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“Now what?” Shae said. “Jump?”
“What is with you and jumping? This is five stories up. You’ll break your legs.”
Fraser came running up. “Just where she said she’d leave it.” He carried a fraying but still intact mooring line from their fishing boat.
He looped it around a bolt, tied it off, then Ned picked it up. He wrapped the rope around his back, then down between his leg, then up again in his other hand.
“I’m going to step over the side, and then I want you to climb aboard.”
Shouting, and somewhere in the bow of the boat, a light went on. Perfect.
Fraser stood guard near the bolt.
“Climb aboard what?”
But he didn’t wait to explain. He simply went over the side, his feet balanced on the hull.
“Grab her, bro.”
Fraser swooped her up, then leaned over and set her down, right on his chest, her legs on either side of his waist.
“Hold on to me.”
Her wide eyes affixed to his, terror in them.
“Maybe close your eyes too.” He was already moving down the side of the boat, his entire body tensed, ignoring the burn of the rope around his waist, on his thigh. He quick-walked down, grunting, ignoring the shots firing on deck.
His feed hand slipped once, and Shae screamed, but he caught himself, let out enough rope to reposition his hand.
Pavel caught him and pulled him into the boat.
A few shots hit the water.
“Go!”
Fraser was over the side, and Ned picked up his gun. “Get down, Shae!” He returned fire, and in a moment, the attack ceased.
Fraser hit the boat, Ned pulled him in, and then they were lying in the belly as Pavel hit it. The boat cut through the dark water, shots in its wake but, in the darkness, futile.
And then they were out in the bay, racing through the darkness, the cold spray hitting them.
Ned rolled over, found his feet and searched for Shae.
She was huddled in the back of the boat, her knees up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs.
“Shae.”
He stumbled over to her, sat down next to her, and pulled her into his arms.
“I’ve got you, babe. I’ve got you.”
She simply put her head into his chest, held on, and wept.
* * *
Three daysfrom the stupidest thing she’d ever done, and Iris still couldn’t shake it from her brain.
See, didn’t want to be a spy, never wanted to be a spy, and what was she doing pretending to be a spy? She probably needed to hit her knees and thank Jesus that she hadn’t done somethingreallystupid and gotten herself killed.
