against three didn’t seem like good odds, and it was possible Ian was waiting for backup.
He could wait until the cows came home.
Esme was leaving.
She slithered through muddy grass and damp leaves, praying the sound of her retreat was covered by gunfire. Eventually, they’d stop shooting. When they did, her chance of escaping undetected would go from slim to none.
Who was she kidding?
It was already that. She might get out of the Everglades. She might get out of Florida. Eventually, though, Uncle Angus would find her. He had money backing him, and he had a lot riding on his ability to silence her. If she testified against Reginald, everything the two men had built—the entire crime family they’d grown—would collapse. He’d been chasing her for months, and he wouldn’t give up now. Not with the trial date approaching. A few weeks, and she’d be in the courtroom, looking at her brother as she told the jury and judge what she’d seen him do.
She shuddered, sliding deeper into the foliage.
She wasn’t going to give up on life, and she couldn’t give up on saving the one remaining bright spot in her very dark family tree.
Violetta.
They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other since Esme had gone into witness protection, but they were sisters, bound by blood and by genuine affection for each other. As far as Esme knew, Violetta hadn’t been involved in any of Reginald’s and Angus’s crimes. Whether or not she’d known about them, however, was a question Esme needed to ask.
After she testified and shut her brother’s operations down for good.
The gunfire stopped, and she froze, her belly pressed into damp earth, her heart thundering. They’d check the canoe, find it empty, realize she’d escaped.
She had to get farther away before that happened.
Taking a deep breath, she slithered forward, her pack slung over her shoulder, the soft rustle of leaves making her heart beat harder. A man called out, and someone splashed into the water, cursing loudly as he went.
She used the commotion as cover, moving quickly, trying to put as much distance between herself and the campsite as possible.
“FBI, K-9 unit. Put your weapons down or I’ll release my dog,” a man called, his voice carrying above the chaos.
She froze again. Ian was still there. She hadn’t intended on spending much time with him. The entire time they’d been talking, she’d been planning her escape, trying to work out a solution to the newest problem. Just like she did when she’d planned a wedding and there was a hiccup on the big day.
“I said, drop your weapons,” he repeated sharply.
A single shot rang out, and someone shouted. A dog growled, and Esme could picture the dark-eyed, dark-faced K-9 racing into danger.
Two against three.
One weapon against many.
She couldn’t leave.
No matter how much she wanted to.
She couldn’t abandon a man to almost certain death.
Esme didn’t have a gun, but she had surprise on her side. She scooted back the way she’d come, the dog growling and barking, men shouting, chaos filling the darkness. She was heading right toward it, because she didn’t know when to quit. Another thing Brent had said to her.
He’d been right.
She never quit.
Not even when the odds were stacked against her. Hopefully, this time, it wouldn’t get her killed.
She crawled closer to the edge of the campsite, dropping her pack and grabbing a fist-sized rock from the mud. Reginald had taught her to play ball when they were kids. He’d shown her how to throw a mean right hook, to take a man down with a well-placed kick. She’d loved him as much as she’d loved Violetta, and she’d soaked up everything he’d had to offer. Until she’d realized that the road he’d chosen was one she had no intention of traveling. Then she’d distanced herself from her brother and, to a lesser extent, Violetta. That had been eight years ago. Even after all that time and all the years away from Reginald’s coaching, she still knew how to fight.
She stopped at the edge of the clearing, her heart pounding as she waited. The campsite had gone silent. No gunfire. No barking dog. Sirens were blaring in the distance, the sound muted by the thick foliage.
Somewhere nearby, a branch snapped, the sound breaking the eerie quiet. King barked again, and someone crashed through the brush just steps from where Esme lay.
She levered up, would have lobbed the rock at the fleeing man, but King was there, a shadowy blur, so close she could feel his fur as he raced past.
Surprised, she jerked back, her knees slipping in the layer of wet earth, her elbows sliding out from under her. She would have face-planted, but someone grabbed the back of her shirt, yanking her up.
“Hey!” She turned, the rock still in her hand.
“I told you to stay where you were,” Ian growled.
“I was trying to help.”
“Since when is getting in the way helping?” he retorted, King’s wild barking nearly covering his words.
Esme didn’t think he expected a response, and she didn’t bother giving one. He was already moving again, sprinting toward his dog.
She followed, keeping a few steps behind him. Despite his sarcastic comment, she had no intention of getting in the way. The more gunmen he could take out, the safer they’d be. Once they were safe, she could go back to her plan. Get out of the Everglades and out of Florida.
Alone.
“Federal agent! Freeze!” Ian shouted, and she froze before she realized he hadn’t shouted the command at her.
“Call off your dog!” a man replied, his voice tinged with a hint of panic.
“You want me to call off the dog, you freeze.”
“This is all a mistake!” the man whined. “I was out here hunting gators and—”
“One command, and his teeth will go straight to the bone,” Ian cut in.
The man must have stopped moving, because Ian stepped forward, gun trained toward something Esme couldn’t see.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” he commanded, King still growling beside him.
“And you,” he continued, and even though he hadn’t turned to look at her, Esme was certain he was talking to her. “Stay where you are. The guy ditched his gun back at the campsite, but that doesn’t mean he’s not armed.”
“I ditched my gun because your crazy dog was trying to kill me.”
“You can explain it all to the judge.”
