Page 90 of Hot Pursuit
She wasn’t at the house.
She was still by the boat.
I heard waves in the background right before the blast.
Another round of shots was fired from an unseen location. Nate hit the deck. Leo cursed behind him. Pieces of the boat exploded into the air, stinging his cheeks as they peppered down, a plastic rain. The motor groaned as Leo pressed down as hard as he could. They rammed into the beach, slamming into the sand before coming to a sudden stop. The shots paused.
Nate peeked over the edge, scanning the beach, but there was nothing. No one. He traced the line of the dock. Studied the water. And then he saw her.
Jo!
A body, floating facedown in the water.
The red hair spread like a fan across the surface was unmistakable.
Not thinking, just acting, Nate leapt over the side of the boat and ran into the surf. He dove beneath the water as another spray of bullets was released, carving swirling currents through the blue expanse to either side of him. One nicked his leg, a stinging kiss, but not enough to cause real damage. Another lodged in the back of his vest, hitting hard enough to expel an agonized groan, but he kept pushing with his arms, kicking with his feet. He kept going. Leo returned fire, providing cover as Nate surged to the surface for a deep breath. The weight of the vest slowed him down, so he unclipped it, not caring about the risk. From their spot in the woods to either side of the house, the Russians didn’t have a great shot at the water. At least, that was what he told himself as he cut beneath the pier for cover, swimming through striped shadow until he reached the end. Ignoring the blasts of bullets and the guttural shouts as he surfaced once more, Nate focused his attention on one thing.
“Jo,” he said as he flipped her in the water. Her skin was cold, pale. Her chest wasn’t moving. Her eyes were closed. Nate kicked with his feet, keeping them both above the surface as he held her nose and forced breath into her lungs.
No response.
He tried again, but he needed leverage. There was nothing he could do here, from the water. They needed to get on land. He needed to force the liquid from her lungs, get her blood pumping. And even then…
No.Nate shook his head, trying to remember what he’d learned in basic training. The brain could go up to five minutes without oxygen before permanent damage occurred, sometimes even more, depending on the conditions. Five minutes was a lifetime. He couldn’t have been that far behind. And she might have found a moment to take a breath. Her heart might not have stopped right away. He could save her. He would save her.
Jo is strong.
She’s a fighter.
So am I.
Water sprayed like a fountain to their right as bullets sliced through. Nate clutched Jo to his chest and kicked with his feet, hauling them both to the yacht a few feet away. Unlike Leo’s boat, which was chipping apart like wood through a chopper under the relentless assault, Robert Carter’s yacht was still pristine, completely at odds with the devastation around them. It wouldn’t be that way for long.
As soon as the Russians realized what he was doing, the bullets came. Nate hastily climbed the ladder at the back made for swimming and pulled Jo up behind him. The wound in his calf screamed as he put weight on the leg, but he didn’t stop until they were far enough away from the open air to be safe. Muffledthumpspounded the side of the yacht. They’d break through eventually, but for now, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Jo.
Nate held her nose and blew two deep breaths into her lungs, watching her chest rise and fall with the force. Then he folded his hands over her heart and pumped thirty times.
Nothing.
He repeated the action again.
Still nothing.
He closed his eyes as his body went through the motions, mind racing over everything he’d been taught, everything he’d learned. The important thing was to keep her blood flowing, to keep her vital organs from dying, her brain from damage. Resuscitation could wait as long as he kept everything else in her body alive.
It took a second for the sound of an alarm to register. Nate darted his gaze toward the side, finding the coast guard was almost there.
The bullets stopped.
The Russians ran.
Nate kept performing CPR, over and over and over, Jo’s body twitching beneath him.
“Come on, Jo,” he murmured.
Nate blinked, and it was his father beneath him, the blood pouring over his hands, spreading across the grass, spilling down the drive.
He blinked again, and it was Jo, face at peace and eyes closed, almost in sleep, except she wouldn’t wake.
