Swept Away (29 page)

Brock’s chest nearly exploded in anger.

But keep cool, man, keep cool. She didn’t appear hurt, her clothes weren’t torn, they hadn’t
done anything to her. So all he had to do was get her off that boat safely. And, of course, figure
out how to get rid of two thugs. Yet mission number one was getting Kat back onshore with
him where she belonged.

Postponing this wasn’t going to help anything, so he boldly stepped out from the trees into the
first bright sunlight he’d seen since early that morning, pointing Francisco’s gun at Carlos. The
sun nearly blinded him for a second as his eyes adjusted, but he held the .45 steady, ready to shoot to kill.

Kat saw him first—she ßinched, her eyes widening with emotion.

But he couldn’t concentrate on her now—his focus was on the brothers, and that damn gun Carlos held on her.

“Let her go,” he said, coming closer, both hands on the pistol’s silver grips as he centered
Carlos firmly in the sight. “Let her off the boat and you two can just go on your way.” It would
never be that simple, he knew, but he had to make the suggestion.

“Not without that fucking key, man,” Francisco said.

“Forget about the key and realize you’re lucky to get out of this alive,” Brock countered. “Let
her go, then point that boat somewhere far away from here, and this can all be over.”

Francisco glared at him, menacing as ever, his dark hair dried from the rain but sweaty and
hanging in his eyes. “No way. No fucking way.”

“Why not, Francisco? Just call it quits, call it even. You’d be getting off light.”

“I’d be getting screwed. Lotta money coming my way, man, and you’re not going to keep me
from getting what I’ve worked for.”

He should’ve known by now that Francisco was a lost cause, too bent on getting something for
nothing, even if it might cost him his life—so he turned his talk to Carlos instead. “You need to
let the girl off the boat, Carlos—now. Then maybe you can talk some sense into your brother
and get the hell out of here.”

Standing between Francisco and Kat on the wide deck, Carlos looked agitated, confused. Not
good—guys with guns who were confused. “I don’t know. I can’t trust you anymore. You lied before—you’re probably lying now, too.”

“No, dude, listen to me. You let her go and our beef is over.”

“Like hell it is,” Francisco chimed in, then glared at Carlos. “You let that girl go, I will fucking
kill you. Understand?”

Damn it, shut up, Francisco. Brock didn’t have a chance reasoning with Carlos with his
asshole brother right next to him.

“Listen to me, Carlos,” he said, trying again. “You let her go, and this can end without bloodshed. You don’t, and” He sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you, man.” And he really
didn’t. But deep in his bones, he feared it was coming to that, fast. Unless he could get Carlos to listen.

“Shut up and leave me alone!” Carlos snapped, sounding more frazzled—the last thing Brock
wanted. He stood darting his gaze back and forth between Kat and Brock, his mustache
twitching.

But Brock couldn’t leave Carlos alone. Because next to the nervous brother, Kat stood trying her damnedest to be brave, yet tears rolled silently down her cheeks. And Brock had done this
to her. By swimming up onto this island, he’d let this happen. And she was not going to die,
damn it. She simply was not.

“I know you don’t really want to hurt anybody, Carlos,” Brock said, trying for calm
persuasion. “So I’m asking you to put the gun down.”

“You put yours down!” Carlos demanded. His pistol was shaking now—Jesus—shaking right
next to Kat’s beautiful face. Brock had been trying to stay cool up to this point, but his patience
was fading fast. He was gonna have to end this.

“Shoot him, man!” Francisco yelled at his brother. “Shoot that fucking fed—now!”

Brock knew what he had to do. He hated it with all his heart, but he knew. Carlos had become
a loose cannon and there seemed no stopping it unless Brock stopped it, one way or another.

Last chance, Carlos. “I never wanted to hurt you man, still don’t. I was just doing my job.” He
took a deep breath, aiming, aiming more carefully than he ever had in his life. Fortunately for
Kat, he was an excellent shot when given this much time. “But now you have to let her go.”

Next to Carlos, Francisco seethed, shoulders heaving, and although Brock kept his eyes peeled
on Carlos, it seemed almost like Francisco knew what was coming, knew Brock wasn’t gonna wait much longer. “Give me the fucking gun then,” Francisco said. “If you aren’t gonna kill
him, I am.”

Looking a little crazed, Carlos swung the gun around toward his brother for a fraction of a
second, then turned it back on Kat.

And Brock neared the breaking point. “I don’t want to bring you down, but I will. And it’ll
happen so fast you won’t even have a chance to pull your own trigger. Now let her go!”

Clearly, Francisco could see Carlos wafßing more and more—and that’s when he reached past
his brother for the pistol. Carlos automatically yanked it back, toward his body, to keep it from
Francisco, but it took the aim off Kat long enough for Brock to squeeze the trigger.

The shot blasted through the still air in the cove and Carlos went down hard without ever
uttering a sound. A shot exploded from his gun as it fell to the deck, skittering across it, but no one was hit. Brock ran toward the boat, gun still raised, as Kat and Francisco both scrambled
for the loose pistol.

