Leading the way, Luke plunged through the water that reached halfway up his calves and made moving difficult. The sound of the boat engine drew ever closer behind them, and he grimly increased his pace. They had to make the peninsula or all their struggles would be in vain. Fizz kept up well, bounding through the shallow water, but Micki was lagging dangerously behind. Reaching back to her, Luke meant to offer assistance, but was instead met with a hiss that said quite clearly what she did not have the breath to say in words, and a stinging swat at his arm.
Gritting his teeth, he cursed the luck that he was too loaded down with the bags to bodily pick her up and carry her. Not, he had to admit, with the noise of their frenzied splashing and the approaching outboard loud in his ears, that he had much more strength left than her. Staggering onto the beach at last, just past the sharp curve that would keep them from being seen, he was aware of Fizz and Micki following. Sprinting across the ground coral in wide strides to leave the minimum of tracks, Luke dove for the cover of the ever-present mangrove trees.
Mercifully, there was a slight depression just beyond the tree line, and he dropped into it and rolled to his belly. As he shoved the things he carried away from him, further into the brush, the sound of the boat became a full-throated roar. It was coming up on them too fast.
There was no more time to be gentlemanly. Reaching up, Luke grasped the front of Micki's wet shirt as she staggered up the slight rise at the edge of the trees, and with a sharp jerk, toppled her over on top of him. He held on tight, rolling onto his back, with an arm about her waist and a hand across her mouth to silence the reaction he knew would be coming.
She ended up full length against him, lying on her back on his chest, and she was furious. With a muffled snort of indignation, she drove an elbow into his midsection that drew a grunt of pain. In a purely defensive reaction, he tightened his arm around her waist. Fizz appeared on the rise, an offended growl rising from him at the sight of his mistress being so treated.
"Quiet." Luke hissed the word in Micki's ear. "And get your dog, they're here."
She sent another elbow into his ribs, this time with a bit less gusto, but then reached up to hook a hand through Fizz's collar. Dragging him down, she pulled him to their side.
It seemed an eternity that they lay there, listening. Letting his head rest on the hard ground, all Luke could see through the branches above was a sky that had grayed with clouds sometime during their swim. Micki's weight was warm against him and she had ceased to struggle, although he could still feel the irate tension in her muscles.
She had surrendered but not fully. He could feel her intention to start fighting the instant he released her, which was why he dared not risk it. She could give him away with a single shout to her cohorts. True, they had shot her down without respite, and true, she had acted innocent of any knowledge of them, but he wasn't willing to take the chance that she was completely guiltless. Not when he was gambling with his life, and certainly not when he had those incriminating photocopies in his bag that verified at least some involvement.
Listening, Luke struggled to shut out the ragged sound of their breathing in favor of the sounds he needed to hear. The Doppler drone of the boat's outboard motor lowered in pitch, indicating that it was moving away. After a few minutes, it faded to silence as the hull beached on the ground coral of the swampy island.
Reinforcements. Coming ashore on the other beach. The guys in the speedboats must have found the wreckage of the plane and radioed for additional troops. If he and Micki had not made that swim then they would be dead by now.
Closing his eyes, Luke exhaled a breath in gratitude. There was silence for a long time. Too long, it seemed, for it gave him time to feel as well as listen. Micki's curves fit him perfectly. Her warmth against his bare, wet skin stirred him along the full length of his body. Tucked against his shoulder, her head fit into the hollow there, and her breath was warm and moist on the hand that he still pressed firmly against her mouth.
Desire flared within him and he stifled a groan. He was going to have to do something because lying against him as she was, she would sense it very, very soon—if she hadn't already. Then there would really be hell to pay. He did not intend for Micki Jacinto, fiery mystery that she was, to ever know the full effect she had on him.
There were no other sounds, save for the gentle lapping of the waves against the beach, no other threat that he could ascertain from his present vantage. It may as well be now that he released her and faced the repercussions.
