Amanda’s upper arm, hot and hard. It stung and burned. Grabbing her bicep, putting pressure on the wound, she dived into the car, grabbed for the door and slammed it shut. “Go, go, go!”
“You’re hit.” Mark stomped the gas, heading for the base gate.
Blood soaked her sleeve and ran down her arm. Amanda rolled her eyes at him. “Very observant, Cross.” Maybe she’d been wrong about that handshake after all. “Just get to the boat, okay? They’ll be right behind us.” The Lexus had already doubled back.
“You need a doctor.”
“I need a first-aid kit,” she corrected him, feeling the first serious wave of pain wash through her. “It’s a flesh wound.”
“There’s a kit on the boat.”
Her arm started throbbing; she felt it in her temples and fingertips. The adrenaline rush weakened and pain slammed through her. She broke into a cold sweat, seeing spots. “Then kindly move your ass and get me to it.”
With a little luck, she’d still be conscious. Without it, she’d be at Cross’s mercy. He could choose to report it.
You will not give him that opportunity, Princess. You will stay conscious. You will endure the pain, and you will not pass out.
“You’re really pale, Amanda.”
She glanced into the mirror. The two men were behind them, both in the black Lexus. “Damn it, they’ve caught us,” she shouted. Totally irritated, she stretched over and slammed her foot down on the accelerator. “Will you drive?”
Amanda twisted on the seat, took aim and blinked hard, trying to clear the spots from her eyes. She put one bullet through the Lexus’s windshield, then another one in its front right tire. The driver hit the brakes hard. The car screeched, skidded, its tires churning smoke. The driver lost control. The car careened off the road, over the shoulder, and onto the grass, where it fishtailed to a stop.
A cloud of dust enveloped the car and Amanda collapsed back on the seat, her head spinning, the spots blinding her. She fought against passing out, but there was no way she could avoid it. Her body was too worn down from captivityand the tomb, too vulnerable. The darkness was coming at her from all sides and sucking hard. “Cross. I think I’m going to…”
“Well, I’ll be damned. You’re human, after all.”
Chapter 3
A manda awakened on a 26-footer with dual 150 Yamahas mounted on the stern. She lay sprawled on a bench seat and twisted her neck to check out her surroundings.
Mark Cross sat at the wheel. They were surrounded by water—the Gulf of Mexico—and a finger of land with tall bumps of buildings to the north looked small and distant. Her arm throbbed and she looked down at it. It was bandaged.
As if sensing she was up, Cross glanced back over his shoulder, then slowed the boat and let it idle and drift. “You okay now?”
She nodded, embarrassed. “Yeah.”
He reached into a cooler under the seat, pulled out two bottles of water and then passed one to her. “We have privacy out here. When you’re ready to talk about your experience, let me know.”
She took the bottle. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Excuse me?”
He was serious. “Why should I be willing to put my life and career in your hands by telling you anything?” Unscrewing the cap, she took a long drink. The cold water felt good sliding down her parched throat. “I’m here to get information not to give it.”
He sat down opposite her, stared for a long moment. With a breathy sigh, he reached under his left slacks leg, removed a gun strapped to his ankle, then set it on the seat beside her. He paused, measured her nonplussed response, then removed a second gun from his right ankle and set it beside the first one.
She showed no reaction.
His challenging gaze locked on to hers, he stood up, shoved a hand down the front of his slacks, withdrew a third gun and then set it on the seat beside her. It brushed her thigh and the metal was warm from his body.
Finally, he spoke. “Allowing
“You’re hit.” Mark stomped the gas, heading for the base gate.
Blood soaked her sleeve and ran down her arm. Amanda rolled her eyes at him. “Very observant, Cross.” Maybe she’d been wrong about that handshake after all. “Just get to the boat, okay? They’ll be right behind us.” The Lexus had already doubled back.
“You need a doctor.”
“I need a first-aid kit,” she corrected him, feeling the first serious wave of pain wash through her. “It’s a flesh wound.”
“There’s a kit on the boat.”
Her arm started throbbing; she felt it in her temples and fingertips. The adrenaline rush weakened and pain slammed through her. She broke into a cold sweat, seeing spots. “Then kindly move your ass and get me to it.”
With a little luck, she’d still be conscious. Without it, she’d be at Cross’s mercy. He could choose to report it.
You will not give him that opportunity, Princess. You will stay conscious. You will endure the pain, and you will not pass out.
“You’re really pale, Amanda.”
She glanced into the mirror. The two men were behind them, both in the black Lexus. “Damn it, they’ve caught us,” she shouted. Totally irritated, she stretched over and slammed her foot down on the accelerator. “Will you drive?”
Amanda twisted on the seat, took aim and blinked hard, trying to clear the spots from her eyes. She put one bullet through the Lexus’s windshield, then another one in its front right tire. The driver hit the brakes hard. The car screeched, skidded, its tires churning smoke. The driver lost control. The car careened off the road, over the shoulder, and onto the grass, where it fishtailed to a stop.
A cloud of dust enveloped the car and Amanda collapsed back on the seat, her head spinning, the spots blinding her. She fought against passing out, but there was no way she could avoid it. Her body was too worn down from captivityand the tomb, too vulnerable. The darkness was coming at her from all sides and sucking hard. “Cross. I think I’m going to…”
“Well, I’ll be damned. You’re human, after all.”
Chapter 3
A manda awakened on a 26-footer with dual 150 Yamahas mounted on the stern. She lay sprawled on a bench seat and twisted her neck to check out her surroundings.
Mark Cross sat at the wheel. They were surrounded by water—the Gulf of Mexico—and a finger of land with tall bumps of buildings to the north looked small and distant. Her arm throbbed and she looked down at it. It was bandaged.
As if sensing she was up, Cross glanced back over his shoulder, then slowed the boat and let it idle and drift. “You okay now?”
She nodded, embarrassed. “Yeah.”
He reached into a cooler under the seat, pulled out two bottles of water and then passed one to her. “We have privacy out here. When you’re ready to talk about your experience, let me know.”
She took the bottle. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Excuse me?”
He was serious. “Why should I be willing to put my life and career in your hands by telling you anything?” Unscrewing the cap, she took a long drink. The cold water felt good sliding down her parched throat. “I’m here to get information not to give it.”
He sat down opposite her, stared for a long moment. With a breathy sigh, he reached under his left slacks leg, removed a gun strapped to his ankle, then set it on the seat beside her. He paused, measured her nonplussed response, then removed a second gun from his right ankle and set it beside the first one.
She showed no reaction.
His challenging gaze locked on to hers, he stood up, shoved a hand down the front of his slacks, withdrew a third gun and then set it on the seat beside her. It brushed her thigh and the metal was warm from his body.
Finally, he spoke. “Allowing
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