He collapsed with her onto the deck of the yacht, holding her, wanting to weep too. “Are you hurt?”
“You’re the one who got shot!” She pushed away from him, shaking her head. Then she ripped open his shirt.
Spotted the vest. And then she threw her arms around him, her face buried in his neck. “Oh, I was so scared?—”
“Okay, it still hurts. I mean, it’s like getting punched in the chest.”
“Shut up if you’re not bleeding.”
He shut up and just held her as the rain doused them.
Around them, shouting lifted, and Ham showed up. “Where?” he said, storming onto the boat. “Where did that shot come from?”
Chloe pulled back just enough to look up, pointing toward the warehouse district with a shaking hand. “I think it came from there. On the building.”
Skeet followed her gaze through the rain, and in a flash of lightning, caught a glimpse of a figure on a rooftop—dark tactical gear, long-range rifle. She stood, like some version of Black Widow.
Lynx.
A hundred meters, easy. In driving rain and wind that would throw off most shooters.
Huh. And . . . why?
“Let’s go!” West shouted, pulling alongside with his evac boat, its hull bumping against the yacht with a hollow thud. Ham grabbed the boat and held out his hand for Chloe. She climbed on and settled into the bow seat.
“Report,” Ham called to Skeet over the wind, rain streaming into his eyes.
Skeet looked over at Volkov’s body—rain pooling in his open eyes, blood washing away in pink streams—then back at his team. “Volkov’s dead—but Alan Martin got away.”
Ham stared at him. “Martin?”
“You didn’t see him?”
“No.” Ham’s mouth tightened. “I don’t know how we missed him.”
“That’s a question we keep asking.” Skeet piled into the skiff and sat beside Chloe.
“He called himself James Cooper,” Chloe said. “Who is he?”
“Long story for later,” Ham said, climbing aboard. “Let’s get out of here before the Thai Navy shows up with uncomfortable questions.”
Skeet wrapped his arms around Chloe as West drove them away from the yacht.
The city lights blurred past through sheets of rain, neon signs reflecting off the water in streaks of color. Bangkok at night during a storm—beautiful and dangerous and alive.
“Is it over?” she asked quietly, her voice almost lost in the engine noise.
Behind them, an explosion lit up the night, the yacht shattering into splinters, a fireball mushrooming from the deck. She sat up, looked at him. “Was that you?”
He shook his head. The fire illuminated her beautiful face. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m in love with you.”
She smiled. “Yeah, I figured that out. That’s why you keep following me.” Then she leaned in and kissed him. She tasted like rain and courage and promises he wanted to spend his life keeping. Her hands fisted in his tactical vest, holding him close. As if she never wanted to let go.
“Hey, uh, guys, I like the movie, but maybe, um, can you get down so I can see the bow light?” West, standing at the wheel. Ham sat in the other passenger seat, wearing a smile.
Whatever.
Skeet took her hand, moved them to the back of the boat, settled her on the back cushion next to Elena.