UNDERCOVER TWIN (7 page)

Another shot rang out behind them.

Nick swore and pushed Heather harder. He fired a shot, then yanked Heather behind the first stand of oak trees.

* * *

H
EATHER
STARTED
TO
SLOW
.

“Don’t stop,” Nick whispered harshly, urging her forward with his hand on her back. “Get to that next stand of trees. The bushes are thicker there, more cover.” He had to get some distance between them and their pursuers.

When he thought they’d gone far enough, he pulled Heather to a stop. Her breathing was loud and choppy. He needed her to calm down, or anyone within ten yards of them would hear her breathing.

“Shouldn’t you call for backup now?” she panted between breaths.

That last shot had shattered his phone holstered at his hip, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. She was already so scared her face was ghost-white.

“In a minute,” he said, trying to think of a lie that would make sense. “The screen is too bright. It will let our pursuers know right where we are.”

She nodded, probably remembering the shot the last time he’d tried to use his phone. The person who’d shot the French door had a silencer, which told Nick far more about the men who were after them. They definitely weren’t cops. And at least one of them was a highly paid assassin. The average drug dealer thug couldn’t afford a silencer.

“Nick,” Heather whispered, her breathing slower and much more quiet now. “Mark is hurt. Shouldn’t we try to go back and—”

He stared down at her. “I figured he was just playing dead for the gunmen, because he lost his gun back in town. He
was
wearing a Kevlar vest. And so are you. Right?” At her hesitation, his eyes narrowed. “Please tell me Rickloff didn’t send you and Mark into that bar without bullet-resistant vests.”

Heather blinked at him and swallowed hard. “I seem to remember him saying something about not being able to conceal a vest beneath T-shirts and shorts like tourists wear in the summer.”

Nick swore viciously and shoved his gun back into his belt. He yanked his shirt over his head and threw it on the ground. He tugged at the Velcro straps of his vest, wincing when the ripping sound seemed to echo through the trees.

“What are you doing?” Heather shook her head when he lowered the vest over her head. “Wait, you can’t do this. You’re the one who should be wearing this, not me.”

Ignoring her pleas and her struggles, he tugged the straps, tightening them around her.

“No, stop it.” She batted at his hands. “I am not going to be responsible for you getting hurt or killed. Stop it.”

He grabbed her arms, holding her tight to stop her struggles. “Condition number two. Be quiet. And stop fighting me.”

Heather instantly stilled but she continued to glare up at him. The woman was adorable when she was angry. Nick barely managed to squelch a threatening grin as he finished tightening the straps on the vest. He didn’t want to give her the impression they were in the clear now and everything was okay.

Because they weren’t, and everything was definitely
not
okay.

“Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll wear the vest, but at least give me your backup gun. I’m an excellent shot. I can help.”

He peered around the trees, watching for movement in the dark woods behind them. “What makes you think I have a backup gun?” he whispered.

“Because
you’re
not the idiot who went into Satan’s biker bar without a bulletproof vest. I’d bet my life, and I totally am, that you have a backup gun.”

His mouth twitched and his gaze shot to hers.

The branch above them popped and cracked. Leaves and bark rained down on them. The assassin with the silencer must have spotted them and fired off a shot.

“No time,” Nick whispered in a harsh voice. He grabbed Heather’s right wrist with his left hand in an unbreakable viselike grip. “Come on. We’re going to do the only thing we can do right now.”

“What’s that?”

“Run like hell.”

Chapter Six

Nick pulled Heather behind a tree, holding her close as he scanned the woods around them. When he looked back down at her, the sick feeling in her stomach told her what he was about to say.

They were in serious trouble.

He held his finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. He held up one finger then pointed to their left. He held up two more fingers and pointed to their right.

Heather’s heart stuttered in her chest as she realized what he was telling her. Two men on one side, one on the other. They were surrounded. She nodded to let him know she understood. When they took off again, instead of pushing her in front of him, Nick held her glued to his side, guiding each of her steps, as if to ensure she didn’t make any noise.

The sound of something snapping off to their right made Heather jump. She stumbled and stepped on a stick that snapped in two from her weight.

The large crack seemed to echo around them like a beacon. Nick tensed and froze, waiting, listening. A shout, something in Spanish, sounded off to their right. Nick took off, towing Heather with him, no longer trying to be quiet. They raced through the woods, hopping over fallen logs, dodging around trees as fast as they could go, trying to outrun their pursuers.

Heather cursed her short legs. She’d never cared before that she didn’t have the long legs of a model. But right now she’d do anything for those longer strides so she wouldn’t hold Nick back. If it weren’t for her, he’d be perfectly safe. He wouldn’t have given her his bulletproof vest and the men chasing them wouldn’t be catching up.

Shouts sounded behind them. Footfalls pounded the ground.

Heather’s breaths came in short pants. Nick was half dragging her along with him, forcing her to run faster than she’d even thought she could run. She knew she couldn’t keep up this pace very long. The stitch in her side was already so painful she was clutching one hand against her ribs to try to keep going.

