Undercover Texas (5 page)

“You have no right—”

“So sue me,” he snapped. “That is, if you live through the next attack by your kidnappers. They’re almost here, so move it, sweetheart, or none of us will make it.”

Hunter settled in the pilot’s seat behind the steering wheel.

With a curse, she followed, slipped on the life jacket and took her place in the copilot’s position. She had no choice. She’d never leave without Brandon, and Clay’s comments about the kidnappers terrified her. Her bravado was an act, with Clay receiving the brunt of her fear.

Hunter handed her the baby, then tapped his earpiece. “We’re in place, Leona. Are they here?” He paused. “Okay.”

The engine roared to life, the sound hurting her ears. She clutched Brandon close, rocking her terrified son, trying to shield him from the noise.

Hunter pressed the throttle forward. The floor vibrated beneath her feet as he eased the boat away from the dock, then picked up speed.

“Where are we going?” she yelled to Clay.

“A safe house,” he shouted back.

Loud curses sounded from the shore. She whipped her head around. Two ski-masked men jumped on two nearby Jet Skis. One larger, one smaller. Her stomach dropped.

“They’re here!” She turned to Clay, frantic. “How did they follow us?”

Erin froze at the cold look on his face.

“I left a trail for them. I wanted them to find us.”

Shock slammed through her system. “You did this on purpose? Oh, my God....”

Clay jammed the boat into higher gear, and the craft skittered across the top of the water. Erin’s heart raced. The men behind them followed, their Jet Skis jumping the waves and gaining on the boat.

Clay maneuvered around an inlet and into the Gulf of Mexico. He skimmed along the beaches, weaving to and fro, but he didn’t lose the men following.

“They’re still with us,” she shouted. “They’re getting closer.”

“I know.” He eased off the throttle and when he reached a straightaway of water, Clay attached a strap to the wheel to hold it on course. He reached out his hand. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“That’s okay. I’ll save your life anyway.”

Their attackers maneuvered alongside their boat and raised their weapons. “Give us the doc and the kid!” Terence yelled. “We’ll let you live.”

Clay ignored them. He shoved Erin and Brandon to the deck, crouched down and snapped off a small door on the side of the boat. Just large enough for them to fit through.

“When I open this panel, you slide out into the water and push away from the boat. The duffel floats. Use it to support you.”

He kicked out the fiberglass. Seawater washed over them.

Erin’s heart raced. “What about Brandon? How will I—”

“I’ll bring him.”

Panic hit, but she before she could protest, a bullet struck just to the right of Clay’s head. He ducked. Another spray of bullets strafed the boat, coming way too close.

“Go!” he yelled. “Now!”

Swim or be shot? She had to trust Clay. She took a deep breath, looked at her son, then launched herself out to sea.

Water rushed over her. She sputtered and whirled around. The cigar boat sped away, and the duffel floated toward her, riding the boat’s wake. She swam to the bag and wrapped her arms through a strap on the side. Frantically, she searched the water for Clay and Brandon.

Where were they?

Suddenly, an explosion shot fire into the sky.

The cigar boat burst into flames, the conflagration engulfing the Jet Skis and the men riding them. Oily smoke billowed across the waves.

“No!” The roar of the fire drowned out her scream.

Erin swam frantically toward the burning wreckage, but no one could have survived that explosion.

She stopped, finally, treading water, tears pouring down her face.

What could she do? They were gone.

Clay and Brandon were gone.

Chapter Three

The concussive force of the blast hit hard. Fiery debris, smoking upholstery, broken glass and sharp pieces of hot metal shrapnel rained down on Hunter as he curved his body around his son’s to protect him.

Blazing chunks seared his neck and shoulders. The life jacket protected his back from the worst of it, but not all. He dipped lower in the water, hoping to extinguish the smoldering embers and ease any burns. After a few seconds, the thunderstorm of debris ceased.

A stark, stinging pain still stabbed under Hunter’s shoulder blade, but he concentrated on survival, pumping his legs beneath the water. He’d kept the baby alive—hysterical, but alive. Now to find Erin. Waves rose and fell around them as he sought her out. Where the hell was she?

