Dangerous Passions Read online

But she swallowed her fear, accepting that their best hope of survival was to trust that Michael knew what he was doing. She bit back any further protest. “Okay.”

  He nodded brusquely and took a step toward the entrance of the cave before turning back to her again. “One more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t shoot me.” Then he kissed her, a brief but firm press of his lips against hers. “Because I will be the one who comes back. I promise you that.”

  Shannon bit down hard on her lip as she watched him go.

  He strode confidently out of the mouth of the cave and disappeared into the trees, never once looking back. She wondered if she’d ever see him again, then banished the thought from her mind.

  He’d promised to come back. She had to believe in him, she had to trust that he would do as he said. Any other scenario simply wasn’t acceptable.

  She sat down on the stone floor of the cave, her back to the wall, and trained her weapon on the narrow opening. The gun felt awkward and heavy in her hand. She’d never wanted to own a gun. She’d never even handled one before, and she had serious doubts about whether she’d actually be able to use it.

  Her stomach churned at the thought of pulling the trigger, but Michael had told her to shoot. And because she trusted him, she would do what needed to be done.

  The gun trembled slightly in her grasp; a trickle of perspiration slipped down her spine.

  She almost couldn’t believe it was happening—the final showdown. She couldn’t quite grasp that this ordeal would soon be over and she and Michael would be on their way back home.

  She swallowed and tightened her grip on the gun.

  Or they would both be dead.

  Mike had taken some time while Shannon was sleeping the previous afternoon to familiarize himself with the topography of the small island, noting natural barriers and hazards in preparation for this situation. While he’d hoped a quick rescue by the coast guard would eliminate the need for a confrontation with Peart’s men, he was prepared for any contingency.

  Having left his Glock with Shannon, he knew his best hope against two heavily armed men was to divide and conquer. Fortunately for him, Rico and Jazz had decided the most expedient way to track down their missing prisoner and her bodyguard was to split up, each covering one half of the island perimeter before moving inward.

  While Peart’s men had demonstrated some competence with weaponry—as evidenced by the destruction of Rachel’s boat and the wound on his arm—he could only guess what other training or skills they might possess. It was possible they were nothing more than hired thugs, but he was going to assume they’d been professionally trained and make his own plans accordingly.

  As Rico and Jazz went their separate ways, Mike opted to target Jazz first. The location of the cave on the west side of the island would put him in closer proximity to Shannon, and Mike wasn’t taking any chances with her safety. Although he had faith that she would pull the trigger if confronted by either of their pursuers, it was a confrontation he wanted to avoid. He’d lived with the responsibility of taking another person’s life, and even when the circumstances were justified, it was an onerous burden—a burden he didn’t want her to have to bear.

  Anticipating Jazz’s course, Mike made his way down to the beach, leaving a deliberate but not obvious trail for him to follow. It was almost too easy to then circle back around and attack from behind—a quick blow to the back of his neck as he simultaneously wrenched the weapon from his grasp, then an upward swing with the butt of the gun to the side of his head. It was over in seconds without any blood being shed.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t have any handcuffs, but he managed to restrain Jazz’s hands and feet with zip ties from the backpack, then fashioned a quick rope out of the malleable vine that was abundant on the island to secure him to a leaning but sturdy palm.

  One down, he said to himself, as he set off in search of Rico.

  Jazz’s cohort proved to be a more worthy adversary.

  It took Mike almost twenty minutes to locate him. Close to twenty minutes of careful silent tracking, and with every minute that passed his concern for Shannon grew. He knew he should be focusing on Rico, but he couldn’t stop worrying about Shannon.

  Until the snap of a twig immediately refocused his attention. Then every muscle in his body tensed in preparation for the final assault.

  Shannon had no way of marking time while she waited for Michael to return. No way of knowing how long he’d been gone.

  The cave was dark, and even if she’d had the emergency candles, she wouldn’t have dared to light one. Michael was the only one who knew where she was, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  But the darkness and emptiness and silence grated on her nerves. She could hear nothing but the beating of her heart, a sound that seemed to echo so loudly in the empty space she was certain it would give away her position to anyone in the vicinity.

  After what seemed like hours, she heard something else.

  She held her breath, listening.

  There it was again.

  Footsteps?

  Yes, she was almost certain of it. There was someone outside, moving toward the cave.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Michael?

  The initial glimmer of hope faded. If it was Michael, he would have called out to her. He wouldn’t make her sit here and worry—he would let her know he was safe.

  She tightened her grip on the weapon. Her stomach no longer rebelled at the thought of having to shoot. If Rico or Jazz had hurt Michael, she would gladly pull the trigger.

  “Shannon?”

  Michael.

  She tucked the gun into the waistband of her skirt before racing toward the mouth of the cave. She stepped on something, felt a brief, stabbing pain in her foot, but didn’t stop.

  He dropped the backpack when he saw her, and she launched herself into his arms, mindless of the newly acquired weapons slung over his shoulder.

  He hugged her tight. “I told you I’d come back.”

  She stepped out of his embrace, her throat inexplicably tight. “I knew you would.”

