It was from the corner of his eye, because he dared not take his eye off his target. A target he’d managed to hit. Center mass. Kill shot.
He’d learned long ago that when it came to gunplay, there was no such thing as a shot across the bow.
Unfortunately, the man’s brain didn’t register that his body was already dead. As the shadow fell sideways, he managed to squeeze off a shot.
“Down!” Doc launched himself atop Cami and pressed her hard into the sand as he felt the hot puff of displayed air that accompanied the bullet as it flew by his shoulder.
Half of him registered the warmth of Cami’s breath against his cheek, the softness of her breasts cushioning his chest, and the heat of her womanhood because her spread thighs cradled his hips. But the other half of him was completely focused on pushing to his feet, aiming at the second shadow that disengaged from the palm tree closest to the downed gunman, and yelling, “Stop right there unless you want to end up like your friend!”
The second shadow skidded to a halt, lifting his hands high into the air. “Don’t shoot!” A panicked voice cut through the darkness. “I surrender!”
Doc’s heart thudded heavily in his chest. It’d been a minute since he’d found himself on the receiving end of a narrowly missed bullet.
He had to admit, he didn’t miss the sensation.
Not to steal a line from Roger Murtaugh,he thought,but I am getting too old for this shit.
Behind him, he heard Cami push to her feet. He thought about telling her to stay put. But then he realized he had no idea if these two jackholes had brought buddies with them.
In which case, it’d be better for him not to have to divide his attention between them and Cami. “Stick close to me,” he told her from the side of his mouth. “I mean, like white on rice.”
She didn’t hesitate, hooking a finger through his belt loop and plastering herself against his back until her breasts bracketed his spine.
“Keep up with me,” he commanded as he took a step away from the glow of the fire and toward the man who continued to stand with his hands in the air. “Match every move I make.”
They were maybe ten yards from the man by the time he could make out the guy’s features. Wispy blond hair. Small, dark eyes that reminded him of something that scurried around on the ground. And the most pathetic excuse for a mustache Doc had seen on any guy older than fifteen.
Also, the dude was soaking wet. Water dripped from his hair and the hems of his board shorts.
They swam here?
As soon as the question drifted through his mind, he knew the answer.No. They have a boat nearby. They dropped anchor and swam to the sandbar so their engine noise wouldn’t alert us to their arrival.
Which meant their malevolent intentions had been planned. Which meant this wasn’t simply a wrong place/wrong time situation. Like, this little sandbar wasn’t the meeting place of drug dealers and their mules, and Doc and crew hadn’t simply stumbled into a situation that didn’t have anything to do with them.
This hadeverythingto do with them.
Which meant Romeo had been right. They hadn’t experienced some sort of bizarre, but natural, mid-flight catastrophe. These motherfuckers were surely the same ones who’d tried to blow them out of the damned sky.
“How many of you are here?” he demanded.
Mustache Man’s Adam’s apple traveled up the length of his throat. “C-can you please point that thing somewhere else?”
Doc was aiming the Glock between the man’s beady eyes. But he nodded and said, “Sure thing,” before pointing the pistol at the man’s crotch. The guy’s cheeks paled in the moonlight. “Now,” Doc growled menacingly, “I’m going to ask you one more time, and then I’m going to blow your dick off. How many of you are there?”
“Th-three,” the guy wheezed, then glanced down at the hulking mass of a human carcass. “N-now, just two, I guess. Oh, my god!” His face scrunched up, making him look even more rat-like. “You killed Kenny!”
Doc peered down at the dead man with gritty resolve, having long ago lost his ability to feel sorry for any fucker who tried to end his life.
“I was nearly killed by a guy namedKenny,” he muttered. “Jesus hopscotching Christ, just when I thought my night couldn’t get any worse, I find myself in the middle of aSouth Parkepisode.”
Mustache Man blinked at him uncomprehendingly. And okay, so gallows humor was obviously lost on those who hadn’t spent years dodging bullets and living on the edge.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded of the man. “And why the hell are you trying to kill us?”
Before Mustache Man could answer, Romeo’s deep voice boomed through the night. “Stop!” The command was followed by the sound of splashing, and that was immediately followed by the sound of a struggle, by thethudsof landed punches, by the grunts of pain when bone met bone.
Doc couldn’t see what was happening on the beach. A stand of palm trees obscured his line of sight. So he ripped his gaze away from the tune of hand-to-hand combat—after all, Romeo was the most skilled fighter he’d ever known, having mastered Krav Maga and jiujitsu—and narrowed his gaze on Mustache Man.