Brandon coughed and cried some more, and Hunter intensified the treading motion to lift the baby higher in the water.

Suddenly, Hunter caught sight of a still, mostly submerged figure facedown in the water. Blond hair floated on the surface.

Erin!
A vise tightened around his chest. Hunter secured his grip on the baby and swam closer, cursing and praying he was wrong.

The surf tossed the body, turning it so Hunter had a better view. It was the kid, the smaller of their two assailants. Half the young man’s body was shredded from the explosion, the jeans and shirt floating in bloody, tattered strips.

Hunter exhaled in relief, even when he hoped there were no sharks around that had been drawn to the blood. He certainly was bleeding, and Erin might be, too.

He had to find her fast, and they had to get out of the sea.

Hunter wiped the salt water from his eyes and kept scanning frantically. Terence had vanished, and Hunter could only hope the psycho suffered the same fate as his buddy.

“Mama,” Brandon cried out, sobbing, grabbing on to Hunter’s life vest and trying to climb over his shoulder.

“Mama! Come.” The baby’s voice held a tinge of anticipation.

Hunter craned his neck, searching for the source of the boy’s excitement. Sure enough, the sunset caught the blond of Erin’s hair in the water. She was twisting and turning, searching for them.

“Erin,” Hunter called out. “We’re safe. Get the duffel.”

The waves drowned out his words, so with Brandon still clutched against his chest, Hunter kicked toward her.

She finally looked his way. Her emerald-green eyes widened when she saw them. She leaned back, glancing at the sky as if sending up a prayer.

The surf fought against him. Slowly, he worked his way closer to her.

“Mama, Mama!” Brandon called out.

Hunter surged two more strokes to meet her. Even with the salt water bathing her face, he could make out the tears.

“I thought you’d both died.” She hugged her son, and the baby clutched her neck. She checked every exposed inch of the baby, then looked at Hunter, fear and gratitude in her eyes.

“Thank you for saving him,” she whispered, her voice thick with gratitude. “He’s everything to me.”

Uncomfortable with the depth of her emotion, Hunter glanced over his shoulder at the remains of their cigar boat. It was still burning, with only parts of its smoldering hull visible above the waterline.

Far in the distance, a Coast Guard boat propelled its way rapidly toward the debris.

Hunter gauged the distance to the wreckage, then the shore. He hoped they were far enough away that they wouldn’t be seen.

“We have to get out of here,” Hunter said, his throat raspy from the smoke. “We can’t be discovered. Will Brandon grab hold around my neck?”

“Yes, but just for a minute. He’s only one.”

Hunter swore, trying to figure out how to swim, balance the baby and keep his head out of the water, as well.

“Wait. I have an idea.” Erin grabbed two of the carabiner clips she’d used to attach her purse to the duffel. “I use these to hang my keys on my purse so Brandon doesn’t walk away with them. I hook his toys on, too. They should secure his life preserver to yours.”

“Smart idea.”

She kissed the baby’s cheek. “You’re going for a ride.” She placed Brandon on Hunter’s shoulders and hooked their life vests together. She wrapped the baby’s little arms around Hunter’s neck. “Hold tight, sweetie.”

Brandon panicked, grabbed on and squeezed.

“Man, the kid has sharp nails.” Hunter shifted Brandon a little higher on his back and shoulders, ignoring the pain from the burns and cuts. One wound hurt the most, as though the metal was still embedded inside. Hopefully, the salt water would help keep the burns from blistering and clean the others.

The drone of the Coast Guard boat drew closer. Time was up. He pointed to an inlet about thirty degrees to the right. “Erin, paddle toward that beach. There’s an airboat waiting for us.”

They started swimming. “Pace yourself. It’s farther than it looks. Turn the duffel the long way and float on it for the least resistance while you kick. It will help.”

