by Meryl Sawyer
Brock and Kyle shoved their weapons into their waist-bands. Brock grabbed Devon’s wrist in a death grip.
People were rushing up, asking, “What happened?”
“Probably a propane leak from the stove,” offered an old salt who looked as if he’d been around water his whole life.
“We’ve got to go,” Brock said.
The harbor master was speeding their way in a red boat. With this many people around, now was the time to make a break for it. Jordan winked at her. Suddenly Devon knew Chad must have used his diving expertise and caused the explosion.
Kyle led them up the gangway with Devon and Jordan walking on either side of Brock. Jordan stumbled and went down to her knees. Brock gave her his arm for support. Jordan started to rise, then suddenly tugged at Brock’s arm.
Devon got the picture. She threw her weight against his side. She kneed him in the groin, and he dropped her wrist. She jumped off the gangway into the water. Swimming as fast as she could, she hid under the gangway.
There was an air pocket up top. They could probably shoot through the boards, but she doubted they would chance it with so many people around. A hand grabbed her ankle. She kicked hard, aiming for his crotch. It took her a second to realize it was Chad. She was right. He had been under the boat, planting the explosives.
Shots rang out. Chad pulled her under the water. They shared his equipment to get air and swim toward the restaurant area. Even under the water, they heard the wail of police sirens. They surfaced and in the distance saw police and an ambulance.
“Oh, my goodness. I hope Jordan didn’t get shot.”
“It looks like a man on the gurney. From his size, I’d say it’s Hardesty.”
“You’re right. I see Jordan’s red hair.”
They pulled themselves out of the water. Chad peeled off his mask and fins while Devon tried to catch her breath.
“You set the explosion, didn’t you?”
He smiled at her. “Piece of cake. During the Gulf War, I sabotaged a lot of Iraqi boats. I didn’t want to sink it. I just wanted to create a diversion. I sent Jordan in first to make sure you weren’t dead. When she didn’t immediately come out, I knew it was a go.”
“Who is Jordan?”
“She’s a special investigator for the Department of Defense. They’ve been trying to crack the Obelisk deal for some time.”
Jordan spotted them and came running over. “It’s over. Hardesty’s badly wounded. I doubt if he’ll make it.”
“Who shot him?” Devon asked.
Jordan smiled. “I did. With his own gun.”
“She’s a crack shot,” added Chad.
“It’s over. It’s really over?” Devon asked.
Chad wrapped his arms around Devon and held her tight. “Yes, sweetheart. It’s over.”
“Gotta go,” Jordan said. “I want to get the disk back to Washington.”
“Goodbye,” Devon said. “And thank you.”
Walking off Jordan said, “Just make sure I get an invitation to the wedding.”
“What wedding?”
He smiled his trademark meltdown smile. “Ours. Will you marry me?”
“Of course, but I warn you. I want several children.”
“Do you want to wait a bit? Go home to Houston and see—”
“This is my home now, my life. I’d planned to return here when things were over. There’s nothing in Houston for me. Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”
“If you’d wanted to move back to Texas, I would have gone with you. I love you, Devon. Never doubt it.”
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6379-9
BETTER OFF DEAD
Copyright © 2005 by Martha Sawyer-Unickel.
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