away her lab-pale skin.
She had just
taken another sip of her latte when a sound that was totally wrong made her
head jerk up.
It came
again, and she realized it was gunfire. From automatic weapons.
Two
dark-haired men dressed in black tee shirts and jeans were running across the
beach, firing machine guns as they went.
She heard a
scream. Then, to her horror, she saw a man and woman in bathing suits go down,
then one of the beach attendants.
The men with
the guns were heading this way, speaking to each other in Spanish.
Instinctively, she slid off her chair and crouched behind the low wall that
separated the terrace from the sand. Footsteps pounded toward her, and every
muscle in her body tensed as she waited for one of the attackers to round the
wall and start blasting away at her. But they kept going, into the hotel, where
she heard more screams and gunfire.
Lord, what
was happening? She’d heard murmurs of political unrest in San Marcos, but she’d
never thought it would reach her out here at this isolated resort.
Apparently
she’d been wrong. She hoped it wasn’t dead wrong.
oOo
Zack Marshall
stopped in his tracks. He’d just heard the chatter of automatic weapons—from
back at the hotel.
He was on the
beach, a quarter mile from the resort, and the smart thing would be to stay the
hell away. But he couldn’t run in the other direction. Not when Jenna
Brockhurst was back there.
A wave of
panic swept over him. He’d been trying to avoid her, knowing all the time that
he was fooling himself into thinking he could walk away from the slender blond
woman who drew him as no other female ever had. The moment he’d seen her, he’d
known where the two of them were headed. Yet he hadn’t wanted to admit it to
himself. Now it might be too late.
He turned on
his heel, running back the way he’d come, every sense alert for danger.
When he heard
more gunfire, he quickened his pace. Before he reached the hotel, he saw Jenna
crouching behind the low wall that separated the terrace from the beach._
His heart
leaped. Thank God she was out of the line of fire.
He wanted to
call to her, but that would pinpoint his location—and hers. Instead, he moved
cautiously toward her, hoping he could reach her in time.
oOo
Every
instinct urged Jenna to run for her life. But where?
El Sol y
Enrolla was a small
resort on an island off the coast. You could only get here by boat—or small
plane.
Which meant
that she couldn’t make for the road and get anywhere except the other side of
the island.
And the road
was a bad idea, anyway, because she’d be exposed.
She thought
about the self-defense course she’d taken back home. That was for when a guy
came at you on the street armed with a knife or a handgun. Not guys with
automatic weapons who shot at anything that moved.
To prove the
point, from inside the hotel, she heard more sounds of carnage. She’d seen two
men, but there must be more. Or maybe somebody was shooting back. Either way,
horrible images leaped into her mind. How long before the men she’d seen
returned and found her out here?
One thing she
did know, she was going to end up dead if she stayed where she was. Cautiously
she raised her head above the wall and looked around. The beach was clear,
except for the dead bodies. What if she made for the jungle? If she could hide
in the vegetation, she might have a chance.
She said a
silent prayer, then crawled to the beach side of the wall. Staying low and
keeping a screen of foliage between her and the terrace, she made for the
little hut where white fluffy towels were piled for hotel guests.
As she
reached the shelter, someone streaked to her side, and she whirled, prepared to
go down fighting.
But it wasn’t
one of the gunmen. It was Zack Marshall, dressed in jeans and a blue polo
shirt, coming up beside her.
“Keep down,”
he said, his tone low and hard.
“I am.” She
heard the quaver in her voice, felt herself trembling. She’d been
She had just
taken another sip of her latte when a sound that was totally wrong made her
head jerk up.
It came
again, and she realized it was gunfire. From automatic weapons.
Two
dark-haired men dressed in black tee shirts and jeans were running across the
beach, firing machine guns as they went.
She heard a
scream. Then, to her horror, she saw a man and woman in bathing suits go down,
then one of the beach attendants.
The men with
the guns were heading this way, speaking to each other in Spanish.
Instinctively, she slid off her chair and crouched behind the low wall that
separated the terrace from the sand. Footsteps pounded toward her, and every
muscle in her body tensed as she waited for one of the attackers to round the
wall and start blasting away at her. But they kept going, into the hotel, where
she heard more screams and gunfire.
Lord, what
was happening? She’d heard murmurs of political unrest in San Marcos, but she’d
never thought it would reach her out here at this isolated resort.
Apparently
she’d been wrong. She hoped it wasn’t dead wrong.
oOo
Zack Marshall
stopped in his tracks. He’d just heard the chatter of automatic weapons—from
back at the hotel.
He was on the
beach, a quarter mile from the resort, and the smart thing would be to stay the
hell away. But he couldn’t run in the other direction. Not when Jenna
Brockhurst was back there.
A wave of
panic swept over him. He’d been trying to avoid her, knowing all the time that
he was fooling himself into thinking he could walk away from the slender blond
woman who drew him as no other female ever had. The moment he’d seen her, he’d
known where the two of them were headed. Yet he hadn’t wanted to admit it to
himself. Now it might be too late.
He turned on
his heel, running back the way he’d come, every sense alert for danger.
When he heard
more gunfire, he quickened his pace. Before he reached the hotel, he saw Jenna
crouching behind the low wall that separated the terrace from the beach._
His heart
leaped. Thank God she was out of the line of fire.
He wanted to
call to her, but that would pinpoint his location—and hers. Instead, he moved
cautiously toward her, hoping he could reach her in time.
oOo
Every
instinct urged Jenna to run for her life. But where?
El Sol y
Enrolla was a small
resort on an island off the coast. You could only get here by boat—or small
plane.
Which meant
that she couldn’t make for the road and get anywhere except the other side of
the island.
And the road
was a bad idea, anyway, because she’d be exposed.
She thought
about the self-defense course she’d taken back home. That was for when a guy
came at you on the street armed with a knife or a handgun. Not guys with
automatic weapons who shot at anything that moved.
To prove the
point, from inside the hotel, she heard more sounds of carnage. She’d seen two
men, but there must be more. Or maybe somebody was shooting back. Either way,
horrible images leaped into her mind. How long before the men she’d seen
returned and found her out here?
One thing she
did know, she was going to end up dead if she stayed where she was. Cautiously
she raised her head above the wall and looked around. The beach was clear,
except for the dead bodies. What if she made for the jungle? If she could hide
in the vegetation, she might have a chance.
She said a
silent prayer, then crawled to the beach side of the wall. Staying low and
keeping a screen of foliage between her and the terrace, she made for the
little hut where white fluffy towels were piled for hotel guests.
As she
reached the shelter, someone streaked to her side, and she whirled, prepared to
go down fighting.
But it wasn’t
one of the gunmen. It was Zack Marshall, dressed in jeans and a blue polo
shirt, coming up beside her.
“Keep down,”
he said, his tone low and hard.
“I am.” She
heard the quaver in her voice, felt herself trembling. She’d been
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