Chills stole up Chelsea’s spine.
“Hey,” Dagan whispered. “You okay?”
“Yup.” She forced certainty into her voice. “Just ready to get this show on the road.”
You’ll go to hell for lying just as fast as for stealing chickens, her father’s voice whispered through her head.
“Me too, babe. This entire day feels like it’ll never end.”
He touched her earlobe, and her entire right side burst into flames. Her heart felt soft and squishy, huge inside the confines of her chest. And when he gently adjusted her backpack so it didn’t ride so low on her shoulders—So solicitous. So caring. Sowonderful—her eyes suddenly felt like two hot lumps of coal.
“Climb in,” he instructed.
Taking a seat on the wooden bench at the back of the rickety little boat, she watched him push the dinghy toward the waiting surf. Then two things happened simultaneously. The first was that she saw his shoulders bunch and strain beneath his coat, and she thought once again that the way he moved was very primal. Thesecondwas that a loud report split the dense air overhead, ruining the relative peace of the night. The piling to the left of the dinghy exploded. Chunks of algae-covered concrete rained down.
She didn’t have time to register more than a single thought:Someone is shooting at us!before Dagan gave the dinghy a mighty shove and yelled, “Go! Get out of here and get behind cover!”
Chapter 38
Theboomandpopof the weapon’s fire sounded again.
Theboomwas the initial shot followed by thepopof the bullet breaking the sound barrier as it whizzed by Dagan’s head and bit into the pebbled beach beyond. For an ordinary man, that double report would cause chaos and terror. For him, it generated white-hot anger and stone-cold determination.
Thanks to that second muzzle flash, he knew the shooter’s location. Thirty feet away, where the pilings ended and the solid base of the pier’s retaining wall jutted up against the beach.
Chancing a quick glance at the surf, he was relieved to see that Chelsea and the dinghy were well hidden behind one of the big pilings. For the first time in her life, the stubborn, confounding, delightful woman had done what he had asked her to do.
Good.Trained to be a fully operational army of one, the last thing he needed was her “help.” Plus, he could keep his mind on the task at hand if he didn’t have to worry about her.
Adrenaline was fuel for the fire in his veins as he scrambled up the beach, darting from piling to piling. He bent briefly to snatch the only weapon available to him since they had left their sidearms and tactical knives back at Rusty’s. Even if they were flying out of a private jet terminal, since it was an international flight, they would still have to clear customs once they reached the states. There was no way they would be able to do that with semi-autos, tranq guns, and pig stickers in hand.
When he reached the back of the pier where a huge brick wall connected the road above to the harbor arm, he bolted out from under the pier on the opposite side of the shooter. Compared to the darkness beneath the harbor arm, the starlight above and the lights of the town behind cast the beach in a twilight glow.
His heartbeat was metronome steady, and his lungs drew deep, even breaths as he jumped to grab the top of the retaining wall on the side of the pier. Hauling himself up took some effort, especially with the weight of the pack on his back. His boots scrabbled for purchase on the rough face of the wall, but with a mighty heave, shoulder muscles burning, he pulled himself over the top.
Halfway there.
He trotted the few feet to the railing running the length of the pier. The retaining wall on which he stood was still a good five feet below the pier’s walkway, so he had to grip the railing’s bottom rung and once again pull his full weight up and over. Once he’d done that, he crouched low and scanned the length of the harbor arm. Ears cocked for any sound. Eyes narrowed and slightly unfocused. It was a trick to catch minute movement.
A black shadow flitted farther down the way, near the middle of the pier. But it was just a crow pecking at what were likely the remains of a dead fish or a pile of bait left behind by a fisherman.
With stealth honed over many years and during too many assignments to count, Dagan ran on silent feet across the walkway. Stopping at the opposite railing, he noted the subtle smell of spent cordite that tinged the night air and turkey-peeked over the edge.
That’s Roper fuckin’ Morrison down there!Or Spider. Or Shit for Brains. Or the Seventh Horseman of the Douchepocalypse. Or any other colorful moniker that might apply to the evil old bastard.
Morrison appeared to be alone, which Dagan thought was highly improbable. A man like Spider wouldn’t do his own dirty work, much less do it by himself.
Wherewas Morrison’s backup? Dagan scanned the pier again, then turned his attention to the beach. Look. Listen. Unfocus and look again.
Nothing.
He didn’t get that lifted-hair-on-the-back-of-his-neck, prickly-palms feeling either. The one that usually happened anytime he found himself in the middle of someone’s crosshairs.
The tinny echo of a voice came from below. It sounded like someone was saying, “Hop smooting,” but that didn’t make any sense. Dagan strained harder to hear when the voice came again, this time with a long string of hissed syllables.
If he wasn’t mistaken, Morrison’s backup was communicating through an open telephone line. Not exactly high tech or clandestine, but it could get the job done in a pinch.
He saw Morrison lift his hand, and the small revolver glinted malevolently in the starlight. Since there was only one thing Morrison could be aiming at, Dagan made his move.
