Exposed (28 page)

The wind blasted past her, making the shivers worse. Villa had stopped but she didn’t know if he was dead. She darted a glance toward shore. If she jumped now, maybe she could make it to—

Julia whipped out her pistol and aimed dead center at Marisol’s chest. “You stop or slow down to let your boyfriend catch up, and I’ll kill you.”

The threat locked up all her muscles even as the woman’s words penetrated the panic clawing at her. Marisol had heard her say the HRT was back there. Was Ethan on one of the boats behind them?

She bit down hard on her back teeth and for a moment thought about kicking the pistol from Julia’s grip. Three things stopped her.

She believed the woman would kill her to protect Miguel. Having seen her in action, Marisol knew she had no chance of kicking the gun from Julia’s grip. And Villa might still be gunning for them. His boat was closer than the two behind them. Even if she managed to disarm Julia and jumped overboard again, Ethan would never reach her before Villa did.

She faced forward once more. They were going terrifyingly fast up the canal that was becoming more and more crowded by other boats in the distance but she didn’t dare slow down.

God, what do I do?
“Where am I going?” she shouted over the roar of the engine and the wind in her face.

“Go left, away from Villa,” Julia shouted back, her voice edged with desperation. “Just get us to shore so I can get him away from here.”

Casting a glance down at them, Marisol’s heart lurched. Even wounded as badly as he was, Miguel was still trying to lift his rifle. He was bleeding heavily from both wounds and wasn’t listening to Julia’s urgent commands for him to stay still.

With her pistol aimed at Marisol, Julia tore off his shirt with her free hand and pressed it against the wound on his stomach. Somehow he raised his rifle, his expression so full of determination and pain that her heart ached for him. He’d saved her from Villa multiple times now, at risk to his own life. She didn’t want him to die.

Marisol looked in front of her again. Villa was approaching them from up ahead on the right. She had to evade him somehow. “Hang on,” she called out, and turned the wheel to the left.

The boat reacted with the precision she expected from an expensive craft like this. It changed direction and sliced through the water effortlessly in a tight, terrifying arc.

Her heart pounded sickeningly in her throat. If she’d turned the wheel any harder, she would have flipped them and killed them all.

Straightening the wheel, she aimed for a small dock, maybe sixty yards ahead. In her peripheral she glimpsed Villa’s boat coming toward them.

Something hit the windscreen, shattering it. She cried out sharply and let go of the wheel as she ducked. An instant later they hit something in the shallower water.

The boat went airborne, coming right out of the water, the bow kicking up like a horse rearing on its hind legs. Marisol flew backward, knocking into Julia and Miguel.

Blindly she threw out a hand to grab something to hold on to. Her fingers closed around the edge of the gunwale but slipped. A moment of terror hit her as she skidded toward the side. Then a hand shot out and locked around her wrist, stopping her from pitching over the side.

She flipped over onto her stomach and saw Julia hauling her back, her face flushed with exertion. She was still bleeding from the wound on her forearm and her hands were slick with blood.

The moment Marisol was safe, Julia lurched to her knees and grabbed for the wheel. She slowed them and turned, narrowly avoiding the end of a dock straight ahead.

Marisol whipped around on her knees and craned her neck to see behind them. The two HRT boats were gaining on them now. A burst of elation and hope swelled in her chest.

Then out of the corner of her eye, she saw Miguel point the muzzle of his rifle behind them.

“
Nooo
!” The word tore out of her in a desperate scream. She grabbed for the barrel of the rifle without thinking, intent on swinging it away from Ethan and the others.

Miguel grunted and lashed out with a foot, catching her in the side with the sole of his boot. She dropped her hands and doubled over, gasping for breath. The next thing she knew, a hard arm clamped around her waist.

Miguel dragged her up against him, her back to his front. He was trembling, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “Don’t you fucking move,” he rasped in a menacing voice that sent chills down her spine.

Trapped in his hold, Marisol froze and locked her stare on the two boats rapidly approaching as understanding slammed into her. Miguel wasn’t going to kill her.

He was using her as a human shield, knowing the HRT would never fire for risk of hitting her.

