Lara could see other boats closer to shore and, in the distance, downtown Miami. Sea Life wasn’t all that many miles behind them.
It wouldn’t be an easy swim, but if he just threw them over the side...
“Get the rope,” Blackwood commanded Barillo.
Barillo swore in Spanish but didn’t move.
“We’re going to hog-tie you, little ladies,” Blackwood said, his accent suddenly heavy again. “Hog-tie you and leave you to the water until you’re nothing but bones.” He looked over to his partner. “Damn you, Barillo, get the rope!”
“Get your own damned rope,” Barillo said.
The two men were facing one another, testosterone blazing. Lara was closest to Blackwood, and as far as she knew, Barillo wasn’t armed.
She didn’t really know what she was doing, but she also knew that they didn’t have any choice but to take this one chance. Hog-tied, they would die.
She prayed that Meg was reading her mind as she suddenly slammed herself as hard as she could against Blackwood’s gun arm.
The gun went flying, and she and Meg threw themselves over the rail into the water.
They went deep...deeper...
She saw bullets whizz by in the water, close...so close...
*
There were dozens of boats out on the water. Brett tried to think of what kind Grant Blackwood would have chosen.
Nothing obviously expensive. Something very fast, though. He looked out and dismissed several right off the bat.
“We’re looking for something the average boating enthusiast could afford,” Matt said, a pair of binoculars trained in the distance. “They must be holding them inside,” he murmured, a strained expression on his face. He looked at Brett. “I don’t know how the hell he disarmed Meg.”
“Threatened her with someone else’s life,” Brett said flatly. He let out an oath of utter frustration. “I don’t know which damned boat to follow. That’s been his strategy all along. Kill the forgotten. Blend in with the everyman. Where the hell...?”
His voice trailed off as the water beside them suddenly burst upward in a majestic display.
It was Cocoa. She was soaring in front of them, surging ahead.
She was guiding them.
Showing them which way to go.
“She’s right—just ahead!” Matt said. “There! There’s a man shooting into the water. Hell yes, it’s Blackwood.” He turned to Brett, who had hit the throttle hard.
“The guy next to him is the man who came to my house with Anthony Barillo.”
“Tomas,” Matt said. “It’s Tomas Barillo. Faster! They’re shooting. They’ll hit one of them soon if...”
If they haven’t already.
The words hung unspoken between them.
*
There was no way out of it.
Lara was a good swimmer. Not the strongest ever, but good enough. So was Meg.
But even if they’d been Olympic athletes, there was a point when a human being had to breathe. They had both kicked down deep—thirty feet, at least—but they were still close to the boat.
But now her lungs were burning as if they were about to burst, simply explode.
She had to have air. And she knew that when she surfaced, she would be seen, and for Grant Blackwood it would be like shooting ducks in a carnival gallery.
She was at the point when a bullet seemed better than drowning when something huge whisked by her in the water. It took her a second to realize that it was Cocoa.
As the dolphin swerved back toward her, Lara turned and saw Meg about ten feet away, about to shoot back toward the surface, too.
Lara didn’t know if Cocoa could possibly understand what was needed.
But she did.
Lara grasped the dolphin’s dorsal fin and motioned toward Meg. She didn’t know if it was the correct hand signal; she simply didn’t know what else to do.
But Cocoa did.
She whisked her elegant, long body through the water to Meg’s side. The second Meg had also clasped Cocoa’s fin, the animal thrust her powerful body forward.
They were rising and drawing away from the boat at the same time.
*
The two men aboard the boat were so busy looking into the water and shooting that they didn’t realize anything else was going on until the captain shouted something and immediately threw himself over the side of the boat.
Brett didn’t think twice about ramming the vessel; he knew that Grady would readily sacrifice his Donzi, and he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the other boat.
“We could give a warning— Oh, fuck it!” Matt said, bracing for the impact.
He jerked the wheel, and the Donzi slammed sideways into the other boat with bone-jarring force, but Brett barely felt it. As the two boats splintered, he felt a bullet graze his shoulder.
Blackwood had turned and was already shooting again, hiding behind the wall of the small cabin. Brett saw Matt leap onto the other boat’s deck and head for Barillo; meanwhile, another bullet soared past his head as he followed Matt’s lead and boarded the other boat. He had to find cover.