Chapter 7 #3
He should run too.
But he needed to buy Britta time, and please, please—where was Martinez?
He backed up.
The first man reached him. Swung. West blocked. Countered. His fist connected with the man’s already-broken nose.
The operative howled. Stumbled backward.
The second one was smarter. Didn’t come in swinging. Came in grappling. He got his arms around West, tried to throw him to the ground.
West twisted. Broke the grip. The man sent an elbow into his gut.
West lost his breath just as the guy on the ground roused.
The math was simple: He couldn’t win this.
Britta—keep running!
The sleeper got up, shook his head. And spotted West. The grappler had West by the neck now, trying his own sleeper hold. West had gotten a hand up between his neck and the man’s arm, but the guy might be too strong—
Sleeper advanced, blood in his teeth. He spat it out and smiled.
Then he slammed a fist into West’s gut.
Oh. Uh…The pain nearly took off his head. It swept out his breath and his stupid knees buckled—
Below them, the front door to Hawkeye’s dive shop crashed open.
A figure emerged. Six two. Marine-built. Moving with lethal purpose.
Hawthorne “Hawkeye” Marshall. “West? What the—”
Help?
Hawkeye’s face changed in an instant, the old Marine rising. He grabbed the operative West was fighting. Yanked him off. Threw him against the wall hard enough to dent it.
And yet West still fought for breath.
The one with the broken nose tried to run. Hawkeye glanced at West, but West shouted, “Get him!”
Hawkeye took off, and West hooked a foot behind the leg of the operative who had charged again.
He threw him over his shoulder, broke the chokehold, and the man landed on the pavement with a whump.
West dropped onto him, but the toss had ripped out the man’s breath, so he left him there, gasping like a fish, and took off after Hawk.
He found him kneeling on the spine of the other operative, the man’s arm in a bar. He was breathing hard.
“You gonna tell me what’s happening?”
“Later. We need to move.”
“More coming?”
“Probably.”
Hawkeye got up. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“My boat—the canal.” He pointed down the street, toward the open water.
Not without Britta, but where—
And right then—“West!”
Aw, she hadn’t run far. Britta stood at the end of the block, emerging now from behind a building, shouting, running toward him.
He took off, met her, grabbed her hand, and pulled her across the street, down an alley, cutting down another street.
He spotted Hawkeye emerging from another alley just in front of him. Hawkeye sprinted down a dock that ran along a canal, then jumped into a small boat.
A motorboat.
Well, okay, so they were back on a boat. Still, this one was small. Fast. Maneuverable. Perfect for a quick escape.
He practically threw Britta into the boat. Hawkeye had already untied the front line. West grabbed the back line, tossed it in, and followed.
Hawk gunned the engine.
The boat leaped forward, water spraying as Hawk raced them along the canal, out into the bay.
West looked back. No Russian goons, so maybe they’d escaped.
For now.
Hawkeye opened up the throttle, then out into open water, the engine on full.
Britta sat on the stern bench, arms around herself, glancing back and forth from West to behind her.
West perched on the passenger chair, one hand braced on the dash, the other on the back of the chair, watching as Hawk put distance between them and danger.
Once they’d gained some ground through open water, Hawk finally slowed. He brought the boat to heel, cut the motor to trolling, then turned to West.
“Hey, bro.” His voice was carefully casual. “I’m guessing my missing eggs are your doing?”
West was still catching his breath. Ribs screaming. Face throbbing. “Um.”
Hawk smiled. “Good to see you, man. I thought I’d see you at the wedding today, but I got a text it was postponed. Have anything to do with that yacht explosion last night? I was out all night helping pick up debris.”
West nodded. “You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
But Hawkeye wasn’t looking at West anymore. He was looking at Britta.
He raised an eyebrow.
Oh yeah. She wore Hawkeye’s borrowed clothes. Baseball cap. Oversized T-shirt. Soaking wet from the spray. She offered him a slight smile.
Hawkeye stilled.
“Wait.” He looked from Britta to West and back. “Is that the First Daughter?”
Britta swallowed hard. “Hi.”
Hawkeye stared at West. “Dude. What are you involved in?”
“It’s a long story. And I’m not sure I’m caught up on the current chapter, but…yeah—Britta, meet my buddy Hawk.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Hawk said, and bowed his head as if she were royalty.
He hadn’t changed much since West last saw him, except, of course, no fatigues—those replaced by board shorts and a T-shirt—and a deep tan. Clearly the man enjoyed his life on the water.
“Just how far in over your head are you?” Hawk said.
