salty grains of sand against her lips. She struggled to knee him in the crotch, but his body felt like a lead weight against her, immobilizing her.
His face inches from hers, he brought a finger to his lips. “Shh.”
A chill raced up her spine. Then she heard it—the low whine of a motorboat. Salvation. She bucked beneath her captor and worked her jaw to open her mouth and bite his hand.
His voice growled close to her ear, his briny scent invading her nostrils. “Stop fighting me. Those are some very dangerous men out there on that boat.”
His words sucked the already-diminishing air out of her lungs, and she slumped beneath his rock-hard body. She moved her lips against his palm in a silent question, the saltwater on his hand working its way into her mouth.
The maniac flashed a smile, rows of white teeth in a tanned face. They gleamed in the fog that now surrounded them like damp cotton. He winked. “Don’t worry. I’m one of the good guys.”
Her eyes darted to the dead diver slumped in a heap at the water’s edge.
“He’s one of the bad guys.” He shifted his muscular frame, giving her some breathing room. “I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth and let you up, but you need to stay close to me and we need to get off this beach. Nice job on that rescue, by the way.”
Amy swallowed, not even minding the sand that scratched her throat. Two lunatics had invaded her beach and now one of them planned to kidnap her. The perfect ending to a lousy couple of months.
As soon as he removed his hand and his hold, she planned to scream bloody murder and run toward the sound of the boat. She could swim a long distance if she had to. Her gaze tracked over the muscled shoulders and corded arms of the man who held her, and her stomach fluttered. He could probably swim just as fast and far.
And he had a knife.
He slid his hand from her mouth, resting it on her throat. Amy dropped her gaze to the stranger’s sinewy forearm and gulped. He could easily finish the job the dead guy started. As she gathered air in her lungs for a big scream, a motor whirred fast, loud and close.
In one movement, her captor rolled off her body and grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet. At the same time, a scream ripped from her throat. A loud pop followed her cry for help and the man beside her cursed.
“Thanks a lot, beach girl. You just gave them a target in this muck.”
The people on the boat confirmed his words as they fired two more shots in the general direction of Amy’s head.
“Let’s move.” The man shoved her in front of him and she stumbled as her feet hit dry sand. At least if any more bullets came their way, they’d have to go through his large frame first. And he made a great shield.
Was he protecting her?
Keeping his hand pressed against the small of her back, he said, “This fog should give us enough cover to make it to the lifeguard truck—as long as you keep your screaming to a minimum.”
Either she followed the man with the knife or turned toward the men with the guns. Since he hadn’t used the knife on her—yet—and the guys on the boat insisted on shooting at vague shapes in the fog, even after she screamed, Amy put her money on the guy with the knife.
Her legs pumped in the sand. She veered toward the tower and grabbed her backpack with her sweats on top. She didn’t hear any more gunshots and the occupants of the boat must’ve cut the motor because she couldn’t hear the distinctive whine.
The thick fog almost obscured her companion. He didn’t even seem to be breathing heavily, or maybe she couldn’t hear him over the roaring in her ears and her own ragged breath.
He bumped her side, grabbing her upper arm. “Where’s the lifeguard truck?”
“I don’t have a truck on this beach. My car’s parked in the lot.” She tried to shake him off, but his fingers pinched harder.
“You’d better not be lying and leading me into some kind of trap. That could get us both killed.” His icy blue eyes almost glowed in the fog.
“You’re the one with the knife.” She pried his fingers off her arm and kicked up sand behind her, hoping she got some in his face.
The beach remained eerily quiet behind them, but the dense fog could mute sounds. Amy kept up a steady pace, her feet leading her to the parking lot where her car waited. Once they got there, she’d dig her cell phone out of her backpack and call the police. The stranger couldn’t object if he really was on the right side of the law.
A strip of dark asphalt appeared and Amy pointed. “It’s right there.”
When the soles of her feet slapped against the gritty asphalt, she swung her backpack from her shoulder and clawed for her keys in the front compartment. She clicked the remote and gasped when the man swept her in front of him, pushing her toward the car.
“Get in and drive.”
Before she had a chance to figure out if she could take off without him, he scrambled into the passenger seat. He pounded the dashboard. “What are you waiting for? I said ‘drive.’”
She curled her left fist around her keys and fumbled with a zipper on the backpack crushed between her lap and the bottom edge of the steering wheel. Her fingers skimmed the smooth metal of her cell phone and she pulled it out.
“I’m going to call 911 first.”
His jaw hardened as he sluiced back his wet hair, beginning to curl at the ends. With a pair of broad shoulders and washboard abs that tapered to the wet suit peeled down to his slim hips, he looked like Triton or at least some sexy merman. Then he opened his mouth.
“No, you’re not. We need to get out of here. Now.”
Sounded like he knew his enemies well. Who was she to argue? She tossed her backpack in the backseat and started the car. “You’re right. Those guys seemed determined.”
A breath hitched in her throat. Maybe they were determined because they were cops or the Coast Guard, but would they start shooting into a bank of fog after she screamed without even shouting out a warning? Experience had taught her they just might. Her father had taught her to never trust the law.
Her gaze slid to the knife resting on the man’s powerful thigh encased in black neoprene. She didn’t have a choice right now anyway, but his reaction to her call to 911 would tell her a lot.
As she accelerated out of the beach parking lot, she scooped her cell phone from her lap where she’d dropped it and flipped it open. She’d pressed Nine before the man beside her snatched the phone from her hand.
“You can’t call the cops.” He cradled the phone in his palm and snapped it shut.
Amy clung to the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? F-for witnessing that murder.”
He tossed the phone into the backseat and let out a ragged breath. Squeezing her bare thigh with his long fingers, he said, “I’m not going to hurt you, beach girl. I’m sorry you’re scared.”
If
