“No boat,” she gasped.
“We’ll find one. Or swim.”
She coughed on a laugh. “You have a lot of faith in my stamina.”
“I’ve seen it firsthand,” he shot back, his tone rough and full of something that made her heart trip over itself.
He reached for her hand. She let him.
“Let’s move.”
They scrambled through the swamp as dawn began to stretch faint fingers across the sky, casting everything in a silvery hue. The trees thinned slightly, just enough to show her a sliver of water ahead. Still and silent.
Drew didn't realize she was still holding Cross’s hand until he gave it a small squeeze.
“We’ll make it,” he said quietly. “But that was a warning.”
“You think he’s still alive?”
Cross shrugged. “Doubtful… But there will be others waiting to pick up where he left off.”
Drew squared her shoulders. “Then we make them wish they never picked this job.”
Cross gave a dry chuckle. “That’s the Drew I remember.”
Her lips quirked, but she didn’t look at him. Because the truth was, she didn’t feel like the same Drew anymore. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to be that woman. The man beside her had crushed her heart and stolen her sense of self-worth. It had taken her what seemed like a lifetime to get it back. She knew now that she was enough. Always had been, and she didn’t want to get involved in anything or anyone that would make her doubt herself again, no matter how much she loved him.
The river opened before them,dark and sluggish, cutting through the tangle of trees like a wound in the earth. Dawn’s early light shimmered faintly on the surface, painting everything in shades of silver and ash. Drew’s legs ached, and every inch of her was soaked, scratched, and mosquito-bitten. But they’d made it. Almost.
Cross reached for the embankment, hauling himself halfway up with a grunt. Drew was right behind him when the click of a safety disengaging stopped them cold.
“Don’t move.”
Two men stepped out of the shadows, weapons leveled. One was older, scar down his cheek. The other looked barely old enough to shave, but the Glock in his hand was steady. Rodriguez’s men. Drew’s stomach dropped.
“Well, well,” the older one said, leering. “We were wondering how long it would take you to crawl out of the swamp.”
Cross didn’t hesitate. His arm swept up, one fluid motion. A shot rang out, echoing like a crack of thunder, and the younger man stumbled back, his body jerking as the bullet punched into his chest. He fell into the water, limbs twitching, and vanished beneath the surface without a sound.
“Son of a bitch!” The second man lunged, catching Cross off balance and slamming him to the ground. His gun clattered into the weeds.
Drew dropped to her knees, scrambling to grab it, but the man backhanded her hard, sending her sprawling. Dazed, she blinked back stars as Cross fought to rise, the attacker now pummeling him with quick, savage blows. Cross grunted, twisted, and got an elbow in. The man staggered, and Drew took her chance—she slammed her boot into his knee.
He yelled, buckling just enough for Cross to get free. But instead of running, the man grabbed Drew, spinning her around and locking an arm around her throat. A cold barrel pressed against her ribs.
“One more move,” he panted, “and she dies.”
Cross froze.
“Let her go,” he growled.
“You want her? Then don’t follow.” Blood trickled down the side of the man’s face, his grip trembling. “You’ve already cost us too much.”
He started dragging Drew backward, up the embankment, toward the road. She fought—kicking, twisting—but the man seemed to be running on pure adrenaline now, desperate enough to do anything.
They reached a battered black sedan just off the tree line. The engine was already idling, a third man behind the wheel. The man yanked the back door open and shoved Drew inside. She caught one last glimpse of Cross, eyes blazing, hand reaching—then the gun fired.
A flash. A deafening roar. And Cross jerked as the bullet tore into him.
