The boom was deafening. Nate’s body jerked, and he stumbled back. Mimi fell to the floor, blood spreading across the front of her shirt.
“Grant’s going to have to forgive me for this, too.”
Nate turned and saw Daire at the door, a gun in his hand. His friend’s thick brow was furrowed. “Sorry.”
Daire shook his head. “It was going to happen sooner or later.”
There was so much Nate wanted to say. So much that had always gone unsaid between him and Daire, in an understanding that there was much they didn’t talk about. Why had they done that? It seemed so dumb now to be friends when Nate knew only a little about Daire’s life and his situation.
Daire smirked. “Dude, go.”
“Okay.” Nate glanced at the computer screen, dark now. Cyan’s neighbor had given him enough to go on that, with a little help, there was hope of finding her. “Did Mimi have a boat? Or the club owner, the manager, any of them? Cooper is taking Cyan out on a boat.”
“That doesn’t narrow it down, but I can find out for you. I’ll call control and get them to research it.”
“Control?”
“Ben’s office.” Daire glanced around but didn’t look at Mimi’s body.
Nate was pretty sure the first chance he got, he was moving.
Still, this was the first he was hearing about Ben having an actual office. Nate always figured he was too much of a nomad, off-the-grid, some kind of mercenary, to have a business with payroll and sick leave.
Daire pulled out his phone. “You head to Biscayne, and I’ll contact you with the information when I have it.”
Nate grabbed the keys to his SUV from the hook in the mud room and was on the road within minutes. The docks were quiet when he got out of the car, wincing as the pain shot up his leg. This ankle was going to be the death of him. It was already pretty much the death of his career, but he didn’t need to be able to play football to help Cyan.
Nate walked the rows, reading names on the boats—most of which were women. No one else was here, not that he could see. A lot of the early morning sailors were out already, leaving many of the spots empty.
Nate turned to head back toward the car when his phone beeped. BELLA LUNA. Registered to the club owner. Tacked on the end was a dock number.
Nate had seen that boat. He jogged through the pain down the row and found the smaller yacht was not tied up like the other boats. The engine swished water behind the boat as it rumbled to a smooth rhythm. Nate sprinted toward it, jumped, and launched himself on the deck.
Please let him not have heard that.
Cooper stood at the wheel up front, his back to Nate. Praying he didn’t turn around, Nate stayed low and crept across the deck to the door. Steps led downstairs and, thankfully, none creaked. He found a tiny kitchen and a living room area. Where was Cyan?
A tiny stage had been set up in one corner with speakers mounted on either side of it. A microphone, and a guitar on a stand. Did Cooper want his own private concert? Nate didn’t even want to think about that, or what Cooper might have done to her in the time he’d had her in his possession.
He prayed, gritting his teeth as he walked, wanting to find Cyan safe and unharmed. His future depended on her, and while he didn’t doubt there was a lot they could get through, it wasn’t like he wanted that. Not for her, or for their relationship.
I could love her, God. I know I could. She’s the only woman in the world that I want. Keep her safe. Don’t let Cooper have hurt her.
It felt strange at first, talking to someone who wasn’t there. But as he settled into the rhythm of speaking from his heart, a wave of peace washed over him. Peace that made no sense, given the circumstances. But it was full and packed with hope.
Footsteps. Nate turned as Cooper descended the stairs, the residue of peace still filling his chest. Ready for action, he glanced around and then grabbed a statue off an end table. Cooper turned away to walk down the hall. Nate crept closer, lifted the statue—which was considerably heavier than a regulation football—and tossed it at the back of Cooper’s head. The thud was sickening, and Cooper dropped to the floor in a heap.
He was unconscious. Possibly worse.
Nate froze for a second. Mostly it’d been reflex, but the fact he might’ve killed Cooper descended on him. Was this how his brothers felt every day? He didn’t like it at all. He wanted out of here.
“Cyan!” He yelled as loud as he could, moving around the space. “Cyan, are you here? Can you hear me?”
“Nate!” Her cry was muffled.
Nate followed the sound to a lavish bedroom. “Say something else.” He glanced around then went into the bathroom but didn’t find her. The closet was closed. Where was she?
“Nate!” Louder now, he heard her.
He moved to the closet and turned the handle, but it didn’t give. He banged on it. “Are you in here?”
“Nate!”
“Can you hear me?” He rattled the handle again. Locked. “Back up from the door, okay?”
Nate kicked out with his good foot. The door burst open and slammed against the racks of clothes.
She was tied up, a strip of cloth hanging lose around her neck. Thank you, God. She’d been able to call out to him. Nate sank to his knees and held her hands in his. “Cyan?”
He’d have to find something to cut the string that strapped her bandaged hands together. “Hold on, okay? I’ll get you out of here.”
Cyan’s eyes were wide with shock, making him reach up and smooth the hair back from her face.
“Okay?”
She nodded, but the motion was frantic. Holding under her arms, he lifted her to her feet.
The floor creaked behind him. Nate spun around, moving so Cyan was behind him. Cooper stood at the door to the closet, pointing a gun at Nate while blood trailed down the side of his face onto his shirt.
Nate was shoved from behind, the weak move of someone beyond exhausted. At the same time, Cooper fired. Nate fell back with the force of it, his legs tangled underneath him. Cyan landed half on his side, crying out in pain. He lifted up, shifting her to the carpeted floor. Blood was soaking the shirt on her shoulder.
