From a distance, the white outline of the Dora Mae resembled an enormous beached whale, a sad and pathetic waste. The closer he swam, the more the yacht took its recognizable shape, but no less sad or pathetic. The go-fast lay twenty feet to the left of the yacht, yet it rode so low in the water, he wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t known where to look.

The open-hulled speedboat rocked within the gentle waves as Max silently hoisted himself over the side. He took the knife from this mouth and gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the light within the hull. Three plastic barrels were stowed starboard next to what looked like an army ammunition crate. He glanced toward the beach, counted all four bad guys, then lifted the lid.

Bingo. A cache of all kinds of goodies. Through the light of the moon, Max made out several MP4 machine guns, but no ammo. There were about a dozen sticks of dynamite and blasting caps, and the last thing he touched made him smile.

“Hello,” he whispered, and pulled out one of his all-time favorite weapons, a.50-caliber sniper rifle. Right after he’d completed SEAL training and received his BUD/S, he’d been sent to sniper school at Fort Bragg. For months he’d hidden within the North Carolina weeds, shooting the hell out of paper targets and dummy vehicles while chiggers feasted on his ankles and wrists. A few years later, he’d used his training in real combat during Desert Storm, taking out necessary targets and learning a whole lot about living and dying.

He’d been just a kid.

What those boys on the beach wanted with a weapon that was capable of blowing a big hole in a target from a mile and a half away was anyone’s guess. Max took a quick inventory of what he had and what he didn’t. He didn’t have ammunition for the MP4s, and figured the men had used it all to shoot the hell out of the trees. He didn’t have a detonation cord for the dynamite, but in the bottom of the crate he found five half-inch.50-caliber bullets.

After a quick check of the beach, he slipped over the side of the boat and, keeping the rifle and ammo above his head, swam to the Dora Mae. Except for patches of light filtering in through the windows, the inside of the yacht was as dark as a tomb. It didn’t help that the interior had been ransacked and things were thrown everywhere. Glass crunched beneath his boots as he made his way to the stateroom. It took less than a minute to find what he was looking for. He shoved half a dozen condoms in his pocket, then opened several packs and stretched the thin latex over the rifle. He dumped the bullets in the last condom, tied it to his belt loop, then left the yacht once more.

Relief tugged at one corner of his mouth as he slipped into the ocean and headed again toward the go-fast. He was finally in familiar territory. Things were definitely looking up. Hell, all he had to do was snatch Baby Doll Carlyle from beneath the chair of a passed-out drug runner, get Lola and the dog aboard the powdercraft without the bad men on the beach suspecting anything, then haul ass out of the Bahamas.

Piece of cake.

Chapter 10

Beyond the firelight on the beach, Lola could see very little. Her eyebrows ached, but she refused to lower the binoculars. Max had been gone at least an hour. He was out there somewhere, yet she hadn’t caught a glimpse of him. A few times she thought she’d spotted him, but each time the sighting had turned out to be nothing more than waves. She lowered her gaze to the beach. She hadn’t been able to spot Baby, either, even though she knew where he was.

The sound of mariachi music floated up to Lola, as loud and clear as if the actual band were playing on the beach. She wasn’t a big fan of mariachi music, and from now on she was sure she would hate it. She had dirt in her hair, bug bites on her arms, and her only consolation was that no one was shooting at her. The only thing that gave her peace of mind was that no one was shooting at Max, either. Not yet, anyway.

Finally her arms gave out and she lowered the binoculars. She’d wrapped her pashmina around her legs, but the bugs on the island were nasty and seemed to bite right through the cashmere. She was tired and itchy, and so hungry she’d sell her soul for a pan of macaroni and cheese or a king-sized Snickers. She slapped at a mosquito having dinner on her neck. If Max didn’t hurry, she doubted she’d be able to walk from loss of blood.

Just thinking of him brought a smile to her face. It wasn’t logical. It didn’t make sense, but she supposed Stockholm syndrome didn’t make sense. In the whole mixed-up mess, he was the only constant. The only thing that was stable. Real.

He’d certainly seemed very real when he’d made love to her. The touch of his hands and his mouth on her, the incredible feeling of his body joined with hers. Of all the men she’d known, of the men she’d loved, she’d never felt as connected as she did with Max.