Hunter kept checking that his son’s hands were still secure; then he picked up more speed. Brandon squirmed, nervous about the water and jostling motions, and thrashed his legs. One little foot hit Hunter’s worst injury hard, and he grunted as pain seared into his back and across his rib cage. What the hell? Maybe the shrapnel was still in there.

Hunter sucked in a breath and pushed on. Nothing mattered as long as he got Erin and Brandon to safety.

Erin looked over at him, her breathing coming fast. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through gritted teeth. “Keep going.”

He was having a little trouble lifting his arms out of the water. The inlet looked so far away. Using a modified breaststroke, he continued to make progress, Erin by his side. Thank God she was a strong swimmer.

He scanned the surroundings, seeing only the rise and fall of waves and the occasional osprey soaring over them, searching for prey. He paused and did a quick eggbeater kick to rise higher in the water. His legs didn’t respond as usual, but he ignored it.

He took in the chaotic scene. The Coast Guard cutter hovered near the burning skeleton of their boat. He let out a sigh. So far so good. The lingering fire and the boat engine would hopefully cover Brandon’s cries. Still, the Coast Guard boat would start circling the area soon, looking for survivors.

He and Erin started off again. Stroke after stroke, he hauled his increasingly weary body through the water. The inlet came within reach.

Hunter’s back throbbed, but he was strangely thankful. That one sharp pain actually helped him stay alert. He kicked his legs, hating the unfamiliar weakness. “We’re in the tide,” he yelled to Erin. “It will help pull us in.”

Her face showed her fatigue as she nodded. He let the flow of the water carry him toward the west side. A few seconds later, the silhouette of the airboat, with its distinctive fan on the back, came into view.

“That’s it,” he shouted, pointing at their transportation.

Brandon whimpered and Hunter clutched his son’s wet hands around his neck. “Almost there, buddy.”

Poor kid hadn’t had a nap or a break from life-threatening situations all day. He had to be exhausted.

By the time they finally reached the airboat, the pain in Hunter’s back pulsed with agony. The baby had kicked and hit every wound Hunter had with amazing precision. Kid had a great future in torture and interrogation.

Hunter pulled alongside the boat and groaned as he loosened his son’s hands from around his neck.

Erin nuzzled her son’s cheek. “Mama’s here, little guy.”

She quickly released the carabiner hooking the baby to Hunter, then tugged the shivering little boy into her arms. “He’s freezing.”

“Give him to me, then climb on,” Hunter ordered. “I’ll hand him to you and you can warm him up.”

She nodded, handing Brandon over, then looked up at the flat hull. She swung her leg onto the base of the airboat and, with a bit of struggle, dragged herself safely onto the platform. “I can take him now.”

Hunter winced as he lifted Brandon up to her. Hunter felt as if he had a knife in his back every time he moved. His burns hurt more as the air hit them, too. Thank God neither Brandon nor Erin was injured.

Erin sank down just in front of the passengers’ double seats and cuddled the baby, checking him over. Hunter shoved the duffel over the side onto the boat. He took a deep breath, placed his hands on the edge of the boat and heaved himself up.

His back spasmed, and he couldn’t hold his weight. He let go and slipped back into the water. The water eased some of the pain.

“Clay?” Erin leaned forward. “Are you all right?”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m fine.”

Bracing himself more, he hauled his aching body over the side and onto the deck. He lay facedown, panting, waiting for the shooting pains to stop.

The boat rocked a bit, then settled.

“Oh, my God,” Erin gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

* * *

D
USK
HAD
FALLEN
BY
THE
TIME
the Coast Guard ship left the accident scene and headed down the shore. Salt water lapped against the dock, under which Terence hid, sliding in and out of consciousness. With each rising and falling wave, Terence groaned in agony. From the amount of blood in the water, he was amazed every shark for fifty miles hadn’t tried to join him.

Jimmy hadn’t made it. Terence’s sister would be upset, but it couldn’t be helped. The kid hadn’t been strong enough or determined enough to survive. Getting his arm and leg blown off hadn’t helped. He’d bled out in a matter of seconds. Predators had probably finished off the job the explosion had started.

