Secrets Never Die (Morgan Dane #5)(84)

Sharp pressed his wrists together, pretending his hands were still bound. The driver became impatient and half dragged him over the lip of the trunk. Sharp landed on his knees in the mud.

He got his bearings. The sedan was parked in the middle of a field. There was no road in sight. The passenger had Olivia over his shoulder like a rolled carpet. Her feet kicked, and her body flailed.

“You bitch.” The passenger dropped Olivia to the muddy ground.

She fell to her knees, lifting her chin and staring up at him with a fierce look.

He touched his cheek, pulled his hand away from his face, and looked at it. “You scratched me.”

He slapped her across the face, knocking her to the ground. Pressing a hand to her cheek, Olivia started picking herself up. She was plastered in mud from head to toe.

Anger and fear pulsed in Sharp’s veins. He needed to save himself before he could save her.

Closing in on Sharp, the driver chuckled, his voice radiating arrogance. “If you can’t handle the woman, I’ll get her next.”

Sharp got one foot under his body and repositioned his weight. He needed to be able to act in an instant should an opening arise. The driver whipped out his gun and pointed it six inches from Sharp’s forehead. Sharp had a split second of time before he would be dead.

“Fuck!” the passenger yelled.

In Sharp’s peripheral vision, he saw Olivia launch herself at the passenger. Wrapping her arms around him, she drove a knee toward his groin.

“Fucking get off me!” The passenger twisted away from her driving knee and pulled at her arms, but Olivia held on.

The driver’s gaze wavered at the distraction.

And that was the split second that Sharp needed. In one quick movement, he slipped his head to the left, out of the line of fire, while grabbing the slide of the gun and redirecting the weapon’s aim to the right. At the same time, he used his right hand to strike the inside of the driver’s wrist, then grabbed the gun and twisted it out of the driver’s grip. Sharp shot him three times in the chest, then spun toward Olivia.

The passenger had shaken her off and was reaching behind him. He brought his gun around his body. On her knees, Olivia flung a handful of mud in his face. Sharp fired. His first bullet hit the man in the neck. The second and third were body shots. The passenger jerked twice, stared down at his chest for a second, then his legs folded and he collapsed.

And just like that, it was over.

Adrenaline rushed through Sharp’s blood like a subway train. His heart hammered, and his vision blurred.

Olivia crawled over to him. Her mouth was moving, but all he could hear was the echo of his own heartbeat.

He held up one finger and motioned for her to stay behind him.

Staggering to his feet, Sharp walked closer to the driver. With the gun still pointed, he kicked the man’s legs. The body moved limply. Sharp checked both bodies to make sure they were good and dead. Then he pocketed their weapons and cell phones.

He stumbled a few feet away and leaned on the bumper of the car.

Steady rain pattered on the vehicle and splashed in puddles in the muddy weeds at his feet. Lightning rushed across the sky, brightening the landscape with three flashes of light.

Relief—and exhaustion—flooded Sharp. They were alive. He almost couldn’t believe it.

Olivia was still on her knees, catching her breath.

“Are you all right?” he yelled over the sound of the storm.

She nodded, then felt around in the mud and pulled a sandal out of the muck. She held it up to the sky like a trophy. Then she climbed to her feet and walked over to him, her gait lopsided in one shoe and one bare foot.

She was a piece of work.

Olivia joined him at the car and turned her face up to the rain. The rain washed away some of the mud. Neither of them moved for a few seconds, as if they couldn’t believe they were still breathing.

Sharp broke the silence. “You were supposed to run.”

She brushed a streak of mud off her face. “Fuck that.”

Leaning over, she tried to put on her sandal, but the strap was broken. A stream of Spanish flowed from her lips.

Sharp spoke a little Spanish, mostly profanity from his years on the police force. When you’re arresting someone, they generally don’t say nice things to you. Even with the Cuban flair she put on the language, he recognized most of the words and was impressed with her creativity.

“Let’s get out of the rain.” Sharp opened the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel. Olivia got into the passenger seat.

He started the engine, turned on the heater, and offered her a cell phone. “We should probably call a cop.”





Chapter Thirty-Six

Morgan’s feet slid in the mud. She and Tina were losing ground. The current was too strong. She glanced at a tree next to her. Before she lost the play in the rope, she wrapped it around the tree to help anchor it.

The rain began to slow, but no one told the river.

“I’m going to get the Jeep,” she shouted. “We can’t pull them in ourselves.”

“I’ll keep trying.” Tina braced her foot against a boulder on the riverbank.

Morgan tied off the rope and ran for the stairs to the observation decks. Her lungs cried as she jogged up the wooden steps, and for the fiftieth time in the past year, she regretted not being in better physical condition.