Mac opened her eyes, and for a second was disoriented before she remembered where she was and how she’d gotten there. Raising her head slightly, she caught a glimpse of the gashes Petrović had made across her lower legs. What had been a slight oozing before she’d fallen asleep had evolved into a healthy trickle that covered most of her ankles. It would only get worse as the steady flow of heparin lowered her body’s ability to clot. She wouldn’t last the night if the bleeding continued.
She wasn’t afraid of dying. Hell, every day in the CIA brought that possibility, although she’d imagined her demise would come swiftly with little or no pain, a result of a terrorist’s bullet. Never once had she pictured a slow, agonizing death while she was strapped to a gurney.
What was her alternative? Tell Petrović she’d changed her mind and that dying was no longer an option for her? That might buy her a little time, but he’d eventually see through the ruse. She’d soon be right back in the position she was in now—bleeding to death, rather than submitting to his demands.
When the door opened, she lifted her head up to see the psycho himself walk into the room. Dressed in casual jeans and a button-down shirt now, he moved slowly toward her, his entire body menacing as he sauntered toward her. She met his stare with one of her own.
In another lifetime, she might have found him attractive—if you didn’t know how deranged he was. But all she had to do was gaze into those greenish-brown eyes and see the evil radiating in her direction to squelch any decent thoughts she may have had about him.
His lips were drawn tight as he continued to approach the table. No matter what he did to her, she wouldn’t give in. Fully expecting him to turn up the heparin and hasten her death, she braced herself. Give me your best shot. She shoved all thoughts of him out of her mind and replaced them with memories of Griff in their last embrace.
At the thought of him, a rush of warmth flowed throughout her body. How ironic—it took her dying to admit he was the one who made her the happiest, who made waking up each day worthwhile. She should never have pushed him away. If only she had told him and explained that she needed time to heal.
But after her ordeal in Morocco, she’d been so violated that she was certain no one could ever undo the damage, and she couldn’t bring herself to face him. If she couldn’t forgive herself, how could she expect him to do so? Like an idiot, she’d turned away, leaving the kindest, gentlest man she’d ever known standing hurt and confused outside her apartment. Shattered and afraid, she had run from her only chance at a future filled with love and laughter.
And where did my foolishness get me? Two years of the most miserable time of my life. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and spilled down the side of her face. Looks like there’ll be no more chance for us. Wish I could tell Griff I love him and that I’m not afraid to die.
She closed her eyes as Petrović leaned closer to the table, the vision of Griff etched in her brain. When she reopened them he was standing over the table, his eyes holding her prisoner. She willed her mind to take her away from the present and what was about to happen. She wondered if there would be any pain. Knowing Petrović, she figured he would take extra measures to make sure there was.
“So, Mackenzie, have you changed your mind? Do you want to share your life with me?” Petrović asked.
His face was so close that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek, and she held back the urge to spit at him again. Instead, she stared deep into his eyes and whispered, “Never.”
Expecting him to react with anger, she was surprised when he threw back his head and laughed. “Feisty…always feisty. Frankly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He reached up and turned off the heparin. “I’ve decided not to let you die, at least not yet. I’m confident in my ability to eventually persuade you to see things my way.”
Looking up at him, she forced a smile. “With my dying breath, I’ll curse your name.” She turned her head just in time to avoid his lips.
“Although I like a challenge, I must say, this resistance of yours is getting old.” He straightened up and stared down at her. “And if you’re waiting for your friends to swoop down and save you…well, that ship has sailed.” He sneered. “Or should I say, ‘That bird has crashed.’”
It took a second for his meaning to sink in. “What do you mean? Was there a plane out there?”
He bent down closer to her face, obviously enjoying the fear that had replaced the smile as she speculated on what he meant. “It wasn’t a plane. Let’s just say your friends in the Miami hospital helicopter are sleeping with the fishes as we speak.” He gave her a wink, then turned and walked out of the room, leaving her alone to deal with the reality of his parting words.
He’s lying—only trying to bait me. There was no way the team could have found her so quickly. Even if that was a possibility, why would they use a helicopter from the hospital when they had access to some of the best military-grade aircraft in the world?
She tried to close off her mind, erase the image of the entire team drowning because of one man’s obsession with her. Although her inner voice reasoned that Petrović had to be lying, in her heart, she knew he wasn’t. Somehow he always managed to get his way, just like he’d managed to abduct her not once, but twice. And he was never going to give up trying to make her come willingly to his bed. No matter what he did to her, that was not even an option.
