Dangerous Passions

“Do you think we can evade them?”

“I know we can.” He didn’t believe in making empty promises, but he was confident the skills he’d learned and honed with the U.S. Army Rangers would ensure their survival—if they made it to shore.

He didn’t know if she believed him, but she didn’t argue the point. After a minute of tense silence, she spoke again. “They’re not following anymore.”

He turned to see that the Femme Fatale had, in fact, stopped pursuing them.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Her voice was filled with cautious optimism.

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Even if the water was too shallow for the yacht to come farther, he didn’t believe for a minute that Peart would give up.

Mike squinted against the sun, focused on the tall, dark-haired man on deck. Or, more specifically, on the weapon he was settling on his bulky shoulder.

He cut the engines and turned to Shannon. “We’re going to have to swim.”

She balked. “What? Why?”

He understood her resistance. She’d already spent too much time in the water, and now he was asking her to dive right back in. He understood, but he didn’t have time to argue with her or explain.

Instead, he snagged the backpack with one arm, Shannon with the other, and jumped.

They hit the water only a heartbeat before the boat exploded.

Chapter 4

Shannon kicked her way toward the surface, sputtering and gasping as she broke through the water. She sucked in a lungful of air and blinked to clear her vision. The acrid smoke stung her eyes, burned her lungs. Broken pieces of fiberglass and twisted shards of metal—all that remained of the boat—slowly sank to their watery grave.

She twisted around, searching frantically through the debris for any sign of Michael, breathing an audible sigh of relief when he surfaced next to her.

She’d been shocked, even angry, at the way he’d thrown her overboard—until, even under the water, she’d felt the shock waves from the explosion.

He reached for her, squeezed her hand. “Are you okay?”

She nodded.

“Good. Because now we definitely have to swim.”

This time, she didn’t ask any questions. He’d saved her life, and that, she decided, entitled him to a certain level of trust.

Her muscles screamed in agony, but she swam. She found reserves of strength she hadn’t known she possessed and followed Michael as he cut through the water. But her strokes weren’t as strong or as smooth as his, and she quickly found herself falling behind.

Or she would have, if he hadn’t taken her in a rescue hold and towed her.

She felt guilty for being such a burden, but she had no reserves of strength to draw on. He didn’t release her until they were only in hip-deep water. “Can you run?”

She nodded, determined to at least make the effort.

And it was an effort, the drag of the water and the slickness of the rocks conspiring to impede their progress toward the beach. Her already overtaxed muscles threatened to give up entirely, and she knew it was only the solid grip of Michael’s hand on hers that kept her moving.

She heard the sound of an outboard motor and knew that Rico and Jazz were in pursuit. She didn’t turn to look. She didn’t want to know how close they were.

The water was at her thighs, her knees, her ankles.

They were moving faster now, but the sound of the approaching engine was almost deafening. Or maybe that was the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

The rocks gave way to sand, heavy and wet at first, then soft and hot beneath her bare feet. She was running as fast as she could, breathing hard with the effort of trying to keep up with him.

“I can’t—”

“You can,” Michael interrupted. “Into those trees.”

Over the drone of the motor, she heard the staccato burst of gunfire. She recognized the sound because she’d heard it so often in movies, but it was louder and sharper in real life. And infinitely more terrifying.

He released her hand to position himself behind her, his hand now on her back to propel her forward. “Move!”

She felt the spray of sand against her legs as the bullets hit the beach.

Their pursuers were too close.

There was no way she and Michael could continue to outrun them.

Finally they pushed into the cover of the trees.

He didn’t let her stop to catch her breath but led her deeper.

“Stop.” He breathed the word softly, almost soundlessly.

Shannon halted beside him and saw that they were now facing the beach less than fifty yards down from where they’d disappeared into the trees.

The beach onto which the Zodiac was now being dragged ashore.

Jazz was in front, pulling the bow of the craft with one hand, holding some kind of gun in the other.

“They can’t have gone far.” He dropped the boat, striding toward the opening between the trees where Shannon and Michael had disappeared. His hand gripped the weapon with easy familiarity, and she knew he was eager to start shooting again.

Rico stayed beside the boat, shaking his head. “We don’t have time to go after them now.”

“We can’t leave them here.” Jazz’s voice was filled with anger, frustration.

In contrast, Rico’s was controlled, almost unconcerned. “Where are they going to go?”

“That’s not the point.”

“That’s exactly the point. We have other things to take care of first—we’ll deal with the woman and Courtland when we get back.”

“But—”

“We can’t kill her yet, anyway, and if we don’t make that shipment, A.J. will kill us.”