Chapter Twenty

Ethan’s heart stopped beating as Miguel hauled Marisol in front of him as a shield. He was still holding his rifle despite being wounded twice, and Ethan had seen the woman aiming a pistol at Marisol a minute ago.

Rage gathered inside him, pushing to the surface. He fought it back, needing to remain in the zone. Marisol’s life and his teammates’ relied on him being mentally locked in. He wanted to launch himself at Miguel right now, go right at him, hand to hand, and pound his goddamn face in for what he’d done.

I got you once already, asshole
, he thought grimly, staring at Miguel through the sight.
I’ll hit you again
.

“Cut to port,” Tuck ordered.

Bauer turned them toward Miguel’s boat. They shot left while Schroder’s boat headed right, toward Villa’s vessel. Overhead a helicopter appeared, keeping pace with the boats so it could provide Tuck and everyone back at the command center live images.

Tuck spoke over the comm, his voice calm. “Capture Panther alive if possible,” he said, even though they all knew neither of these guys would allow themselves to be taken alive.

“Roger that,” Evers responded.

Ethan’s hand tightened around the grip of his M4 as he kept looking for a shot. He lay flat against the front of the left gunwale, his left leg bent so that his foot hooked around the safety rope. The stock of his weapon was snugged up tight against his shoulder.

Miguel’s boat was still racing away from them but it was well within range. But with Marisol in front of Miguel as a shield, there was no way Ethan or his teammates could fire without risking hitting her.

When their boat had hit something in the water earlier the impact must have damaged the engine because Ethan’s boat was steadily gaining on their target. The woman at the wheel was crouched low as she cast a glance behind them. She veered right then left, maintained an evasive serpentine motion that made it hard for them to get a clean shot off.

But as good as the maneuvering was, she had four of the best-trained shooters in the world on her tail, and a former SEAL manning the helm. She wasn’t getting away.

He tightened his legs to hold himself steady on the gunwale. Bauer mimicked the other boat’s movements effortlessly, bringing them closer and closer. Soon Miguel would have nowhere to go.

“Anyone got a clear shot?” Tuck said into the comm.

“Negative,” Ethan muttered, and Vance indicated the same. On their right, Schroder and crew were intercepting Villa’s boat. He heard three staccato shots, then nothing but the roar of their own motor.

“Panther is down,” Evers reported a moment later. “Doc’s working on him but it doesn’t look good.”

“Copy,” Tuck answered, never taking his eyes off Miguel.

Ethan adjusted his aim as the woman steering the boat turned hard to port. The motion caused Miguel to lean over to keep from falling but he had Marisol back in front of him before Ethan could get off a shot.

He saw the muzzle flash, then the splash of the rounds hitting the water a few feet to his left. If he’d resorted to spraying bullets, then Miguel was getting desperate. He knew he was running out of room and that he only had a minute or two more to get to shore and make his escape. Wounded as he was, he wouldn’t make it a hundred yards before the agents on shore closed in on him and dropped him where he stood.

Bauer didn’t let up on the throttle, just sped straight for them.

Adrenaline pumped hard and fast through Ethan’s veins, making his heart race and raising goose bumps all over his body. Fucker was going
down
.

For a split second he shifted his gaze from Miguel to Marisol. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes wide and locked on him. He could feel the fear and hope in that stare, and it ate a hole through the center of his chest.

Hang on, baby. I’m right here.

As though she heard him, her terrified expression morphed into one he’d seen on her face many times before—pure determination.

He had only a second to tense, to think
oh shit, no
, before she reared up and twisted hard. Heart in his throat, Ethan watched helplessly as she knocked Miguel off balance and toppled him over. They hit the deck and knocked the driver’s legs out from under her. Marisol bounced and rolled to the edge.

Then Miguel moved and Ethan’s training kicked in. He took aim at the spot above where the top of the tango’s Kevlar vest would end, and fired.

Miguel jerked and fell flat. The female driver grabbed the throttle and plunged the boat to a sudden stop.

As she knelt next to Miguel, Ethan shifted his gaze to Marisol. She was already climbing to her feet at the port side of the boat. Casting a furtive glance in their direction, she jumped into the water and began paddling for shore.

