“Want me to unload more stuff?” Sam asked suddenly.
“No time. Gotta go.” And then Luke gunned it.
The plane rumbled down the beach. The sand was rutted from the two landings and Cort’s takeoff, but it was hard from all the wind and rain, and Luke could feel the tires gripping.
“Come on, baby.” He pushed her harder, and the end of the beach was close, too close.
“We’re not going to make it!” Sam shouted. “Stop and try again!”
“Too late.” There was no going back now. Do-or-die time now. “Come on!” They were pushing hard, but the wheels were still entrenched in the sand. The raging river was less than thirty yards ahead.
Twenty yards.
Ten yards.
“Fuck!” Luke gave the plane everything he had, and then he couldn’t see beach ahead of him. He could see only water—
He braced himself for the lurch of the plane hitting the water, of the wheels getting sucked down—
But there was no abrupt stop.
Just sudden smoothness…relatively speaking.
Hot damn.
“We’re up.”
The plane began to tug against him, and Luke knew the wheels were grazing the top of the river. One big wave and they were done. A gust of wind tossed the plane sideways, and Sam sucked in his breath. Luke swore as he felt his wing dip. If the tip caught water, the likelihood of recovery was minimal.
He wrenched the plane back upright again, and then the plane relaxed slightly, and he knew the wheels were out of the water.
Inches of clearance, but they were climbing now.
They were clear.
Sam made a gasping noise in his throat and let his head fall back against the seat. “You’re a crazy fucker for doing this for a living.”
Luke grinned over at his old friend and former colleague. “Wouldn’t go back to my old life for anything, my friend.”
And that was the truth, no matter what that choice had cost him.
Marcus looked at the jewelry box still clutched in Isabella’s hands, and his mouth tightened before he turned away.
“Marcus!” She broke into a run, suddenly certain he wanted the gift but just didn’t know how to cope with it.
“Isabella.” Zack caught her arm as she stepped onto the dance floor. “Dance with me, my dear.”
She tried to pull away. “I have to talk to Marcus—”
“He’s in a meeting.” Zack nodded toward Marcus, who was walking shoulder to shoulder with Simon.
She groaned, knowing it would be a mistake to interrupt business. She would have to wait. Frustrated, she clutched the box. “I have to take this upstairs.”
“I’ll hold it for you.” Zack plucked the box from her hand and slipped it inside his jacket pocket.
“No.” She turned on him. “Please give that back to me. It’s very important.”
Zack gave her a mischievous grin. “After you dance with me, my dear.”
Fine. He was her date, after all. With a sigh, Isabella allowed him to pull her close and lead the dance. His hand slid down her lower back and she tensed, suddenly wishing she hadn’t agreed to Zack’s invite to the party.
All she could think of was Daniel—how she’d trusted him and how it had ended. She’d thought she was getting the family she’d wanted, only to discover Daniel rooting through Marcus’s display of antiquities one evening. His love had been a lie, and she’d believed it.
She’d been too desperate for security. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Daniel had helped her appreciate Marcus and his intense loyalty toward her, even if he couched it in terms of her being a professional asset. He never promised more than he gave her, and she appreciated that.
She’d learned her lesson long ago about men who promised more than they were willing to give, and Daniel had been a big reminder. Marcus’s approach of promising nothing and delivering much suited her better, even if it was frustrating.
Zack bent his head to brush his lips over her neck, and Isabella’s stomach roiled.
“You look beautiful tonight, Isabella. I—”
“I’m sorry, Zack.” She pulled back, out of his grasp. “I can’t do this.”
He frowned. “Do what?”
“Dance. I’m just…it’s too soon.”
His brow furrowed, and then softened in understanding. “Ah, your old boyfriend. Ended badly?”
She gave a slight nod. “I’m just not comfortable. Dancing is intimate. I’m not ready for that.”
Zack smiled. “It’s no problem.” His voice was easy, not offended. “Why don’t we just grab a glass of champagne and head out to the terrace?”
She stiffened. “I don’t think—”
“I’m not going to try anything. I just want to get to know you.” He winked at her. “Marcus would shoot me if I did anything to you, and we both know it.”
Isabella almost laughed at his comment. He
was
right. Having a date know she was under Marcus’s protection kept her absolutely safe.
Zack grinned. “Ah, there’s that smile. Come on, let’s go. I’ll be good.” He tucked his hand around her elbow, and Isabella allowed him to guide her off the dance floor.
