Explosive Attraction

chapter Two



The man with the knife shoved Darby into the small boat, making her fall to the floor, scraping her knees against the nonskid fiberglass. Ignoring the flash of pain, she scrambled back to her feet and lunged toward the side to jump in the water and escape.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” The man grabbed her ankle and yanked hard, making her fall back to the bottom of the boat again.

He crouched over her, pressing the knife against her side. “Try that again and you’re dead.”

A violent shiver shook Darby. Her breath caught in her throat. The man’s eyes were concealed behind a pair of dark sunglasses, and his hair was covered by a Jacksonville Suns baseball cap. But she didn’t need to see his eyes to know he wasn’t bluffing.

The sharp pain in her side and the warm blood seeping through her clothes told her that.

She nodded, letting him know she understood.

He waved the knife in front of her face in warning, before straightening and grabbing the steering wheel. A quick turn of the key and the engine started. With the practiced ease of someone familiar with boats, he unhooked the nylon lines tying the boat in place. The sound of footsteps pounding against the wooden planks of the dock had him jerking his head up.

Rafe Morgan was sprinting toward them, his arms and legs pumping like an Olympic runner. He was holding a large, black gun in his hand. Far behind him a uniformed police officer was running hard to catch up.

“Police, stop,” Rafe yelled. He raised his gun, but didn’t shoot.

The man with the knife cursed and moved some levers next to the steering wheel, making the engine whine as the boat pulled away.

Without slowing, Rafe launched himself off the end of the dock, landing in the boat on top of the other man, knocking him back against the bench seat in front of the steering wheel.

Darby barely managed to scramble out of the way before the men fell to the floor on the far side of the bench, wedged between the seat and the side of the boat. They grappled for control of the knife. Darby prayed the blood on the blade was hers, not Rafe’s.

Where was his gun? Had he dropped it? No—there it was, tucked into the holster at his waist. He must have shoved it there just as he leaped off the dock. He’d probably been too worried about hitting her to take a shot.

A sudden rocking motion had Darby staggering back, then slamming into the metal railing at the rear of the boat. She grabbed the railing just before her momentum would have carried her into the water, into the engine’s propellers. She shuddered and jerked back, her lungs heaving and her pulse pounding in her ears. She clutched the railing as the boat bumped up and down across the wake of other boats, racing out into the middle of the Intracoastal.

With no one at the wheel.

The two men were locked in a deadly struggle, still wedged between the seat and the side of the boat. Rafe’s arm muscles bulged as he tried to wrestle the knife from the other man. Darby wanted to help but she didn’t know what to do. The dock was so far away now it was a tiny speck in the distance. And the boat was rocking wildly from side to side, making it impossible to stand.

She crawled forward on her hands and knees toward the other side of the bench. Rafe knocked the knife out of the other man’s hand. It flipped over the bench and rattled across the floor of the boat in front of Darby, just as she brought her knee down.

A sharp, burning pain had her jerking back and biting her lip to keep from crying out. Bright red blood smeared the bottom of the boat beneath her, making it slippery. She fell again, banging her head so hard it brought tears to her eyes. A buzzing noise sounded in her ears, followed by a loud horn.

A loud horn?

She raised her head and her mouth dropped open. A much larger boat was bearing down on them, blasting its horn in warning as its driver turned to avoid them.



“Darby, turn the boat, turn the boat! Hard to port!” Rafe yelled, just before the man he was fighting threw a punch that cracked the detective’s head against the side of the boat.

Darby winced and edged around the bench, gasping against the fiery pain in her knee and the throbbing in her side. She reached up for the steering wheel. She had no clue what port meant, but she went on instinct, yanking the steering wheel hard left. They turned sharply, missing the other boat by a few feet.

The wake violently rocked the smaller boat and sloshed brackish water over the side, drenching her and the men. Unguided, the boat swerved into one of the dozens of narrow channels leading into the surrounding marsh.

Looking over at the two men, Darby was relieved to see that Rafe’s larger size and strength had finally won the fight. The detective pinned the other man facedown and handcuffed his hands behind his back.

Darby turned back around to try to stand so she could steer the boat. She gasped in horror and lunged for the steering wheel.

Too late.

