“Get up!” The guy with the shotgun commanded. He ratcheted another cartridge into the shotgun’s chamber.
Zane heard the woman crying. She was also praying. He couldn’t make out every word, but it sounded as if she was praying for someone other than herself.
Emergency sirens wailed from a couple of blocks away. Then they went silent. Which meant they were probably cop cars and they’d just rolled into the parking lot.
“I said, get up!”
Cautiously, Zane got to his feet. His thoughts were racing. He might not be able to prevent himself from getting shot, but he could probably do something to keep the woman alive and make sure these guys got caught.
“Hurry up!” shotgun guy barked. “Turn around and let me see your hands.”
Zane complied.
Shotgun guy was short and stocky. He wore a baseball cap and dark glasses. He’d come halfway down the stairway and stopped. Now he continued down the stairs and took a couple of steps closer to Zane.
Behind him, Zane heard the first gunman get to his feet.
Zane slowly took a step back, then turned his head slightly so he could see what the original attacker was doing.
“Take care of her and let’s go.” Shotgun guy said to his accomplice, still keeping his weapon pointed at Zane.
Zane figured once they killed the woman they’d kill him, too. They weren’t going to leave a witness behind.
The woman had stopped crying. From the corner of his eye he could see her getting to her feet, but he didn’t dare turn his head far enough to get a good look at her. Not with that shotgun trained on him.
The boardwalk planks behind Zane squeaked with the sound of sudden movement. The original gunman swore, and Zane glanced over his shoulder to see the woman scrambling to get the handgun where it lay on the edge of the boardwalk.
The gunman shoved her aside and frantically reached for it, knocking it off the boardwalk. He immediately dropped down so he was lying on his belly and lunged his upper body into the lake. He brought the handgun out, its barrel dripping water. Cursing again, he rolled to his side, rose up on his elbow, pointed the gun at the woman, who appeared to be searching for something to hide behind, and fired.
Zane’s heart jumped up into his throat. Then his mind registered the dull snapping sound of the weapon. The wet gun had misfired.
Zane’s feeling of relief was short-lived. Now his attention was back on shotgun guy. Thus far, he had held off on firing—probably to keep from shooting his partner. Now that the partner was a few feet away and he had a clear shot at Zane, he had no reason to hesitate. Zane quickly looked around for something he could use to defend himself.
One of the table-and-chair sets that were scattered around the boardwalk was within reach. He grabbed the back of a bistro chair with one hand while using the other hand to knock aside the shotgun barrel that was pointed at him. The shotgun broke loose from the man’s grip and clattered a couple of feet across the boardwalk.
Zane whirled around and swung the heavy bistro chair. He managed to hit the first gunman who was just now getting to his feet. The blow knocked him flat on his back.
Where was the woman? Zane figured he had only a few seconds before shotgun guy recovered his weapon and started shooting.
A quick glance showed him the woman was moving toward the edge of the boardwalk, trying to get as far away from danger as she could. “Jump!” he yelled, backing toward her.
He didn’t hear a splash. Why was she hesitating?
“There’s no other option,” he snapped. “Get in the water. Now!”
Seconds later he heard her hit the water.
Time was running out.
He spun and flung the bistro chair at shotgun guy who’d just recovered his weapon.
Then Zane turned and ran.
He reached the edge of the boardwalk and leapt off, the boom of a shotgun blast ringing in his ears as he hit the surface of the lake.
The frigid water was shocking as he plunged downward. He opened his eyes underwater, where everything looked dark blue and blurry. Then he kicked his feet and started upward, back toward the light.
He broke through the surface and saw the boardwalk a few feet away. He quickly looked for the two gunmen, expecting shotgun guy to open fire on him. They were nowhere in sight. Lord, please help the cops catch them.
He turned and saw the woman bobbing on the surface, treading water several yards away from the boardwalk. With the water this cold, he wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t been able to swim any farther. He swam over to her. His muscles were already knotting up from the cold water, so the going was slow.
“Hey, are you all right?” he called out when he reached her.
The only response he heard was the sound of her teeth chattering.
Dark blonde hair was plastered over her face. She reached up to move it aside, and he found himself looking into the dark brown eyes of Caroline Marsh.
A voice called out to them from the boardwalk, but Zane didn’t understand a word the man was saying. He just stared at his former fiancée while she stared back.
For the span of a couple of heartbeats it felt like no time had passed since he’d last seen her.
How long had it been?
Eight years. More than enough time for Zane to think of all the things he might say to her if they ever crossed paths again. All of them were some form of a heartfelt apology. Now here she was and he could barely put together a sentence. Could barely even breathe.
“Are you hurt?” he managed to ask again.
“I-I’m all right, Zane,” she stammered, her teeth still chattering.
She lifted her hands out of the water to tuck her hair behind her ears. “Th-thank you for rescuing me. But you don’t need to stay beside me. Go ahead and swim back to the boardwalk. I can take care of myself.”
Despite the horrifying events she’d just been through, she lifted her chin out of the water and managed a weak version of her signature spirited smile.
It would have hurt less if she’d shot him.
Tender memories and old regrets ripped through Zane’s heart. But he didn’t have time to dwell on them now. The grim reality was that two determined gunmen had just tried to kill her.
What had Caroline gotten herself into?
Zane stared at Caroline as if he expected some further, bigger reaction from her.
She wasn’t about to give it to him.
He could forget about her asking why he’d left town and dropped all contact when they were engaged to be married. Where he’d been. How long he’d been back in the town of Cobalt. The answers didn’t matter. After eight years of wondering, she simply didn’t care anymore.
Okay, that was a lie. But he didn’t have to know she still thought about him sometimes. Not as often as she used to when he first left. Just every now and then. And each time she’d come back to Cobalt for a visit, until she’d moved back a month ago.
She was disappointed to notice that even treading water in soaking wet street clothes, the man looked good. That was something else he didn’t need to know. He was more muscular than when she’d last seen him. But he had been barely twenty years old back then. His jaw and neck were thicker now.