“Thank you.”
They stepped outside into the warm night air. As they walked down to the jetty, Nick conceded that perhaps he’d been hasty in judging the reporter. Maybe he did only want a chance at a brief interview with Belle.
“Thanks for the intel. We appreciate it,” he said.
Again Francis’s gaze skimmed past Nick to rest on Belle. “I hope we meet again.”
She gave a small smile but didn’t respond. The small-statured man headed toward the boat he’d alighted from less than half an hour earlier. Jameson and the two security guards jumped on board, and it headed back out to sea. They stood watching the light until it was barely visible on the horizon. Beside him, Belle shuddered.
“Nick, something’s not right,” she said, her voice firm but filled with unease.
His own apprehension shot to the fore. “You think? I thought I was imagin—”
The first shot whistled past his ear, the crack of the rifle sounding a moment later.
“Shit, that’s why he came! The bastard brought them here! Get down!” Terror slammed through him the same time he grabbed Belle by the
waist and threw her onto the grass.
The second bullet struck the grass half a foot away from them, showering them with dirt.
“Nick!” she screamed.
“Stay down, baby.” He covered her body with his, not caring that he was making himself a bigger target. “Whatever you do, don’t get up until I tell you. Got it?”
“O-ok-kay.” More bullets rang out, sounding near but not touching them. It took a full minute to realize the shots weren’t meant to kill. Or they weren’t meant to kill Belle. Whoever was shooting—and he would guess his last euro it was Mwana or his men—wanted Belle alive. Which meant he had time—not much, but at least a full minute before the assailants got up the beach—to make it inside. He reached behind his back and grasped his gun.
His jaw tightened at the thought of the reporter—if he even was a reporter—and kicked himself for not trusting his first instinct. Recriminations would come later, though.
He had seconds to save his wife. “Sweetheart, you with me?”
With her face pressed between the grass and his chest, Nick felt her nod.
“When I say go, I want you to get up and run straight into the house.”
She made a sound of protest. “Not without you!”
“I’ll be right behind you, I promise. But you have to be fast, and you need to run straight ahead so you don’t move out of my bodyline. Got it?”
“I— Yes.”
“Good. Ready?”
Another nod.
He sucked in a sharp breath, gripped his gun, and flicked off the safety. “Go!”
God bless her. He’d never seen her run so fast. Nick emptied his clip into the shadows rising up from the sand as he ran backward.
Behind him, Belle screamed as glass shattered beside her. From the corner of his eye, he saw two of his security men dash from the pool house toward him.
“They’re coming up from the beach,” he shouted, and held up a hand. “Gun!”
The nearest guard threw a sub-machine gun at him, and Nick caught it mid-air. He turned to see Belle inside, huddled in a corner away from the windows.
She was safe, for now. He turned his attention back to the beach. A black-clad figure rose from the last step. Without a second thought, Nick took aim and fired.
A shout of terror sounded, then silence. A barrage of shots rang out as several more security guards converged on the beach. A minute later, the report of gunfire ended abruptly.