Nowhere to Run

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “There’s a digital clock on the bomb,” Emily reported, “and it’s counting down by seconds. Right now it says seven minutes and forty-eight seconds. Forty-seven. Forty-six.”

  Jim synchronized his watch to the sound of her voice.

  “The shortwave radio is receiving something,” she said, “but there’s a lot of interference. It seems to be stuck somewhere around the 20.”

  Jim quickly flipped the shortwave to that frequency and keyed the mike. “Emily, can you hear me?” he said.

  “Jim! Oh, God, you’re there! You’re really out there! I can hear you! The reception’s not great, but I can hear you!”

  “Emily, we’re more than ten minutes away from you. We’re not going to reach you before the bomb is set to blow. Does the Home Free still have a dinghy? Or a lifeboat?”

  “Oh, Jim, I’m so sorry about this—”

  “Em, we don’t have a lot of time here,” Jim said. “I need you to stay calm and fill me in on the situation.”

  “Jim, I love you—” Emily’s voice broke. “For a while, I didn’t think I’d get a chance to tell you that ever again.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t think I’d get a chance to tell you that I love you, too. And I do, Em. I love you so much that it’s killing me. I don’t think I can live without you, Emily, so help me out here, please. Is there a lifeboat?”

  “No,” she said. “There was a dinghy, but they took it with them.”

  “Okay,” Jim said. “Listen carefully, Em. I want you to find a life preserver, put it on, and swim as hard and as fast as you can, away from the ship. Do you hear me?”

  “And just leave Alex to die? Jim, I can’t do that.”

  “Emily, damn it, save yourself,” Jim rasped. “You can’t take Delmore into the water with you. If he’s bleeding the way you said he was, you’ll be shark bait. Hell, if he’s bleeding the way you said he was, he doesn’t have a chance. So save yourself. Don’t die for a man who’s already as good as dead.”

  “You don’t know his condition,” Emily said. “Maybe he is going to die. But maybe he’s not. Maybe he’ll make it. He deserves—”

  “He deserves nothing.”

  “You’re wrong,” Emily said. “Everyone deserves a second chance. Even Alex. Maybe…maybe I can disarm the bomb.”

  Fear made the hair stand up on the back of Jim’s neck. “Don’t touch that bomb!”

  “Isn’t there someone who can talk me through it?” Emily asked. “Don’t the police have a specialist or someone who can tell me what to do?”

  Seven minutes and two seconds. One second. Seven minutes even.

  “Emily, get away from the boat. Do it now.”

  Harper leaned over to Jim. “We have the bomb squad team leader standing by at police headquarters.”

  Six minutes fifty-four seconds.

  “Em, please,” Jim said desperately. “Delmore doesn’t deserve the effort.”

  Emily didn’t answer.

  “Emily? Are you there?”

  “I’m here,” she said. “And I disagree. Are you going to let me talk to the bomb expert or not?”

  Jim gritted his teeth. “Connect them,” he ordered Harper.

  EMILY LEANED over the engine, staring down at the bomb. The digital clock read six minutes and three seconds. She’d spent thirty of her precious seconds describing the bomb to the demolitions expert, a man with a slight French accent, named Jean Dumont.

  “Carefully remove the housing,” Dumont said in his elegant voice, over the crackling interference of the radio, “but don’t touch any of the wires.”

  “Okay,” Emily said, brushing the sweat out of her eyes. “I did it.”

  “Emily, are you there?” Dumont said. “Your last transmission was breaking up.”

  Emily tapped at the microphone in the pin she was wearing. “Hello?” she said. “Do you read me now?”

  Jim’s voice broke in over the radio receiver. “Emily, we’ve lost your signal. Dumont is going to continue to give you instructions, but he can’t hear your reply. None of us can—the mike has gone dead. Please, I’m begging you. Get off the yacht. I love you. Do you hear what I’m saying? Now get out of there.”

  “I love you, too,” Emily whispered, feeling her eyes fill with tears.

  Dumont’s voice came back on. “Emily, inside the housing you will see four wires. Red, green, blue and yellow. Do not touch the red or the yellow, do you understand?”