"They didn't see us," he hissed in her ear. "And they must not have figured out we swam or they'd be over here by now. I'm going to let you go, so just stay quiet. Okay?"
Her nod, jerky and defiant, made him want to groan again. She was furious, all right, and she was really going to let him have it. Pity he couldn't justify gagging her—although that would certainly be more trouble than it was worth.
Torn between the desire to keep her where she was, warm and more or less pliant in his arms, or let her go and face her sharp tongue, he hesitated a moment more. Micki released Fizz, who immediately scrambled to his feet and shook the water from his fur all over them. When she let loose another elbow to his ribs, Luke faced the inevitable and finally let her go.
Her reaction was more controlled, and yet more violent, than he had feared. Rolling away the moment his restraint left her, Micki drew herself up to her knees. As she knelt there, the wet strands of loose hair that had pulled free of her braid framing her face and her drenched t-shirt molded to every curve, she was incredibly beautiful. His chance to enjoy the view, however, was short-lived, as Micki drew back her hand and slapped him with all the force she could muster.
Luke flinched. When was he going to learn to block this woman's blows? But then, maybe he deserved this one, he thought, savoring the memory of her body against his even as one hand went to his stinging cheek. "Look, Micki—"
"Shut up," she hissed, angrily combing the wet strands of hair away from her face with a shaking hand. "Just shut up."
Her blue eyes were still flashing fire and Luke readied himself to block blow number two. No way was he letting her get in another shot. Enough was enough.
But Micki contented herself with skewering him with a glare that might have stopped a lesser man's heart. "Touch me again, ever, and I'll... I'll..."
It was as she was trying to decide her revenge that Luke saw a miracle, rising behind her left shoulder from further down the curving line of the island. Unable to believe his luck, he rose to his knees for a better look.
That seemed to throw her. "Are you listening to me?"
"Look," he said, not listening.
Hesitating, she regarded him with a narrow-eyed glare, as if suspecting a trick, and didn't quite turn. "Where?"
"There." He pointed. "It's another fishing shanty, up on poles. And underneath it..." Craning his neck, he looked past her to be sure before he committed himself.
"What?" Despite herself, Micki turned to follow his gaze.
Luke grinned. There, amidst the uneven stacks of barnacle encrusted crab traps was... "A boat!"
***
Reaching the boat under the shanty took only a few moments. Micki was not totally convinced that her companion hadn't just conjured up the whole boat thing to keep her from giving him the trouncing he deserved. Who did he think he was, grabbing her like that? She should have slapped him again anyway, boat be damned. But then, it was their chance to get out of there and back to civilization where she could be rid of him, and that's what she really wanted more than anything—to be rid of him.
A flash of heat shot through her again with the memory of being held close to him, and she scowled rather than acknowledge it. Of course she wanted to part ways with Luke 'Annoying' Hardigan. The sooner the better.
Micki came to a stop beneath the fishing shanty, while Luke continued past her without comment. Hands on her hips, she grumpily studied the battered aluminum craft as Fizz sniffed about it.
&nbs
p; "This isn't much of a boat, Yank. I'm guessing it's a fourteen foot jon boat, maybe even twelve."
"Fourteen," Luke stated firmly, looking it over. "It's at least that." He glanced up at her, ready to speak, and then with another glance at the boat, seemed to reconsider his words. "I suppose most fishermen around here use this kind of boat?"
"I guess." She shrugged; boats were not her strong suit. "Not on the open ocean, but in protected places like this I guess they might use them." She studied the pair of oars shipped inside the hull and the anchor next to them. "It'd be a real pain to row, though."
The thought that there might be another possibility occurred to them at the same time and, as one, they glanced up at the floorboards above their heads.
"Just our luck. They must've locked up the motor," Micki said.
"Just our luck," Luke repeated with a grin. Without further hesitation, he headed toward the stairs.
It was at the door, while Luke inspected the sturdy padlock meant to keep intruders out, that Micki's conscience gave a kick. "Hey, wait, this is breaking and entering."
"Yeah, it is." Luke tested the strength of the door with his shoulder. "So?"
