It was another trick he’d been taught not only in SEAL training, but also when he’d done his surgical rotation. If he couldseethe steps he needed to take, meticulously imagine going through each one, when the time came to implement them, it was a little like muscle memory.
When he turned the knob on his bedroom door, the solid slab of wood was jerked from his grip. The broken window had created a vacuum inside the room, and he was instantly hit in the face with the smell of wet sand, damp wood, and salty air.
Behind him, Brady muttered, “Fuckin’-A.”
Doc was glad he was in front of the gunmen. That meant they couldn’t see his lips curve into a satisfied grin.
The conditions in his bedroom were even better than he’d hoped. And bybetter, he meantworse.
It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness in the unlit room, but once they did, he saw his curtains had been torn into tatters. Bits of storm debris swirled around in the moist air. And Cami’s bloodstained shirt was plastered over the back of his headboard.
Seeing it immediately conjured up thoughts of the woman herself.
She didn’t deserve to die here on this island in the middle of nowhere. She deserved the life she’d always dreamed of. The house full of kids. The man she could build her world around.
And by god, I’m going to see she gets all of it if it’s the last thing I do, he vowed while staunchly ignoring the little stab of jealousy he felt for whichever lucky bastard eventually won her heart.
Taking a step into the room, he once again forced his mind to go through the motions of his plan.
“My kit is by my nightstand!” he yelled over his shoulder at the two gunmen.
Fin followed him into the room, but Brady stayed behind in the doorway.
“I’ll grab it and then we’ll head back to the bathroom!” he added, hoping the darkness and the anarchy created by the open window made it impossible for his captors to see the medical kit thatwasn’tnext to his nightstand.
His medical kit was actually in his closet. Whatwasnext to his nightstand—or, rather, taped to the bottom of his nightstand—was his trusty Sig Sauer.
Navy SEALs, even the ones who’d bugged out of the service, squirreled weapons away out of an abundance of caution. Or maybe it was out of an abundance of paranoia.
Either way, Doc was glad he kept his sidearm locked and loaded.
Now, it’s all about timing.
Squinting against the dust and debris in the air, his hair swirling around his face and making him wish he’d gotten that haircut Cami mentioned, he knelt next to his bed. Using his left arm to reach between the bedframe and his nightstand, he made sure to employ big movements as a distraction while his right arm bent up slightly so his hand could curl around the butt of his weapon.
He didn’t have to fumble to find the pistol. His fingers landed on his sidearm immediately. The metal was cold and damp from the humidity in the room. But palming it felt like coming home.
He’d heard the newest batch of SEALs had switched from the Sig Sauer P226 to the Glock 19, but he would always remain loyal to his Sig. It’d saved his ass more times than he could count.
He was betting on it saving his ass again.
The Velcro on the holster made a ripping sound while pulling free. But thankfully, the noise in the room meant the sound didn’t travel far. Carefully, he curled his finger around the trigger, and then aimed at Fin from under his left arm.
It was a terrible angle. But he’d put enough rounds downfield that he’d gotten pretty good at guessing trajectory. If he was quick and careful, he might just get out of this without taking another life.
Holding his breath—and betting on the gunmen downstairs figuring he’d made a move, after which they’d assume it was their friends firing onhim—he squeezed the trigger.
Bam!
The bark of his Sig was ear-splitting, even with the sound of the wind screaming in through the open window. The ringing in his ears ratcheted up a notch and it felt like there was a steel spike driving into his skull. But just as he’d hoped, his first round found a home in Fin’s gun shoulder.
The redhead stumbled back, blinking in pained confusion as his pistol slipped from his lax fingers and a rosette of inky dark blood spread across the front of his shirt. Behind him, Brady instinctively ducked and then looked around wildly. The pandemonium inside the room masked what’d happened.
Doc used the man’s momentary disorientation to his advantage. Jumping to his feet, he aimed and fired a second time.
Bam!
Brady howled in surprised agony when Doc’s bullet nicked the meaty part of his gun arm. Unfortunately, Doc’s bullet hadn’t rendered the appendage useless. Brady had enough wherewithal to lift the weapon in Doc’s direction, even as Doc dove toward Fin’s dropped pistol.