  Emily stared at the bomb. Yes, there were four wires.

  But they were all blue.

  JIM STOOD ON DECK with his legs spread, braced against the up-and-down motion of the powerboat. He scanned the horizon with a pair of field glasses, searching for any sign of the Home Free.

  The numbers on his watch ticked down, faster and faster now, heading toward zero.

  Forty-seven seconds. Forty-six. Forty-five. Forty-four…

  In the distance, he could hear the sound of the approaching chopper. He swung his binoculars back toward the east, and he could see it, still too far away, coming in low to the water, and fast. But not fast enough.

  Felipe doggedly held the powerboat in a southwesterly direction, following the course heading that the location signal on board the Home Free had indicated before it had gone dead.

  Harper stuck his head up from the companionway. “Dumont’s finished,” he said. “If Emily was disarming the bomb, and if she did everything Dumont told her to do correctly, they’ve got the job done in time. Oh, and Salazar, the hospital called the precinct, looking for you. Your friend’s condition’s improved.”

  Felipe said a quick prayer of thanks in Spanish, and Jim glanced over at him.

  “Send an extra word or two up there for Emily, while you’re at it,” Jim said.

  “I have been,” Felipe said.

  Jim looked at his watch. Seventeen seconds. Sixteen. Fifteen. Fourteen.

  Out on the horizon, farther south than west, Jim caught sight of what might have been the tip of a mast. He shouted at Felipe, pointing in the mast’s direction.

  Ten. Nine. Eight.

  As they roared toward the ship, more and more of it appeared above the line of the horizon, as if the sea were opening up and spitting it out.

  Seven.

  Please…

  Six.

  …God…

  Five.

  …let…

  Four.

  …her…

  Three.

  …be…

  Two.

  …safe.

  One.

  The Home Free—and it was definitely Delmore’s yacht that Jim had spotted—sat at the edge of the horizon, facing into the wind, perfectly still, perfectly calm, perfectly—

  The yacht exploded, sending a column of fire up into the air. The sound followed several seconds later, a rumbling roar of noise that echoed across the water.

  Jim slowly lowered the binoculars and stared numbly at the thick black smoke that poured from the debris where the ship had once been.

  Harper and Winstead came up on deck and stood there silently.

  Felipe was the first to speak. “Do you think she got off in time, man?”

  Jim shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “God, I honestly don’t know.”

  The thought of Emily dead was overwhelming. Jim felt shockingly empty, totally bereft.

  How could the sun be shining so brightly? How could the sky be such a deep shade of blue? Without Emily, colors couldn’t possibly exist. Without Emily, life was a single shade of gray.

  The powerboat bounced higher over a large swell, and Jim stumbled. His legs felt useless and weak, so he sat down heavily on the bench that lined the deck.

  “Hey!” Felipe said. “Are you giving up on me, man? Come on, get those field glasses working. We’re getting closer. I know she’s out here somewhere. I feel it in my bones, Diego. God’s gonna give us a two-miracle day.”

  Overhead, the chopper made ever-widening circles arou
nd the smoking debris. Harper went back down into the cabin to talk with the pilot on the radio.

  Jim stood up as Felipe slowed the boat to a crawl.

  A two-miracle day? Why not try for three? Because if Emily was still alive, Jim was going to make damn sure he never walked away from her again.

  He had told her not to throw her life away for a man who was as good as dead. But wasn’t that exactly what he himself had been doing all these years? Because Bob was dead, Jim had been depriving himself of happiness. He’d been walking around more dead than alive himself, letting his guilt control him.

  But that hadn’t brought Bob back. He could spend the next four hundred years in hell, and that still wouldn’t bring Bob back.

  Bob was dead. End of story. End of Bob’s story, anyway. It didn’t have to be the end of Jim’s.

  “Come on, Emily,” Jim murmured, using the binoculars to search the water. “Where are you?”

  Harper burst up from down below. “The chopper pilot says he’s spotted something to the south.”

  Felipe gunned the boat, turning sharply toward where the helicopter was hovering.