"So isn't that illegal?" She frowned as he drew back for another try. "Or do you make it a regular practice to steal other people's belongings?"
Luke threw his shoulder against the door again, harder this time. The weathered wood splintered at the jamb, then surrendered as he followed the blow with a powerful kick. "We're not stealing, we're commandeering."
"Well, could you 'commandeer' a little less destructively?"
"I promise, after we're home safe, we'll figure out who we need to pay for any damages."
Micki scowled as Fizz and Luke preceded her into the shanty. Now that they were committed, the point was more or less moot. "You'll pay them, Yank," she corrected. "Because—"
"—because this whole mess is my fault." Luke turned sharply. "There, now I said it. Does that make you happy?"
Without answering, she pushed past him to look about the cabin. It was empty except for a small, half-crushed cardboard box upside down in the corner, and the outboard motor for which they had been hoping. A red gas tank sat beside it, on a wood floor that was marred by heavy gouges. Putting down his camera bag, Luke went to examine the motor.
"It's just a runabout," he observed in disappointment. "Whoever owns this must just use it for short hops back and forth between islands."
Micki watched Fizz have an exploratory nose about the upturned box. "That's what the fishermen around here do, run around the islands. What'd you expect? One of the speedboats?"
At the sharp glance Luke shot her, she recalled that was exactly what they had seen moored before the first shanty.
"Look, it's better than nothing," she said, moving over to where the dog was pawing at the cardboard box.
Luke shook the gas tank experimentally and grimaced. "Maybe not. No gas. Looks like we row after all."
Fizz flipped over the crushed and obviously discarded box, and nosed about what spilled out. When it wasn't food, he sat down to scratch at one ear, dismissing the whole thing. Micki, however, found the discovery much more interesting.
"Hey, look at this!" She knelt to pick up one of the dozen or so wristwatches that had spilled onto the rough floor. "These are Rolex watches! Geez, there must be a few thousand bucks sitting here!" Gold flecks danced about as she turned it over, but disappointment set in at the sight of the shattered crystal. In fact, closer examination revealed that all the watches were damaged in some way. "Damn, they're all broken."
Reaching over her shoulder, Luke plucked the one out of her hand as she reached for another.
"They're fakes," he said, haphazardly tossing the watch back to the pile. "Look close and you can tell. See how cheaply they're made?"
"Don't you start," Micki mumbled.
"What?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
She didn't want to believe him, but when she scrutinized the watch in her hand, she had to admit that he was right. The face was ill fitted and the band, which had gleamed like gold, showed a green tarnish along the edges when examined more closely. Even in the salt air of the shanty, real gold would not be that hue.
Micki frowned. In the space of twelve hours she'd had two brushes with Rolex watches, and both times she'd been told they were fakes. "It's just that Dirk said..."
"What?" Luke asked in a low voice. "What did he say?"
Unsure exactly where she was headed, Micki stood and forced a grin. "He said your Rolex was a fake, and now you say these are fakes. Am I completely missing the point, or do you find that just a little odd?"
Luke held her gaze, searching for... what? Micki studied him back, watching him just as intently as he was watching her.
Finally, he mimicked her forced grin and said, "Yeah, that is odd." But his eyes betrayed his lie. Covering, he gestured toward the ocean. "But we haven't got time to worry about it now. We're not in the clear yet, and I don't want to hang around here and meet the neighbors, do you?"
What a stupid question; of course she didn't. "No." Pitching the fake watch back with the rest, Micki kicked the box aside. "Let's get started. I'll meet you by the boat and, if you have any sense of decency at all, you'll give me a minute to put my clothes back on."
"Good idea," Luke agreed readily. He reached for the khaki shorts hanging through the strap of his camera bag and with a quick flick of his wrists, shook them out ready to step into them. He paused, and had the arrogance to look offended. "Do you mind?"