His grip was light and unthreatening, but she still wanted to pull away. Maybe Roseann was right. Maybe she was more of a mess than she thought she was. God, what was she going to do without Roseann?
“Out here.” Zack pushed open one of the patio doors and led her outside. There were a number of guests enjoying the balmy September evening, and Isabella relaxed when she saw how populated the terrace was.
Zack led her to the railing and she leaned on it, surveying the expansive gardens so rare in the city. They were an architectural masterpiece on which Marcus prided himself. She inhaled the fresh scent of nature, of warm air, closing her eyes to get the full sensation.
“I like your new necklace,” Zack said, startling her. “Family heirloom?”
Isabella immediately tensed at Zack’s casual tone. It was too casual. Too intentional. “No.” She heard the shuffle of feet behind her, and then realized she couldn’t hear any conversations anymore.
Were they alone?
Fifteen people vanished in less than a minute?
Isabella didn’t dare to turn around and acknowledge that she’d noticed the patio had been cleared, but dread began to creep down her arms.
“Where did you get it? It’s quite unusual.” Again, the question was too casual.
She turned her head slightly to look at him. He immediately gave her a warm smile, but it didn’t reach his
eyes. No. They were like the eyes of so many people in Marcus’s business. Cold. Calculating.
He wanted the necklace.
God, she should have known better than to listen to Marcus and advertise something she didn’t understand. What was the necklace? She had to warn Marcus. She licked her suddenly dry lips. “May I have my champagne?”
“Of course.” Zack handed her a glass, and she took it, careful not to let her fingers brush against his.
She took a small sip, as she frantically tried to think of a way to get back inside. Zack was between her and the building.
“Isabella.” Zack moved closer, and she felt the threat in his pose. “Tell me about the necklace.”
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. “It was Marcus’s wife’s,” she lied. “He brought it out for me to wear.”
Zack narrowed his eyes. “Was it?” His voice was soft, too soft.
He knew she was lying. “I’m getting cold. Let’s go inside.”
“No.” He grabbed her arm, and this time his fingers were digging in. “Let’s go for a ride, sweetness. I need that brain of yours and that necklace.”
The pain shooting up her arm triggered something inside Isabella that hadn’t been alive for a long time. Terror.
For an instant, she went numb, unable to resist as he started dragging her across the patio.
But he stepped off the stones onto the grass, the stark reality snapped her back into focus. He was stealing her from her
home!
“No!” She whirled on him suddenly and smashed her champagne glass into his face.
He howled with agony and released her to cradle his face as blood trickled through his fingers.
Isabella whirled and sprinted into the house. She kicked off her heels and ran toward Marcus’s office. He had to be there. It was almost time for their meeting. And if he weren’t, at least Leon would be there and—
Marcus flew out of the doorway to his office and crashed into the wall. He let out a groan and slumped to the ground.
Isabella skidded to a stop and dove back around the corner, out of sight. Dear God! What was going on?
Marcus grunted with pain, and she peeked around the corner, her heart pounding.
Leon was striding down the hall toward them from the other direction, and she sagged with relief. Leon would save him—
“We lost the girl,” Leon said. “We need to find her.” Then he turned toward Marcus, and hauled him to his feet. “Is she wearing the real thing, or a fake?”
Marcus just leveled a cold stare at his best man. “Fuck off.”
Leon scowled and slammed his gun into Marcus’s stomach.
Isabella sucked in her breath. Leon was involved? He was the only one she trusted and—
Footsteps raced down the hall toward her, and she whirled around.
Shit!
She ducked into the room and pressed the door shut as someone ran past.
“Did she come this way?” Zack barked. “She was heading for Marcus’s office.”
“No,” Leon answered. “Get Marcus to the car while
we find Isabella. Don’t shoot him yet. We need him alive until we find the necklace and Isabella.”
Don’t shoot Marcus
yet?
Dear God, what was going on? Isabella raced toward the window and unlocked it. She popped the screen and stuck her head out. No one was around. She slipped outside and ran down the patio stairs toward the kitchen.
She sneaked inside the kitchen, and then froze when she heard screams.
“Where the hell did she go?”
She recognized the voice of another of Marcus’s men, and Isabella moved behind a shelf, wanting to see who else she couldn’t trust. She peeked through the boxes of flour in time to see Nate Sampson, one of Marcus’s top retrievers, raise his gun and point it across the room. “Tell me where she is.”
“I don’t know! I swear I don’t know!”