“I’m not sure,” West said. “But Britta’s Secret Service detail should have been at the apartment, so where are they?”
Silence. Just the motor and the water and the three of them processing.
“It’s time to get creative,” West finally said. “Can I borrow your boat?”
“The motorboat or the dive boat?”
“The dive boat. I need somewhere we can lay low until I can figure out what’s happening and get Britta to safety.”
Hawkeye considered him for a long moment. “Dude,” he said finally. “I’m gonna regret you saving my life. But yeah. Okay. You can borrow it until tomorrow. That work?”
“Yep.” If he hadn’t returned Britta to Secret Service custody by tomorrow, he might need to leave the country.
Hawkeye navigated to where his dive boat was docked. Different marina. Bigger vessel. The boat was exactly what West would have pegged for Hawkeye—forty-foot fishing trawler, white hull with Dive Key West Adventures painted in black letters, upper deck with canvas canopy, lower cabin for customers.
Lived-in but well maintained. Dive gear stowed. Scuba tanks lined up. The smell of salt and diesel and neoprene.
Home for the next few days.
Hawkeye pulled the motorboat alongside. Killed the engine. “There’s food and water in the cabin. Galley’s stocked. Bathroom works. I’m going to need this back, man.”
“You’ll get it back.” West climbed onto the dive boat. Turned to help Britta. She took his hand. Let him pull her aboard.
She appeared a little wrecked. He wanted to say You’ll be safe here, but after the last hour, no promises.
Although, he’d do his human best.
Hawkeye tossed West the keys. “Please tell me you know how to run her.”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Because I can’t be late to work tomorrow, and I just loaned you my business.” Hawkeye paused. “You going to Ford’s wedding?”
“That’s the plan.”
“It’s at Win’s place, right? Friday?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll catch up with you when you bring her back. Try not to get killed before then.”
“I’ll try. Hey, stay away from your place until we figure out what’s going on.”
“Let me take care of it. I have some friends in high places. I’ll be okay.” Hawkeye looked at Britta. Back at West. Shook his head. “You always did have terrible judgment with women.”
West almost laughed. “Yeah.”
“Take care of her.”
“I will.”
Hawkeye started the motorboat’s engine. Pulled away, the sound fading as he navigated back toward the canal.
Leaving West and Britta alone on a dive boat in the middle of Key West Harbor.
And everything went quiet. Just water lapping against the hull, gulls crying overhead. The sun warm on his skin.
West turned to Britta. “Let me see. Are you hurt?”
She was hugging herself. Arms wrapped tight. “I’m fine.”
“Let me see anyway.”
He checked her arms where the operative had grabbed her. Bruises forming. Purple fingerprints against pale skin. Nothing broken. Nothing bleeding.
“You’re okay,” he said, more to himself than to her. “You’re safe now.”
She looked at him. “I need to call my dad.”
West nodded.
But a stone fell through him. She was right.
With those six words…well, after what just happened, all negotiations were off.
Calling her father meant the Secret Service descended.
Meant West hauled in for questioning, his name dragged through it.
Meant Britta went back into the cage. Meant whatever this was between them ended before it could become anything real.
Aw, who was he kidding? They didn’t have a hope of real.
But looking at her—terrified, shaking, having just been grabbed by armed operatives for the second time in a day—
How could he say no?
“Okay,” West said. “Okay. We’ll call him.”
She nodded.
“But maybe—” West stopped. Started again. “Maybe take a minute first. Catch your breath. Make sure you’re okay. Then we’ll call.”
Britta looked at him, something shifting in her expression. Understanding maybe. Or gratitude.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “A minute.”
West guided her to the bench seating on the deck. He sat beside her. Not touching. Just present.
The sun baked through them, the deep blue of the ocean lapping against the boat. The water was calm. Key West spread out around them—pastel buildings, palm trees, boats moving through the harbor.
Beautiful.
Peaceful.
He should fire up the engine, bring them away from shore before anyone found them.
“Thank you,” Britta said. Quiet. “For coming after me.”
“I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
“You kept your promise.”
Barely. “Yeah.”
“You were losing that fight.”
“I know.”
“If Hawkeye hadn’t shown up—”
“But he did.”
She looked at him. “You can’t do this alone, can you? Protect me and fight them off and figure out who’s hunting us and get me to the wedding. You need help.”
West wanted to argue. Wanted to say he could handle it. That he’d kept her safe this far and would keep doing it.
But she was right.
He’d needed Hawkeye. Would need the team. Couldn’t do this alone no matter how much his pride wanted to pretend otherwise.
“No,” he said. “I can’t do it alone.”