Page 28 of Risky Passion

Only two types of people came this way: bastards running their operations, and poor souls who got lost.

Today, I just needed to find one gorgeous pilot who had to be alive. Had to be.

But I was running out of daylight too fucking fast.

The parallel ruts in the sand barely qualified as a track, but my old Jeep muscled through like she always did, eating dirt and distance. Low-hanging branches whipped the hood or screamed against the painted sides. In the passenger seat, Onyx twitched her ears like a radar, tracking every sound.

"Easy, girl." I brushed her head, and she leaned into my touch, but her muscles were coiled tight. She knew what kind of mission this was.

Dead or?—

No. Tory's alive. Had to be.

The track vanished, and the Jeep fishtailed, throwing dirt. My heart stopped as the front wheels found empty air and a ten-foot drop to the rocks below. Onyx yelped as I threw us into reverse.

"Yeah." I wiped sweat from my face. "That was too fucking close."

As I scanned the shoreline ahead, my heart launched to my throat. A yellow smudge was visible below the water about forty feet from the shore.

"Holy shit, we found her plane." I shoved open my door. "Onyx, come!"

As my boots hit the dirt, Onyx jumped out the window on the other side. She stayed close to me as we half-tumbled, half-slid down the jagged cliff with loose rocks clattering into the void below. At the bottom, the mangroves loomed like a fortress of twisted limbs clawing at the sky, and as I barreled through, my heart hammered like it wanted out of my chest.

Onyx moved like a liquid shadow, weaving through the roots with ease while I fought for every step. The black mud clung to my boots, sucking at them, trying to drag me down.

Jesus, did Tory make it through this? Did she get out of the plane?

My gaze locked on the yellow wreckage submerged beneath the shimmering water. It took a few beats for my brain to catch up to what my eyes were seeing . . . the floats pointingskyward.

Oh, fuck. It’s upside down.

My breath hitched. Had she gotten out? The thought slammed into me like a fist, knocking the air from my lungs. Panic clawed at the edges of my mind. Was she trapped inside?

Christ, please don’t let her be trapped inside.

I tore my shirt off as I ran, and my elbow smashed against a twisted mangrove branch. Pain flared up my arm, but I didn’t stop. My boot snagged in the knotted roots, and I pitched forward, barely catching myself. Cursing under my breath, I scanned the twisted maze of roots, desperate for any sign of Tory; a footprint, a scrap of fabric, blood.

But the tide was coming in, creeping steadily through the mangroves, washing away whatever trail she might have left. If she’d left one at all.

Onyx barked ahead, sharp and urgent. The sound cut through the chaos in my head, grounding me for a split second. It was like she was telling me to fucking focus.

She was right.

Squatting down, I undid my laces. "Going for a swim, girl. You need to stay."

Her chocolate irises caught the sunlight, glinting with a sharp intelligence that always seemed to outmatch her already incredible instincts.

“That’s it, girl. Right here. Stay.” I pointed at a massive mangrove root that was bent like a broken elbow.

Onyx sniffed the air, her nose twitching, and then it hit me. The smell. A rancid, sickly-sweet stench that clawed at the back of my throat. I gagged, turning toward the mangled roots as I searched for the source: a half-eaten mullet rotting in the mud, its flesh stripped clean on one side.

Classic bull shark feeding pattern.

My gut tightened like a vise.

Somewhere in this hellish maze, Tory needed me.

I yanked off my boots and socks, setting them onto the mud with my shirt. The thick mud sucked at my feet as my heart hammered at the thought of what could be lurking beneath the dark, rippling waters around me. Crocodiles. Bull sharks.

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