Isabella gasped at the sound of Roseann’s voice. Her friend was huddled against the wall, her eyes wide with terror.
She couldn’t let them hurt Roseann and the baby! Isabella leapt to her feet to run around the shelf.
“Then you’re useless.”
“Wait! I’m right here!” Her shout was drowned out by the explosion of a gun going off, and then Roseann was sprawled on the kitchen floor, a red stain oozing out from under her upper body.
Isabella gasped and went down on her knees, unable to stand.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
“Isabella has to be around here somewhere,” Nate said. “Find her.”
A man moved past the shelf, mere feet away, jerking Isabella out of her stupor. She lurched to her feet and
backed toward the door, unable to take her gaze off the slumped figure of her best friend. Her only friend.
She heard another gunshot in the distance and more screaming. From the party guests.
More dead?
She had to get away. Escape. Find help.
There was only one way to get out. One hope. A dead end if Leon thought about it and got there first.
She slipped through the kitchen door, hoisted up her dress, and broke into a frantic run toward the south garage. Did Leon know about the SUV Marcus kept in bay five? Did he know she knew about it?
She was deep in the gardens when she heard a shout. “She’s in the yard! Get out there!”
Isabella ran harder, her bare feet getting sliced on the sharp rocks. Her dress caught on a bench and she went down hard on her knees. Shouts echoed behind her, and then the gardens were flooded with light.
She ducked beneath the thick foliage and scurried along behind the shadows. Less than two hundred feet from her destination.
“She’s heading toward the garage!”
Isabella abandoned hiding and broke into a run again. Her lungs were burning, and she heard more shouts. No guns, though. They needed to keep her alive so they could ask her about the necklace, she realized.
She yanked open the heavy door and ran inside, then threw the deadbolt. She only needed a moment. A fraction of a second to disappear.
She ran across the polished floor. Something slammed into the door she’d just locked. Angry shouts. The door rattled again.
The tool cabinet was up ahead. She grabbed the drill and two screwdrivers and jammed them into holes in the side of the cabinet exactly how Marcus had showed her.
A gunshot made her jump, and they rattled the door again. Shooting off the lock. Two more shots would do it. That was what Marcus had told her. Three shots to get through it and then she’d be out of time.
She wiggled the screwdriver in the hole, but nothing happened.
Crud!
Another gunshot. Metal on metal.
They tried the door again.
“Come on!” She wiggled the screwdriver again, and this time the bottom eighteen inches of the back wall of the storage cabinet slid away. “Yes!”
She dropped to her knees and shoved tools aside.
The third shot rang out.
She wiggled past the paint cans and squeezed through the opening. The door rattled, and Isabella reached into the cabinet to return the tools.
The door opened, and she leapt back and slid the back wall of the cabinet back into place.
There was a faint light in the cavernous garage, and she could see the outline of the SUV Marcus had stashed here. He’d said it was loaded with everything she would need to get away. The car was unlocked, and the keys were in the ignition, just as Marcus had said they would be.
But as the engine roared to life and the steel garage door rolled open behind her, she was filled with a sudden sense of wrongness. She dropped her head to the steering wheel, her chest too tight to breathe. How could she leave Marcus and Roseann behind? What would happen to them? What—
The cabinet slammed open and Leon’s head emerged. They stared at each other for a long moment.
The man Marcus had trusted with her life and his own.
He smiled, a special smile she recognized from so many shared jokes. “Isa,” he called out. “It’s all okay now. I’ve taken care of them. Are you okay?”
Isabella’s heart lurched. God, to have it be over…“Leon—” Then she saw his right hand was hidden, out of sight.
He’d never hidden his gun from her before.
He was lying.
She jammed the truck into reverse and slammed her foot on the accelerator. The truck flew backward up the ramp. Leon shouted. He whipped out his gun and fired. A bullet bounced off the hood of the SUV.
And another.
And another.
Then she was outside, in the dark silence of early morning in Boston.
She threw the gearshift into drive as Leon raced up the ramp toward her. He raised his gun and aimed right for her. A lethal shot.
The truck lurched forward, the passenger window shattered, and pain ricocheted up her shoulder. Isabella gasped at the agony, and the truck careened across the road.
“Come on!” She grabbed for the steering wheel, yanked the truck back toward the yellow line and floored the accelerator.
She didn’t wait to see how long it would take for them to run around the house to their cars parked out front.
She just gunned it and raced for her life.