Vander follows behind us, and they both jump in. I’m dropped on a thickly cushioned bench seat, and Vander advances toward me with a rope. I lift my knees, ready to kick out, but he’s already got it looped around my ankles and cinches it tight.
“You jump out of this one, and I swear to God I will let you drown.” He turns to the other man, who fires up the engine. “Hurry the fuck up so we can get back on schedule. I want to be out of Belizean waters as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
We pull away from the dock, and my gaze goes to the beach where I last saw my husband.
My husband, the mercenary.
Right now, I could forgive him for anything if he’d walk down this dock, sweep me up, and take us both away from here.
But the only traces that remain of him are drag marks and dark stains in the sand from his blood . . . like the red petals that dotted the aisle on our wedding day.
*
Two years ago
I hadn’t spent much time thinking about weddings when I was younger, but I’d always assumed my dad would walk me down the aisle. After he left my mom, and then she passed, I knew I would never do the conventional thing.
That was why I was standing beneath a pergola, waiting for the signal that it was time for me to make my way down the beach alone to the man who was going to be my husband. Even though it was just the two of us with no guests, the wedding coordinator at the small resort had a plan to make it beautiful and memorable.
A waiter who appeared much too brawny for his polo shirt watched me from the periphery of the restaurant. He was the biggest guy I’d seen in Costa Rica since we got here—even bigger than Dane. With his blue eyes, he didn’t look like a native, but what did I know?
I glanced toward the pool, and the most masculine and beautiful gay couple lay on the loungers, arguing because one wouldn’t put sunscreen on the back of the other. They both looked like they could have walked onto the screen of a Hollywood action flick and not been out of place.
A few couples gathered near the gazebo where Dane waited for me, and the wedding coordinator gave me the sign to begin.
I was so focused on my husband-to-be, I almost didn’t notice the fit blond man trying to blend in behind three younger girls.
Dane, in his white linen shirt and tan pants, stood in the middle of the gazebo as the sun sank into the ocean. The sand in front of me was dotted with red petals from some sort of native flower I couldn’t remember the name of. My hair blew in the breeze, as did my short white dress. My heart pounded harder as I got closer to him.
Had I looked down at where I was walking, I would have seen the step, but I didn’t. Instead, I tripped on the concrete, dropping my bouquet, but Dane caught me before I fell flat on my face.
The officiant coughed behind his Bible.
“Careful, baby. Can’t be getting married with skinned knees.”
“I was distracted.”
“By what?” Dane asked.
“You.”
A brilliant smile stretched across Dane’s face, and he leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead.
“Let’s get married.”
Chapter 36
Dane
Present day
A slap to my face awakens me, and I roll over, baring my teeth.
“Whoa, brother.” The voice is familiar.
Am I fucking dreaming? I blink to adjust to the bright light.
“He’s gonna need more than a field dressing. He needs a fucking hospital.”
My vision clears, and faces I recognize hover over me.
Faces that haunt my dreams, asking me why I abandoned them.
“Two guys—” I croak, my throat burning.
“With AKs. Got ’em. They’re down. The perimeter is secure. No one’s gettin’ the drop on us.” Rome Hennessy cuts through the rope tying my ankles first, and then my hands. “The fuck happened here? We got two dead bodies. Another guy barely hanging on, and I’m not sure whether he’s good, bad, or indifferent. Give me sitrep, DC.”
Tanner drops the first aid kit next to me on the floor.
“Don’t fucking worry about me. You gotta go after them. They’ve got Kat. Taking her to a boat.”
“We’ll get her. We can’t be far behind. One of the bodies is still warm.”
Tanner shoots a look at Rome. “It’s the fucking tropics. Of course it’s warm.”
“Whatever. He hasn’t been dead long.”
“Then fucking go!” I try to yell, but my voice is wrecked.
“I know you’ve been gone for a year, but we’re still of the leave no man behind philosophy. We’ll get you patched up, and we’ll figure out a plan. We’re not walking into this blind, which is what I’m guessing you did here.”
The shame of my fucked-up rescue attempt eats at me like acid. “I had a plan. It went balls up.”
“I told you to wait for us.”
I meet Rome’s gaze. “I don’t wait when it comes to Kat.”
Pain burns through my arm as Tanner swabs it with antiseptic. “Lucky news—this one’s a through and through. But . . .” He shifts to look at my leg. “I’m gonna have to dig this one out of your leg, and it’s going to fucking suck.”
“We need to get in the air. Now.”
“We’re here by water. Gotta take a boat to the chopper. Next time you want to be rescued by air, pick a fucking place where a chopper can land.”
Tanner spends the next ten minutes supergluing the cut on my throat, digging a bullet out of my leg, dumping QuikClot on it, and then slapping duct tape across both gunshot wounds.
“That’s as good as we can do until you get your ass to a hospital.”
Rome stands and cracks his neck from side to side. “Now we talk about how we’re getting your woman back.”
*
My unwilling assistant in my shit-ass rescue plan isn’t dead. While Rome draws plans on the beach with a big stick, Tanner pulls two bullets from the guy’s chest and patches him up well enough that we’re pretty sure he isn’t going to die.
“Can’t kill old Julius so easy,” he tells me when they load him up first.
He’s along for the ride, although we gave him the option of staying on the island and radioing a friend for help. He took one look at the carnage and chose to come along rather than try to explain what happened there.