“Fine.” He grabbed her arm, held the muzzle of the gun to her back as he walked with her to the dock where her transport was waiting.
She started to climb into the boat, hesitating when he refused to let go of her arm.
“The remote,” he reminded her.
“How do I know you won’t shoot me as soon as I hand it over?”
“Because as tempted as I am right now, I would never stoop to committing cold-blooded murder.”
She nodded and handed him the remote. Then she stepped onto the boat, moving immediately to the bridge to start the engine.
Despite his assurance to her, he couldn’t deny that he wanted to pull the trigger. He wanted A.J. to pay for everything she’d done—to Shannon and Rachel, to Brent and to his own soul. He didn’t doubt that she deserved to die, but if he killed her now—if he took her life simply to satisfy his thirst for vengeance—it would be murder and he wouldn’t be any better than she was.
He turned away from the boat.
The only thing that mattered now was getting to Shannon.
There were five minutes and twenty-two seconds left on the timer when Shannon heard the first thump against one of the boarded-up windows. Four minutes and fifty-nine seconds when she heard the wood splinter. Four minutes and seventeen seconds when Michael climbed through the opening.
Her heart leaped with hope…then plummeted.
She’d been praying that he would find her. That he would somehow, miraculously, track her down and save her.
But she’d given up that hope when A.J. had started the clock ticking. It was even more dangerous for him to be here now, with less than four minutes on the clock. She hadn’t gone to all this trouble to save his life only for him to die beside her.
But he was oblivious to the threat, racing across the room toward her.
If A.J. knew he was here—
She swallowed around the tightness in her throat, fought to hold back the tears that burned her eyes. “You have to leave, Michael. Please.” Her voice was weak, unsteady. “There are remote-controlled explosives around the room.”
“I’ve got the remote.”
She exhaled a shaky breath, but she knew the danger hadn’t been completely averted. “There’s still the timer, and everything’s set to blow in—” she glanced again at the clock. “Two and a half minutes.”
He dropped to his knees beside her. “Two and a half minutes is more time than I’d hoped for.”
She didn’t understand what he was saying. Time for what—to say a final good-bye?
“Please, Michael.” She couldn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see the tears that filled her eyes. Instead, she stared at the clock, at the seconds that ticked away to the end of her life. “I want you to leave the building. Now.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“You can’t save me,” she said. “A.J. made sure of that. She put a second detonator—a balance switch—under my chair.”
His gaze was steady and sure as he said, “Trust me.”
She managed a watery smile. “You know I hate when you say that.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But explanations will have to wait until I get you out of here.”
Then he ducked his head beneath the chair.
One minute and seventeen seconds.
She swallowed. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
“I wouldn’t be risking both of our lives here if I didn’t.”
One minute and eight seconds.
“I was something of a demolitions expert with the rangers,” he told her. “I had extensive training in the building and disarming of bombs.”
“Now you’re talking to me about your career?” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of the situation.
“It wasn’t relevant before.”
Fifty-six seconds.
“You left the army a long time ago.”
“Some things you never forget,” he said. “Like riding a bike—or sex.”
Forty-nine seconds.
She closed her eyes, unable to continue watching the seconds tick away. “I can’t believe you’re making jokes at a time like this.”
She felt his hand on her knee and opened her eyes to see he was sitting up again, a ball of something resembling putty in his hand.
“C4?” she asked.
He nodded, already turning his attention to the knotted rope that bound her ankles together.
“What about the other bombs?” she asked, noting that the timer continued to count down.
Thirty-two seconds.
He freed her wrists from their restraints. “It looks like they’re hardwired to the same timer. I’m not going to have time to disarm them.”
She slipped out of the chair and into his arms. He held her tight against his chest for just a second.
Shannon’s gaze slid to the timer.
Twenty-six seconds.
“Those other bombs are going to detonate on schedule,” he told her. “So I’d suggest we get out of here. Now.”
She didn’t need to be told twice.
They’d pushed through the opening in the boards and were racing away from the building when time ran out.
Chapter 16
The blast hurtled him through the air.
Mike felt the whoosh of air escape from his lungs as he slammed down onto the concrete, the force of the impact like being hit by a wrecking ball. His ears were ringing, and every muscle and bone in his body ached, but he ignored the pain and pushed himself to his knees.
“Shannon.” He tried to shout, but succeeded only in croaking her name.
She didn’t respond.
The only sound he heard over the ringing in his ears was the crackle of the fire as greedy flames consumed the warehouse.
He felt something dripping into his eyes, wiped it away. He didn’t realize it was blood. He wasn’t thinking about anything but Shannon.
Through sheer force of will, he managed to stagger to his feet. He turned around and finally spotted her.
She was lying only a few feet away, still and silent.
He stumbled over to her, dropped to the ground beside her.
He’d never known such a deep and primitive fear as he felt in that moment, when he saw the crimson stain on the concrete. He turned her gently to examine the wound at the back of her head, the angry gash that continued to spill her blood.