“NO!” Cooper’s scream filled the closet. His fiery eyes turned their blaze to Nate, as he lifted the gun and pointed it at his chest.
Fire burned through Cyan’s shoulder, so she lifted her other hand and reached toward Nate.
A gun fired. Cooper’s body jerked, and he crumpled onto the floor. Behind him stood the two suited men from the club hallway—the ones who worked for Max Turneau.
“You’ve been giving us the runaround all night.” The first one strode forward. “Now it’s time to face the music.”
Nate got in front of Cyan. The gunmen would kill him. What was he doing? He whispered, “No one else is taking you from me.” He gathered her up in his arms. Cyan stiffened, though she didn’t make a sound over the pain.
Her head was a blur of hurt, slowing her thoughts to nothing but Nate and the hold he had on her. She couldn’t grip him back with her hands, so she squeezed him with both arms.
One gunman from the club shook his head. “I don’t think so.” The other was behind him, both their guns pointed at Cyan and Nate.
Nate took a step forward. “If she goes, so do I.” He might be acting like he wasn’t afraid, but his voice was as tired as she felt. How was his ankle? She didn’t want him to have hurt it worse because of her.
The gunman chuckled. “Sure thing, man. I bet that’ll go real well for you with the boss.”
Behind him, the other gunman from the club hallway chuckled. “Guess we’ll be digging two shallow graves instead of one.”
The first one shook his head. “Nah, we can just throw them both in one.”
Cyan’s breath evaporated. Nate, apparently unaffected by their plans, took a step forward. Both men reacted, squaring their guns on him. “Let’s go already.”
Did he know something she didn’t know? Cyan couldn’t think what it might be, but she was eager to get off this awful boat, too. After Cooper shoved her in the closet to get underway, she’d actually had some quiet. Just not peace. She hadn’t wanted to assume Nate would find her, but when he did she was sorry she’d doubted him.
One gunman in front and one behind, Nate carried her away from Cooper’s body, out into the light.
A thick body blocked out the sun. All around them stood uniformed, armed police officers wearing full gear and helmets. Every weapon was pointed at the gunmen. One of the officers yelled, “Drop your weapons!”
Another yelled, “Do it! Now!”
The crowd of cops strode closer, all yelling until the gunmen must have realized they had no other option. They laid their weapons on the deck of the boat and lifted their hands.
Across the parking lot a suited man was being pulled from a limo. Cops with MARSHAL written across their backs in big letters ushered the man toward a van. The “boss,” Max Turneau. He’d been here waiting for her?
Nate’s narrowed eyes watched them all get cuffed and hauled away. Cyan waited until he exhaled and then looked at her. “You can put me down.”
His jaw moved side-to-side. “I don’t think I want to.”
“Ha.” Nate turned, and she saw Boomer’s craggy face split with a grin. “The date went real well, then. I figured as much.”
“Boomer?” Nate’s voice was incredulous. “What are you—”
A cell phone rang. Nate shifted her so Cyan’s legs were free. She stood on the swaying deck, while he retrieved the untraceable phone Boomer had loaned them. He muttered, “Ben,” and answered. “You have good timing.” His face jerked back, and he glanced up at Boomer. “Yes, we’re good now.”
Nate held the phone out to Boomer. “He wants to talk to you.”
Boomer snatched it up and put it to his ear. “Yeah, bud…Yep…Nope…Sure thing. Later.”
He ended the call. “I’ll be taking this back now.”
Nate blinked. “You work for my brother?”
Boomer said, “You think Daire is the only man he has on you?”
“I…guess not.” Nate didn’t look too happy, though. Until someone else walked over. A man Cyan knew. “Grant!”
Nate left her side then. He strode to his brother and accepted a warm hug that made Cyan want to look away it was so sweet. When was the last time she got a hug like that?
Grant looked over at her. “How are you, Cyan?”
She took a breath, ready to tell him she was fine. But that wasn’t exactly true.
“Let’s get someone here to take a look at you, okay? You probably need to lie down.” He waved over a pair of EMTs, followed by two marshals. “Deputy Marshal Harness and Deputy Marshal Williams will go with you to the hospital. They’re on your protection detail because they are the best.”
The female marshal looked friendly, but the other not so much.
Cyan opened her mouth, but no words came out. She blew out a breath, overwhelmed by everything that’d happened in the last twelve hours.
“Protection detail?” Nate stepped toward his brother. “I’m going too, so factor that into your plan.”
Grant shook his head. “Not yet. You can meet up with Cyan later, okay?” His eyes gave nothing away.
“Grant—”
Nate’s attempt went unnoticed. Grant pulled his brother aside. “Let’s allow the EMTs to work. You and I can take a walk.”
“One second.”
“Nate.”
“ONE. SECOND.”
He was in front of her before she realized. Nate’s arms slid around her waist, which was good, because she needed that to hold her up.
His nose slid alongside hers. “I’ll see you soon.”
Cyan nodded, still unable to form any words.
The kiss he gave her was sweet, but long enough the female marshal started to chuckle. And then Cyan watched him walk away.
Everything was a blur from there. The EMTs asked her a million questions about what had happened—yes, sewn up and then later shot, no she hadn’t been raped—and then gave her an injection of something which made her head fuzzy.
The last thing she saw before she passed out was the female deputy marshal’s wink.
Apparently she was home free.