Bullet to the Heart (5 page)

He started midway down the line, knowing she was somewhere close. The first two boats he tackled turned up nothing. He came to the third, saw footprints pressed into the icy covering on the deck and knew. She was here.

Something about the small footprints made his heart stutter. He shoved the feeling deep, damning himself for it. She was a murderer.

The boat creaked and he pulled out his pistol. Before he could take another step, the cold barrel of a rifle pressed against his ear.

“Drop it,” she ordered in a voice colder than the night around them.

He did as she ordered, considered making a move to disable her, and then thought better of it. He’d ride this out for a little bit.

“Now everything else,” she bit out.

He did as she asked. His biggest weapons were his hands anyway. The wind was ferocious and picked that moment to blow her hair in his face.

First impressions were nothing, he thought. They could have never prepared him for the punch of her scent. Plumeria with a hint of mint and berries that matched the color of her hair, fresh and ripe for the picking. It clogged in his throat, refused to let him go. He wanted to see her, touch her. It was insane.

“Turn around, put your hands behind your back, and if you move, I’ll put a hole in your head that matches Mr. Parker’s.”

“You can try,” he responded, surprised he could speak around the lump in his throat.

“Mr. Beckett, you’re insulting me. I never miss. . ." Her words hung in the frozen air for a few seconds. “Ever.”

“You missed me,” he taunted her.

“Intentionally, I assure you. Otherwise, you’d be on a cold metal slab in the morgue.”

He took in what she said, evaluated it for truth. She meant it. He had never been her target. “Joseph must be angry.” He let his words fall into the silence.

She touched him then, the barest of glances on the skin of his wrist, and his body hardened in a way that had rage filtering through him. How fucking dare she make him feel after seven years of nothing? Her gun was lowered; now would be the time to make a move.

Let it ride, Rand. More flies with honey.

She placed him in flex-cuffs, tightened them but not unbearably so, and then whispered in his ear, “I’m sure he is. Why don’t you ask him for me?”

Her breath was warm, and as it drifted over his neck his jaw clenched and the skin over his cheeks stretched. He was grinding his teeth so hard, it’d be a wonder he had any left after this.

“I figure you guys are closer. I’ll let you do it. Where is Joseph, by the way?”

“I’d love to tell you, but first you should walk straight ahead and off the boat.” She gave him a push, and he heard her pick the weapon back up, felt the press of the barrel in his back, and he walked.

“Where’re we going?”

“No likey all the questions, Mr. Beckett. Silence is next to godliness, I hear. Or is that cleanliness? I royally fucked up those lessons, oh well,” she whispered. Still, the beautiful tones of her voice drew him.

If she’d stroked him from the inside out with it before, now it wrapped around his fucking heart and squeezed.
Goddamn it!
What lessons?

He stepped off the boat, feet sure even in the midst of the icy covered and rollicking dock. “Where we headed?” he asked again.

She must have lost her footing for a second because the gun lost contact with his back for precious seconds. He turned, kicked out, but found her on her knees scrabbling for the weapon.

The woman was quick. She retained possession of the rifle and had it leveled on him too fucking quickly. “Not so fast, Mr. Beckett.”

The rifle was a sniper’s dream—a Winchester Model 70 .308 caliber bolt action with a composite stock. Rand bet it was carrying one-fifty grain Ballistic Silvertip bullets.

“Bullets?” he asked.

She shook her head, brows drawing down as confusion passed over her beautiful features. “What? How did you—” She trailed off, the only sound left between them the ice falling onto the deck and the waves lap-lap-lapping.

“How did I what?”

“Nothing, I just—”

Somewhere a phone was ringing, but in the next second a shot came out of nowhere. Wood chipped off the corner of the boat, hit her in the cheek, and blood welled. He saw this all in slow motion as he ducked and pulled her to the dock.

“Roll!” he spit out as he pushed her toward the water.

She got up, pulled out a K-bar knife from behind her back, and sliced down toward him. Immediately his hands were free, but then she slipped away and headed back into the boat. Another shot rang out, taking a huge chunk out of the dock in front of him. He had no choice but to go into the water. Fuck!

