Into the Mist (Falcon Mercenary Group #1)(28)

He stared hard at her but didn’t leave. She slowly turned back to Damiano and hugged him tightly. “I love you,” she said fiercely.

“Love you more,” he said with a soft laugh. “Now go before Jonah has a coronary.”

She touched his cheek one last time, knowing this would be the last time she’d see him for a while, longer if Jonah tossed her out of FMG after she pulled off her latest plan.

Then she turned, her eyes burning, and walked past Jonah and down the stairs. She needed air. She needed to be alone to grieve.

Chapter Ten

This was the part of her plan that sucked. Not the sneaking out of the house with a wetsuit, radio and GPS or the quick change she’d done crouched among the rocks dodging the incoming surf. It was the swimming.

Tyana swam through the dark waters toward the adjacent island with precise strokes. Her radio and GPS were stuffed into a waterproof bag and secured to her waist. The knife Mad Dog had given her was strapped to her leg. Everything else had been left behind.

Midway, she paused and flipped onto her back to rest, thankful that her rigorous training kept her in shape. The water wasn’t rough, but she knew it would get hairy when she neared the rocky island. She’d need all her wits and strength to make sure she didn’t end up a rock ornament.

After a few moments, she flipped back over and struck out again. She was on a tight schedule and needed to be on that boat before Jonah or Mad Dog discovered she was gone.

She’d left a note for D, not that Jonah wouldn’t know exactly why she was gone, but she wasn’t so callous as to simply disappear without explanation.

Jonah would know, and he’d come after her. She’d just have to make sure she stayed one step ahead of him and accomplished her goal as quickly as possible.

The current began to drag more forcefully at her, and she didn’t try to fight it. She swam hard as it pushed her to shore and rested when it began to suck her back.

Three steps forward, two steps back.

She chose the angle of entry and put all her concentration into making sure she wasn’t yanked off course. The waves pounded at her as she swept between jagged rock outcroppings. Pain shot through her leg when her knee cracked into a rock just below the surface, but she gathered her wits and used it to push off and propel her closer to shore.

Her feet glanced off the bottom, and she reached down, digging for a foothold, only to be dragged back and slapped again against the rough surface of the rock.

With the next wave, she plunged beneath the surface and grabbed at handholds to pull herself forward. She was almost there, damn it.

She broke the surface, gasping for air, and planted her feet on the bottom as she fought the current. Then, with the next oncoming wave, she lunged for the shore, finally crawling and collapsing onto the sand.

Her leg ached like a mother, but she didn’t have time to evaluate her injuries.

She hauled herself up and limped up the incline and into the dense foliage and rock that sheltered the tiny island. She hit the button on her watch, and the green neon glow illuminated the time. She had twenty minutes to make the rendezvous point.

She made it to the opposing beach with five minutes to spare, bursting out of the thick, vine-ridden underbrush. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the boat in the distance.

Right on time.

The boat stopped a quarter mile from shore and flashed a single beacon toward the beach. Ignoring her pain and exhaustion, she plunged into the surf and waded out to do battle again with the rocks and current. At least this side wasn’t as bad as the western front.

Several long minutes later, she reached the boat and threw her hand up to grasp the side. A strong, male arm hoisted her up and over, and she collapsed on the bottom, sucking air like a fish out of water.

The boat sped off as she caught her breath and mentally took stock of her condition. Aside from a few bumps and bruises and the pounding her knee had taken, she’d escaped relatively unscathed.

She pulled herself up, clutching the side as they rolled over a swell, and took position beside the guy manning the boat.

“How far until we rendezvous with the chopper?” she shouted.

He pointed to the onboard navigational system that charted their course, and she could see their ETA was fifteen minutes. Enough time for her to collect herself and prepare for the next leg of this insane venture.

She examined the tear in her wetsuit and wiped at the blood seeping from the cut. It stung like hell, but it didn’t appear too serious. She slouched in her seat and tried to relax as much as possible as the minutes ticked by. Finally the boat slowed, and the guy cut the engine. They came to a stop, rocking and dipping with the waves.

A few seconds later, the sound of a chopper heading in their direction echoed through the night. When it hovered overhead, Tyana heard a thump as the rope ladder hit the deck of the boat. Her driver grabbed the lower rung and motioned her to hurry.

He held it in place while she gripped the rungs and hauled herself up. Another pair of hands gripped her wrists when she neared the top, and she found herself lying facedown on the floor of the helicopter as it soared away.

Damn, what a night. In other circumstances, she would have enjoyed the rush. Right now she was just trying to get her bearings.

Really big hands wrapped around her arms and jerked her upright. She found herself looking into the dark brown eyes of Tits, a bald-headed, bad-assed, mean-tempered son of a bitch. He liked to call himself a cross between an African American and a European mutt, whatever the hell that was.