Robert’s wine spills across the white cloth as he stands, drawing his own weapon.
“Get inside,” he growls, as if I needed the advice to flee. Blue follows as another bullet splinters the deck, hitting my empty chair. Somewhere close a woman screams, but I don’t look at her—my focus remains outside.
Standing on the solid floor of the restaurant I feel a little safer—they can get under it but it’s not a deck—it’s a thick tile floor.
Brock’s suddenly next to me, his own pistol drawn. “Get Mrs. Maxim to safety,” Robert says.
“Fuck that,” I respond.
Robert’s gaze whips to me. “This isn’t your fight.”
“They just shot at my dog,” I point out. Robert shakes his head. I’m incorrigible. “I saw a black figure in scuba gear,” I say. “Only one but there may be more. I was looking between the boards so I couldn’t see well.”
Brock takes my arm as if he is going to lead me away to some ‘safe’ place but when I catch his gaze he swallows audibly. “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice low.
He clears his throat. “Mrs. Maxim, if we could—”
“Let go.” I say it very clearly so there can be no confusion as to my request.
Brock releases me—he doesn’t look at Robert first. He just lets go. I give him a slight nod and he clenches his jaw. Blue’s nose taps my hip.
The dining room has cleared out—chairs are tipped over and plates of food abandoned. “They will probably come around to the beach on the north side,” Brock says.
“We can exit through the kitchen,” Robert says.
We weave between the tables, my long skirt swishing behind me, and then pause in front of the swinging door that leads into the kitchen. Brock checks through the round window before pushing into the narrow space.
Our waitress and another server along with several cooks stare at us with wide eyes—their focus on the weapons in our hands. There is another door on the far side of the kitchen and Robert jogs toward it as though he knows the way. Like he’s been here before…or studied a map of the hotel.
We exit onto a wooden path that winds between lush vegetation. Blue growls and we all stop, crouching low—as if he’d given a command. His focus is on the trees and all three humans follow his gaze.
Robert and Brock look at each other, sharing a silent communication, and Brock moves, entering the foliage and disappearing from sight. My heart beats steadily, my breath even. The pop of a gun makes me start—a knee-jerk reaction.
The foliage rustles again. Blue does not growl but both Robert and I aim our gun at the movement. Brock appears, his shirt dotted with blood. He doesn’t speak, just gives a short nod, as if to say: that one’s dead.
As Robert begins to move again, I follow, not knowing where he is going, but trusting him to lead. We reach a dock; a forklift sits at the end of it. And tied to the dock are several speedboats. This area is probably used for deliveries and the business side of the hotel.
“How many do you think there are?” I ask. Neither man answers. As we pass the forklift Blue growls again and we all stop, again following his gaze. Behind us a wall of jungle—black in the moonless night—waves in a gentle breeze.
My skirt swishes around me. I wish I’d worn my own clothing. This thing is going to be a pain in the ass if I have to fight with something besides my gun. “Come on,” Robert says, moving so that the forklift is between us and the jungle. It’s just large enough for the four of us to hide behind.
A red dot hits the seat and we all duck down behind the metal body. Bullets start to rain. This isn’t a subtle assassination attempt—this is desperation.
Huddled close together, Brock, Robert, Blue, and I wait, the forklift shuddering next to us, bullets pinging and thunking. It’s loud and messy. “Backup is en route,” Brock says.
The bullets stop, the night falling suddenly quiet, the ringing in my ears the loudest sound now. The hum of a speedboat cuts through the noise. “We can hold here until they arrive,” Brock says. “Five minutes.”
My eye catches on the keys swinging from the ignition of the forklift. I guess they are not worried about thieves around here. It must be ruined, though—that many bullets.
The scent of gasoline reaches me. “Oh fuck,” I say. Robert and Brock have the same reaction and we move in unison, racing away from the forklift. Another gun blast and the forklift explodes; heat and fire chase us as we dive into the sea.
Water envelops me, soaking my dress and turning it into a dragging weight. I drop the pistol—the salt water instantly rendering it useless and possibly dangerous to fire.
I open my eyes, the salt stinging them. It’s dark and murky. I navigate toward the shadows—in the direction of the dock. I come up for air once the shadows grow dense and find myself hidden under the dock. My eyes burn.
Blue doggy paddles around me as I tread water. The fire glints off the water on either side of the dock, but it’s dark under here. I slip the dress off my shoulders, and push it down my body, kicking free from it.
Robert pops up next to me. He pulls off his jacket and it floats next to us. “Where is Brock?” I ask.
“He’s an ex-Navy SEAL,” Robert says. “Can hold his breath for several minutes.”
The sound of the speedboat grows closer. “Here comes the cavalry,” I say. “Just in time.”
“Yes,” Robert says, his brow creased.
A shadow underwater catches my attention and fear races up my spine. Shark! Is my first thought. But I quickly realize it’s a person. Shifting to better face it, I take in a slow deep breath. I’m not a super strong swimmer but at least that dress is gone. My gun is too, though...
Brock’s head pops up, his bandages missing but the butterfly bandages still pinch his skin together. That must hurt in the salt water, but Brock’s face doesn’t show pain. “I didn’t see anyone emerge from the trees, sir.”
“Why wouldn’t they follow us out—knowing we must be disarmed by the water?” Robert asks.
“I don’t know.”
They stare at each other, some silent communication passing between them again. “Are they just fucking with us?” I ask.