Micki scowled and hastily tore her eyes away. For some reason, the action, however mundane, triggered the memory of his body beneath her with a vividness that was humiliating. Heat swept up to her cheeks and she knew in a few seconds she would be blushing like a schoolgirl. No way was she letting Luke Hardigan know he had gotten to her.
"By the boat," she said curtly, pulling her baseball cap low over her eyes. She whistled Fizz to her side and left without looking back.
As such, she missed seeing Luke toss aside the khaki shorts, and she was well down the steps by the time he unzipped his camera bag and withdrew a plastic pouch. Stealthily, he slipped the fake watches into it and returned it to his bag. Only then, with the real reason why he had chased her out accomplished, did Luke begin to dress.
***
Braving the ocean in a jon boat did not seem the wisest of ideas, Luke admitted, but even Micki had agreed to putting all the distance they could between them and their pursuers. At least it didn't leak—much.
Luke slanted a glance at his companion. She sat in the bow, with his Smartphone in hand, reluctantly following his instructions on how to search for a cell signal. Her robotic waving was almost comical, and he might have laughed had the situation not been so serious. Micki had kept a prudent distance since their unwanted but necessary closeness in the ditch, and what he really wanted was to know what was going on in that pretty little head of hers. She wasn't giving him much in the way of clues. Other than occasionally providing curt directions, Micki seemed oblivious to the fact that he was sweating his heart out and tearing blisters on his hands as he pulled on the oars with laborious strokes.
It took experience and strength to keep them headed in the right direction, fighting against the conflicting influences of wind and tide, in a rowboat without a keel. Maneuvering through the white-capped waves was a game of skill and nerve and, shooting a glance toward a sky rapidly darkening with even more ominous clouds, Luke wasn't entirely sure he was going to win. Grimly, he set his jaw and resolved that at least he would go the distance.
Their slow but steady pace gradually ate up the miles toward Marathon, and by early afternoon they had put two more islands between their would-be killers and themselves. Luke fought the urge to grimace as the pull of the tide deepened the growing agony of fatigued muscles in his arms and back. Not, he thought with a trace of heat that surprised him, that his companion was taking any notice of his effort.
He wishe
d he could say he was as oblivious of her as she seemed to be of him, but he could not. They had both put on their clothes, but thanks to the heat and sweat and humidity, Micki's still-damp t-shirt clung to her like a second skin and left very little to his healthy male imagination. Trying to ignore her, Luke put his back into maintaining course against an ocean that wanted to carry them elsewhere. He had too much going on right now to be distracted by a feminine form, no matter how enticing. A lapse of concentration could spell disaster.
A large wave broke portside, stirred up by the rising wind, and sent them rocking wildly in their tiny craft. Luke heard Fizz whine softly from his position in the bottom of the boat, and watched as his mistress caught at the flimsy sides. When her sapphire eyes flashed a glower his way, he wondered why he had ever wanted her to acknowledge him in the first place.
"Need a little help, Hardigan?"
"No, thank you." His tone was just as sarcastic. "I can get us drowned all on my own."
Her brows drew together but a rumble from the clouds diverted her attention. "No way we're going to make Marathon before the storm at this pace, Yank." When her gaze came back to him, worry had shaded the scorn. It colored her words, too, no matter how flippant she may have intended them to sound. "Can't you row a little faster?"
"You want to give it a shot, beautiful?"
"Fine," she said, standing up in the already unstable craft. "Get out of the way."
She carelessly tossed the Smartphone in his direction, making him clumsily attempt to pin it between his knees lest it go sailing overboard. He missed, but managed to divert its watery trajectory downwards to the rough metal floor of the jon boat, where it landed screen side up between his feet. Micki didn't seem to realize that while they may not have a cell signal yet, the phone could turn out to be their salvation when, rather than if, they rowed into range of a tower.
Shaking his head, Luke was about to rebuke her carelessness, when the phone screen caught his eye. The GPS app was still open and running, albeit without a cell signal to update their position as they moved, so the area still showing on the digital map was the same one with the pin marking the crash site of the downed Coast Guard helicopter.
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