  Jim’s mouth was dry. Through the binoculars he could see something in the water. Something orange and brown. Was it a life jacket? Was it Emily? Or was it just some debris from the explosion?

  Everyone deserves a second chance, Emily had said. Please, God, Jim thought, let me have mine. Prove to me you think I’m worth it….

  “Can’t you make this thing go any faster?” he shouted at Felipe.

  “Hang on.” His partner rode the throttle, giving the boat surges of even greater speed, and creating a very rocky ride. Jim steadied himself against the railing, focusing and refocusing the binoculars on that floating splotch of orange.

  There was definitely something brown in the middle. No, now it wasn’t brown, it was lighter. Skin colored. A flick of his finger brought it sharply into focus.

  It was Emily’s face. She was looking directly at the powerboat.

  “She’s alive!” Jim grabbed Winstead and kissed him on the top of his shiny bald head.

  “All right!” Felipe shouted, holding up one hand to Jim for a high five. “All right!”

  Jim leaned down and shouted into the cabin, “Harper, we found her! She’s alive!”

  He no longer needed the binoculars to see her. He leaned over the rail toward her, as if those few extra inches would get him to her faster.

  As they drew nearer and Felipe slowed the boat, Jim dived over the side and swam under the water, toward Emily. He surfaced four feet away from her and flicked his wet hair back, out of his eyes.

  “I knew you’d come,” she said.

  He swam closer. “I love you,” he said.

  Her hair was wet and lank against her pale face. She had smudges of soot on her forehead and her cheeks. But her eyes were the color of heaven, and Jim had never seen her look so beautiful.

  She met his eyes steadily. “Do you love me enough to forgive yourself?”

  Jim didn’t hesitate. “I sure as hell am going to try. Will you help me?”

  Emily nodded. “Every day, for as long as you need me to.”

  He moved even closer. “How about every night?”

  She smiled at him then, with her pure, sweet, sexy-as-hell smile. “You don’t need any help there, Detective.”

  The powerboat drifted closer, and Jim reached up and grabbed the side. Pulling Emily close with his other arm, he kissed her.

  BY THE TIME Jim drove Emily home, it was sunset. With his arm around her shoulders, they climbed the stairs to the second-floor landing—and nearly got run over by Carly Wilson.

  “Oops! Sorry,” she said. “I’m in a real rush. Mac’s waiting for me downstairs.”

  A truck horn sounded, as if emphasizing her words.

  Carly rolled her eyes. “What a romantic guy. He couldn’t even get out of his damned pickup truck and walk me upstairs—tonight of all nights.”

  “What’s happening tonight?” Emily asked.

  Carly sighed dramatically. “I know I said I wasn’t going to do it, but…Mac and I got married today,” she said. “Isn’t that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard? We’re driving down to Key West for a two-week honeymoon.” She laughed. “At least I know the marriage will last that long.”

  “Maybe this time it’ll work out,” Emily said.

  “Yeah, sure,” Carly said with a laugh. She looked from Emily to Jim and back. “Well, look at you two.” Carly crossed her arms and leaned against the railing, apparently forgetting that she was supposed to be in a hurry. “Aren’t you friendly? Jeez, my sister and I still can’t get within six feet of each other.”

  “He’s not my brother,” Emily said.

  Carly leaned forward. “Come again?”

  “Carly, meet Jim Keegan,” Emily said. “He’s a detective on the St. Simone police force. When you met him before, he was undercover. He was only pretending to be my brother.”

  Carly looked from Jim to Emily. “What’s he pretending to be now?”

  “I intend to be Emily’s husband,” Jim said. “And I’m not pretending.”

  Carly nodded slowly. “When I get back from Key West, you’re going to have to tell me the whole story,” she said to Emily. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a real good one.”

  The horn beeped again, and with a wave Carly was gone.

  “She doesn’t honestly think her marriage is only going to last a few weeks, does she?” Jim asked as Emily unlocked her door and pushed it open.

  Emily shrugged. “With Carly, you never know. Her average for a marriage is only about fifteen months.”

