He engulfed her hand with his and grinned. “Nice to meet you. I’m Mitch. You might want to pick up that mace off the floor before we leave.”
The warmth of his touch mingled with hers as they shared the handshake. She had to admit, his smile was nice. His eyes were nice. The way he said his name, with a hint of gravel in his voice, was…nice. He might be her protector, but he was also out of her league. Personally and professionally.
She released her hold on his hand. “What’s the plan for finding my father?”
“Our first step is to get the hell out of here. You can hang up, Drake, I’ve got this now.” The call ended. “By the way, get your keys out. We’ll be taking your car.”
Guiding her to the Mariner’s front door, he kept his hand on her arm or at the small of her back at all times. And when they stepped outside, he did the same as they walked out into the halogen-lit parking lot. She clicked the snazzy key fob that came with the car that had been waiting for her when she arrived back at the house on Captiva.
The car’s lights flashed a second before two men stepped out from the side of the building. The men moved closer. One brandished a gun. One a knife.
She tensed. “Do you see—”
“You see this, Keith?” Mitch kept guiding her forward.
“See what? Local police made me move across the street,” Keith said. “Got a big panel truck stopped at the traffic light. Damn thing’s blocking my view of the parking lot at the moment. You need help?”
The two men kept coming. No words. Just a steady pace that said they weren’t there to leave empty-handed.
Mitch blew out a sigh. “No. I got it. Call the police and tell them they’ve got two men in the Mariner’s parking lot that need to be processed and booked. May need an ambulance.”
Her gut clenched, and she felt like she might be sick. “Who?”
Mitch wheeled around. Charged the guy with the gun. Gave him a one-two-three punch that landed the man on the ground. The man groaned and didn’t open his eyes. Mitch kicked the knife guy in his balls, slammed his head against the hood of the closest car. The guy crumpled to the ground and didn’t move.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Mitch pointed to the passenger door on the car. “Get in, Liz. I’m driving.”
“Are…are you just going to leave them there?” She slid into the seat, closed the door, and pushed the lock.
“That’s the plan.”
“Are…are they dead?”
“Nope.” He revved the engine. “Buckle up.”
“Are…are you sure?” She slipped the seat belt in place.
“Yeah. They lucked out tonight.” He shifted into drive. “Time to go.”
She vise-gripped the passenger door’s armrest. Felt her breaths flowing in fast and faster. Heard herself grunt to force them out. Scared? Was this what being scared felt like? No, she’d been scared before, even panicked. This was different. As a writer, she used lots of synonyms.
Terrified—now she knew how terrified felt.
Her hand trembled as she pressed her fingers against his arm. “Were…were they here to grab me?”
Chapter Three
Mitch knew the drive to Sanibel Island from Fort Myers wouldn’t take long. But once Liz and he hit the island, traffic would slow as they made their way to San-Cap Road then across a short bridge to the safe house on Captiva Island. Even considering the late time of night, people would be out on the main road most vacationers used. Good thing he knew back roads. Bad thing was that no matter what, sooner or later he’d end up on the main road again.
“Once you’re on Sanibel, I can direct you to the house my dad leased,” Liz said.
“I know where you’re staying.” He glanced in her direction then back at the upcoming Sanibel Causeway toll booth, located right before the island. “The house belongs to Drake.”
She shook her head, followed by a long exhale, then a clicking of her tongue as she pursed her lips. From the tense set of her slender neck as she rolled her head from side to side, he figured she’d about reached her limit on being kept in the dark.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said.
