Chapter Twenty-Six
Claire tried to gasp in a breath before she hit the water, but reacted too late and water filled her lungs. She gagged on it, tried to kick to the surface, but that Defion bitch had tied her ankles as well as her hands. The boat’s motor rumbled away overhead, leaving her to drown.
She felt herself growing heavier, colder as she sank.
This was it. This was how she was going to die. She didn’t want this to be it and kicked with all of her flagging strength. No use.
All of her running was for nothing. Defion had her research.
All she’d wanted was to help the millions of people infected with viruses, but instead all she’d accomplished was getting everyone around her killed. Tiffany. Marcus and Jean-Luc’s friend Danny. Sunday…
They had died for nothing.
A strong arm clamped around her waist and lifted her toward the surface. Her first instinct was to cough up the greasy water and gasp for air. Her second was to fight against the arms holding her because she wasn’t going with Defion. But then a familiar voice murmured calmingly next to her ear.
“That’s my girl,” Jean-Luc said. “Cough it all out.”
She relaxed and let him swim her over to another boat. Marcus was aboard, motor running, and he bent down to help fish her out of the water. Dazed, still gasping for breath, she watched Jean-Luc pull himself aboard, the ropes of muscle in his arms and shoulders flexing as he did. He’d lost weight while sick, and his new thinner frame only highlighted how muscular he still was.
Shouts rang out from the shore. Bullets peppered the water mere feet short of them. The militants raced toward their remaining boats.
“Get us outta here,” Jean-Luc said.
“Already on it.” Marcus got behind the wheel and poured on the speed. The militants hadn’t even untied their boats yet when they rounded the first bend in the river.
Jean-Luc crawled over and scooped her up in his arms. He pushed her hair back from her face. “Claire? Talk to me, ma belle.”
“I—” Her voice came out hoarse, and despite the warm night, she couldn’t stop shivering. “I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not. You’re in shock.”
“Here.” Still at the wheel, Marcus kicked over one of the heavy rucksacks leaning against the wall of the boat. “Take my bedroll.”
Jean-Luc unzipped the sleeping bag, and tucked it around her. She gratefully accepted it and snuggled against his chest. “They have my research.”
“But they didn’t get you, and that’s all that matters to me right now.” He kissed her forehead. “Try to rest.”
Rest was the last thing she wanted to do. At the same time, she was suddenly so very sleepy, the adrenaline having seeped from her system. She stared at the dark water of the river rushing by. “Where’s Ebiere? Is she safe?”
Marcus glanced over his shoulder, a grim expression on his face.
Jean-Luc shook his head slightly and rubbed soothing circles on her back. “Not now. You rest now. We’ll talk later.”
The undertone of sadness in his voice woke her up. She bolted upright and turned to study him. “What happened?” But then, he didn’t need to say it. She knew, saw it written all over his face. “She’s dead, isn’t she? They’re all dead.”
“I’m sorry, Claire. We were too late. She didn’t suffer. It was quick.”
“Oh my God.” Her lungs constricted, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Like she was underwater again, breathing liquid. “So now we don’t have Akeso or any of the survivors and some mad scientist is out there getting ready to release the Delta virus somewhere else or sell it to the highest bidder or—”
“Hey, hey.” Jean-Luc gripped the back of her neck and guided her head down between her knees. “Slow down. Breathe. No, no. Listen to me, cher. In and out, nice and easy. You’re in shock and you’re having a panic attack. Breathe. Breathe now. Listen to my voice. In and out, in and out.”
She listened to him. The slow cadence of his voice, his sugar and spice Cajun accent. Her lungs opened, and she drew in a full breath again.
“Yeah, like that,” he murmured, still rubbing her back. “There you go.”
Once she had her breath back, she carefully sat up. “What do we do now?”
“They’re gaining on us. Plan B.” Marcus slowed the boat and spun the wheel, guiding the craft into a hook-shaped lagoon shadowed by tall mangroves. He shut off the engine, then leaned over the side of the boat to tie off on the mangrove roots. He settled down with his back to the steering panel and wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.
