing for time, trying to figure a way out. “So nobody wins.” He let his gaze fall to Jillian, and she lifted her chin, then wiggled her fingers, pointedly revealing three. Simon tightened his grip on the gun, his mind clicking into gear as Jillian’s fingers started to disappear. Three… Two…
One.
Jillian threw back an elbow, the punch landing squarely in the assassin’s gut. He jerked back, his gun hand dropping away, and Simon took the shot, praying to everything out there that was considered holy.
For a moment, he thought he’d missed, and then the assassin’s gun clattered to the deck, and he fell forward, pulling Jillian with him. Simon crossed the distance in seconds, freeing her from beneath the dead man. “Are you all right?” he asked, wondering how many more times he was going to have to ask her that question.
“Yeah.” She nodded, her breathing still coming in gasps. “I’m okay. That was a hell of a shot.”
“It was a hell of an elbow.” He wanted nothing more than to pull her close, to hold her forever, but there was still the matter of the man at the helm of the ship. If they could take him alive, maybe they could get him to talk. And gain information that might finally put a face on the Consortium.
“Come on,” he said, glancing over her shoulder to see that Avery and Drake were still with them. “We’ve got to try to capture the guy up top.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be possible.” She shook her head, her eyes going wide again.
He turned around, his gun still in his hand, but at the sight of the man standing near the bow, he knew that a bullet wasn’t going to do any good. It was like the same song, second verse. The jacket pulled wide, the twisted smile. The bomb strapped around the man’s waist.
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered, reaching out to grab Jillian’s hand. “Don’t these fucking people ever quit?”
The man at the bow lifted his hand, his finger on the detonator, and Simon ran for the side of the boat, dragging Jillian along with him, the two of them diving over the railing as the autumn afternoon exploded into a fiery ball of light.
Simon hit the water hard, the cold knocking the breath out of him as he plunged into the murky depths. He struggled to orient himself, panicking when he realized he could no longer feel Jillian’s fingers locked with his. Frantically, he flailed through the darkness trying to find her. But there was nothing—no one. Still, he kept pushing himself deeper, trying to find her, until, lungs bursting, he gave in to self-preservation and kicked for the light.
Gasping for air, he treaded water, calling her name, turning in circles, trying to find her. And then she was there. Surfacing beside him, sputtering as her hair fanned out around her in the water.
He locked his arm around her, pulling her close, her body shivering against his. The remains of the cruiser burned off to the right, ash and burning debris still raining down from the sky. But Simon could also hear the sound of Avery piloting the speedboat closer, rescue imminent.
“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay. It’s over. And we’re alive.”
She nodded, leaning her head against his chest, still sucking in air. Then she tipped her head back, her lips tilting in a tiny smile. “And we’re still together. And after all this time, that has to mean something, right?”
“It means everything, sweetheart,” he said, brushing his lips against her hair, relishing the feel of her heart beating against his. “Absolutely everything.”
EPILOGUE
Köln, Germany, two weeks later
Michael Brecht twisted the browning rose bloom, snapping it off the plant. He’d been thwarted by A-Tac, again. It was as if Avery Solomon was always there, looking over his shoulder, waiting to swoop in at the last minute in his goddamned white hat.
He grabbed another stem, popping the dead flowers off the rose bush with a zeal that went beyond deadheading. He’d made his plans so carefully. Even when things had gotten out of hand, he’d maintained control, only to lose it when it had mattered most.
A thorn dug into his thumb, and he swore, sucking away the blood as someone behind him cleared his throat.
Gregor.
Michael stifled a sigh and turned around, surprised to see that his number two was not alone. Anthony Delafranco was supposed to be in Nice. The Consortium had business there. Delafranco, one of the Consortium’s founding members, was supposed to have been on point.
“Is there a problem?” Michael asked, his senses on high alert. A second man—armed—stood behind Delafranco. Michael recognized him as Delafranco’s bodyguard. Nothing unusual in that, but something felt off somehow.
“Nothing that we can’t handle,” Delafranco replied, his expression guarded as he studied Michael
. “There’s nothing new on Isaacs, I’m assuming?”
“No. But I’ve got some of our best men looking. The Americans are still asserting that it was his body found in the aftermath of the blast.” Michael shifted so that he could meet Gregor’s gaze, but the big man was staring off at the horizon, apparently not feeling the same degree of trepidation. “But Isaacs is too good at what he does to have let himself be blown up with his own bomb, and he’s definitely not the type to martyr himself by committing suicide.”
“Agreed,” Delafranco said. “But then how do you explain the body?”
“If I had to call it, I’d say it was Stoltz’s. After all, he was tasked with taking Isaacs out. And we haven’t heard from him since. I’m guessing Isaacs left some kind of trace—something to throw A-Tac off. Something to make them believe it was him in the fire instead. They’d have no way of knowing about Stoltz and so no reason to dig beyond the surface evidence.”
“Yes, but A-Tac seems to make a practice of doing exactly what we think they won’t.”
The words were galling, but true. And Michael had learned a long time ago that the only way to fight fire was with fire. It was time for a showdown. To end things once and for all. “Even if they do figure it out, Stoltz will only be another dead end. And we’ll find Isaacs. And when we do, he’ll cease to be a problem as well.”
“And A-Tac?” Delafranco asked. “Thanks to your actions, they’re more interested than ever in destroying everything we’ve worked so hard to build.”
Anger flared, and Michael closed his fists, striving to maintain calm. “You leave A-Tac to me.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not going to be possible, Michael.” Delafranco shrugged, the Walther in his hand glinting in the sunlight. “I’m afraid, my friend, that your time with the Consortium has come to an end.”
Sunderland College, one month later
Jillian and Simon stood near the picnic table in Avery’s backyard, the smell of ribs and BBQ chicken filling the evening air. Everyone was present and accounted for. Madeline, Annie, and Alexis back from California. And Owen and Tucker back from—wherever—it was classified.