The shallow marsh rushed up to meet them. The hull of the boat hit the muddy ground with a sickening crunch and stuck, tossing the back of the boat skyward. The force of the impact catapulted Darby, Rafe and the other man into the air. Darby screamed and threw her hands out, bracing for impact. She landed with a squishy thud, her momentum rolling her over onto her back. Her head hit the ground so hard she thought she heard her teeth rattle.

She lay for what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, blinking up at the light blue sky above her. A gray-and-white seagull flew overhead, giving a sharp cry as if it were mocking her. Every bone and muscle in Darby’s body hurt, from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head. But she took that as a good sign. If she could feel this much pain, at least that meant she was still alive.

The rotten smell of the mud and long brownish-green marsh grass filled her nostrils, making her shiver with revulsion. She gingerly tried to move her arms. Not broken, or at least, she could still move them. She tried to sit up, but the foul-smelling mud was like glue, holding her in place. With a great shove, she pushed herself sideways. The mud made a sucking noise, reluctantly releasing its hold. She rolled onto her stomach, gathered her knees beneath her, and tried to push herself up.

A menacing noise had her stomach clenching with dread. She slowly lifted her head, already knowing what she would see. A dull vibrating roar, like a lion, but more ominous and deep, sounded again. Fifteen feet away, directly in front of her, its jaws opened wide as it hissed, was the biggest alligator she’d ever seen.

* * *

RAFE ARMY-CRAWLED through the mud and grabbed Darby before she could jerk back and make the gator charge at her. He lay half on top of her, his head pressed next to hers, his left hand clamped over her mouth. Without taking his gaze off the enormous reptile hissing across from them, he whispered, “Don’t move.”

She gave her head a tiny jerk in what he thought was a nod.

He lowered his hand.

“What do we do?” she whispered.

The fear in her voice had him looking at her face. She was deathly pale beneath the splotches of mud smeared across her skin, but she wasn’t falling apart in a sea of tears as he would have expected. She was tougher than she looked.

“I’ll have to shoot it,” he whispered back, already hating what he had to do. They were both in this gator’s territory and she was probably just as scared as Darby.

He snaked his right arm beneath him in the mud to his holster. Empty. He swore. “My gun’s gone.” He could only hope it was lost in the marsh, not in the hands of the man he’d handcuffed seconds before the crash.

“Can you call for help?” Darby whispered, her terrified gaze locked on the gator.

“My phone’s waterlogged. Already tried. How bad are you hurt?”



“I think I can run, if that’s your real question.”

“Then I guess we’re going to run. Not straight, though. That gator is faster than we are, but only in a straight line. We’ll have to zigzag to have any chance at outrunning her.”

“Her?”

“Most likely. That mound of mud she’s on looks like a nest. She’s protecting her young.”

The gator hissed again, and swished her massive tail as if preparing to charge. Rafe circled his left arm around Darby’s waist and braced his right hand beneath him. The gator was too close to give them time to stand and run. This was going to be close, very close.

“We’re going to roll to the right on the count of three. No matter what we hit or roll through, keep rolling until I stop you, understand?”

She cringed as the hissing got louder. “Okay,” she squeaked, her voice so low he barely heard her.

“One, two, three!” He jerked her out of the mud, rolling her body with his out of the gator’s path.

The alligator charged, its snapping jaws narrowly missing Darby. She screamed again and clung to Rafe. He rolled over and over with her clasped to his body until they were a good twenty feet from the gator. He jumped to his feet, lifting her out of the mud and grabbing her hand. The gator turned and came at them again. Rafe yanked Darby’s hand and they zigzagged out of the gator’s path.

Another hiss and a splash sounded behind them.

Rafe looked back but didn’t see the gator anymore. He pulled Darby to the left, just in case, keeping up their zigzagging pattern as they ran through the marsh into the surrounding cover of trees.

“I think we lost her.” He slowed since Darby was gasping for breath and struggling to keep up, stumbling every few steps.

She immediately stopped and collapsed onto the ground. “I can’t run anymore,” she gasped, her chest heaving. “My feet, my...everything.” She closed her eyes, drawing in deep, shaky breaths.

Rafe drew a few choppy breaths himself, adrenaline surging through his body. He took a good look around, feeling naked without his gun. He couldn’t see the water now. They were deep in the marsh, with spindly oaks and palms surrounding them. But they were still in gator territory, not to mention water moccasin territory. This time of year snakes were in abundance, and could be hiding just about anywhere for an unwary foot to find.