Robert turns to me. “What do you mean?”
“Is it possible Fernando doesn’t want you dead? He just wants to fuck up your life?”
Robert blinks at me. Water caught in his lashes slides off onto his cheeks. “That’s…”
“I know it sounds crazy, but you don’t want to kill him. Maybe he doesn’t want to kill you.”
The whine of the speedboat slows as it approaches the dock. Brock disappears under the water again, I assume to swim out to his arriving team.
“You had extra men on a boat but not on the land?”
“We have men on the land,” Robert says.
“Where are they?”
“Probably in the trees killing those motherfuckers,” Robert says, his tone harsher than normal. He’s rattled by these constant assassination attempts. While used to danger, he’s not used to being hunted…
My arms and legs start to ache. Blue still circles. “I hate hiding,” I say, my chin dipping into the water with each word.
“Me too,” Robert agrees, then narrows his eyes at me. “We are not going out there. I pay for protection. We are going to let them protect us.” His head, like mine, is the only part of him out of the water.
“Fine,” I say, feeling my son move inside me. The boat idles at the end of the dock, about twenty feet away from us.
Brock reappears. “Our ground team has taken out three people in the trees.”
“Are there any left?” Robert asks.
“Unknown,” Brock answers. “I’d like to move you and Mrs. Maxim to a secure location. We can take you back to your room—I’ll have men secure it from the land first and we will bring you by boat. Then we will finish clearing the landscape before moving you off island. I think it’s best if we evacuate you both.”
“I’ll stay,” Robert says. “She will go.”
Brock nods. “Follow me.”
We swim under the dock to the speedboat, Blue staying right by my side. There are two men on board, their faces painted in green and black camouflage paint, their bodies thickened by armor. They wear helmets and submachine guns hang from straps off their arms. They look like a nightmare—and they are our protection.
One of them reaches out a hand to help me aboard. I take it—my wet skin is slippery, but he grabs my wrist with his other hand and hauls me up like I weigh nothing. “Thanks,” I say.
He nods, his gaze traveling down my body, then quickly darting away. Dripping wet in my underpants and bra, I shiver as the breeze touches my exposed skin.
I glance around the boat hoping to spot a towel. It’s about twenty-four feet long with a rigid inflatable exterior—the better for ramming into things. There is a center console for steering and seats in the front and back. Metal equipment boxes are secured to the inner sides.
Brock, dripping wet, his latest Hawaiian shirt soaking and stuck to his body, moves past me and opens one of the cases. Pulling out a pistol, he turns back to me and holds it out. How thoughtful.
I take it and smile. “Got a towel?” I ask.
His eyes flicker over my body and then race back to my face. “Yeah,” he says. “Let me find one.” He turns to the two armored men. “Jacobs.” The one who helped me out turns to him while the other works with Robert to get Blue on board.
He’s got his paw over the side and Robert is pushing from the water while the other guy hauls him up. Blue scrambles over the black rubber and lands in the boat. He straightens himself and then shakes, spraying us all down.
“Fuck,” Jacobs says eloquently as he pulls a stack of towels out from under one of the seats. “That dog is huge.”
Robert hauls himself up on the rubbery gunwale, his white shirt slicked to his body. My mouth goes dry and I look away—when trying to avoid sleeping with my husband, it’s a good idea not to watch him pull himself from the water in a white shirt all Mr.-Darcy-after-a-swim-in the-pond style.
Jacobs hands me a towel and I wrap it around my shoulders, burrowing into it for a moment to warm up. Blue moves to my side. He looks so much smaller wet. He’s got an over-loved stuffed animal look to him. I smile down at him. His tongue flops out of his mouth as he smiles back.
“Sydney,” Robert says, his hand landing on my back. “Sit down, we need to keep moving.”
I wrap the towel around my body, freeing my arms, and, still holding the gun Brock gave me, take one of the seats in the front. Robert sits next to me and Blue settles at my feet, his wet chin landing on my foot.
“The sandals stayed on,” I say, impressed with Robert’s knot tying.
“But the dress did not,” Robert notes. “That was a part of my plan for the evening, but I didn’t envision it happening like this.”
I pause a beat, recalibrating, and then respond. “Well, the night’s not over yet.” I use the same neutral tone he did, as if I didn’t just suggest that I might go along with his “me naked except my sandals” plan.
Robert turns to me, his gaze on the side of my face as I keep my focus forward. The engines move from idle into drive and the sound ramps up. Robert doesn’t say anything, he just keeps staring at me. I resist the urge to meet his gaze. Two can play this game.
The boat moves away from the dock and speeds up so that the wind forces my wet hair to fly out behind me. I shudder from the chill.
Robert moves closer, his arm coming around my shoulders and pulling me into him. It’s warmer with our bodies touching so I don’t pull away. I settle more fully into the side of him. For the warmth.
His lips brush the top of my head in a gentle kiss. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, but close enough that I can hear it over the roar of the engines and wind.
“For what?” I ask. “Being such an asshole that your own kid is trying to kill you?”
Robert breathes out a soft laugh. “No, for not getting you fed.”
I sit back, looking into his face. Away from his body the wind tugs at me, throwing my hair around my face and whipping it into my eyes. Robert smiles at me, his arm still around me, though the hold is loose. As if he is patiently waiting for me to come close again.
I swallow sudden emotion and blink quickly.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing,” I say it again, trying to convince myself it is nothing. That this is just a game. A game I can win.