Claire looked back and forth between the two men. “We’re just going to sit here and wait for them to find us?”
“They won’t.”
Marcus sounded so sure of himself, but she sincerely doubted his plan. It seemed beyond risky. She opened her mouth to argue, but Jean-Luc gently squeezed her shoulder and gave a small shake of his head. He pressed a finger to his lips and pointed toward the river, where two bright searchlights had flickered on and scanned the shore. She sank down against Jean-Luc and watched with her breath snagged in her throat. Those lights were so bright the beams illuminated everything they touched with a splash of white. There was no way the militants wouldn’t see their boat.
Jean-Luc let go of her and crawled over to the front of the boat. He unstrapped something from the bow and slung it over his shoulder. At first, she didn’t understand what that tube-shaped object was, but when Marcus handed him the ammo for it, she realized his intentions. He climbed over the side of the boat and stood on a mangrove root.
She scrambled to him, the boat rocking under her, and caught his hand. “Be careful.”
He flashed that reckless grin of his, leaned down to kiss her, then freed his hand from her grip. In the next heartbeat, he vanished into the darkness, climbing the tree like it was nothing more than a flight of stairs.
“Dude’s a damn monkey,” Marcus muttered and turned to check the progress of the militants’ search.
Getting close. Only a matter of minutes before the spotlight swept past the trees hiding them. If they were lucky, nobody would spot the glint of the boat. If they weren’t lucky….well, she supposed that was why Jean-Luc had climbed the tree with a grenade launcher.
She hugged herself and sank down when the light swept past. It disappeared, then came back and lingered. The sudden brightness made her see spots.
“Fuck,” Marcus said.
She looked up at the distinctive pop. The grenade landed between the two boats, sending up a spout of water. Both boats swerved away and circled back to pepper the treetops with bullets. Another pop. Men shouted and dove for the water as the bow of one boat exploded. The other boats circled the sinking vessel, picking up survivors. At least two militants continued shooting blindly at the trees in their general direction. A bullet pinged off the windshield of their boat. Another buried itself in the driver’s seat. Claire squeaked as Marcus dove for her, using his larger body as a blockade to protect her.
He was going to get shot. For her.
No, dammit. She squirmed away from him. Too many people had died for her already. If one of those bullets had her name on it, nobody would take it for her.
Overhead, Jean-Luc fired off three grenades in quick succession. One landed next to the remaining boat, close enough to cause some of the men aboard to bail out. The second landed in the water, right where those men floated. The third hit the boat dead-on and it exploded with such force, it flipped up action-movie style.
Before Claire could process what she’d just seen, Jean-Luc had clambered back down the tree. He dropped the launcher and started patting her back and sides like he was looking for something. “You okay? Did those bastards hit you?”
She stuttered, too stunned to form a coherent sentence.
He said something in a language she didn’t understand—Russian, maybe?— and hugged her close. “Marcus?” he asked over her head.
“We’re both okay,” Marcus said.
“Put some distance between us and them, yeah?”
“Good plan.” Marcus plopped down in the driver’s seat and switched on the ignition. The motor coughed, then rumbled to life.
Jean-Luc sat down and pulled her onto his lap. He seemed unwilling to let her go, and she was all right with that.
“I really am okay,” she said when she managed to find her voice again.
“I know.” He nuzzled the top of her head. “Scared me when I saw the bullets hit the boat.”
“Just the windshield and the seat.” She pointed to the tuft of padding now sticking out of the back of Marcus’s seat.
“They shouldn’t have done that. I was gonna let some of them live until they shot at you.”
His words sent a shiver through her. He mistook it as cold and pulled the sleeping bag up to cover her. How could he be so sweet, but also say things like that with no remorse? He was the most dangerous man she’d ever met.
Sure, now she appreciated his brutality because it had kept them alive, but how would she feel about it later? Days, months, years down the road, would his violence bother her? She’d taken an oath to do no harm. How could she honor that and accept both sides of him?
She gave herself a mental shake. Silly questions. All that mattered right now was survival.