He felt his throat tighten as he lifted a shaky hand to check her pulse. It was weak but steady.
“Hold on, Shannon. Please, hold on.”
He could barely speak around the tightness of his throat. But there was so much he needed to say, so many things to tell her. All he managed was a whispered, “I’m sorry.”
He was sorry for so many things. For not realizing sooner that she’d left the hotel. For letting Lisa drag out their confrontation. For not disabling the igniter fast enough. For failing, in so many ways, to protect her and keep her safe.
He hadn’t let himself feel the fear when he’d gone into the warehouse. He hadn’t let himself think about the fact that whether Shannon lived or died depended on how he handled the situation. He hadn’t let himself watch the seconds tick away on the clock as he’d disabled the bomb with steady hands. He hadn’t considered the possibility of failure. He’d ruthlessly controlled all of his emotions.
He couldn’t control his emotions now. With every second that passed, his guilt weighed heavier and the fear sliced deeper. Too many endless, agonizing seconds passed before he heard the sound of sirens in the distance.
The fire trucks arrived first, then the police and finally the EMTs. Mike rode in the ambulance with Shannon to the hospital, but once they were there, she was whisked away to an exam room and he was firmly steered to the waiting area.
So now he waited…and worried.
“Michael?”
He glanced up to see his sister standing in the entrance to the waiting room. Detective Garcia had already been and go
ne, reassuring him that Rachel had been rescued from the motel without incident.
Her presence here now confirmed it. Except for the paleness of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes, she looked unaffected by her ordeal. At least he could be grateful for that. He started to cross the room toward her.
She stepped back, shaking her head. “If you touch me right now, I’m going to have a meltdown,” she warned. “And you know how I hate to cry in front of witnesses.”
“Tough.” He took her in his arms. “I just need to know you’re okay.”
As predicted, her eyes filled with tears, but she nodded. “I am okay. Angry with myself more than anything.”
“Why?”
“Because A.J. got the jump on me by pretending to be a lost tourist in need of directions. She even had a series of maps spread over the passenger seat. When I got close enough to look—trying to be helpful—she jabbed me with the needle.”
“I should have warned you,” Mike said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Did you know she would come after me?”
“Of course not.”
“Then don’t be stupid.”
He smiled. “That might have been more effective if you weren’t blubbering.”
“I don’t blubber,” she said indignantly.
He wiped the tears from her face. “Cry-baby.”
“Rat.”
It was an old, familiar routine, and it reassured him that she really was going to be okay.
“Detective Garcia said you were on your way back to the hotel.”
She nodded. “I have to get back soon, but I wanted to find out how Shannon was doing first.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “No one will tell me anything.”
“I think that’s about to change,” she said.
He looked up as a tall, thin woman in wire-rimmed glasses and a lab coat stepped into the room. Dr. Elisabeth Finch, according to her name tag. “Mr. Courtland?”
He nodded. “Is Shannon okay?”
“It took seven stitches to close the gash in her head, and she has some nasty cuts and bruises, but that seems to be the worst of it. Amazingly enough, nothing’s broken and there don’t seem to be any internal injuries.”
He exhaled a shaky breath.
“Is she conscious?” Rachel asked.
The doctor shook her head. “Not yet. But that’s not unusual. We fully expect her to wake up, we just don’t know when that will be.”
“Can I see her?” Mike asked.
The doctor frowned as she looked him over. “As soon as you let me take a look at your injuries.”
She was walking through a fog, her steps slow and uncertain, her arms stretched out ahead of her, reaching for something she didn’t see, couldn’t reach. Disjointed images swirled through her mind like unconnected pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
A warehouse. An island. A boat.
Drugs. Guns. Bombs.
Swimming. Running. Falling.
Lisa. Peart. Michael.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She licked her lips, tried again. “Michael?”
The raspy voice that croaked his name didn’t sound familiar, but the warm touch of the hand that covered hers was instantly recognizable.
“I’m here.”
Tension she’d been unaware of slowly seeped from her limbs. Her eyelids were heavy, but she managed to ease them open, then blinked slowly.
The fog dissipated into blinding whiteness.
“What—where—”
She sipped gratefully through the straw that was held to her lips, the cool water easing some of the dryness.
“You’re in the hospital,” Michael explained.
The images fell into place. “The warehouse.”
“You remember.”
She turned her head to look at him and winced at the pain that reverberated through her head. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
“You have a concussion.” He leaned over to press his lips gently to her temple. “The force of the explosion…let’s just say, I’m glad you’re finally awake.”
“How long was I unconscious?”
“Forever.”
She frowned.
“Okay—a couple of hours,” he admitted. “But it seemed like forever.”
“You look as if you need medical attention as much as I do,” she said, noting the myriad of cuts and scrapes on his arms, the dried blood on his cheek.
