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Or was it? The criminal underworld was a sick mirror image of the business world—making money out of anything and everything.
Why had his Anna been taken?
He pushed the question from him. It was irrelevant now. Everything was irrelevant except what he was doing. The helicopter-induced swell was running against him, chopping the water and slowing him down, but at least it meant that for the few moments when he had to surface for air he was hidden. The police boat had stopped the cruiser in its tracks, and that and the hovering helicopter were taking all the gunmen’s attention.
Getting aboard amidships, well away from the stern deck and the trimmed but still deadly propeller, took all his strength. For a moment he crouched, breathing heavily, just inside the ship’s rail, hidden by the bulk of the upper cabin. Then, slowly, he moved.
The man at the wheel was holding the boat as steady as he could in the buffeting from the helicopter, at which he was gazing upwards balefully, as well as keeping his eyes on the police gunmen trained on him from the boat all but grazing his starboard bow. He never even heard Leo in the din.
Cautiously, Leo started to climb up onto the roof of the cabin, sliding along it on his belly. He twisted his head sideways, shaking it warningly at the police on board the boat. Not by a movement or a gesture did they reveal they had seen him. The booming voice from the megaphone was still ordering the gunmen to hand their prisoner over. Somewhere, dimly, he could hear their leader shouting his sneering defiance, telling the police helicopter that if they fired the girl would be dead first. The backs of all three of them were towards Leo, but he could see, with a sick coldness inside him, the gun jammed under Anna’s ear. He also saw, with a rage that seared through him like a white heat, that they’d stripped her to the waist.
Silently, like death, he dropped down onto the rear deck.
In a blur, Anna saw the figure drop. For a second terror screamed in her, and then somewhere, in a synapse deep in her brain, she realised who it was.
It was Leo.
Leo—dropping down, pummelling into the man holding the gun to her throat, knocking him to the deck. Anna screamed. And then, from nowhere, she acted. Every muscle in her body went limp and she sagged forward.
Fire shot through her shoulders as they took the full weight of her body, but she didn’t care. The change in weight distribution had unbalanced her captor. She hooked her foot around his ankle and, every muscle tensing again, she jerked. He went flying down, almost taking her with him, but at the last moment he released her to try and stop himself hitting the deck. She was on him in a second. Her arms would not work, but her legs would, and she laid in to him, kicking viciously anywhere and everywhere she could to keep him down.
Then, suddenly, she was swept up. Before she could even struggle again she registered that it was Leo—Leo bundling her over the side guardrail of the deck into the waiting arms of one of his security people in the power boat that had come alongside. She heard Leo yell something, and the boat veered off.
‘Leo!’ She screamed his name, but it could not be heard above the roaring engine.
The police helicopter had shifted, shadowing over the yacht, and she could see two marksmen taking aim from the interior. The swoop of the rotors was ploughing the sea into a frenzy.
The gunman had staggered to his feet, lifting his gun while backing Leo into the cabin, taking aim from the rocking platform. Even through the deafening noise she heard the crack of gunshots, saw Leo launching himself sideways, downwards. Then there were more shots. The police marksmen had shot the gunman and the man was reeling, falling in hideous slow motion, backwards over the churning propellers.
She twisted her head away, hearing yet more shots.
Then no more.
‘Leo,’ she moaned, ‘Oh, God, Leo…’
He was lying motionless, face down on the rocking, jerking deck, and she could see blood staining his shirt. Horror drenched through her.
Leo was dead. He had died saving her.
Grief tore at her like a ravening wolf. Eating her alive.
Then, into the horror, she heard the voice of Leo’s security man.
‘I think I just saw his hand move!’
CHAPTER TEN
ANNA sat in the waiting room. It was cool. Overhead, a fan rotated slowly. Even with painkillers her wrenched arms and shoulders ached. She didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything.
Only one thing occupied her entire being.
Leo.
She stared at the clock. How long had he been in Theatre? She didn’t know. Knew only that no one was saying reassuring things to her. No one was telling her it was going to be all right.
No one was telling her he was going to live.
My fault. My fault. My fault.
The words tolled through her.