Kat ignored her horror at having the crazy man next to her shot dead, and she ignored the blood
staining the front of his shirt and spreading in a large puddle beneath him. She ignored the fear
still pounding through her body with every breath she consumed—and ran for the gun.

Whack Job raced for it, too, and she knew if she dove for the pistol, they’d wrestle and he’d
win, so just before he made a last lunge, she kicked it hard, watching as it slid over the edge,
plopping in the water below.

So he grabbed her around the ankle instead.

She kicked more, instinctively—and got him once in the face, at which point he let out a yowl
—before they both heard the distinctive sound of a gun being cocked nearby. She looked up to see Brock standing at the end of the boarding plank where it stretched to the dock. Whack Job
still held her leg from where he lay prone on the deck, but he froze in place, too.

Brock’s voice was clear and commanding. “Let her off the goddamn boat, or I’ll drop you just
like I did your brother.”

Slowly, Francisco released her ankle. His expression flashed more hate than she’d ever
witnessed, but she didn’t waste time pondering it, instead scurrying to the ramp and down to
Brock and safety.

She didn’t even think, just did what came naturally, throwing her arms around his neck, feeling the warmth of the man who’d saved her. One large hand curled automatically around her waist, but the other still held a gun, and it never wavered from the bad guy on the boat. “Now, you get off the boat, Francisco,” Brock said, his voice low and menacing, “and drag Carlos with you.”
Kat realized Brock intended to leave Francisco here with his dead brother while they took the
yacht back to the mainland, rather than forcing her to travel with them.

The awful man struggled to his feet, looking at once evil and harried, eyes crazed. He paused over his brother’s dead body, letting out a small sob that Kat felt in her gut, even though she
suffered no sympathy for either man. Then he rushed to the helm and started the ignition.

“Damn it, Francisco, I mean it! Get off the goddamn boat!”
“You’ll have to shoot me first!” he yelled back.

Kat watched as Brock drew in a hard breath, eyes pained, gun still aimed at Francisco—but he
didn’t pull the trigger.

Within a moment, the yacht accelerated away from the dock—Francisco hadn’t bothered to haul
in the boarding ramp, so it flopped hard against the boat’s side, and he began shaking his fist, yelling as tears rolled down his cheeks, “You killed my brother, you fucking fed asshole! You
killed my brother! I’ll make you sorry you were ever born—I’ll make you pay!”

Once the rear of the boat faced them—the now-ironic name, EASY Money, getting smaller as
the yacht departed, leaving a wide and oddly gentle wake—Brock let the gun drop to the ground next to him with a solid phlunk. “Shit,” he said, but then he wrapped his arms full
around Kat, giving her his full attention. “Are you okay, honey?”

Oh God, he was so warm, felt so good. Had he just kissed the top of her head, her hair? She
wasn’t sure, but luxuriated in the mere presence of his hard, solid body against hers. “Yeah—
just...” She took a deep breath, attempting not to cry anymore. “Trying really hard to be tough
for you.”

He pulled back to look at her, his dark eyes earnest, relieved—somehow almost sweet. “You did great, kitten. You were so tough, so good.” Then he kissed her forehead and it zigzagged down through her like a tiny pinball, spreading sensation all through her tired body.

Above her, though, he sighed, and she peered up to find him watching the boat in the distance.
“Damn it,” he groused, loosening his grip slightly. “I should have taken the fucking boat. I
should have shot him and taken the boat, and we’d be fine now.”

She shook her head lightly. “We’re fine now anyway—as in alive—and that’s all that matters.”

Brock’ s gaze clouded darkly as he peered down into her eyes and spoke slowly. “I’m just now
realizing maybe I’m not a very good killer.”

“That’s not a bad thing, Brock.”

His expression remained grim. “For an FBI agent, it’s not a good thing, either.”

She couldn’t help digging a little deeper, trying—as always—to understand him more. “You
said you killed a guy once. And you didn’t sound emotional about that.”

“Yeah. But he was worse than you can imagine. A drug lord, and a really shitty excuse for a
human being—way worse than Francisco. He needed to die bad.” He shook his head and
tossed another glance at the boat carrying the two brothers away. “Maybe I’m glad I didn’t kill
Francisco just now. But since I had to kill somebody I wish it had been him, not Carlos.
Carlos thought I was his friend,” he said softly. Then he swallowed hard and looked down at
her, lifting one hand to cup her cheek. “He left me no choice, though. I couldn’t let him hurt
you, kitten.”

She got the impression he needed to be absolved. And that he might actually care what she
thought of him as a person. “Brock, you did what you had to. And they’re gone now—so
we’re safe. The bad part’s over.”

Yet he appeared troubled. “Thing is, kitten, I don’t want to scare you—I know you’ve already been through hell today—but I shouldn’t have let Francisco get away. Because he’ll be back.
And”