12

INDIA FOLLOWED AS close as she could to Briggs while charging down the tower stairs. The only good thing about being in the confined space was that she couldn’t hear Bridgette’s screams.

Back in the suite, she searched for an exterior door, but found none.

The place was a maze.

Briggs picked up a toppled chair. “Stand back!”

He hurled it at the nearest towering window. As soon as it shattered, he plowed forward. “Come on.”

Outside, part of her was relieved to know she breathed the same air as her daughter. Another part of her would never breathe again until holding Bridgette in her arms. The sound of Bridgette’s cries barely rose above the surf.

They crashed through flower-filled beds to a steep lawn and then more rugged natural terrain of Caicos pine and fan palms barely clinging to sandy soil on a base of coral.

“Hurry!” India cried. “They’re getting away!”

“Hey!” Briggs fired a warning shot in the air. Because of Bridgette, she assumed he didn’t dare fire anywhere near the men. He was probably a great shot, but not good enough to risk his daughter’s life on the whim of wind direction or a sudden movement.

The man without their baby turned to fire.

The bullet pinged off the trunk of a coconut palm.

“Even if they do get away,” Briggs called behind him to India, “there’s nowhere for them to go. If need be, we’ll climb back in the chopper. Follow their boat with a spotlight.”

India wiped her tears. This was no time to break down. She had to be strong.

They’d almost reached the dock, but then so had the two men.

A low-slung powerboat approached at a rapid speed. No doubt their ride.

She tripped on loose rubble and twisted her ankle. The pain was instantaneous and fiery.

Briggs must have sensed she was no longer behind him and turned around.

“Keep going!” She waved him forward. “Save our baby girl!”

He looked from her, to the men.

“Go!”

He did.

But then there was a commotion, and by the time she’d limped to the dock, and the dim lights from the boat’s dash allowed her to focus on the entirety of the scene, she still didn’t truly believe it. “Daddy?”

Her father held Bridgette.

A man she didn’t know held a gun trained on his head.

Briggs, Sawyer and two men in wetsuits she assumed to be the teammates they’d been looking for held even more guns. In the middle of it all was her innocent baby girl.

India forced deep breaths not to faint. “Daddy, why are you here? Did Frenchie take you and Mom, too? Thank you so much for being here for Bridgie. Stay strong. These men are my friends. They’re here to help.”

“Aw, hon . . .” Even in the pale moonlight, she saw tears shine in his eyes. “I never wanted it to be this way. I fought so hard to protect you.”

“What do mean? Bridgette is safe now, right?”

He squeezed the baby tighter.

Bridgette cried louder. The sound carried over the water.

The man holding the gun on her father’s temple sighed. “I’ve indulged you on this matter for far too long, Thomas. You told me as long as her baby lived, your daughter wouldn’t give us more trouble, yet it seems I’ve made a grave misjudgment. I never should have allowed you to use our friendship as financial leverage to keep her alive. Because you and I have been trusted business associates for so long, I gave you the benefit of the doubt, but look where we stand. Nothing but trouble. My ride is on the way, meaning I’m afraid this is the end—for all of you.”

“Daddy? What’s he talking about? How do you know this man?”

“I’m bored with all of this . . .” Pop! This stranger who had apparently known her without the reciprocal benefit of her knowing him simultaneously shot her father’s temple while shoving him off the dock—with Bridgette sill in his arms!

India screamed, leaping into action, but Briggs shoved her out of the way.

There was more gunfire, but in the dark, there was no way to tell from which gun the shots were fired. All she knew was that her cheek was planted on the dock’s dewy-wet wood and her baby girl was at this very moment most likely drowning . . .

Terror—dark and clawing settled over her like an inescapable black cloak, drawing with an ever-tightening cord around her neck. This couldn’t be happening. But it was.

Someone knelt beside her, grasping her shoulders, helping her onto her knees, but she fought them off. She didn’t want to move. All she wanted to do was cry. Scream. How could this be happening?

Suddenly, there was a great burst of water, and then Briggs set the lifeless form of their baby on the dock’s end only to push himself up beside her, administering CPR.

It must be high tide, or he never would’ve reached. Once again, angels were on their side.

But for how much longer?

India choked back a sob, summoning superhuman strength to go to Bridgette’s side. “Fight, baby. Mommy’s here. Daddy’s here, too. Come back to us, baby. Please, come back. Please, God, let her come back.”

Briggs kept up the CPR for what felt like hours, but what India rationally knew could only have been seconds. Eventually, the baby sputtered, and then coughed, and finally released a healthy wail.

Only then did India feel it was safe to clutch her child against her, rocking back and forth, crying, thanking God, most of all, thanking Briggs.

He pulled her and Bridgette into his arms. “I’m never letting either of you go. You good with that—never mind. Not up for debate.”

“Just like that?” she teased, more than a little punch drunk on their happy ending. She compartmentalized the events that had happened with her father to process later. Her grief over losing him was mixed with anger over the realization that it had been him to blame for Turtle’s murder. For the threats on her life. He must have even ordered Frenchie to take her child. What kind of monster did that to his own daughter? For now, she wanted only to focus on what was good. She deserved that. So did Bridgette and Briggs.

“Yeah.” He planted a kiss to the top of her head, and then their baby girl’s. “Exactly like that. And where the hell have you two been?” he asked of his teammates in wetsuits whom she assumed were the formerly missing Nash and Jasper.

The taller of the two said, “Once we caught this scumbag—” He kicked the dead guy who had killed her father, “—signaling his offshore friends, we volunteered to the DEA to disable their ride. Tied a nice bowline around their prop. Should hold them up till we send a welcoming party.”

“Nice.”

A shiver rocked India.

“You okay?” Briggs asked.

“Honestly? I’m not sure.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Sawyer said. “How about we all find dry clothes and a hot meal?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Briggs said. “I’m starving.”

“When are you not?” India asked with a half-smile.

“Ha ha. If you’re done poking fun at your fiancé, there’s something kind of important I need to do.”

“First,” she said, “that was a lousy marriage proposal. Second, what else could you possibly need to do that we haven’t already done?”

He held out his arms and smiled. “Properly introduce myself to our daughter . . .”