As if her thoughts conjured him out of air, he suddenly appeared next to her. In his arm, he held Baby, and Lola didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so wonderful. She wanted to give Max a big smack on the mouth, then cover his entire body with kisses. The dog squirmed with excitement as Lola stood, but Max’s hand on his muzzle kept him from barking.

“I need the duct tape,” Max said just loud enough to be heard. “It’s in the duffel bag.” When Lola found it, he told her to tear off a piece, then he wrapped it around the poor dog’s mouth.

Although Lola knew it was necessary, she still felt bad for him. “Can he breathe?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Max answered, the tone of his voice all business as he handed over the dog. “He just can’t bark.”

Even as Baby Doll scratched at the tape with his paw, his whole body shook with excitement. “You don’t know how close you came to living in Mexico,” she chastised as she squeezed him against her breasts.

“Colombia,” Max corrected. He knelt by the duffel and for the first time she noticed the rifle strapped to his back. A gray baseball cap stuck out of his back pocket. She wasn’t sure, but it looked like some sort of rubber was stretched over the rifle’s barrel.

“Are you going to kill those guys?” she asked.

“Do you have a problem with that?” He pulled out the two pieces of Styrofoam and stood.

Did she? Not if there was no other way. “No,” she answered, and held Baby as Max once again taped the water wings to the side of her dog. “Have you ever killed anyone before?”

He didn’t answer and asked instead, “Do you think you can swim without hyperventilating or making any noise?”

If it meant getting off the island, she could do anything. “Yes.”

“Good, because our getting out of here depends on it.” Once again he knelt by the duffel. He pulled out the flashlight and a map, then he stuffed her pashmina inside. Next, he filled the bag and her purse with several big rocks.

“What are you doing?”

“These are going in the blue hole. I want nothing left behind that could identify us.”

“My toothbrush is in there. I’ll need it.”

“You’ll have a new one by morning.”

What he didn’t say was that she might also be dead by morning. “I’ll need my wallet. It’s Fendi.” His exasperated grunt told her what he thought of that. “Okay, but I’ll need my American Express.”

He pulled out the cash she had in her wallet, but no credit card. With her free hand, she stuffed the money in her bra.

In one fluid motion, Max stood and shoved the flashlight and map beneath one arm. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out something square. Moonlight shone off silver foil, and Lola thought it looked a lot like one of those chocolate mints, the kind room service left on her pillow when she called for turn-down service.

“Is that a mint?”

“Condom.”

For several silent moments she stared at him through the darkness. He had to be kidding. “I thought you said those were too small for you.”

He looked up and their eyes locked. “They’re not for me.” For a brief second she thought she saw a corner of his mouth tilt up, but she wasn’t sure. “Take this,” he instructed as he thrust the flashlight toward her. Once she held it in her free hand, he ripped open the condom, stretched the latex, then rolled it up the flashlight. When he was through, he tied the end to his belt loop. “I want you to follow right behind me without making a sound.” He rolled up the map and slipped the thin condom around that, too. “You and I, and your mutt, are going to swim to that boat out there, slip aboard, and haul ass out of here.” He tied the map to his belt loop. “When I tell you to do something, I want you to do it. Don’t think about it first. Just do it. Right now, I just want you to say ‘Okay, Max.’ ”

She wasn’t in the military. She wasn’t used to taking orders. But she trusted him with her and Baby’s lives. “Okay, Max.”

He placed his hands on his hips and looked her up and down. “You’re going to stick out like a shiny beacon.”

“What do I do?”

“I’ll take care of it in a minute. Right now we need to go over the op plan.”

“Op plan?”

“Operation plan,” he explained. “Once we’re on board the boat, I’ll take up a position in the rear, and when I tell you, I want you to start the engines.”

“Me?”

“Have you ever driven a boat?”

“No, but I drove a motorcycle once.”

He wiped his hand across the stubble on his jaw. “It’s easier than driving a motorcycle. Just turn the key and push the throttle forward.”

“Do I have to put it in gear?”

“You don’t have to worry about that. It’s ready to go.”

“Okay. Turn the key, then push the throttle forward,” she repeated as her stomach twisted into knots. “If I pull it back, is that reverse?”

“Yes, and don’t even think about doing that.”