by C. J. Miller
She heard the sound of bubbles in the water next to her and then Brady’s arms were around her. The water was horribly, numbingly cold compared to his body. Which way was the surface? Disoriented, Susan kicked her legs, trying to move in a direction. Her lungs burned and strained.
Brady’s arm tightened around her, pulling her. Her face broke the surface and found air. She gasped for breath and heaved a moment later, water spilling from her stomach. She coughed and sputtered, not realizing she’d been gulping water.
“Stop kicking me, Susan,” Brady said, stress tight in his voice. His head bobbed below the surface.
Susan grabbed him, drawing his head above the water. “What’s the matter?” He didn’t answer, his eyes closed, pain written in tension across his face.
She treaded water for both of them. “Brady, what’s wrong? Did you hit your head? Are you hurt?” He was floating, but his legs weren’t propelling him through the water.
“Someone is shooting at us. My arm was grazed,” Brady said.
His blood wouldn’t clot in the water. They needed to get to land. If he lost too much blood and passed out, she could swim with him, but dragging him over the sea wall to land would be difficult. If she cried out for help, it might alert the person who had started the fire and shot at them. Susan wrapped her arm around Brady, paddling with her free arm away from the pier and other boats and toward land. She wouldn’t let him drown.
The cold was paralyzing and fear slashed through her. Waves splashed over her face, causing her to swallow and choke on water. They needed to reach the shore and get dry fast or hypothermia would set in. “Don’t pass out. Stay with me,” Susan said, her muscles burning with strain.
“It’s okay. Let me swim.” He ducked under her arm and kicked with his good leg and one of his arms, each movement precise and strong.
“We can do this,” Susan said, holding back a scream when something brushed her leg. Please don’t let it be a water moccasin or a dead body. She commanded herself to calm down. Kelp. It was kelp.
She focused her energy on swimming, as together they fought to shore, crawling up on the large rocks beneath the dock. Susan slipped, the uneven surface slick with algae. Her knee slammed into the stone and she winced, trying to climb in the dark. Brady’s firm hand guided her shivering body.
“We’re okay. We’re almost out,” Brady said. His words reassured her. They’d be okay. If they could get out of the cold, dark water.
If a bullet had grazed Brady, how badly was he bleeding? What about his knee? Her medical knowledge was next to nil. Could she care for him or should she get him to a hospital? What if he got an infection or needed stitches?
Male voices drifted from the dock above them. “Where did they go?”
“Fools jumped in the water.”
Brady’s hand reached to her calf, squeezing. She stilled, hoping the waves crashing against the rocks and the thunder rumbling in the distance hid the noise she and Brady were making. Their panting was loud, her heartbeat banging like a drum.
“They’ve got to come up for air. We’ll get them when they do.”
“Maybe they drowned.”
The men were talking about her and Brady. Were they the men who’d set the fire? How many were looking for her and Brady?
“Did you need to torch the whole damn thing?”
“She went on that boat to get something. I had to get rid of her and whatever she was after. We don’t know how much Justin told her.”
What did they think Justin had told her?
“She knows something. She’s been lying from the beginning. Do you think she killed him?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m not paid to ask questions. You’d better learn the same.”
“I think she killed him,” the man said.
Disbelief sliced through her. They believed she’d killed Justin. Since the fire at her home and the attack at Brady’s, she’d assumed the same men were responsible for Justin’s death and were using her as a scapegoat. But if they hadn’t killed him, was she to blame? Her doubts and fears renewed in force. Why would she have killed Justin? She hadn’t been angry with him and she stood to gain nothing.
Susan strained to hear more of the conversation above them. Feet pounded on the pier and shouts of concern drifted to them. Justin’s boat was most of the way down the pier, a good sixty feet away.
“We should have killed her before we set fire to her place.”
Terror surged inside her. How many people were involved in trying to kill her? At least two men had attacked her at Brady’s and two more were on the pier having set fire to the yacht.
“We didn’t have the order at that point to outright kill her. It had to look like an accident.”
Order? Who had assigned them the task of killing her?
“She’s out there.”
“She’s got more lives than a flaming cat and now she’s got someone protecting her. He and his bat-crap crazy friend took out two of us. This is getting out of hand and we need to shut her up by whatever means necessary. We can’t have her blabbing about what she knows.”
“What is she waiting for? Why didn’t she go to the police right away?”
“Maybe she doesn’t have proof yet and we’re not waiting until she finds some. She’s got a loaded gun and we’re not waiting for her to decide to pull the trigger and destroy us.”
Susan pressed her mouth together to keep her teeth from chattering. They were responsible for the fire at her home and knew about the attack at Brady’s place. Someone had hired a team of men to kill her.
Brady pointed to a higher rock. “Wait there,” he whispered.
Susan was shivering so hard, it was difficult to move or feel her limbs. She did as Brady asked, concentrating on not losing her balance. Brady swam a few feet away, disappearing under the water. How much blood was he losing? Where did he think he was going? Not back to the boat.
