Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(91)

“Mal.” She fought for breath and sagged forward, the relief of life and air and protection and him washing over her with more force than the submersion she’d just experienced.

She looked past him at Drummand, who rolled on the floor, howling in pain, blood oozing from his leg and arm. “Is he…did you…”

“He’ll live, unfortunately.”

“Then we have to do something. Can you free me? Can you get me back to that computer?”

To his credit, he didn’t argue or question her. Just produced a key and went to work unlocking the first cuff.

“Hurry, Mal. Before they come after you.”

“I don’t care,” he said, twisting the lock the way his broken voice twisted her heart. “I only care about you. That’s it. That’s all that matters. You.”

He released her other hand and immediately she reached for him, throwing her arms around him and pulling him close. He was so warm and so big and so strong and so safe.

Then she pushed him back. “We have to go!” Shaking and fighting shock, she tried to get out of the chair but her legs were wobbly.

“No! Please!” Drummand called out, his hand extended for assistance.

“We’ll get help to you,” Mal said gruffly, gently helping Chessie up.

“Kill me! Please, please, kill me.” He lay helpless, bleeding, and crying. “I’m begging you.”

“We’ll send help,” Mal told him. “Come with me, Chessie.”

“No, they’ll keep me alive,” he sniveled. “I need to die. I have to die. I…can’t…face him.”

“You should have thought of that before you stole money and laid a hand on her.” Still cradling her with one arm, Mal guided Chessie to the door, but she caught one more sight of the pathetic man on the ground.

“I can’t face him!” he cried again. “Please, I beg you, one more shot. Right here.” He slammed his hand over his heart.

“You want to die so bad?” Mal kicked a gun closer to him, but still out of his reach. “Do your own dirty work, coward.”

Without waiting, they charged into the hall and toward the stairs just as they heard one more howl and the loud pop of a gunshot.

Chessie froze for one second, but Mal urged her on, making it to the stairs as an alarm rang somewhere in the distance.

He ignored it. “This way. Back way. Can you run?”

Chessie shoved her wet hair out of her face and nodded, ignoring the freezing cold of her soaked cover-up, her shaking legs, and the blurry world since, once again, her glasses were history. “I can do whatever I have to, Mal. Just get me to that computer.”

Footsteps pounded around the next corner, and she fought the urge to gasp, letting Mal pull her against the wall, then into an alcove, silencing her with a look.

Four foot soldiers passed through the opening, headed straight to the building they’d just left. They kept marching without stopping. Relief almost strangled her as they stayed hidden, waited a few heartbeats, then took off again, staying close to buildings, in the shadows.

She recognized the outside of the administration building Drummand had forced her to enter, but Mal kept them well in the back, coming to another back entrance, where he produced keys he must have gotten from Alana.

“Alana!” Chessie remembered. “He put her in a closet.”

“We’ll get her.”

“This first,” Chessie said, pushing past him when he unlocked the door and she recognized the hallway.

Fueled by adrenaline, she got ahead of him just as one more alarm screamed and she swore every light in Guantanamo Bay exploded as the search for them must have hit DEFCON 1.


They reached Alana’s office, and Chessie practically threw herself at the desk, stabbing at the keyboard, her heart pounding so hard it almost drowned out the alarms.

“How can I get his password in time?” she cried.

Mal lifted the keyboard and pulled out a slip of paper. “Try this.”

“Really?” She tapped the string of letters and numbers with shaking fingers, instantly getting access. “Damn, Mal. You’re good.”

“We’re good.”

She wanted to smile at that but she was too busy with this goldmine of incrimination she’d uncovered. She called up the saved files, one after another, and finally found the ones she wanted most: the fake invoices, the offshore account, the money. Roger Drummand’s fingerprints were all over his crime.

Outside, thumping footsteps of what had to be an entire regiment of soldiers shook the building they were in, along with shouting and more screaming alarms.

“Hurry, Chess.”

Five more keystrokes to move these files. Four. Three.

A gunshot echoed, and the door behind them exploded open, but Chessie touched one key and then—

“Don’t move!”

Mal threw himself in front of Chessie, blocking her like a human shield.

“Hands up!”

“You’re under arrest!”

“Don’t touch her,” Mal insisted, still blocking her from the soldiers. “Do not hurt her. She’s innocent.”

And so are you. Chessie reached around Mal and smashed the last key with a satisfying stab, then lifted her gaze to face more weaponry than she’d ever seen in her life. Mal stood his ground, but one of the soldiers burst forward to grab him.