Even more of a worry was the man he’d handcuffed. A determined man might be able to contort himself enough to work his cuffed hands over his rear and his legs to get his hands in front of him, which meant he’d be able to use that gun if he found it. Rafe had looked for him right after the crash, but he’d abandoned his search when he heard the gator hissing and realized Darby was in trouble.

He glanced around one more time before crouching next to Darby. She’d mentioned her feet hurt, and he could see why. The high heels she’d been wearing earlier were long gone and the bottoms of her feet were scraped and bleeding. No telling what she’d stepped on while fleeing across the marsh. The mud could hide anything from oyster shells to broken beer bottles. At the very least, she probably needed a tetanus shot.

“I’ll carry you. There should be some houses close by.” He put an arm around her waist, but she grimaced in pain.

He immediately let her go and gently lifted her suit jacket, frowning at the splotches of blood darkening her side. His hands tightened around the fabric when he saw the straight, deliberate cuts in her white shirt. “That’s not from the crash.”

Her teeth bit into her bottom lip. “He...cut me, at the warehouse, to get me to move. And again, in the boat.”

God help the bomber if Rafe got his hands on him before someone else did. Purposely hurting a woman was at the top of his list of unforgivable sins. He gently pulled the edge of Darby’s blouse up to see how badly she was hurt. “The cuts aren’t that deep. You’ll need a handful of stitches, though.”



“I shouldn’t have left my office.” She winced as he tugged her blouse and jacket back into place. “I should have stayed there like you told me.”

“Damn straight you should have stayed.”

Her lips thinned and she looked away.

He immediately regretted his harsh words. Until now, he’d never thought of Dr. Darby Steele as anything but a quack with a tendency to ruin his best cases with her so-called expert testimony. But seeing her hurt, and scared, had him feeling like a jerk for raising his voice.

Since she wasn’t looking at him, he took full advantage of her inattention to study her. She was far more delicate-looking up close than he’d expected. Her brown hair had fallen free from the severe bun she normally wore, gently curling around her shoulders, making her look softer, more approachable. The jackets she always wore concealed generous curves he wouldn’t have known existed if he hadn’t pulled the cloth aside to look at her cuts. He’d seen her dozens of times through the years, but this was the first time he’d ever really seen her.

And he liked what he saw.

That thought had him stiffening with self-disgust. This was a woman who would say anything to help the defense, and get criminals light, cushy sentences in a mental hospital instead of the tough treatment they deserved in a maximum-security prison.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked.

She smoothed her muddy, hopelessly ruined skirt. “Nothing serious, I don’t think.”

Obviously she had other injuries or she would have just said no. “Where else are you hurt?”



He noticed for the first time that her eyes were a light shade of green. What the heck was wrong with him? Why was he noticing the color of her eyes? He dropped his gaze, and that’s when he noticed her bloody knees.

“Good grief, woman. You’re bleeding everywhere.” Her right knee was scraped, nothing serious. But the left...she had a two-inch gash that was trickling blood. “Did he cut you anywhere else?”

“I don’t think so.” She leaned forward to look at her leg. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“Bad enough.” He yanked his shirt up over his head.

“What are you doing?” She sounded alarmed, her eyes widening, her gaze dipping to his chest.

“We have to stop the bleeding.” He folded his shirt and held it against the gash on her knee. She blanched and scrunched her eyes shut.

“Hold it tight,” he said, grabbing one of her hands and settling it on top of the shirt. “Put as much pressure as you can.”

He needed to get her out of here to a hospital. They weren’t exactly in the middle of nowhere. There had to be some houses close by, where the marsh ended and prime real estate began.

Shading his eyes against the sun peeking through the trees overhead, Rafe stood and looked around. There, in a break in the trees behind Darby, he could just make out the outline of a building, a few hundred yards away.

“There’s a house through those trees. In a couple of minutes we’ll have you in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. You’re going to be fine.”

“I hardly think I need an ambulance. It’s not that bad.” Her voice was thin and tight, her eyes closed. She was obviously in more pain than she wanted to admit.

And Rafe didn’t agree with her assessment of her injuries. That cut on her knee wasn’t going to stop bleeding on its own. He bent down to pick her up, then froze at the feel of a gun barrel pressing between his shoulder blades.