An impossibly long time passed. When Brady broke the surface of the water a few feet away, she let out the breath she’d been holding. He disappeared again and was then under the dock, climbing the rocks to get to her.
Susan rubbed her arms. How long would they have to wait on the rocks? Until the men disappeared? They could freeze to death. Her fingers tingled painfully.
What about Brady’s knee? Was he okay? If he was in pain, he wouldn’t tell her. He would suffer through it.
Brady wrapped his arms around her, trying to share warmth. “I couldn’t see the men talking. They either joined the crowd on the pier or are waiting for us somewhere. They know we have to get out of the water.”
They were fifty feet from the next closest pier. They could swim for it or attempt to get out of the water here, climbing up the rocks, over the sea wall and onto the grass. They could be spotted. The dark provided some cover. The numbness in her limbs told her she had to get out of the water here and now.
“Let’s run for it. Is your knee okay? What about your arm?” she asked.
The sharp intake of his breath revealed he was offended. “My knee’s fine and my arm has a scratch. What about you?”
She couldn’t see in the dark and the cold was numbing her body. Her toes and fingers prickled in pain. If she had bruises or cuts, they weren’t severe enough to bother her. “I’m okay.”
“Stay close. Keep alert. Are you ready to run?” he asked.
“Yes, I can run,” she said. What choice did they have?
They crawled onto land, pulling themselves over the sea wall, concrete digging into her hands and belly. At least she had some feeling remaining in them. Scrambling to their feet, Brady’s hand holding hers, they raced in the direction of his truck. Brady released her hand and stopped. Susan skidded to a halt and whirled. Brady was rubbing his knee with his hands, pain etched on his face. “Go, Susa
n.”
Nope. Wouldn’t happen. She wasn’t leaving him. “Come on, Brady. Put your arm around me if you need to.”
Brady swallowed hard and slipped his arm over her shoulder. It had to kill him to rely on her. He was an independent and proud man. But, it had been hard on her to rely on him, too. They started again at a jog.
The wind was brutally cold against her body. Shouts from concerned boaters rose in the air, the fire roared and sirens screamed.
Susan stopped and looked over her shoulder at the Sketchy Lady. Flames were consuming it. Her throat closed and she forced herself to swallow.
Terrified thoughts struck her one after the other, knotting in her stomach. This was the second fire she had been involved in. Would witnesses place her at the scene? Someone was trying to kill her and wouldn’t give up until they succeeded. The men trying to kill her believed she had killed Justin. Had she?
“Susan,” Brady said, shaking her. She looked at him.
“We have to keep moving,” Brady said.
Her feet felt like lead, but she could move on her cold legs. “I’m sorry. I’m in shock,” Susan said.
“Come on,” Brady said.
She and Brady battled across the grounds of the marina and didn’t stop until they’d reached Brady’s truck.
Susan was out of breath, panting, shaking, her hands and feet numb with cold. “We have to go back and explain what happened,” she said, between gasps. “Someone on the scene will help us.”
Brady opened the truck and they got inside. He started the engine and cranked the heater to high. It blew cold, and Susan scrubbed her arms and legs with her hands, trying to build warmth.
“We’re not going back. Whoever set the fire is waiting to kill us. Let’s not give them another shot at it. We don’t know who we can trust. Take off your clothes,” he said.
“What?” She tried to follow his words. The cold left her hazy and confused. His voice poured over her hot and thick.
Brady reached behind the seat and handed her a flannel blanket. “Take off your wet clothes and wrap yourself in this so you can get warm faster.”
What he’d meant as a life-saving gesture turned into something primal and heady. “What about you?” she asked, peeling off her socks.
Brady pulled off his shirt. The heater in the car spat warmer air, puffing heat on their frigid extremities.
“I’ll make do. You need to get as dry as possible.”
Peeling off her pants and her shirt, Susan wrapped the blanket around her body. An invisible force drew her closer to him. She slid to the driver’s side of the truck and wrapped as much of the blanket as she could around Brady. “We can share our heat.” Her bare skin against his warmed her, heat blooming between them.
“Do you have any injuries?” he asked, the compassion in his voice melodic and comforting.
He was hurt, but he was worried about her. That was Brady. He didn’t put himself first. With his eyes wandering over her, her entire body went up in flames. Did he know how he affected her?
“I’m not hurt,” she said, wishing for more between them than his wet jeans and a soft flannel blanket. “Let me see your arm.”
His arm was bleeding and Susan grabbed the shirt she’d removed. “Wrap this around your arm.”
“It looks worse than it is.”
Of course he would say that. Concern ballooned through her. She tied her shirt around it, pulling it tight. “What about your knee? Do you need me to drive?”
“When I get warmer it will be fine.” Brady patted his pants and swore. “I lost my gun in the water.” He pulled a notebook from the waistband of his jeans. “If that gun washes up on shore, it will show as registered to me. It will place me at the scene.”
Susan shuddered following his line of reasoning. “The police will use it to tie to you to the fire. Or make them think you were involved in Justin’s murder.”
Her eyes connected with Brady’s and she read the determination in them. “We’ll solve this before they do. Then they can’t pin anything on us.”