Ahead, moonlight glinted off the ocean, visible through breaks in the trees. In the daytime, Heather would have welcomed the sight. She longed to explore the thin, rocky, seashell-strewn strips of sand and clear blue-green water beyond. But seeing that water, inky-black in the night, get closer and closer, meant only one thing—they were trapped. With the ocean ahead and gunmen behind, there was nowhere else to go.

Nick shoved Heather behind a tree. He whirled around and squeezed off two shots into the woods behind them. A guttural scream of pain echoed through the woods.

“Vámonos, vámonos!”
someone else, farther off, shouted in Spanish.

“Good grief, how many of them are there?” Heather whispered. She breathed in huge gulps of air, clutching her side.

Nick swiveled toward her. “Can you swim?” he asked, his voice low and urgent.

“I’m a Florida native. Of course I can—”

“Go.” He waved toward the water visible through the trees. “Swim out about fifty feet. Then swim parallel to the shore, south, back toward town.” He pointed toward his left.

She hesitated. “What about you? Aren’t you coming with me?”

“I’ll try to take out a few more of our pursuers and lead them away from the water. I’ll catch up with you. Just swim south.” He gestured to the left again to make sure she knew the direction.

“Nick, I’m a good shot. Give me a gun.”

He pressed his lips next to her ear. “I’m not willing to bet your life, or mine, on your marksmanship under pressure, not as long as there’s a safer alternative. Now go.”

A footstep sounded near them.

“Go,” he mouthed, making a shooing gesture with his hand.

Heather fisted her hands in frustration. She whirled around and took off toward the ocean, stepping as quietly as she could, staying close to the trees for cover. Part of her was furious that Nick didn’t trust her to help. But the other part was well aware of how even the most highly trained people—law enforcement officers, soldiers—were notoriously inaccurate with firearms when in a high-pressure situation. She had only ever fired at targets, and the shooting range certainly wasn’t stressful in any way. Maybe Nick was right not to trust her ability to shoot in this type of situation. And if he was worrying about her, he couldn’t adequately defend himself.

Crashing noises sounded in the woods, moving north and off to the east, away from her. Nick’s plan was working.

Hating herself for leaving him, but knowing there wasn’t much she could do without a gun, Heather lunged between the last two trees. She sprinted onto the narrow strip of sand. Her foot hit something hard and she went sprawling onto the ground. A conch shell. Heather shoved it away and climbed to her feet. She made her way more carefully to the water that was only a few feet away.

She didn’t stop. She ran right into the warm water. When she was chest deep, she turned around to look back toward the beach. Thankfully, she didn’t see anyone. Following Nick’s orders, she swam farther out. Her waterlogged shoes kept trying to pull her down. She toed them off under the water and let them drop. She debated pulling off the vest, too, but she quickly discarded the idea. Nick had risked his life to give her the vest. She wasn’t going to ignore his sacrifice by throwing the vest away.

The thought of him being shot sent a flash of panic straight through her. She stared back at the dark line of trees at the edge of the sand. What if he was hurt? What if he was lying in the bushes bleeding right now? Suddenly the fact that she’d been imprisoned in that filthy jail cell all weekend faded to insignificance. Nick had done what he’d done because it was his job. It wasn’t fair for her to hate him for that, especially since his honor and protectiveness toward women were some of the very traits that had drawn her to him in the first place.

When they’d first met, it was on a beach very different from this one, back home. Nick had noticed a guy bothering her who didn’t understand what “no” meant. He’d sent the other guy on his way. Then he’d grinned at her and called her darlin’. If any other guy had called her that she’d have thought he was being condescending. But there was nothing condescending about Nick. He was just pure Southern charm rolled up in a hot package, impossible to resist.

Every muscle inside her tightened at the thought of leaving him in those woods. She desperately wanted to go back and find him. But if she went back she could be a liability again, slowing him down, making him vulnerable.

No, she had to trust him and go along with his stupid conditions. He’d earned that trust a hundred times tonight, and she had to keep the faith that he knew what he was doing.

She drew a deep breath, then another, and submerged beneath the water, swimming farther out. When she thought she might be far enough from the shore, she rose, sticking her head out of the water just enough so she could breathe.

The tiny strip of sand that couldn’t legitimately call itself a beach was still clear. No sign of her pursuers. But no sign of Nick, either.

Another shot rang out, startling her at how close it sounded. She drew a deep breath and submerged, swimming underwater again. She rose several more times for breaths and to make sure she was swimming in the right direction, parallel to shore. Each time she didn’t see anyone. And each time she went right back under.

She hated condition number two, hated following Nick’s orders unquestioningly. If they both survived this night, she was going to renegotiate his stupid conditions.

The next time she surfaced for air, she let out a small yelp before recognizing the figure swimming toward her. Nick. He quickly reached her with his powerful strokes. She would have thrown her arms around his neck with sheer joy that he was okay, but his grim expression held her back.

“Good job,” he said. “You did great. You swam farther than I thought. We can cut back to shore now.”

“What about the gunmen?”

“They’re a good clip north of us, but the trail I laid won’t fool them for long. They’ll loop back to try to find us. We don’t have much time. We need to get back to the house and take either the patrol car or my car, whatever works, and get out of here.”

