Page 85 of No Lies No Promises

“Contact made,” Chin down, Mace whispers to the team.

“Not so fast.” Buying time, clutching the satchel, I inch toward the stern. “We were promised a cure.”

Hard to believe, but my voice doesn’t shake. Yay me.

“Off the boat, now.” My father draws his favorite Russian Soratnik.

When he aims his pistol at me, I dangle his laptop over the foul, muddy stream. “Let’s see if your computer is waterproof.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Once, his tone would’ve scared the bejesus out of me. Today, it’s a challenge I can’t wait to accept.

“The full formula, Father. Now. Or I let go.” I lean further over the railing. “By the way, if you or your friend shoots me, it’s goodbye data.”

While we talk, our vessel drifts closer to him.

That’s it, Daddy Dearest. One more step forward…. Any second now….

Four hands burst from the water, tentacling around two sets of ankles. Arms windmilling, Liam and his bodyguard drop into the fetid stream. When they start to stand, Sean and Daed rise from the knee-deep canal, and handcuff our marks.

Once they’re in handcuffs, I drop the laptop onto the closest chair. Jumping, I pump my fists in the air.

“Yes!” Before I can take a victory lap, bullets zap the water.

“Woman overboard.” Mace grabs my waist and flings me over the railing.

Screaming, I hit the water.

“Ooof.” My back teeth clunk when my butt meets the canal bottom.

“Take cover. Now!” As Mace returns fire, I suck in a lungful of air, duck under the hull, and surface near the propeller.

Chapter 46

Sean

As my brain registers shots fired, Mace hurls Lillian over the railing. When she disappears under the water, I hold my breath, letting it out as her head pops up by the stern.

No blood. Thank God.

On the port side, in the murky stream, I back along the boat until my body shields her from the shooter. “Do not fire your Beretta, babe.”

“Not an idiot, sweetheart.” She opens my dry bag and tugs out my spare. “But I will relieve you of your Glock.”

She calmly checks the magazine as Mace shouts from the bow, “Roof. Two o’clock. Above the Mexican restaurant.”

It’s not until a long-range scope catches the sun that I return fire.

Meanwhile, tourists and joggers scream, bolting inside the buildings. My gaze flicks from them to the rooftop to where she crouches behind the craft.

“You okay?” I ask.

She twirls her finger for me to turn around. “I’m fine. Keep shooting.”

As I’m about to take aim, a rifle cracks from the upper level of the River Walk.

A man groans. Sixty bullet-free seconds later, Dante reports in. “Target down. I repeat. Target is down.”

Lillian grabs my arm. “Is it really over?”