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“Are you okay?” he asked. “Are you hit?”
“No.” She coughed, braced her hands on the rocks and pushed herself out of the water. “No, I’m”—she hacked up a lungful of water—“I’m okay.”
Thank God.
“Stay here, don’t move. I’ll be back.”
She scrambled to grasp his wrist. “You’re not going back out there.”
“I’ve gotta get my gun if we’re going to have any kind of chance.”
Her grip tightened. “Finn. Please don’t go out there. Please?”
The fear in her voice cut at him. He put his free hand over hers, tried to reassure her. “I’m like a bad penny, Lauren. I always turn up.” He glanced around the dark cave, spotted a ray of light way in the back. “If I’m not back in twenty minutes, look for a way out back there.”
“Finn—”
“Archer’s ranch is a half mile due east of here. Did you hear that? If I’m not back, Lauren. If something happens . . . get to Archer for help.”
She swallowed hard. Squeezed his hand tighter. The intensity of her gaze held his until his chest pinched. “You’d better come back, Tierney. You still owe me those shoes, you know. I’m holding you to that.”
She let go of him, moved farther into the shadows until her back was pressed up against the slick rock wall. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs and stared at him.
He’d never thought her vulnerable. Not until this minute. Even before, when they’d been on the run, when these whackos had been chasing them, she’d always seemed able to deal with anything they threw her way. Which had made all of this easier on him, he realized. Now though? Now she looked . . . almost lost.
It wasn’t because of him, he told himself. It wasn’t because she’d fallen for him. It wasn’t because the thought of something happening to him was the one thing that could break that iron strength he’d so come to admire.
He took a deep breath, turned and dove deep. But as he swam, he knew he was feeding himself a line of shit from here to the States. Because if something happened to her now . . . God help him, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it.
He kicked hard, pulled with his arms. The thump of bullets hitting the water echoed to his left. His lungs burned as he swam back toward the rocks where he’d left his clothes. A prayer whipped through his mind that he’d be able to reach his gun and that he hadn’t just flat-out lied to Lauren right to her face.
His lungs filled with sweet air as soon as he broke the surface. He grasped the rocks and pulled himself out of the water without looking back. Darting behind the waterfall, he peered around the side of the rocks and spotted his clothes lying ten feet away.
His adrenaline surged. The handle of his Beretta stuck out from beneath his black shirt. He ganced up toward the black-and-white striped Huey circling the trees, the gunman leaning out over the open door, searching.
There wasn’t time to plan. If they changed their angle, they’d be able to see Lauren in the cave. The Huey circled back around, headed Finn’s way. His muscles coiled and he sprang toward his gun. Rocks tore into the skin of his leg as he skidded to a stop, gripped the weapon with both hands and aimed.
His vision zeroed in on the pilot. All he needed was one well-placed shot. The white of the man’s helmet was like a blinking target as he unloaded into the cockpit. Glass shattered. Bells and beeping filled the early morning air. The Huey tipped to the side, the gunman hollered, lost his b
alance. The machine gun fell into the lagoon with a splash. Finn fired again and again until the pilot’s head slumped forward and the nose of the bird went down.
Oh, fuck.
Too late he realized the Huey was coming straight for him. His heart lurched into his throat. He grabbed his pants and shirt from the rocks and sprinted into the trees. The chopper struck the rocks feet from where he’d been sitting, nose first, crushing the pilot in a crash that sounded like a detonated bomb. The force knocked Finn off his feet. The blades of the chopper hit the rocks, shattering with deafening thwacks. Shards of metal flew in every direction. The fuel tank shot forward and slammed into the cockpit with a boom.
Finn twisted, covered his head with his hands. Sound died down as the back of the big bird settled against the shore of the lagoon with a crunch. Pulse racing, Finn scrambled from the ground, dragged on his pants and stuffed his shirt in his back pocket. Gun gripped in both hands, he inched forward, half expecting a survivor to pop out of the Huey and start firing.
Steam rose from the wreckage. Nothing moved. He hesitated. Sniffed. Caught the unmistakable scent of gasoline.
Fuck. Fuck!
Instinct kicked in. He turned and ran. Was fifteen feet back in the trees when the gasoline reached the smoldering motor, igniting the fumes in an explosion that rocked the world right out from under his feet.
His body sailed through the air, crashed into the base of a palm. Pain exploded behind his eyes, raced down his spine. Groaning, he rolled to the side and pushed himself up. His gun was five feet away, lying on a palm frond. The hair on his arms was singed.
Holy shit.
Grabbing his gun, he hobbled toward the lagoon and the cave where he’d left Lauren. He cringed at the pain exploding like fireworks in his head.