  He smiled at this manifestation of faith as Shannon finally acknowledged the weapons slung over his shoulders.

  “Did you get those from Rico and Jazz?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “But how—” She stopped herself. She didn’t care what he’d had to do to get them. The only thing that mattered was that he’d come back, as he’d promised he would do.

  But he anticipated her unspoken question, reached out a hand to gently stroke a finger down her cheek. “I didn’t kill them. I could have,” he admitted, dropping his hand away. “I wanted to, to make them pay for what they put you through. But I didn’t. I only disarmed them and tied them up. It’s up to the authorities to decide their fate now.”

  She couldn’t deny she was relieved. If it had been a choice between Michael and Rico and Jazz, she would gladly have traded the lives of Peart’s two goons for this man. But while she wouldn’t have blinked if Michael told her he’d killed them in self-defense, she didn’t want any blood shed for vengeance. His restraint proved to her, once again, that he was an honorable man. A man worthy of the trust she’d finally allowed herself to give him.

  “Are you ready to get off this island?” he asked.

  She nodded. “More than ready.”

  He reached for the backpack again, paused. “Christ, Shannon. What happened?”

  “What?” She glanced down, surprised by the crimson stain in the sand. “Oh. I must have cut myself on something.”

  He dropped to the ground beside her, gently lifting her foot to examine the injury.

  “There’ll be a lot more of her blood on the ground if you don’t put your hands in the air right now, Courtland.”

  Everything inside Mike froze.

  Later he would wonder how he could have been so preoccupied as to let Peart get the jump on them. Later there would be plent
y of time for self-recriminations. For now, Mike needed to figure out how the hell he was going to extricate himself and Shannon from the mess he’d just dumped them into.

  He’d been a fool to accept Rico’s assertion that Peart was still in Pennsylvania, to believe he wouldn’t have time to get there and back despite the private planes and helicopters that were at his disposal. It was a stupid mistake that could end up costing Shannon her life.

  No, he wouldn’t let it. He would find a way out of this.

  The AK-47s he’d liberated from Rico and Jazz were still slung over his shoulder. But Peart was also armed, his finger at the ready on the trigger of his weapon. Mike was certain he could take Peart out in less than a second, but he couldn’t risk the possibility that Shannon might get caught in the cross-fire. Which meant that for now he’d have to stall while he considered other options.

  “Get up, Courtland,” Peart said. “Slowly.”

  He rose to his feet, stepping in front of Shannon to shield her with his body as he did so.

  “Miss Vaughn will relieve you of your weapons. One at a time,” he said to Shannon, “touching only the barrel.”

  Mike remained motionless while Shannon moved to his side. Her gaze was steady on his, silently communicating her faith and belief in him. He hoped like hell that trusting him wouldn’t be her last mistake.

  The first gun removed, Peart instructed her to take three steps forward and place it on the ground. The same routine was followed for the second gun, while he just stood there, helpless to do anything else.

  “If you’re going to kill us,” Shannon said, “why don’t you just do it?”

  “Are you in that much of a hurry to die?”

  “I just don’t like being a pawn in someone else’s game.”

  “It won’t be for too much longer,” Peart told her.

  “Maybe not for me,” she agreed. “But how much longer are you going to jump through hoops for A.J.?”

  Peart made no verbal response to her taunt, although Mike saw the way his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.

  “Ginger,” he warned softly. “It’s not smart to piss off the guy holding all of the weapons.”

  “Good advice.” Peart turned his gaze back on Shannon. “Because if my finger so much as twitches on this trigger, you’ll be dead before your body hits the ground.”

  “How would you explain that to A.J.?” Shannon asked, apparently undaunted.

  If Mike didn’t believe Peart was looking for an excuse to pull the trigger, he would have reached forward to clamp his hand over her mouth.

  “Accidents happen.” He gestured with the weapon. “Now step back beside Courtland.”

  She stepped back, seemed to lose her balance as she favored her injured foot.

  Mike automatically reached out, his hand going to her waist to steady her. His heart nearly stopped when Peart sighted the weapon on her.

  “Do you really want to test me?” he snarled.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  But Mike knew that she wasn’t, that her stumble had been deliberate. And with the familiar weight of his Glock now nestled in his palm, he sent up a silent prayer of thanks for her bold action and quick thinking.

  But he still didn’t know if he could risk drawing the weapon on Peart with Shannon so near.

  “Do you hear that?” she asked.

  Mike strained his ears but couldn’t hear anything.

  “It sounds like a helicopter. Maybe it’s the coast guard.”

  Peart, obviously uneasy about the possibility of anyone being witness to this abduction at gunpoint, glanced up.

  It was the moment Mike had been waiting for.

  He shoved Shannon out of the way, swung his weapon toward Peart and fired.

  Shannon drew in deep gulps of the salty air as the boat skimmed across the water. The wind was cool on her face, the light spray of water welcome evidence that they were finally on the move.

  She didn’t turn around to watch the island fade into the distance, hoping her memories of the past two days would disappear as easily.

  She could still hear the echo of those gunshots ringing in her ears.

