“Either something very dumb or something very brave.” Doc’s reply came from the side of his mouth. “I’ll let you know which once it’s all over.”
“Once what’s all over?” The note of desperation in her voice matched the hard kernel of fear that had put down roots in her heart.
“Oh, Alex!” Chrissy clasped her wrist in a desperate grip. “He’s alive! Wolf’s alive!”
“What?” Alex ducked so she could see under Doc’s arm. The scene that met her eyes sent a knife’s blade of horror slicing through her chest.
A rubber dinghy sat in the surf. Standing in front of it was another masked man who held a barely conscious Wolf. Moonlight slanted off the barrel of the pistol pressed tight against Wolf’s skull.
It looked like Wolf had lost a gallon of blood from the wound near his temple. It stained his entire tank top, his swim trunks, and dripped from the tips of his fingers onto the sand at his feet.
Then there was Mason…
He lowered his weapons to the ground and continued to walk slowly toward the dinghy with his hands in the air. Looking for all the world like he was ready to sacrifice himself to save Wolf.
Alex’s heart plummeted and one desperate word slipped past her lips. “No.”
* * *
1:13 a.m.
“There’s one of you and three of us!” Mason yelled to the balaclava-covered bastard who held Wolf like a human shield. “All the friends you brought with you are dead! So why dontcha let my friend go and we’ll talk about next steps!”
“No fucking way!” Masked Man hollered without a hint of an accent.
Ah, Mason thought. The American Bagheri spoke of.
He didn’t recognize the voice. It sure as fuck didn’t belong to anyone he knew, so why had this sonofabitch sold him out?
“The second I drop your friend,” the asshole continued, “those dickheads in the trees will drop me! I’ll just keep your friend with me until I’m in the dinghy and well on my way!”
“Don’t think he’s gonna be much help backing your play!” Mason tipped his chin toward Wolf, whose head was bobbing on the end of his neck, making the gun pressed to his temple slip in his blood. “You’ll end up dropping him the minute you try to step into the dinghy, and my guys in the trees will put one clean through your brainpan! So how about you take me instead?”
“No!” A shout came from the tree line. Mason hated the anguish in Alex’s voice. He hated causing her one more moment of alarm or fright. But he had to do this.
“I’ll come to you unarmed!” He lifted his hands higher in the air to illustrate his point. “I’ll cooperate in any way you tell me to!”
Masked Man hesitated, and Mason counted each of his heartbeats. Finally the guy shouted, “Deal! You keep walking this way nice and slow!”
There were still a million and one ways this shit show could go pear-shaped, but at least now there was a chance to get one thing right. There was a chance to save Wolf.
Accustomed as Mason was to adrenaline, he welcomed the burn of it through his veins. It heightened his senses. Made the moon brighter. The earthy smell of the mangroves stronger. The shush-shush of the waves lapping against the sand louder. But most importantly, it bunched his muscles in readiness.
Doc liked to tease him by saying, Most times you’re slower than a Sunday afternoon. But when push comes to shove, you got a little quicksilver in you.
Agreeing to go with this traitorous masked cocksucker was agreeing to a dance with death—no doubt the douche canoe planned to waste whoever came with him. But Mason’s ability to strike fast and hard had saved him more times than he could count. He was banking it would be enough to save him this time too.
Once he was two feet from Wolf, he allowed himself three seconds to assess his friend’s condition. Two was all he needed to decide Wolf was in worse shape than he’d feared.
A bullet had grazed Wolf’s skull, tearing away a chunk of scalp. The loose skin flapped over his ear, and his eyes bounced around like pinballs. Thick, sticky blood oozed from the wound and trickled down his neck.
“How you doin’, Wolfman?” Mason hoped the horror he felt wasn’t evident in his tone.
“Peassshhhy fuckin’ keen,” Wolf slurred, and the urgency Mason felt increased tenfold.
Head wounds were always a bitch. But one like this could kill a man faster than he could spit. Wolf’s brain could be swelling inside the tight confines of his skull even now.
“Tell them to toss their weapons onto the beach where I can see them,” Wolf’s captor snarled. “Then tell them to step out with their hands up.”
Mason turned his chin slightly to relay the orders. There was a brief pause, and he knew his teammates loathed the idea of giving up their guns. But eventually two Colts flew out of the darkness to land with a pair of resounding clacks on the beach. In the semidarkness of the night, they looked like little more than a pile of dark sticks.
A second later, Romeo and Doc stepped from the shadows. Doc’s shaggy blond hair reflected the starlight. And Romeo’s dark eyes penetrated the distance that separated them, telling Mason without words I hope you know what you’re doing.
That makes two of us. Mason dipped his chin in answer.
“Tell the others to come out too,” the masked man demanded.
“What others?”
“Don’t fuck with me.” To emphasize his point, the douchebag pressed his pistol harder against Wolf’s temple. An involuntary grunt of pain sounded at the back of Wolf’s throat, and Mason clenched his fists.
“By my count, there should be two women and one old man,” Masked Man said. “Now, tell them to come out with their hands up.”
It went against everything in Mason to ask the ladies to move away from the safety of the trees. But Wolf’s jaw was beginning to sag. Time was of the essence.
“Alex!” he hollered over his shoulder. “Chrissy! Come out and join Doc and Romeo on the beach, please!”
“And the old man too.”
“Uncle John didn’t come with us to this side of the island,” Mason told the masked man. “My guess would be he’s on the satellite phone or marine radio calling in a Mayday as we speak. The Coasties will be swarming this whole place soon. Which means if you’re hoping to make a clean getaway, you better get the fuck on it.”
He could see the asshole’s jaw clench even through the fabric of the balaclava. But the guy took Mason’s advice and yelled over Wolf’s lolling head, “Everyone move twenty yards up the beach! Hands where I can see them the entire way!”