“I’ve been checked out.” He indicated the butterfly bandage on his brow. “The rest are just superficial wounds.”
“Macho idiot.”
He grinned. “Now I know for sure you’re okay.”
“Not ready for a swim in the Atlantic or willing to battle snakes, but other than that…” She managed a smile.
“Ready for some company?”
“Company?”
He didn’t have a chance to answer before the door was pushed open and Rachel peeked in. “Is she awake yet?”
She smiled, relieved by this firsthand evidence that Michael’s sister was unscathed despite her altercation with A.J. “Yes, I’m awake.”
Rachel came into the room. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I am,” Shannon said, gratefully accepting the pain she felt as proof that she was alive. “How about you?”
“Ready to get back to work.”
“Do you ever give yourself a break?” Michael asked his sister.
“Not when there are two hundred guests coming in for an environmental law conference,” she said.
“Don’t you have a staff to handle check-in?” Shannon asked.
“Of course. But I like to be around in case any problems arise.”
“She’s another Type-A personality,” Michael said.
Shannon smiled at Rachel. “Then I guess I’ll see you back at the hotel later.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Michael’s sister hugged her gently. “Maybe I’ll even get Dominic to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
“Does anything ever slow her down?” Shannon asked after Rachel had gone.
“I don’t think so.” He shifted his chair closer to her bed. “Detective Garcia was here earlier.”
She turned her head too quickly, closed her eyes against the throbbing pain. “Any news on A.J.?”
“Not yet.” Michael brushed her hair away from her forehead, stroked his fingers gently down her cheek. “But he did find your purse and your suitcase.”
“Where?”
“In the trunk of Peart’s car at the marina.”
“Oh. Well. That’s good.” She cleared her throat, trying to affect a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “Having my identification and credit cards back will make it easier to book a flight.”
His hand dropped away. “I didn’t realize you were still planning to go back right away.”
Did he sound disappointed? Did he want her to stay?
Shannon wasn’t sure if she was reading his signals correctly or if she was hearing what she wanted to hear. From the beginning, they’d both known she would be going back to Chicago when the situation with A.J. was resolved. There wasn’t any reason to change those plans now. But she couldn’t help asking, “There isn’t any reason for me to stay, is there?”
She held her breath, waiting for his answer.
Before he could respond, there was another knock on the door, and then Natalie and Dylan came in.
Shannon stared at her visitors, torn between the pleasure of seeing her sister and disappointment that Michael hadn’t answered her question. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking up on my big sister,” Natalie said lightly.
“But—why aren’t you in Fairweather? And how did you get here so fast?”
“After talking to you the other day, Natalie wasn’t convinced that everything was fine,” Dylan explained. “So we decided to come down and see for ourselves.”
“Well, everything is fine,” she said.
“Yeah, that’s why you’re in the hospital,” her sister countered.
“It’s a concussion—not sixty-three stitches.” She looked pointedly at her sister’s arm, still in a sling.
“It’s a concussion and seven stitches,” Michael interjected. “Plus the nine stitches that were already in your foot.”
“I’m fine,” Shannon said again. “Or I will be as soon as I can get out of here.”
“Why don’t you guys go find the doctor?” Natalie suggested.
“Trying to get rid of us?” Dylan asked.
“Yes,” his fiancée said, unapologetically.
He grinned and brushed his lips over hers before moving toward the door.
Michael hesitated.
“A.J.’s long gone,” Shannon reminded him. “I’m sure I’ll be safe if you leave me alone with my sister for a few minutes.”
“Okay,” he finally agreed. “But I won’t go far.”
Shannon felt the sense of loss all the way down to her toes as she watched him walk out of the room. She knew he would be back, but she also knew that their time together was almost over.
A.J. was gone and, therefore, so was the threat to Shannon’s life. As grateful as she was for that, she wasn’t as anxious as she thought she’d be to leave Florida. Because she didn’t want to say goodbye to Michael.
“Well,” Natalie said.
Shannon turned her attention away from the door to focus on her sister. “Well?” she echoed.
“I’d guess there’s been some, uh, progress in your relationship with Michael since we last spoke.”
“Some,” she agreed casually, conscious of the flush in her cheeks. Then, in a blatant and desperate attempt to change the topic, she asked, “Where’s Jack?”
“Don’t think you’re going to distract me so easily,” Natalie warned.
“I just can’t believe, after everything that’s happened in the past few weeks, he isn’t here with you.”
“He’s safe,” her sister said confidently. “Under FBI protection.”
“What?”
Natalie grinned. “Dylan’s sister is watching him.”
“Dylan’s sister is with the FBI?”
“All three of Dylan’s sisters are with the FBI.”
“That’s got to be a little intimidating.”
Natalie nodded. “At least I won’t have to worry about anyone stealing the silver from the wedding reception—not with all the badges that will be in attendance.”
Dangerous Passions Page 20