They struck out swimming side by side toward shore.

“How many were there? Were those cops after us, too?” Heather kicked her feet to try to keep up with him.

“I didn’t see the supposed cops. But there were five men in the woods.”

“Five?” Heather squeaked.

“Don’t worry. I shot three of them. The odds are in our favor now.”

“Oh, goodie,” Heather grumbled.

Nick grinned. They were in the shallows now. He took her hand and pulled her with him back to shore and into the trees.

He stopped and squatted down by a twisted oak. He pulled his gun from under a pile of leaves where he must have put it before swimming out to get her. While he dusted off the dirt and grabbed whatever else he’d stored in the pile of leaves, Heather glanced anxiously around, keeping watch. Nick stood and grabbed her hand again, pulling her behind him through the woods. They rounded a clump of trees and suddenly they were on the front lawn of the house. Heather was surprised and relieved. She hadn’t realized they were this close.

The police car was no longer parked out front. Had the fake cops left? Or had they just hidden their car to make Nick and Heather think they’d left?

Her breath caught in her throat as they ran past Mark’s body, still lying on the grass. A reddish-brown stain darkened his shirt and spread down one side. She tugged her hand, trying to pull it out of Nick’s grasp so she could stop and check on Mark.

Nick’s fingers tightened around her wrist. He wouldn’t let her stop. “Keep going.”

The urgency in his voice had her pulse pounding in her ears. Had he seen something? Heard something? He pulled her at a dead run to the front door, then pressed her up against the side of the house, again using his body—his half-naked body, dressed only in jeans,
without
a bulletproof vest—to shield her. Heather wanted to scream at him and tell him how ridiculous and reckless he was being with his own safety, but she didn’t want to distract him, so she stayed silent. For now.

He held up one finger to his lips again, then held his palm out telling her to wait. He crouched down with his pistol out and dove in through the open front door. An agonizing ten or fifteen seconds later, he pulled her inside. He shut and locked the front door, waved her to silence again and disappeared down the long hallway.

It was too dark to see many details, but Heather could see the back door was closed. They’d left it open when they ran out that same door earlier this evening. Or had they? Had Nick closed it just now, when he came inside, before he pulled her inside with him? Had he had enough time to do that?

Her throat tightened at the sound of running feet. Nick ran from the hallway into the living room. He ran past her in a whisper of sound, heading into the kitchen. A door creaked, footsteps sounded. Was that Nick? Or someone else making those sounds?

She inched her way back toward the front door. Should she run for it? Go for help? Nick had said there weren’t any other houses on this road. Where would she run? Back to the ocean?

She stopped. No, no, she couldn’t run. She couldn’t leave Nick, not again. If only she had a gun. She chewed her bottom lip. Nick didn’t seem inclined to give her his backup gun. But did Mark have a backup gun? Had he mentioned that? She couldn’t remember.

A noise sounded from the garage to her right. Her knees started to shake. She had to do something. She couldn’t stand here waiting to be rescued, especially if Nick needed help. She squinted in the dim moonlight from the skylights. The end table by the couch had several statues on it. The dolphin statue looked heavy enough to crush a man’s skull if she put all her weight behind it. The idea of actually hitting someone with it had her stomach churning, but if that’s what it took to save Nick, she’d have to do it.

She pushed herself away from the wall and hurried to the statue before she lost her courage. Someone rushed into the room. Heather whirled around, lifting the statue before she recognized Nick’s familiar silhouette.

He stopped in front of her, his white teeth flashing in the dark. “You can put the dolphin down,” he teased. “The house is clear. I’m going to get Mark.”

Heather clutched the heavy statue to her chest. It was the only weapon she had and she wasn’t giving it up until Nick was safely back inside.

He opened the front door, holding his gun up at the ready. He leaned out before he ran outside, leaving the door cracked open behind him.

Heather rushed to the door and peered out. Nick was on the front lawn, crouching down next to Mark’s body. He pressed his fingers against Mark’s neck as if checking for a pulse. He hoisted him up on his shoulders and turned back toward the house. Thank goodness. Mark must still be alive or Nick wouldn’t have risked his life to grab him.

Heather held the door open, closing and locking it after Nick came inside.

“I heard someone in the woods in the side yard,” Nick whispered. “Get to the garage. Now. Go.”

Her mouth went dry. She pitched the dolphin statue on the couch and led the way through the dark house, sorely wishing she could flip on a light. She held the door open to the garage so Nick could pass through with Mark.

“Is he going to be okay?” Heather asked.

“I don’t know.” His voice was tight, a harsh rasp full of pain and regret.

He rushed past her and heaved Mark over the side of the car into the backseat.

She ran to the passenger side of the car, stealing a quick look over the side at Mark. His chest rose and fell. He was still breathing, but just barely.

A muffled noise sounded from inside the house, followed by a dull thump.

Nick jerked his head toward the car, motioning for Heather to get in. He disappeared back into the house.

Heather bit the inside of her cheek to keep from calling out to him. What was he doing? She got into the car and turned in her seat, her gaze fastened on the dark maw of the open door that led into the kitchen.

Another thump sounded from inside the house, followed by a low moan.