  It had happened so fast. A split second that stretched into an eternity.

  And then the rescue boat had finally arrived and the authorities had been contacted. Peart was airlifted to the nearest hospital, Rico and Jazz taken into police custody, and she and Michael were on their way back to Miami.

  He was on the bridge now, talking to Garcia. Then he looked up, an easy smile creasing his face as his gaze locked with hers.

  He made his way across the deck toward her, carrying a first-aid box in his hand.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Somehow she managed a weak smile. “I’m feeling a little shaky,” she admitted.

  “Adrenaline crash,” he told her. “You’ve had a hell of a day.”

  “How about you? Or was it all in a day’s work?”

  “Hardly. I had some very bad moments when Peart was pointing that weapon at you. Although I was almost ready to kill you myself for baiting him.”

  “I wanted his attention on me so you could make your move,” she explained.

  “Well, you succeeded.” He slid his arm around her shoulders, hugged her tight. “And although I still wish you’d played a more passive role, you did good.”

  She wasn’t usually an emotional person. She certainly wasn’t the type to indulge in overt displays and had never been particularly susceptible to tears. But when he took her in his arms, when she felt the warm strength of his embrace, she couldn’t hold back the sob that tore at her throat as she finally accepted that everything could have ended differently.

  Michael brushed a hand over her hair, stroked it down her back. She buried her face against his chest, trembling with the onslaught of emotions, too overwhelmed to be embarrassed by her tears.

  “It’s okay,” he said softly.

  She could only nod, clinging tighter to him.

  He didn’t say anything else, he only held her until her tears were finally spent and her trembling had subsided.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t usually have meltdowns like that.”

  “I’d say you’re entitled.” He kissed her lips gently. “Now are you going to let me take a look at the gash on your foot?”

  With everything that had happened, she couldn’t believe he was concerned about such a minor injury. “It’s fine.”

  “If you don’t let me take care of it, I’ll get the medic.”

  She sighed and lifted her foot for a quick visual inspection.

  Shaking his head, Michael knelt beside her. “I’m going to have to clean this,” he said, already uncapping the bottle of antiseptic.

  She nodded, then sucked in a breath as he poured the liquid over the cut.

  “Sorry.” He winced in sympathy with her pain.

  When he’d finished flushing the cut, he covered it with a sterile gauze pad. She watched in fascination the careful attention he gave to the task. His touch was firm yet gentle, as careful as though he was Prince Charming about to fit her with Cinderella’s glass slipper.

  Prince Charming? Cinderella?

  It was then she knew she was in trouble.

  Big trouble.

  And this time it had absolutely nothing to do with Andrew Peart or Rico or Jazz or the mysterious A.J.

  It was because she’d fallen in love with Michael.

  Chapter 11

  Panic expanded inside Shannon’s chest. It wasn’t the life-or-death kind of panic she’d experienced facing Peart’s gun, but it was panic nonetheless.

  Love?

  No way.

  She didn’t do love under the best of circumstances, and the past few days had been anything but.

  No, it wasn’t love.

  It was relief, adrenaline, excitement, gratitude.

  Anything but love.

  “Better?” Michael asked.

  She stared at him blankly, her mind still reeling.


  “Your foot,” he clarified.

  “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”

  “You’ll still need to have it looked at when we get back to Miami. It probably needs a few stitches.”

  She nodded. “Any idea when we’ll get back?”

  “About another hour or so.”

  She nodded.

  It seemed unreal that a mere three hours could bridge the distance that only this morning had seemed an insurmountable obstacle.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For?”

  She smiled. “Keeping me alive.”

  He tucked a blowing strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. “It was my pleasure.”

  She knew he wasn’t talking about his safeguarding her but about the intimacy they’d shared. She felt the responding heat building inside her and reminded herself that what had happened between them on the island was over. It had been a moment of insanity, nothing more. Definitely not love. And the sooner they got back to the mainland and she went home, the sooner she could forget the ridiculous notion.

  “I hope it won’t be difficult to get a flight back to Chicago.”

  Michael’s smile faded. “Are you in that much of a hurry to leave?”

  She looked away. “There’s no reason for me to stay in Florida any longer.”

  “Until the police have identified and apprehended A.J., you’re not safe going anywhere.”

  “What if they never find this A.J.? You can’t keep tabs on me forever.”

  “It won’t be forever,” he promised. “Probably just a few more days.”

  A few more days with Michael.

  It was tempting, and it was because she was tempted that Shannon knew it was a bad idea.

  “I want to go home.”

  “I can understand that you want to get your life back to normal, but you’re still in danger.”

  “Maybe Peart only came after me because I was here—a convenient target.”

  “That’s a possibility,” he agreed. “But now you are the target. You’ve managed to escape from him and evade him, and though he won’t be coming after you anytime soon, it’s likely that A.J. will send someone else.”

  “I can’t understand why someone would go to this much trouble to retaliate for the fact that my sister was there when Zane Conroy was killed. It wasn’t even Natalie who killed him—she was just unfortunate enough to get caught in the middle.”