She experienced all of those as she sailed through the air until…wham!She slammed into the retaining wall, her arms over the top, her hands digging for purchase, and her boots scrabbling against the surface.
“Just hang on!” Dagan hissed.
Right. Because it didn’t seem she could do much else. Her arms didn’t have the strength to pull her over the top.
Oh,whyhadn’t she hit the gym a little more? Or, for lands sakes, laid off the peanut-butter crackers? Dangling there, her backpack doing everything in its power to yank her backward, she felt as useful as boobs on a man.
In contrast, Dagan jumped, caught the top of the wall, and hoisted himself up and over so easily that she cursed. Then he grabbed her by the armpits and dragged her up next to him. She marveled at his strength. The whole of him was like steel forged in fire. She imagined his bones were made of the same stuff used in Tolkien’s High-Elven Swords. Would he glow blue if an Orc were near?
And great. Wonderful.Fear had made her a little batty.
“Up you go, Chels,” Dagan said again, pointing to the railing on the side of the pier.
Planting her foot in his hands, they repeated the jump-and-toss maneuver. But this time she was able to not only grab hold of the lowest rung on the rail, but also swing her leg up and over, which allowed her to hoist herself onto the pier.
Praise Jesus!
Ridiculously pleased with herself, she turned in time to see Dagan leap and latch on to the railing just as Surry raced onto the beach below. A dark newsboy cap was pulled low over Surry’s brow, making it impossible to see his face. But she had no trouble making out the evil black eye at the end of his pistol. It was staring straight at them. Or, more precisely, atDagan.
“Look out!” she screamed just as Surry’s gun belched up a round.
The muzzle flash was blinding. The roar of the weapon deafening. But the bullet smacked the side of the pier six inches from where Dagan dangled, and she nearly fainted with relief. She might have done exactly that, had she not been looking around for something to throw at Surry, something,anythingto distract him from taking another shot.
But she needn’t have worried. Dagan didn’t need her help.
Moving so quickly she could barely track him, he one-handed the pistol out of his pocket, aimed, and fired.Bam!
A bark of pain sounded from below. Surry dropped his weapon and grabbed his shooting arm, his cap slipping off his head and landing on the beach. She wasn’t certain if the bullet hit him square or just grazed him.
“Here!” Dagan handed her the revolver.
The weapon was hot from its recent work. The barrel singed her fingers as she turned the gun and aimed for Surry who was already running for cover beneath the pier, pistol back in hand.
Dagan hoisted himself over the railing and wasted no time yelling at her torun!
Yup. Good plan. But which way?
Back into town where more of Spider’s or Morrison’s or whoever’s goons probably waited? Or worse, the police? The cry of sirens sounded in the distance. The gunplay had obviously been overheard and reported. And yessiree, given Chelsea was a wanted woman, and given that the guy she was supposed to have stolen something from lay dead on the beach somewhere down below, getting apprehended by the local law was something she should probably avoid at all costs.
But that left…what? What else could they do? Where else could they go?
Dagan must have realized she was caught on the horns of a dilemma because he snatched the revolver from her hand, threaded their fingers together, and gave her a tug down the pier.
“We’ll jump,” he said as he broke into a run, dragging her with him. “And hope Gautier is still there.”
What are the chances?she thought, racing beside him. Then she figured since straws were all they had, they might as well grasp at them.
It wasn’t until a few seconds later, when the lighthouse loomed large, that she remembered the first thing he’d said.We’ll jump.
Lord have mercy!Jump?As in off the end of the friggin’ pier?
If memory served, it had looked to be a least a two-story drop. Now, with the tide out…what? Three stories?Four?
Her legs felt like pinwheels, spinning, spinning,spinninguntil her thighs screamed in protest. Butfinallythey made it to the lighthouse. The motor atop buzzed as it spun its white lights over the Channel, warning away passing ships.
Peering into the dark water below made Chelsea dizzy. “Holy crap,” she breathed, gripping the railing so hard her fingers ached. “Are we crazy to even consider this?” Three. Ithadto be three stories.
Before Dagan could answer, they both saw it.
