The Bride's Secrets. Debra Webb
her…hurt. And it shouldn’t have.
“Because you want to stay alive.”
A door bursting open echoed in the distance.
The enemy was in the building.
There was no more time to talk.
The decision had to be made now.
“Cut me loose.”
His tone left no room for doubt. He didn’t trust her. Not one iota. But he wasn’t stupid. He would accept her word…for the moment.
Two swipes of the blade and he was free.
She sheathed the knife in her bag and headed for the rear exit, keeping one eye on his every move.
He stood, steadied himself and followed the path she’d taken.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all.
In the corridor she stayed close to the wall. J.T. did the same. The consuming quiet was disturbing. The enemy was inside. But where?
Part of her wanted to drop back and take at least one of the enemy out of action, but not completely out. She needed information. The scumbag at J.T.’s house had forced her hand. She’d had no choice but to take him out. Couldn’t question a dead man.
“This way,” she whispered to the man sticking close behind her.
He didn’t question her decision, just followed as she took a side corridor that would lead to the outside. She’d spotted five men; taking on five singlehandedly wasn’t something she wanted to do under the circumstances. J.T. was wounded, not seriously but wounded all the same. Not to mention he wasn’t exactly an ally. And she couldn’t risk arming him.
At the exit she hesitated, listened.
J.T. gestured to his right and whispered, “Maybe thirty yards behind us.”
Had he heard something she hadn’t? Then she heard it, too. The whisper of rubber soles on concrete floors. The slightest vibration in the air.
He was good… But then she’d known that.
She pushed through the exit, uncaring of the metal-on-metal sound the lock mechanism made. No time to care. Keep moving.
Down the exterior steps. Quickly. She glanced back once to ensure J.T. was right behind her. He hadn’t slowed down or second-guessed the need to escape.
At least so far.
She hit the ground running. The dock was above their heads. They’d scarcely cleared the exterior maintenance area when she heard the exit they’d used reopen.
The iron stairs groaned with the weight of the enemy’s descent.
Damn, they were close.
“The water,” she said to J.T., knowing he would understand.
Eve rushed toward the bank that wound up to the dock. Her shoes bogged down in the damp earth. She hadn’t factored in today’s rain.
Her feet slid. She braced her free hand against the ground rising up to greet her and ordered her legs to keep moving.
Scrambling onto the dock, she regained her balance and rushed forward. The warehouse’s rear dock jutted out over the water. A single cargo boat floated in the calm waters. A boat would be handy about now but there was no time to attempt getting it started and backed away from the dock.
At any second the enemy would reach their position.
No time to evaluate the situation.
“Jump,” she ordered.
She shoved the Glock into her waistband and dropped feetfirst into the water. Instinctively, she held her breath just before the cool depth engulfed her.
A surge of water from her left told her J.T. had obeyed her command.
Something else that wouldn’t last.
A rip through the water jerked her attention to her right. She couldn’t see anything but she recognized the sound.
Gunfire.
Damn.
She dove deeper. Pushed through the dark depths, headed for the craggy shoreline in the distance. The goal was to get as far from the dock—and the reach of the enemy—as possible before surfacing.
J.T. cut through the water next to her.
She hoped like hell his strength would hold out.
Her lungs burned.
Just move.
She pushed harder.
Bullets sliced through the water.
To her right…too close.
Damn.
She swam harder. Kept her body beneath the murky surface when the urge to rise grew stronger.
Fight the urge to breathe.
Push! Keep going!
One last lunge forward.
She needed air.
Her face broke the surface.
Gasping for oxygen, she swam hard. Stroke after stroke. Harder. Push!
Her fingertips brushed the rocks of the shore.
Almost there.
Where the hell was J.T.?
She whipped around.
He’d surfaced, was breathing hard. Not close enough for her comfort.
The dark figures on the dock were still firing. The bullets cut through the surface of the water. The muffled sound told her they were using silencers.
That was to her benefit. Silencers decreased the accuracy of every shot and lessened the range. Still, they weren’t in the clear just yet.
She grabbed for the rocks. Scrambled through the darkness. Bumped her knee on a boulder. Cursed. Move! Move!
Burrowing into the waist-deep grass, she crawled forward. Faster. Pushed harder. She needed as much distance as possible.
Shots pinged on the rocks.
She zigzagged to avoid any stray shots that made it this far.
J.T. scrambled alongside her.
He was breathing hard.
They had to stay close to the ground until they reached the next row of warehouses. Even though she was relatively certain they were out of range at this point, she wasn’t taking any risks.
And she wasn’t slowing down.
J.T. had to keep up.
The splat of a bullet hitting the ground next to her had her rolling left. Maybe they weren’t completely out of range.
She bumped J.T. He grunted.
His injured arm. Damn it.
She could apologize later.
Half a dozen more yards.
Almost in the clear.
As she reached the cover of the alley between the first two warehouses, she tensed.
Silence.
She glanced back at the dock.
Deserted.
The enemy was on the move.
Time to run.
Her car was parked another block down.
Pushing to her feet, she sprinted forward. The wet bag dragged at her shoulder. Her soggy shoes weighed down her feet.
She ignored both.
By the time she reached