  Jim closed the door behind them, then led Emily over to the couch. He sat down, pulling her onto his lap. “When we get married,” he said, tracing her lips with his thumb, “I intend for it to be forever.”

  Emily smiled. “That sounds just about long enough.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him.

  His smile faded, and his eyes became serious. “I was really glad that you got off the Home Free when you did.”

  Emily laced her fingers in his hair. “Alex died,” she told him quietly, “while I was talking to Dumont, the bomb expert.” She met his eyes. “After my microphone stopped working, and I realized I wasn’t going to be able to defuse the bomb, I was going to put Alex into a wet suit and take him over the side with me, but…he was already dead.”

  “Four SWAT teams intercepted Marino and his men,” Jim said. “He resisted and was killed. The boat they were in was loaded with cocaine. The other men are going to get sent away for years.”

  “So it’s over,” Emily said. She smiled ruefully. “Until the next drug lord comes to town.”

  “The fight goes on,” Jim said. “We do the best we can. And today we did one hell of a lot. Thanks to you.” He smiled at her. “Of course, thanks to you, I’ve also got one hell of an ulcer starting.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  “It’s okay,” he said, kissing her gently. “But next time you decide to make a major decision that involves risking your life, I’d appreciate it if you’d at least talk to me first. This relationship is a partnership. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

  Emily laughed. “Loud and clear.”

  Jim leaned his head back, nestling her head underneath his chin. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Did we sleep last night? I don’t think we slept last night. I’m exhausted.”

  Emily kissed his neck, then stood up. She held out her hand to him. “Let’s go to bed.”

  Jim took her hand and kissed it lightly. “I’ll be in in a second,” he said. “I have to make a quick phone call.”

  The pain was back in his eyes, and Emily felt a wild burst of frustration. Was she going to wake up in the middle of the night and find him sitting out here again, all alone, in the dark?

  She went into the bedroom and, leaving the door ajar, began to undress. If that happened again, she vowed, she was going to get up and sit wit
h him. She was going to hold him and love him and…

  From the living room, she heard Jim’s voice as he spoke on the telephone. “Hi, uh, Ma? It’s Jimmy,” she heard him say, and she froze.

  “Yeah, Jimmy,” he said huskily. “Surprise, huh? Yeah, look, I, um…I’m getting married.” There was a long pause, and then he laughed. “Yeah, married. Can you believe it? Her name’s Emily, and you’re gonna love her, Ma. God knows I do. Look, I was wondering if, um, if you’d maybe want to come to the wedding—You would? That’s great. That’s really great. And Molly and Shannon, too? You really think they’d—They’d want to come, too, huh? That’s…that’s great. Look, Ma, we had a really rough day, and I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you in a few days, okay?” Another pause. Then Jim’s voice caught slightly as he said, “I love you, too, Ma.”

  Emily slipped quietly into bed, using the sheet to wipe away the tears of happiness that had suddenly filled her eyes.

  And when Jim came into the room and climbed into bed beside her, she welcomed him with a kiss and an embrace.

  The healing had begun.

  A MAN TO DIE FOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  July

  IT WAS QUARTER PAST MIDNIGHT before Carrie Brooks turned off the computer in the Sea Circus office, twenty past before she turned off the lights.

  With the laser printout of her environmental coastal report safely tucked in her backpack, Carrie stopped only to pick up the tranquilizer rifle she was borrowing for tomorrow’s expedition to the edge of the Everglades. She was leading one of her well-known wildlife preserve tours for a group of college professors from Ohio. The rifle wasn’t really necessary. She wasn’t planning on using it, but it made for good show, and it would be pleasant to have on hand should any of the gators get nasty, or should one of the professors get careless.

  One of the rifle’s double barrels was loaded, she realized as she locked the office door behind her and headed down the rickety wooden steps into the hot, humid summer night. That wastecase, Simon, had no doubt left the gun loaded, and returned it to the Sea Circus office without even putting the safety on. Didn’t he realize it was a weapon? Just because it shot tranquilizer darts meant for sharks or gators didn’t mean it couldn’t hurt or even kill a human.