Doc’s heart thudded heavily in his chest. It’d been a minute since he’d found himself on the receiving end of a narrowly missed bullet.
He had to admit, he didn’t miss the sensation.
Not to steal a line from Roger Murtaugh, he thought, but I am getting too old for this shit.
Behind him, he heard Cami push to her feet. He thought about telling her to stay put. But then he realized he had no idea if these two jackholes had brought buddies with them.
In which case, it’d be better for him not to have to divide his attention between them and Cami. “Stick close to me,” he told her from the side of his mouth. “I mean, like white on rice.”
She didn’t hesitate, hooking a finger through his belt loop and plastering herself against his back until her breasts bracketed his spine.
“Keep up with me,” he commanded as he took a step away from the glow of the fire and toward the man who continued to stand with his hands in the air. “Match every move I make.”
They were maybe ten yards from the man by the time he could make out the guy’s features. Wispy blond hair. Small, dark eyes that reminded him of something that scurried around on the ground. And the most pathetic excuse for a mustache Doc had seen on any guy older than fifteen.
Also, the dude was soaking wet. Water dripped from his hair and the hems of his board shorts.
They swam here?
As soon as the question drifted through his mind, he knew the answer. No. They have a boat nearby. They dropped anchor and swam to the sandbar so their engine noise wouldn’t alert us to their arrival.
Which meant their malevolent intentions had been planned. Which meant this wasn’t simply a wrong place/wrong time situation. Like, this little sandbar wasn’t the meeting place of drug dealers and their mules, and Doc and crew hadn’t simply stumbled into a situation that didn’t have anything to do with them.
This had everything to do with them.
Which meant Romeo had been right. They hadn’t experienced some sort of bizarre, but natural, mid-flight catastrophe. These motherfuckers were surely the same ones who’d tried to blow them out of the damned sky.
“How many of you are here?” he demanded.
Mustache Man’s Adam’s apple traveled up the length of his throat. “C-can you please point that thing somewhere else?”
Doc was aiming the Glock between the man’s beady eyes. But he nodded and said, “Sure thing,” before pointing the pistol at the man’s crotch. The guy’s cheeks paled in the moonlight. “Now,” Doc growled menacingly, “I’m going to ask you one more time, and then I’m going to blow your dick off. How many of you are there?”
“Th-three,” the guy wheezed, then glanced down at the hulking mass of a human carcass. “N-now, just two, I guess. Oh, my god!” His face scrunched up, making him look even more rat-like. “You killed Kenny!”
Doc peered down at the dead man with gritty resolve, having long ago lost his ability to feel sorry for any fucker who tried to end his life.
“I was nearly killed by a guy named Kenny,” he muttered. “Jesus hopscotching Christ, just when I thought my night couldn’t get any worse, I find myself in the middle of a South Park episode.”
Mustache Man blinked at him uncomprehendingly. And okay, so gallows humor was obviously lost on those who hadn’t spent years dodging bullets and living on the edge.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded of the man. “And why the hell are you trying to kill us?”
Before Mustache Man could answer, Romeo’s deep voice boomed through the night. “Stop!” The command was followed by the sound of splashing, and that was immediately followed by the sound of a struggle, by the thuds of landed punches, by the grunts of pain when bone met bone.
Doc couldn’t see what was happening on the beach. A stand of palm trees obscured his line of sight. So he ripped his gaze away from the tune of hand-to-hand combat—after all, Romeo was the most skilled fighter he’d ever known, having mastered Krav Maga and jiujitsu—and narrowed his gaze on Mustache Man.
“Did you shoot down our plane?” he asked Mustache Man, taking a step toward the body, determined to grab the gun that was lying on the ground beside the dead man’s splayed hand. The dude had fallen sideways but had rolled face-first into the sand. Which was a blessing since it meant his lifeless eyes and the blood seeping from his body were both concealed.
“Y-yes.” Mustache Man swallowed again. This time, the journey of his Adam’s apple made a clicking sound in his throat.
“Why?” Doc took another step toward the dropped weapon.
The sound of crunching footsteps, accompanied by a flurry of profanity, stopped Mustache Man from answering. From around the stand of palm trees, Romeo and a third man appeared. Romeo had the guy’s hands wrenched up high and tight behind his back as he frog-marched him closer to the group gathered around the body.
The new arrival was as wet as Mustache Man, his long auburn hair dripping water onto his skinny shoulders. Blood ran from his nose over his chin. His left eye was cherry red, even in the starlight, and it was obvious he was going to have one hell of a shiner come the dawn. There was a murderous twist to his lips as he continued to snarl obscenities over his shoulder.
Romeo ignored him as he asked Doc, “Have you asked how many they have with them?”
Doc nodded. “This one”—he hitched his chin toward Mustache Man—“says there’s only three.”
“This one told me the same thing,” Romeo said. Then he yelled over his shoulder, “Mia! I think it’s safe to come out!”
From somewhere farther down the island, Mia’s soft, husky voice sounded. “On my way!”
Romeo stepped slightly to the side, and that’s when three things became glaringly clear. The first was that ol’ Auburn Hair hadn’t managed to land a single punch. Romeo’s face was as handsome and unmarred as ever. The second was that Auburn Hair had come to shore equipped with a big-ass blade, which Romeo held in one hand. And the third was that Romeo was as naked as the day he was born.
Cami, who was still plastered to Doc’s back, choked. Then she whispered, “Whoever said clothes make the man was dead wrong.”
Doc had the sudden urge to shift his aim from Mustache Man’s genitals to Romeo’s.
Chapter 22
8:42 PM...
Mia darted out from behind the palm tree she’d been hiding behind and raced toward the beach to grab her discarded clothes. She dressed at the speed of light and then snagged Romeo’s jockey shorts and jeans before jogging toward the glow of the fire in the distance.