She ran out of the boat ducking as another shot ran out. “Water!” she yelled as she dove into the frigid Pacific.

He rolled, followed her into the stygian blackness, trying not to gasp as water that was colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra surrounded and pulled him deeper.

He felt the concussion of a shot enter the water, pushed against every instinct that clamored for him to rise, and went deeper. Something grabbed him and then a dull light speared the darkness around him.

It was the woman. Her hair haloed her head, writhed like snakes in the water, and her elfin features were cast in a luminous way, making her seem other-worldly. Another percussion and he fought the desire to rise. She pointed at herself, face calm, then pointed upward and pressed against his shoulders. Clearly the insane woman wanted him to stay here while she rose.

Not happening. Then she handed him her—what the fuck, her umbrella—her bag, and the light, pointed up again, and kicked for everything she was worth. She disappeared but within seconds had returned.

His lungs were beginning to burn and he released air periodically to lessen the strain. She grabbed his face, brought her own close to his, and in her eyes, Rand saw desperation. He waited, the need for oxygen taking a back seat to the desire to find out what the hell she was doing. Closer she came until her mouth met his and understanding was swift. He opened his mouth, blew out before she meshed her lips with his and blew in. He swallowed the precious oxygen and waited.

She pulled away and reached for her light. The last thing he saw before she cut it off was her tracing her lips, a look of confusion on her face.

They couldn’t remain this way indefinitely. She flipped the light back on, touched his face, and he knew she was going to make one more trip up. He allowed it and waited for her return.

It took a little longer this time. He’d just begun to worry she wasn’t returning when the water pushed him backward at her approach. They repeated the process, and she reached for her bag and umbrella. The bag he let her have.

He refused to relinquish the umbrella. There was obviously something important about it. He was hoping to use it as a way to keep her under control until he could get her someplace where keeping her under wasn’t a problem. Frustration lined her features, drew her succulent lips in a downward curve, and then she turned and began to swim like a fish away from where they’d entered the water.

They swam until he thought he’d pass out. He was a former spec ops soldier, trained in all manners of warfare, nautical and land, and he was struggling mightily. He tugged on her leg and she turned, hands coming up in immediate offense, and he lifted his hands, pointing up.

She switched off her light again but not before glaring at him. They rose slowly and broke the surface with no splash. He gulped in air silently, noticing she was barely breathing hard.

She glanced at him then, and it felt like a bolt of lightning struck him. The cold was

forgotten as her gaze drilled into him. Was she trying to ferret out his secrets? When it seemed he could stand it no longer, she drifted over to him.

“The cold will kill us. We have to get out.”

He snorted. “No shit. You just figure that out?”

She threw him a really nasty glare. She was fucking hot when she was angry. He wondered if she’d be pissed if he said it out loud.

“Fine then. I’ll head my way and you head yours, but uh, quick warning.” She pointed to where they’d just fled from. “If you head that way, you’ll probably be shot.”

He was tired, and the cold had seeped bone deep. They had to get out of the water soon. Like now. Before he could speak, she did. “The beach is about twenty meters this way. Can you make it or do I need to help you?”

He was the one throwing a look now. Help him? Was she for fucking real?

“I got it.”

Her lips quirked as if fighting a smile. It pissed him off. “Let’s go then, Tonto,” she breathed out and dove under the roiling water.

“Fuck that,” he whispered. “
I’m
the damn Lone Ranger.” Then, he too dove deep and followed the rise of the ocean bed to the beach before them.

Remi knew she had to run as soon as her feet hit land. She swam hard, but not even she could overcome the deadly lethargy of the frozen water. She was only able to make it out of wave range before she tripped and fell face first to the sand, breathing hard and shivering.

She turned over, lifted her face up, and blew sand out of her mouth. Icy drops rained from the sky and her eyes burned. She swiped at them angrily and pushed to her knees. The hard point of her rifle barrel hit her between the shoulders.

“Don’t move.” His voice made her shiver down deep where she kept the warmest parts of herself.