But at least she was out of the line of fire.

They couldn’t stop to help her. They were almost to the other vessel now, had to neutralize Miguel and his female accomplice.

He and Tuck both rose to one knee in preparation to make the jump, weapons aimed at the female and Miguel. Ethan was itching to board the other boat and take Miguel down.

“Hands!” Tuck shouted. “Get them up,
now
!”

The female froze, but Ethan saw the resolve in her face. Resolve to go down fighting. And Miguel’s weapon was within her reach.

Not a chance, lady.

It took only another second to reach the boat. The instant they were close enough, Ethan leaped from the bow onto the other vessel’s deck, with Tuck right behind him.

Ethan lunged and ripped the woman away from Miguel for Tuck to deal with, his gaze remaining locked on his target.

Miguel was
his
.

He started to swing a knee onto the bastard’s throat to pin him down. Suddenly Miguel twisted hard, his empty right hand coming up to swing at Ethan’s head.

He ducked and rolled away. But before he could regain his balance, Miguel dove at him. He crashed into Ethan’s chest, sending him flying into the dash.

Ethan grunted at the impact. His helmet came off as they twisted on the deck. Miguel reared back and rammed his head into Ethan’s, bouncing the back of Ethan’s unprotected skull against the deck.

Mother
fucker!

The blow dazed him for a moment. He might even have blacked out for a second, he wasn’t sure, and when he regained his senses he tasted blood in his mouth.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tuck reach for him, felt a steely hand wrap around his forearm. He was yelling something but Ethan couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears. Rage overtook him, obliterating everything but the need to attack. To punish.

Miguel was going to fucking pay for what he’d done to Marisol, in blood drawn by Ethan’s hands.

Ripping free of Tuck’s hold, he slammed his fist into Miguel’s jaw even as the deck vibrated with the heavy footsteps of his arriving teammates. Tuck cursed and grabbed for him again, but Ethan barely noticed as he dodged a vicious right hook to the face.

Authoritative voices registered. Vance and Bauer were shouting at him, ordering him to stand down. He knew they were both standing over them with their weapons aimed. But this fucker wouldn’t go down without a fight and Ethan was only too glad to give him one.

He landed one last hard jab to Miguel’s ribs and suddenly Vance was there, grabbing Miguel’s shoulder to wrench him onto his back. Ethan ignored his friend, completely focused on subduing Miguel on his own.

Twisting hard, he used the momentum to swing a leg over the man’s waist and landed on top of him. Instantly he came to his knees and plowed a fist into Miguel’s face. He heard a crack, elation shooting through him as the other man screamed in fury, then he leaned down and dug an elbow into the bullet wound he’d inflicted just below the base of Miguel’s throat.

The man’s face blanched, his eyes flaring at the pain Ethan caused. Triumph roared through him. He grabbed Miguel’s wrists, pinned them down while Vance and Bauer moved in.

It was over. Guy was down, probably wouldn’t live long now, given the amount of blood he’d lost.

Ethan didn’t care. He let his teammates take over.

His legs were surprisingly shaky as he pushed to his feet, from the residual adrenaline coursing through him and the waves of dizziness assaulting him. Immediately his gaze shot to the water, searching for Marisol.

Schroder and the others were already there with their boat, had her safely in it.

Ethan sagged, feeling like someone had just unplugged him. He threw out a hand to steady himself on the back of the nearest seat and focused on calming his breathing. He was panting and a little queasy. He’d hit his head harder than he’d realized.

Tuck looked over from where he stood watching Vance work on Miguel. The tango’s face was gray and he was barely breathing. “Doc,” he called out to Schroder. “Get over here.”

Ethan didn’t care if the bastard died or not. He turned toward the other boat as it approached, his gaze colliding with Marisol’s. And in that moment, the truth hit him like a roundhouse to the gut.

He loved her. And no one was taking her from him ever again.

****

He was dying.

Bautista struggled to suck in air and fought to drag his rifle upward. His only chance of escape was to fight his way past the Feds, and now that was gone. They had him facedown on the deck, his cheek resting in a pool of his own blood, and his hands were cuffed behind him with zip ties.