Dizzy and in agony all over, Terence wondered if he would survive. He couldn’t see out of one eye, and his whole left side was bleeding and burned from the explosion. He couldn’t feel the side of his face. He raised one blistered hand and touched his cheek, or what was left of it. Nausea and horror hit. He wasn’t just temporarily blinded. His face was like hamburger, and his eye and part of his cheek and ear were gone. He puked into the water. This couldn’t be happening to him....

Gagging, he grabbed the dock’s post with his good arm and jerkily hauled himself along the side of the pier. Finally, he stumbled onto the sand and crawled. He scanned the surrounding beach and found it surprisingly deserted.

He tried to move the fingers on his left hand but couldn’t. He couldn’t even feel them.

His mind raced. He knew burns were bad. But burns you couldn’t feel were deadly. He needed help fast. Taking a deep breath, he hauled himself onto the roadway leading away from the pier. He slipped, smacking his arm and face off the pavement. Pain seared through him and he screamed, the sound echoing across the water.

No one came to help him. No one heard. He wanted to lie there and die.

Sorry, Mama. I won’t be helping you after all.
He couldn’t stop the tears running down one side of his face. He lay still and panted until his mind could work again. He didn’t want to move but he had no choice. He couldn’t be found here.

Taking a deep breath, he struggled to move the left side of his body. Finally, he shoved himself to a standing position, then staggered back to the van and squeezed the driver’s door handle.

Locked.

He fell against the side of the van, smearing blood across the white paint. He didn’t have the keys. Jimmy had been driving. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Unless...

He rounded the vehicle to the other side, and the passenger door opened. He hadn’t locked his door. One of his bad habits finally paid off. He flicked the button to unlock all the doors and braced himself to move. He was getting weaker. All he wanted was to go unconscious. He stumbled to the driver’s side, lay partway down on the floor beneath the dash and yanked out the ignition wires.

Blinking against the blood dripping down his face, Terence worked them until a spark ignited. The engine pulsed to life.

He shoved himself into the van and glanced at the mirror. A hideous creature stared back. A huge lump rose in his throat. He was a monster. Even his own mama wouldn’t recognize him. The entire left side of his face was bathed in blood and crusty blackened skin. He couldn’t see his eye, couldn’t lift his eyelid. He wasn’t even sure they were there anymore. He was bleeding to death. He needed a hospital.

He sucked in a deep breath and, using his good arm, placed the truck in gear and headed toward the nearest road. He’d seen a sign indicating a hospital nearby. Somewhere... Blood dripped down his face. His vision blurred in and out, and his body sagged as if weighted with cement.

He didn’t have much time before he blacked out.

He drove erratically, weaving side to side, and squinting against the last beams of the setting sun. Street sign after street sign rose to meet him. A few he took out with the van as he momentarily passed out.

A hospital sign loomed, an arrow pointing to a large building half a block away.

Almost there. He could make it.

A shrill ring sounded in the van. It took a minute to register that it was his phone. He fished around until he found the cell phone he’d left behind on the seat, rather than risk losing it in the water.

He glanced at the screen. This call he would take.

“Mahew,” he croaked in a harsh, raspy voice that sounded nothing like his own.

“You are late,” the familiar voice with the smooth British tone and Middle Eastern accent snapped through the speakerphone.

Easy money? What easy money?

“You didn’t provide all the information,” Terence growled, trying to stay conscious enough to guide the van to the emergency room. “You didn’t tell me about the freakin’ ninja protecting the woman. I lost my partner, and I’m half-dead myself. Check the news. Their boat exploded in some marina and took out two Jet Skiers. That was us.”

“Their boat exploded? The woman is dead?” A string of foreign curses spewed through the phone. “If she is dead, you are, too. I have friends who will make certain that your liver will be a sacrifice, and your family will receive your head to remember you.”

“Chill out. She’s not dead. It was a setup. Some guy with serious skills rigged the boat to blow. No bodies have been found, other than Jimmy’s, but I saw some shapes in the water nearer to the shore. I couldn’t tell, but I’d bet it was them.”