Page 89 of Hot Pursuit
The pause on the line made Nate’s doubt obvious. He cleared his throat. “I may have forged your signature on the immunity plea when I got back to my hotel last night, so the deal we made with you will still stand either way.”
“Nathaniel Parker,” Jo teased. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Somehow, she could hear his smile through the line, could perfectly envision his wide lips, his straight rows of teeth gleaming white against his tanned skin. “Clearly, you’ve been a bad influence.”
“Fun,” Jo corrected, humor flooding her system for the first time in what felt like days. “I prefer, ‘a fun influence.’” She squeezed the knot on the second rope tight and stood from her crouched position, turning to face the house. “Speaking of fun…”
The innuendo was sharp.
Nate laughed over the line. The sound was like a perfect bite of cake, sweet and sugary, sending a sense of comfort to her core, a warm embrace that brought back memories of better times. Jo took a step down the dock, unable to control the grin widening her cheeks, and watched as her father stepped up to the back door and put his hand on the knob, twisting.
Bam!
The world exploded.
For a second, everything stopped, a snapshot of time. The flames halted, froze midbillow, angry, red, and bright enough to blind. Her father’s silhouette flickered, already coming apart at the seams. Debris hovered, glass and wood and rock, static in midair. Nate’s soft amusement lingered in her ear, so at odds with the scene on display before her.
And just as quickly, it rushed forward.
The force of the blast smacked her in the center of the chest. Jo flew off her feet, catapulting backward. Her body hit the water hard, headfirst, turning her vision to a night sky blinking with fractured stars. There was no up or down, just crashing waves and rolling water and confusion as she sank beneath the surface.
- 30 -
Nate
“Jo!” he screamed as the line went dead. Nate jumped to his feet, fighting for balance as their speedboat vaulted from crest to crest, darting through the waves. A single second was all it took to spot the onyx swirl of smoke blossoming on the horizon. The sound of the blast hit a few seconds later, a muffled, muted version of the one that had interrupted Jo’s call. Nate gripped the phone in his hands as his entire body shook.
Jo.
Oh god. Jo!
Jo!
“Leo, how far are we? How long?” The words came quick, years and years of training drilled into his system, instincts kicking in to stifle the panic and maintain his focus. Nate was no longer the little boy who cried over his father’s dead body. He was a man—armed and trained and dangerous in his own right. And he would not lose this fight. He refused.
“A few minutes,” Leo answered, voice deep with unspoken sympathy but laced with determination—the same grit flowing through Nate’s nerves, turning them to steel.
“Make it one.”
Leo revved the engine.
Nate leapt over the protective glass, leaving Leo at the wheel, as he crept forward and crouched behind the cushioned seats at the bow of the ship. They’d grabbed bulletproof vests from the local police who’d been waiting for them at the airport. Two coast guard ships were five minutes behind, and a chopper was supposed to be on its way. But for now, he and Leo were alone. So Nate slipped his gun from his belt and unclicked the safety, then got into position, leaning his elbows on the boat for stability.
“We should wait for backup,” Leo called over the roar of the wind.
Nate shook his head as the island loomed before them, nothing but smoke and rubble, so out of place against the glistening aqua waves. A twisted view of paradise. “There’s no time. Pull right up to the beach.”
He heard thePop! Pop! Pop!before he saw the shooter. Bullets ricocheted off the side of the boat. One hit the glass, cracking it down the middle but not breaking through. The speed and power of the blast told him it was an assault rifle. Nate’s pointer finger twitched against the trigger of his Glock 22. Not an equal match, not by a long shot. He swallowed, calming his nerves, reminding himself that in the game of size versus skill, skill almost always won out.
As soon as the barrage ended, he lifted his head over the edge of the bow. Two men were on the beach. No protective gear. No cover. They thought their weapons made them immune. Nate would teach them different. He fired four shots in quick succession, two at each man, watching them drop. Another ran out from the tree line. Nate got him in the chest.
A distraction.
The mobsters were nothing but a distraction.
Where’s Jo?
Where’s Jo?
