“Orphanage?”
Chance shrugged. He rarely let himself think about that part of his life, and he never talked about it. He wasn’t sure why he was now except that what they were doing reminded him in a way of that early part of his life before the orphanage. “One night she never came home. Police came to the door the next morning. She’d been struck by a bus on her way home from a concert.”
Natalie simply turned and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry. How old were you?”
“Twelve.” Chance found that it was hard to get the word out because once again feelings were swamping him. He felt his body stiffen, not in defense but in surprise. There was none of the fire that he usually felt when she held him. In its place was a steady warmth and a sweetness that seemed to squeeze his heart. Her head was pressed against his chest, her arms wrapped around him, and he could have stood like this, just like this for a very long time.
Slipping a finger beneath her chin, he lifted it because he had to see her eyes. He could see sympathy and affection and a question.
“Chance?”
He wanted more than anything to kiss her. To lower his head, press his mouth to hers and lose himself in her. But if he did, he knew he would lose something that he would never get back. At the last second he set her away from him.
She turned away, but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes. He had his mouth open, his hand outstretched when he realized that the name in his mind, on his lips, was Natalie.
He barely had time to swallow it when he heard the crack and felt the burning sting in his shoulder. The next shot hit the wet sand not three feet from them.
“Run.” Grabbing her hand, Chance fixed his gaze on the line of palms half a football field away and dragged her with him.
NATALIE STRUGGLED to swallow her fear as they raced for the cover of the trees. Sand sprayed up less than a yard to their right, and Chance’s grip on her arm tightened. “Sprint.”
Fighting to keep her breathing even, she felt the pull in her calves each time her foot sank into the sand and struggled for traction. Fifty yards became forty…thirty…twenty. There was another spray of sand, this one to her left. Finally, they reached the first line of trees.
Chance kept up the pace until palm leaves closed in on them and the sand at their feet became completely covered over with vegetation. Beach had become swamp in an instant. They would have to go more slowly now or run the risk of falling or twisting an ankle.
“Follow me,” Chance said. It was only when he took the lead that Natalie saw the blood on his shirt.
“You’ve been hit.”
Chance pulled the shirt off his shoulder and glanced down at the wound. “It’s just a scratch. C’mon.”
Natalie pressed a hand against the knot of fear that had formed in her stomach. The mark was angry-looking and it was oozing blood. But he was right, she told herself. It was just a scratch. And she wasn’t going to let herself think about the fact that it might have been worse.
They walked swiftly in silence for a while. Natalie tried to keep her mind blank and focus on putting one foot in front of another. Moving as fast as he could, Chance cut a path through the vegetation by tamping down palm fronds and grasses. Now only thin spears of sunlight pierced the darkening gloom, and damp heat pressed in on them. Natalie felt a trickle of sweat run down her neck.
Something moved under her foot. Stifling a scream, Natalie reached out to grab a fistful of Chance’s shirt.
“What?” He stopped and turned so fast that she bumped into him.
“Nothing,” she said.
When he merely studied her for a minute, she lifted her chin and repeated, “Nothing. Go.”
She was just not going to let herself think of what might be under her bare feet, not while a gunman might be after them. Snakes had always scared her, but they weren’t nearly as dangerous as whoever was using them for rifle practice.
“This way,” Chance said and made a sharp right turn.
She hoped he knew where he was going, because the oval expanse of black water to her left had her thinking of another kind of danger that lurked in the Florida swamps. Alligators. Hadn’t she read that wherever there was water, you could bank on finding one—or more?
No. She tore her gaze away from the water, fastened her eyes on Chance’s back and made herself think about who had shot at them. Brancotti? Had he somehow seen through their disguises? But how?
If it wasn’t Brancotti, who else could it be? Keeping her gaze fastened on Chance’s back, she pictured each one of the people she’d met at the dinner party the previous night.
Her favorite suspect would have to be Armand Genovese. A man with mob connections wouldn’t even have to pull the trigger himself. He’d have easy access to a professional hit man.
And a hit man wouldn’t give up until the job was done. He might even now be following them into the swamp.
Natalie risked one quick glance over her shoulder and saw only shadows. She stumbled, caught herself and refocused her attention on Chance’s back.
Sir Arthur probably hunted, but even when she formed an image of him with a rifle in his hands, she found it hard to believe that he was a killer.
She didn’t know as much about the other guests, but they were all very wealthy. Any one of them could have hired someone.
But why would any of them want to kill Steven—unless…
Chance stopped abruptly, and she walked smack into him again. Peering over his shoulder, she saw the trunk of a fallen palm tree blocking their path. He gripped her hand and guided her around it.
Once on the other side, they crouched down and Chance leaned close, his voice making no more sound than a breath. “If we’re being followed…” He reached into his pocket and drew out a small gun. Together, they waited, listening. Gradually, she could hear other sounds above their breathing. No sounds of footsteps. Leaves rustled overhead, insects buzzed, and farther off, a gull shrieked. A minute stretched into two and then three. Natalie shivered as she watched a spider the size of her fist crawl down the side of the tree trunk.
Clamping her teeth together, she made herself wait another minute before she said, “I want to get out of here.”
“Yes,” Chance said. “‘Calli’ can get sick. I’ll tell Brancotti that I want to fly you back to New York.”
She stared at him. “Forget it. I was talking about getting out of this swamp. I’m not leaving you here alone.”
His expression was grim, his eyes cold. “It’s too dangerous. I don’t want you here.”
“Tough.” She could make her eyes cold, too. “I don’t cut and run until a job is finished. Besides, you need my help.”
He said nothing for a minute. Because she was right. Natalie pressed her advantage. “We’ve decided that unless we get lucky and find the real diamond on the first try, we have to hit both safes. You won’t be able to do that alone. Once the job is done, I’ll be ready to leave. And instead of arguing with me, you’d best put your energy into figuring out who took that shot at us.”
CHANCE SHOVED DOWN on the emotions that had been swirling through him since they’d narrowly missed that barrage of bullets on their sprint for the trees. He couldn’t afford to let them cloud his mind, not now when he had to focus on protecting Natalie. Gathering his thoughts, he said, “I