Glancing up at the IV, she tried to figure out a way to turn the heparin back on and run the deadly blood thinner wide open into her vein. A final act of in-your-face defiance. The frustration of knowing that was impossible with her arms restrained brought a blinding gush of tears.
She was helpless, and her team had paid the ultimate price because of her. Still, she prayed she was wrong.
Please, God, don’t let Griff be dead.
“Incoming,” Griff yelled. A missile headed straight for them. “Brace your…”
The blast rocked the aircraft. Pieces of the chopper flew into the air. Warning bells wailed. Flames engulfed the outer hull. The craft spun out of control and plunged toward the sea.
Griff pressed against the dashboard for stability. He called to Warner, who was unresponsive.
Shit!
As the chopper plummeted from the sky, Griff caught a glimpse of the yacht. A man stood at the stern, a rocket launcher on his shoulder. He didn’t fit the part of a serial killer, at least not the ones Griff was used to dealing with. Today, he’d been outplayed by a businessman. Although he’d never actually seen Petrović, Griff was willing to bet that was whom he had seen. That was his last thought before the chopper slammed into the water.
The impact was like hitting a concrete wall. After he regained his bearings and released his seatbelt, he checked on the pilot. Warner was frantically pulling on his seatbelt strap, unable to locate the release. Griff ran his hand under the seat and located the clasp. It had been pulled down and twisted, but it still worked.
All the while, the chopper continued its ride to the bottom of the abyss. Since the left side of the aircraft had sustained most of the damage from the RPG, Griff reasoned that would be the best side to exit. He positioned himself to kick it open. Drawing up his knees, he slammed his boots into the battered door.
Nothing.
Panic set in. They needed to hurry. Griff re-cocked his legs and kicked again. This time the hinges broke off and the door dropped down. In the sudden influx of seawater, they were able to exit through the hole and swim upward.
The surface was a long way up. With each stroke, Griff’s arms grew heavier and heavier, and his chest burned like fire. It would take a miracle to save them, and Griff didn’t see one coming.
He glanced to his right to make sure Warner was still with him. He wasn’t. The pilot’s head was slumped on his chest, and he was drifting downward. Griff reversed directions and grabbed him by the collar. The added weight acted like an anchor, and Griff didn’t have the strength to save either of them.
Was this the way it would end, silently floating to a watery grave? It hardly seemed fitting, having survived missions involving some of the worst terrorist groups in the world. He tightened his hold on Warren. Sorry, buddy, you don’t deserve this.
Guilt overcame him. This man would never enjoy his family again because of Griff. He had talked a civilian transportation pilot into a dangerous manhunt for a sophisticated international terrorist, one with a band of highly trained mercenaries armed with rocket launchers. One hospital chopper and one automatic weapon against those odds? That’s like a kid with a water gun fighting a well-equipped army.
Had Warner stayed behind, he would be eating dinner with his wife and young daughter, celebrating they’d been spared what could have been a devastating terrorist attack. Instead, that same loving family would be planning his funeral in a few days.
Griff grabbed the unconscious man and pulled him closer. If they were going to die, at least they’d die together. Resigned to his fate, Griff slowly began to let the air seep from his mouth.
As he did so, countless images raced through his head, everything and everybody. It was like his mind had drifted in a fast-moving dream. Foremost was an image of Mac. He hated that in the end, he had failed her. He would not be able to keep his promise—to stop Petrović for having her, or… He didn’t want to think about taking her life.
As he released the last of the air from his lungs, he gave up the fight, content to let the sea have both him and Warner.
To his surprise, death had yet to claim him. Another image of Mac flashed into his brain, and with it, so many thoughts. He loved her—always had since the day she walked into headquarters and was introduced as Dinorelli’s new protégée. He remembered being a little jealous because she had everything going for her. Handpicked by his boss right out of college, she was beautiful and smart as hell, and everyone at headquarters had fallen under her spell in a very short time. Although he tried his damnedest to not follow suit, it hadn’t taken long for her to bewitch him as well.
Looking back, he should’ve been more understanding after she’d been rescued from Petrović’s control the first time. Should’ve given her the time she needed to heal. Instead, he acted like a spoiled teenager who’d just been turned down for the prom.
What he wouldn’t give to be able to tell her that now—to let her know that no matter what that madman had done to her, it truly didn’t matter.
Like the gradual darkening of a movie screen, he was aware the end was upon him, but just before that final curtain lowered, he was grabbed from behind in a powerful chest hold and a mask was slapped over his face. Whatever was happening, he had no energy to fight back. His body went limp.