by Kay Marie
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 the Pop! 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?
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. Muffled thumps pounded 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.
His father.
Then Jo.
His father.
Then Jo.
“Not again. Not again!”
Nate blew air into her chest.
He forced her heart to beat.
His blood dripped onto the carpet. His muscles ached. His chest burned. But he wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
“Parker!” Leo’s voice.
Nate had no idea how long he’d been there, kneeling over Jo’s body, willing her back to life. There was only one thing left he could think to try. One thing that might jolt her heart back into motion. “Take over.”
Leo got into position immediately. Nate jumped to his feet and ran inside the cabin of the yacht, making for the hull, searching for the symbol he knew had to be somewhere—a red box with a white cross.
There!
Nate ripped open the latch and grabbed the first aid kit before running back to Jo and Leo. He fell to his knees as he dumped the kit over, letting everything fall to the floor in a jumbled heap. Scissors first, he cut her dress from her body. Then he grabbed
a towel and dried her torso and limbs. Leo kept performing CPR as Nate laid out the towel. The two of them gently eased Jo from the puddle of water she’d been lying in, moving her to dry ground. Nate pulled the portable defibrillator from the mess, then attached two pads to Jo’s exposed chest. He and Leo, still sopping wet, stepped back. He pressed the button.
Jo jolted, back arching for a moment.
She stilled.
“Goddammit, Jo. Come on!”
Nate waited for the device to charge.
He pressed again.
One moment stretched to a lifetime as he waited for the charge to hit her heart, to bring her back to him.
Please.
Please.
Jo.
I need you.
I love you.
Her body lurched as the volts of electricity sank beneath her skin.
Nate froze.
Jo came back to life, convulsing as coughs forced their way up her throat, and she vomited a mess of liquid onto the carpet. Nate was by her side immediately, rolling her over as gush after gush of water spilled from her lungs. He rubbed her back, murmured soothingly, pulled her wet hair away, until it was over and she breathed heavily on the floor, blinking with confusion, but undeniably alive.
“Jo,” he said, searching her face for recognition, for understanding. He didn’t know how long she’d been under, what sort of damage might’ve been done. “Jo, are you okay? Do you know who I am?”
The fog lifted, and her eyes cleared to bright emeralds. “Nate?”
“Oh god, Jo.” Nate blurted the words like a confession as he pulled her into his arms, pressing her cold body to his chest to give her warmth, needing her close, needing her beating heart pressed against his so he knew the gentle rhythm was real. He buried his head in her neck, pressing soft kisses to her throat, in time with her thrumming pulse, as her arms came across his shoulders and held him close. He leaned back far enough to press his palm to her cheek. And then he kissed her, soft and slow, gentle and tender, taking his time because they had it, not pressing too hard because she was the strongest woman he’d ever met, but in that moment, she felt so impossibly fragile all he wanted to do was keep her protected.
Jo pulled back, keeping their foreheads pressed together, and held the back of his head in her hands. “What happened?”
Nate sighed, not sure where to begin.
Jo’s gaze dropped, and she jerked back. “Nate, why am I naked?”
Okay, I wasn’t going to start there…but that’s as good a place as any.
“You—”
“And why is Agent Alvarez watching from the corner like a creepy lecher with an oddly goofy smile on his face?”
Nate arched a brow and turned on his partner, who was, in fact, standing a few feet away, grinning like a buffoon as he hugged his arms around his torso and unabashedly watched their reunion. At least he was, until Jo’s words registered and he had the decency to flinch back to life and turn away.
Nate looked back at Jo. “Because Leo’s a softie at heart. And he’s never fully grasped the concept of boundaries.”
“I resent that, Parker.”
“It’s true—”
Jo gasped and lifted her fingers to her lips in shock, silencing Nate midsentence. Her muscles went slack. His arms were the only things keeping her upright.
“The house… The explosion… Daddy…” Her voice cracked and broke off, catching in her throat as the memory of those last few moments rushed over her, making her tremble. She looked up at Nate, the most hopeful look in her eyes. All he could do was shake his head and watch as her world crumbled. Jo closed her eyes tight, squeezing them so hard her entire face wrinkled with the motion. Moisture leaked onto her lashes, pooling at the edges, silently spilling down her cheeks. For this pain, there was nothing he could do to help but hold her and tell her it would be okay. Which he did, as many times as it took for her to open her eyes again. They were shiny and wet but determined and resilient.
“Is Thad…?” A whisper was all she could manage.
“He called me to warn me that you were in danger. He’s the only reason I got here so fast. But he hung up before we could fully trace the call. Our men scoured the area but didn’t find anything except for stray bullets. The Russians were gone. So was Ryder. But we have no way to know if he got away or was caught, at least not yet.”
Jo nodded silently, taking it all in.
