“Cease fire.” The command came over the loud speaker. “Get to the boat. Follow the plan. We have what we need and you will be paid.”
Fuck. What had happened?
He touched his earpiece. He’d been silent for a long time and had to hope Knight was still in position. “What’s going on?”
“The Coast Guard,” Knight said. “I just caught sight of them. They’re probably ten minutes away.”
“Do you see my wife?”
“That’s a negative, Tag. I don’t have a visual on her, but your brother and Simon are making their way along the port side, heading for you.”
His brother’s voice came over the device. “I’ll be there in 60, brother.”
One minute. He wasn’t sure Charlie had a minute. If Nelson got on his boat and saw her in the water, he would shoot her out of sheer spite.
He stood up, firing toward the stairs that led to the main deck.
Unfortunately, there was no one left to kill.
“I left you a present, Tag.” This time the sound was coming from the starboard side of the ship. Ian moved his ass, trying to get to the fucker before he got away. “Sorry to leave so very quickly, but I think our little game is over now. It would have been nice to have the tech, but in the end as long as I’ve destroyed it, it doesn’t matter. I’ve rigged the ship to explode so you won’t be able to play anymore. It’s okay since your little whore is floating. You’ll join her as soon as I get enough distance between us.”
“Tag!”
He heard his brother shout as the boat Nelson was on began to pull away.
He pulled the trigger in frustration, trying to spray the boat. He’d already lost sight of Nelson.
And then he saw something that made his heart stop.
A body floating in the water, face down, her hair around her like a halo.
“Ian, we have to go,” his brother said as he ran up to him. He looked out and then pulled at Ian’s shirt. “Ian, no.”
But he wasn’t listening. He tossed the gun aside and dove in, bad leg, aching shoulder and all.
Suck it up, Taggart. She’s alive. She’s fucking alive because she can’t be dead.
Pain flared through his system but he swam to her, forcing her body over, her face up to the sun.
“Come on, baby.” He started to swim back, trying not to think about the fact that she wasn’t breathing. Her chest wasn’t moving up and down. Her body was dead weight in his arms.
Not fucking dead. Not dead.
It became his mantra as he swam back, the rhythm that kept his limbs moving, his heart pumping.
Not fucking dead.
Charlie wasn’t dead. Charlie couldn’t be dead. He’d just found her again and he’d wasted time being mad at her. He should have just laid down in front of her and thanked the fucking universe for a second chance. Because the anger he’d felt was nothing compared to the love. He loved her. She was his in that stupid Hollywood way that made a man think dumbass things about the future.
“Give her to me.” Sean leaned over, reaching for her and hauling her up.
Simon pulled Ian on to the deck.
Sean held her, but there was no strength in her body, just useless limbs hanging down. Everything that was Charlie seemed gone. “We need to go. It won’t be long before he detonates that bomb. They left the second boat. Not enough men left to crew it. Let’s go.”
Charlie wouldn’t last long enough to get to the boat.
“Lay her down,” he commanded.
Sean laid her on the deck. “I’m so sorry, brother.”
“Go. Both of you.” Dropping to his knees, he ignored the pain that was screaming along his nerves. It was easy since the panic in his head was shouting down everything else. He was sure his face was passive, a trick from years of training, but he was fighting for control. Fighting the need to scream.
He moved to her mouth, tilting her head back. A kiss. It was like a kiss. He could trick his brain into believing it was just another kiss with his wife. He should have kissed her more. All the time.
One breath in and then another.
Methodically, he found her xiphoid process. It was there at the base of her breastbone. He moved the flat of his palm to her chest and pumped. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
His brother was still here. If his brother died, Grace would feel this ache. She would feel the blinding pain of having half her fucking soul ripped away from her. She would understand what it meant to sit up at night and wonder where the hell her husband had gone. She’d already been through it once. She couldn’t again. Not while Ian could stop it. “Get him out, Simon. That’s an order. If you have any loyalty to me at all, do it.”
He bent over and breathed into Charlie’s sweet mouth again as Sean started to argue. There was a thud and when he moved back to chest compressions, Simon was picking up Sean’s unconscious body and hauling it over his shoulder.
His deep blue eyes found Ian’s. “Good luck, boss. And thank you.”
“Take care of my crew.” One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
His body was on autopilot. He couldn’t seem to stop. Part of him said to just give up, hold her in his arms and wait for the world to explode because wherever she was, that was where he wanted to be. He’d meant it. He didn’t want to live in a world where he lost her twice.
Fuck. His vision was blurry. Something splashed and hit Charlie’s cheek.
He was crying. He didn’t fucking cry.
“You don’t get to leave me!” A violent anger raged inside him. She didn’t get to die. Not twice. Not now. If he was going out, then he wanted her looking into his eyes when it happened, he wanted them connected so he could hold on to her. So he didn’t lose her.
He struck her chest, a deep thud causing her body to jerk. “Wake up. You wake up, bitch, because I’m not doing this without you.”
There was no going back to a half-life of Scotch and songs no one else wanted to listen to and pretending he wasn’t dead inside.
He struck again and her eyes flared, her mouth opening as water bubbled out of her lungs.
“Oh, shit.” Ian thrust his good arm under her neck, turning her to the side as she vomited up what had to be a gallon of pure Arabian Sea.
“What did you do to me?” Charlie asked, her voice raw and so gorgeous to him. “I think a Mack truck hit my chest.”