Brady unzipped his jeans and then paused.
“What’s wrong?” Susan asked. “Besides everything?” Had he seen someone coming?
“I’ll leave my jeans on.”
Susan looked at him. “What? Are you serious? It’s cold. You’ll be warmer without them.”
A brief moment of indecision and then Brady slid his pants down his legs. “You might as well know.”
“Know wha...”
Her voice trailed away at the sight of Brady’s leg. From the knee down, the skin was scarred and puckered. Even in the dark, she could see how painful the injury must be. When she’d visited him in the hospital, he hadn’t shared the nature of his injuries. He hadn’t let her see anything.
She reached her hand to touch him and he jerked away. “Don’t.”
She stilled her hand. “Is it painful?” Had their jump from the boat worsened his injury?
He swallowed hard. “From time to time.”
Like now. What had happened to him? “If you want to talk about it—”
“I don’t. Let it go.”
Typical of Brady to shut her out. Susan had more questions on her tongue. She snapped her mouth shut.
“We need to find somewhere to lay low,” Brady said. “Whoever started the fire will be looking for us.” His voice was ominous. He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and opened it. “Waterproof. Should still work.” He swore under his breath. “I got a text from Connor. We can’t return to the house. It’s not safe. A couple more guys showed up tonight and were waiting for us.”
Their problems multiplied. More people were being sucked into this disaster. How many men wanted her dead? “What about Connor? Is he in trouble?”
“Nope. He’ll go underground. If anyone knows how to disappear, it’s Connor.”
Brady tossed his phone into the cup holder. He looked around and pulled out of the parking spot.
Susan couldn’t scrub away the image of Justin’s boat on fire. “We need to tell the police what happened.”
“We’re not telling anyone anything. Susan, think it through. Until we know who the men looking for you are and how big this is, we’re not trusting anyone. The police made it clear earlier they weren’t interested in protecting you. I don’t know if they have the ability to protect you. If I’m right and these guys are ex-Special Forces, you’re running from an elite breed of fighters. They’ve been conditioned to track and kill.”
“You’re Special Forces, too. You seem less worried about killing and more concerned with keeping me safe.”
The look on his face spoke volumes. He wasn’t Special Forces anymore and mentioning it was insensitive of her. It didn’t change that he’d been trained and he’d been good at what he did.
“I was a pararescueman. My first priority was and is the safety of the person in danger.”
At the moment, she was the person in danger. His commitment to keeping her safe was part of what he’d been trained to do, an instinctual response.
“We need to think about who we can go to for help,” Brady said.
They couldn’t reach out to Connor again. Did they have any other allies? “What about Reilly? We can trust him,” Susan said.
“I’m trying to clear Reilly’s name in this, not wrap him up tighter. Harris and I have been careful not to involve him for his safety. I haven’t spoken to him and I won’t speak to him and drag him into this. I don’t want anyone else hurt.”
A chill traced along her spine. Those who had tried to help her ended up in danger. Reilly and Haley could be in trouble. Susan’s hand went to her necklace. Brady was right. They had to make careful decisions and keep their friends safe. Until they knew who was after her, they were on their own. She picked up the sopping not
ebook.
Brady steered his truck with one hand and rubbed his free hand over her shoulder, generating heat friction. “Maybe the book will be salvageable. If not, I sent Harris the pictures I took and I have them on my phone. Harris can blow them up to get more detail. Those will have to do.”
Brady was always one step ahead. “What do we do now? Where do we go?” she asked.
“I’ll think of somewhere. We need to hope we don’t get pulled over, cause this—” he pointed to their mostly naked bodies “—does not look good.”
But he did look good. Amazing in fact. Bulging shoulders and rippling biceps, flat abdominals and toned thighs. He might have lost some weight since his injury, but he looked great. While she was sure she resembled a drowned rat, he looked unabashedly masculine. The injury, aside from worrying her, did nothing to destroy his attractiveness. Battle wounds. Heroic. Sexy.
“First priorities first. We need somewhere safe to get dry and warm,” he said.
Warm sounded good. The cold had leeched deep into her core. She didn’t know if she’d ever feel warm again.
“Great, just what we need,” Brady said.
“What’s the matter?” Susan asked, directing the air vents at them.
“I knew getting to the truck was too easy. Someone is following us on a motorcycle.”
Brady’s truck accelerated and Susan turned in her seat. A single headlight was gaining on them. Nothing about this night had been easy, but they’d caught a break making it to the truck without being stopped or shot at again.
“He’s getting closer,” Susan said, unable to control the hysteria in her voice. Was it one of the Special Forces men following them?
“Just hang on,” Brady said through clenched teeth.
Brady drove the truck to its limits. The dashboard shook under the speed of the engine. As Brady approached a cluster of cars, he wove in and out of traffic, earning him honks of protest from other drivers.
“I don’t see him,” Susan said. The glare of headlights, the overhead streetlights and the rain made it difficult to see.
Brady didn’t let up on the gas. He pushed the truck, steering between cars. He took a hard left and the truck spun, fishtailing wildly.