Before either of them could speak, boots thudded on the deck outside the cabin. Nate whipped his head to the side, already reaching for his gun, but it was the coast guard. It was the good guys.
“Here!” he shouted, lifting a hand to catch their attention. “She needs help.”
Two men raced deeper into the yacht, a stretcher held between them. “We have a chopper outside, ready for a medevac to Nassau—”
“Jolene Carter, age twenty-five, United States citizen, in good health, no known allergies or disorders.” Nate launched into the rundown immediately, not bothering to let them finish as he moved out of the way to reveal Jo huddled against his chest. The men rushed over and took Jo from his arms to strap her to the stretcher. She was weak enough not to protest, but held on to his hand the entire time, refusing to let go. And Nate held right back. There was no way she’d be leaving his sight—not anytime soon. “Hit by the blast, possible head trauma, no visible sign of burns. I wasn’t there to witness, but I heard through the phone. We got to her a few minutes after the explosion to find her unconscious in the water. I began CPR immediately in the water and moved to the boat to begin chest compressions. We ran the defibrillator twice before a successful resuscitation.”
The emergency responders nodded along, already checking her vitals. “And the blood? Where’s the wound?”
Blood?
Wound?
Nate pushed his brows together, staring at the floor, noticing for the first time that a wet ruby trail painted a gory path from the edge of the boat, all the way inside, spreading into a pool around his body. And then he remembered.
“Oh, the blood! The blood is me.”
“What?” Jo shouted, sitting up in an instant, eyes wide.
“I was hit. I’m fine.”
“You were hit?” she shrieked, finally overwhelmed by everything that had happened, and taking it out on the only person there who could survive the heat. “As in shot? As in a bullet? Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
Nate squeezed her fingers with one hand and then used his other to gently force her back down against the stretcher so they could finish strapping her up. “Because I’m fine. I’ve been wounded on active duty before—”
“You have?”
Only his palm against her shoulder kept her from leaping to a seated position again. “I’m fine, Jo, I promise. See?”
He shifted his leg so both of them could see, trying to prove his point.
Bad idea.
Horrible.
Adrenaline must have been pumping through his system, because he could hardly feel any pain, but the wound was a mess. Skin ripped apart. Blood spurting. Like something out of a horror movie. Nate hastily shifted his calf out of her sight, but it was too late. The damage was done.
“Oh my god!”
“Jo—”
“We’re going to have a conversation about this, Nathaniel. Don’t think we won’t.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not now, Jo. You need to get to the hospital.”
“So do you!”
Nate glanced at the paramedic, searching for backup, but the man was already coming at him with a strip of gauze. Hands immediately landed on his shoulders, and before he could mutter a protest, Nate found himself on his back with his leg raised and resting on Leo’s knee as a bandage was applied to stop the bleeding.
“It didn’t hit bone,” Nate argued, fully aware he never would’ve been able to run around in search of that first aid kit if he’d shattered a tibia. “Just muscle tissue. It looks worse than it is. I—”
“Shut up,
” Jo and Leo said as one, and then looked at each other, smirking.
Oh, great. That’s just wonderful.
“She needs immediate medical attention,” he said, going a different path. But at that exact moment, another stretcher was brought in by two different paramedics.
“So do you, sir.”
“Oh, for the love of god,” he muttered as they strapped him down. “I’m fine.”
The victorious look on Jo’s face would have been comical if it weren’t turned on him. “Safety first, Agent Parker.”
Words to live by.
Words he did live by, until about eight days ago.
Nate sighed, stuck in a web of his own making. Before he could respond, the paramedics lifted the stretchers, forcing him and Jo apart as they carried them from the yacht, down the pier, and into the chopper waiting on the beach.
When they were settled inside, Nate let his head fall to the side so he could watch Jo. Her gaze was hard to read as she looked at the charred remains of her home. He couldn’t decipher which memories raced through her head. Good. Bad. Or unimaginable. So instead, he reached out and took her fingers back in his, squeezing tight, trying to give her all his strength, however much of it she needed. She turned toward him, watching him as though he were her only tether to the earth, as though without him she might float away. But her grip remained loose in his, as though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stay or go.
All Nate could think about was bringing a speck of joy back to her eyes, a sparkle of mirth. He rubbed his thumb over her skin, tracing a pattern as he spoke. “I have to admit, Jo, when I envisioned riding off into the sunset with you, it wasn’t on matching stretchers. Horseback, maybe. A red convertible, even better. My old beat-up Ford truck would’ve worked fine. But a medevac chopper? That wasn’t high on the list.”
Nate watched his words land, waiting for her response.
See now, that just shows a lack of imagination…
Or maybe, in my dreams, we weren’t so much riding off as sitting on the couch, sharing a cake made for two…or three…or ten.