She stayed where she was, conditioned inherently to obey authority, knowing she couldn’t accede for too long. Anger pierced her abdomen. Goddamn any man who thought to control her again.

“Fuck you,” she whispered.

He grunted. “Not in this lifetime. But we can engage in a little role reversal since I have the weapon now. Get your ass up and walk,” he demanded, never removing the barrel from her back.

She would be very much afraid if it weren’t for the fact that fear had long since been trimmed out of her. Like fat cut off hanging meat, it had been removed one strip at a time. Her hands no longer shook and her knees locked as she got to her feet. She took a deep, cleansing breath and readied herself.

Something moved in the parking lot directly in front of the beach, keeping to the shadows, but stealthily coming closer. She let her gaze go unfocused and watched the pithy darkness separate and reform.

“You should go back to the water. It’s safer there,” Remi told him in a hard voice.

“Yeah, I’ll just do that very thing,” he ground out. “Walk!”

“Seriously, we should both probably go back to the water.” Desperation edged her voice, and that anger she’d noticed earlier made her head hot. He was going to make it difficult, this saving-his-ass business.

Why she even gave two shits, she had no idea. When she’d realized a year ago it had been his wife and daughter Joseph had killed, something inside her had snapped. She’d mourned for him. Then his indigo gaze had reached into her soul from a picture, and nothing had been the same.

“Walk, goddamn it. I won’t tell you again.” Ruthless demand. Would he hurt her, Remi wondered, if she didn’t obey him?

The shadow moved again, stopped behind a vehicle, and a silver barrel caught the streetlamp.

She ducked, sweeping her leg backward and knocking him off balance as she grabbed hold of her gun, turned, and aimed. One shot rang out, but even from this distance she heard the body hit the pavement.

He moved toward her, made to reach for the rifle, and she said, “There’s one more out there.”

He shoved her sideways behind a dune as the soft thunk of a suppressed bullet sounded in the darkness. His gaze pinned her and she felt the crazy pull between them.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked.

“No one,” she whispered, turning away from his angel-carved features and midnight-purple eyes. She popped up her scope from the side of the barrel. He gasped. She smiled.

“There’s no fucking way—” his exclamation was cut off by the sound of another thunk.

“Obviously there is, and you should be thanking me instead of cursing me.” She settled her eye to the scope, located the shadow that separated itself from the others, and fired one shot.

“Two down. There’s a high probability there are others,” she breathed out. “You should run now. I’ll draw them away. Me, they want alive. You are a standing ‘kill on sight’ order by now. Make your decision, but realize I only have one shot left.”

His black eyebrows rose and the look would’ve been comical had they not been in their present situation. “You think I’ll let you go?”

“I think you don’t have a choice if you want to live to see another day, Mr. Beckett,” she informed him in a calm voice.
Please, please let him live to see another day.
She couldn’t bear another mark on her soul.

“What the hell are you doing, lady?” His brow was furrowed, and Remi clenched her hands tighter around the gun. His warmth called to her, and all she wanted to do was flow into the hard lines of his body and let that heat soothe her.

Irrational and deadly thinking, yes. A hard-pressed desire, absolutely.

“I believe this is called saving your ass.” She looked at him and felt that shimmering bridge yawn between them. She wanted—

She shook her head. He nodded, lifted a hand, and wrapped it around the back of her head. He pulled her close. So close she could smell the maleness of him, the sweet mint of his breath, and a hint of sandalwood underneath the scent of the ocean. Her eyes closed, but his gruff voice brought them wide.

“You know where I’m going?” he asked, searching her gaze.

She licked her lips, desperate for his taste. She would only have memories, and she wanted to remember everything. He gripped her head so hard, he pulled her hair.

She nodded. “I know.”

“If you aren’t there in twenty-four hours, I will come hunting you. Whatever you’ve set into motion here will go up in flames. Are you willing to risk that?”

She shook her head.

“Then you’ll show up as I’ve demanded or your ass is mine, and all this,” he gestured with his free hand, “will be for naught.” He leaned close for an interminable moment before he was gone like smoke.