Page 81 of Risk of a Lifetime
From the corner of her eye, she saw JB push to his knees. Swiping his hand across the side of his head, he struggled to stand. Staggered. Tumbled down the hillside. Grabbed onto the sapling. Bad arm wrapped around the tree, he flung a flat stone aside, grabbing the clip he’d hidden underneath. She watched him claw his way back up the hill toward the Glock. His feet dug into the dirt, pushed. Pushed. Slid. The Kevlar snagged on a log. He shucked out of the vest’s protection. Dug his feet in again.
Sirens wailed in the back ground. Closer and closer. She paddled and paddled, but got nowhere. More sirens joined in.
Wilson turned in the direction she was looking. “Sonofabitch. You bastard, don’t you ever stay down? “ More crazed laughter. “You’ll never make it to one of your guns in time.” The man waded out into the water and grabbed the bow of the boat, hoisting himself inside, even as she pelted him with the oar. “You’re dead, Marcy Bradley.”
The sirens stopped. Through the trees, red and blue lights flashed. Shouts from familiar voices echoed through the brush.
She clawed at the man in the boat with all the strength she possessed. Grabbed a buzz bait lure from the bottom of the boat and scraped the hook across his face. “JB. The bait box. Bait box.”
The man grabbed her hand and squeezed till she released her hold on the lure. The hook lodged in his cheek, and a trickle of bright red blood edged down his jaw line.
Her husband rolled down the hill, staggered to the bait box, and reached inside for the extra gun. Wilson fired at him. The bullet clipped the wood at the edge of the dock. She walloped at the man’s knee JB had smashed before, but Wilson backhanded her before she could strike again.
“Let her go.” JB’s voice was hard as steel. “Let. Her. Go.”
Wilson pulled her in front of him. She watched her husband brace into his stance on the dock. His right arm dangled useless. The gun in his left hand an extension of his straight arm. Wilson raised his gun to fire, and Marcy elbowed him in the ribs. Punched her foot back at his knee. The man flinched in pain, and she spun away.
JB notched down ever so slight. “Dive, Marcy. Dive.”
She jumped a split-second before shots rang out.
Two from JB.
One from Wilson.
The water swallowed her whole.
Chapter Twenty-four
JB opened his eyes to a welcome sound. A heart monitor beeped his existence. The last thing he remembered, hot pain had drilled into his chest. He’d stumbled, plunging into the water. Cold, dark water.
His head hurt like someone had banged him with a ton of steel. A groan escaped his mouth when he tried to raise his left hand to touch what felt like a bandage on his chest. Throbbing aches and pains radiated from every part of his body, including ones he hadn’t known existed. He let his hand drop back to the sheet. To heck with the bandage.
Warmth against the fingers on his right hand stirred him back to the moment. He looked at the only peaceful spot on his body. Marcy…his wife slept with her cheek resting lightly on his fingers. The only part of his right arm and hand not sheathed in a cast. He flexed his arm muscle, and pain shot straight to his brain. No need to do that again anytime soon.
He wiggled his fingers against her cheek.
Her lashes fluttered. Her eyes opened. Her smile said everything.
“We seem to be spending a lot of time at the hospital.” He sighed with the exertion. “How long have I been here?”
“Three days.”
She stood, then leaned and kissed him. Rested her forehead against his. Tears trailed across their lips as they kissed again. Hers? His? Didn’t matter.
Marcy drew away enough to look him in the eye. “I thought I lost you.”
“I thought I lost you, too.” He tried to raise his left arm again, groaned, and let it fall. Even now he wondered if she’d stay by his side or leave for the other room, so-to-say. He’d be content that she was there at the moment. “What about Wilson?”
She shook her head. “You got him. He won’t bother anyone again.”
JB nodded. His insides eased. The danger was over. Part of him hated Wilson for what he’d put Marcy through. Part pitied the man for the loss of Carla, the daughter he loved.
The bed shook as Marcy reached for the nurse’s button, sending a fiery jolt across the side of his chest. How badly was he hurt? He moved his feet. Okay. His legs. Okay. His torso. Hot, searing, razor-edged pain. Not okay.
Dr. Crowley entered the room, followed by the nurse carrying a syringe. She straightened JB’s good arm enough to give her access to the IV port.
“What’s that for?” JB said.
