“No! Lachlan! No!”
Only silence answered her.
A cry ripped through her lungs. “No! Lachlan!”
“You.” Kraus turned to her, his eyes dark and hard. “You betrayed us.”
Moonlight glinted off steel. Circling her way.
“No!” Cilla whipped the blanket off her shoulders and tossed it at Kraus.
A crack. A flash.
Cilla stumbled back. Her foot snagged on the low railing around the deck, and she tumbled over the side, shrieking.
Had she been shot?
Her head hit the water. Which way was up?
She thrashed around and struggled to the surface. Her head still throbbed, her leg, her arm—but no new pain. Kraus must have missed.
Rhythmic splashes sounded from the other side of the bow. Kraus was swimming to Lachlan’s motorboat.
Was Lachlan dead? Or only injured? If he was injured, Kraus could easily kill him.
A sob swelled through her. She had to stop Kraus. Somehow.
With all her strength, pushing through the pain, she swam around the bow and toward the motorboat. If Lachlan was conscious, she had to warn him. “Lachlan! Watch out! He’s coming!”
Kraus grabbed the life ring and pulled himself toward the boat, hand over hand.
“Lachlan! Watch out!” If she caught up with Kraus, she might be able to keep him from boarding, the only hope she had.
Kraus reached the boat and climbed the rope.
“Lachlan! He’s coming on board. No!” She swam with all her might, but it wasn’t enough.
With one hand, Kraus groped around on the deck, and he pulled himself up until his head rose above the side.
“Lachlan!” His name filled her mouth, her heart, her being.
Light blazed. A shot rent the air.
Kraus’s back arched. His arms flung wide. His body slithered down the hull into the water.
Lachlan—he’d shot Kraus.
“Lachlan! You’re alive. You’re alive.” She swam hard to the rope.
Nearby, Kraus floated in the water, unmoving.
One look, and Cilla slammed her eyes shut. The Abwehr officer would never again be a danger to anyone.
But Lachlan—was he hurt?
She grasped the rope and tried to climb, but with one arm injured and with cold-numbed hands, she couldn’t pull herself up, could barely hold on. “Lachlan, I can’t. I can’t climb.”
A manly grunt, and Lachlan’s head appeared—his hair mussed, his face warped by pain—and he stretched his arms down to her. “Hold on, lass.”
