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Sliding her hand to her thigh, she freed her knife, a knife only meant for cutting away seaweed. It was better than nothing. She blinked her vision clearer inside her mask and studied the distant cluster of swimmers, at least a couple of hundred yards away. And closing. Two spears glistened, sparking a rainbow of colors in a mocking arch.
Her mind raced with options unfolding like an in-flight emergency checklist. Could she make it back to shore? To the boat? Or maybe she should continue to hide in the plane wreckage and defend herself until Max arrived. Even then, her odds sucked.
She considered luring the divers away from Max. For all of three roaring breaths. Max would find her. No way would he quit searching until he located her, landing unaware into heaven only knew what.
Warning him would increase their odds. She had to race for the shore and alert him. Likely he was already on his way. Close. She hoped.
Darcy palmed the knife and kicked. Hard. Sweeping around the other side of the plane and searching the water for signs of Max. At least the clear Guam waters had allowed her the advance warning of seeing the attackers from a distance. A small advantage, but she’d take it.
Her arms strained, her breathing labored. She sucked in air from her tank. The underwater beauty she’d so enjoyed earlier dulled to monochromatic grays streaking past. Not nearly fast enough.
Why did this have to happen underwater? She could tackle both guys on land. Or one underwater. But even with Max’s help, these two-to-one underwater odds chilled her. If she could just make it to shore, that would level the playing field.
Her legs pumped harder past a reef of poisonous red coral. She hoped when she hauled onto the sandbar those four divers would laugh and apologize for scaring her to death when they were only hunting. Instinct told her otherwise. Trusting instincts was critical to flyers who planned to stay alive in combat.
She risked a quick glance behind her. The gap narrowed as the swimmers streamed over the downed bomber. No more than a hundred yards between her and the four looming bodies and two spears. Did they plan to kill her outright? Or take her, as she’d been taken before.
Panic bubbled up her throat. Darcy propelled by the coral reef. Around. A figure exploded into view. She clutched her knife. Ready. Her vision cleared.
Max.
Relief punched through her until she couldn’t breathe. Had her tank gone dry? Air rushed in. Darcy gestured behind her, searching for ways to make him unders—
He nodded. Knife in hand. He already knew.
The clear water must have alerted him as it had her. A school of fish scattered. Darcy stiffened. Readied. Blood in the water would draw sharks, but a more imminent threat waited around the reef.
A figure circled into sight, spear aimed straight for her. Eyes behind the mask glinted with pure evil. There was no questioning his intent now.
Max detonated into action. Yanked the spear, levering the diver forward. Max locked a bulging arm around the attacker’s neck. His knife arced down, cut the attacker’s air hose with a swift skill and unsettling efficiency that startled her.
Reassured her.
One down in only seconds. Hope buoyed her.
A body slammed into her and jerked her arm. Adrenaline surged through her veins, pulsed in her ears. She curled her knees and kicked forward. Thrust. Hard. Slammed the looming diver into the toxic spines of the red coral. The diver twitched and fell away. Darcy thrashed left, then right, searching for the other two in the distance.
She steadied her breathing, strategizing her next move. Another figure slid into view. How many did they have? Already her legs quivered from the exertion combined with their earlier dive. No question, Max’s skills in the water outstripped hers. If only she could hold up her own end. She needed to give him an edge.
A hand banded round her arm. Memories of the past blurred with the present, of another hand years ago clamping on her arm at a luau, dragging her away from the crowd. She powered an elbow back into the attacker’s neck, buying a moment’s freedom while Max maneuvered out of reach of a spear and knife. She sucked in more air, gritting her teeth for a battle she feared she couldn’t win.
And then it came to her. The only plan with a chance of succeeding. She’d just been too trapped in the past to recognize it.
Only minutes earlier she’d vowed that she’d learned, that she would see the big picture in relationships and service. No longer would she seek glory at the expense of what others needed from her.
She hated vulnerability. Hated giving in. But if she continued with her current mode of attack, they could both die.
Heaven help her, she would have to surrender.
* * *
What was Darcy doing?
Max swung clear of an arcing knife while Darcy sank. She descended. Deeper. Another ten feet and she would be below the hundred-foot point, in danger of nitrogen narcosis. If she succumbed, she’d be all but helpless. She was an experienced diver. She had to know that.
Then he realized her plan. She was leading them deeper to disorient their attackers, as well. The consummate warrior and wingman, she knew how to relinquish ego for the good of mission survival. Giving Max an advantage because she trusted he could combat the increased pressure. And he could.
He dodged the next swing of the spear by going deeper. Deeper still. With any luck, the divers would peel away and give up. Or not. Three bodies powered after them.
