LITMIR.BIZ

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the narrow opening, then bumped the speeding vehicle over the grooved tracks to a grassy swell just at the left of the runway. With the tires screaming even louder than before, the Suburban hit the pavement outside the terminal then turned right on two wheels. Within seconds they were on the main road into town, two black and whites escorting them, one front, one rear.

      In the back of his mind, Andres realized what he had just witnessed. Lena had planned for this. She’d had a man stationed at the exit and an escape route in place.

      The man behind the wheel said something about alerting the hospital, then spoke into a headset. “Let them know we’re bringing someone in,” he said shakily. His voice thickened as he answered an obvious question. “No, it’s not the package. It’s Lieutenant McKinney. She’s been hit.”

      Beneath Andres, Lena groaned. He slid to the floorboard of the vehicle to give her more room, then he took a good look at her injury for the first time. The bullet had managed to go beneath her vest. It didn’t look good. His mouth went dry.

      “Where’s the first aid—”

      Before he could finish, the driver thrust a white metal box over the front seat. “There’s bandages and tape inside,” he said. “We’ll be at the hospital in five minutes.”

      Andres ripped open the case and grabbed a roll of white gauze, but the material was woefully inadequate. It seemed as if blood was pouring from Lena. Yanking off his coat, he pressed it against the wound but the fabric was immediately soaked. He’d seen plenty of men shot, had even done the shooting himself more than once, but this was Lena, for God’s sake. She groaned and a sick feeling rose up in his chest to block his breathing.

      He slipped a hand beneath her head. She was going into shock, her skin pale and clammy, her body shaking on the leather cushions that were already slick with her blood. Her eyes fluttered open, and suddenly she looked smaller and more frail.

      “Hang on, querida, hang on.” His endearment slipped out naturally, just as it had earlier in the plane. “We’ll be at the hospital any minute. You can do it.”

      She spoke with great difficulty. “You…okay? Not hit?”

      “Don’t talk,” he said automatically. “You’ll lose more blood.”

      She ignored him completely. “Are you…okay?”

      “Sí, sí. I am fine, now por favor—no more talking!”

      She nodded weakly, her eyes closing once more, only to blink open again. “W-what about…Potter?”

      “Don’t worry about him. The others will take care of him. You just lie there and be quiet.”

      They bounced around a curve. She tried to bite back a cry but failed, her agony apparent. Helpless to do anything else, Andres screamed at the driver. “Take it easy up there, goddammit! You’re hurting her!”

      The man didn’t respond; he simply added more gas, the black Suburban barreling down the highway, passing everything else in a blur.

      “Andres…” She spoke his name softly, painfully.

      He bent down, his heart suddenly plunging into a frightening abyss. She was fading right before his eyes, growing obviously weaker as he held on to her. “Lena! Stay with me, okay? Stay awake!”

      She lifted a shaking hand and grabbed his shirt. Her fingers were red and sticky with her own blood, but the strength in her grip was shocking. She pulled him closer, her voice a fading rasp. “I should have done a better job…shoulda checked better.” Her lips were dried and caked, the words thick but the meaning clear. “I’m sorry, Andres, I’m so sorry….”

      She was apologizing for saving his life? If there were shoulds they belonged to him, dammit! He should have been the one lying there bleeding, not Lena.

      He leaned over her. “Lena, please! You did do your job. Don’t get loco on me, okay? ¿Me escuchas? Do you hear me?”

      She nodded faintly, then she went still in his arms and her head fell back.

      ANDRES DIDN’T KNOW which was worse: holding Lena’s unresponsive body or handing her over to the medics at the hospital. Either way he felt helpless and totally out of control.

      Three nurses and two doctors were waiting as the SUV wheeled into the drive-through by the hospital’s back door. They shoved him out of the way and disappeared with Lena down the hall. He caught up to the gurney just as they turned it into a room and slammed the door in his face. All he could do was listen as someone screamed for X rays STAT and another voice yelled out for a chest tube. He vented his frustration by cursing in Spanish and waving his arms but his actions were futile. No one would let him inside.

      Leaning his head against the mint-colored wall, a storm of emotion broke over him. Panic, anger, fear, guilt—every feeling he’d ever experienced erupted all at once. It was a tide he couldn’t stop, a flood he couldn’t control. In a useless attempt to stem the sensations, he raised his hands to cover his face, but all he did was make it worse as his fingers came into focus.

      The creases in his skin were painted red. Red with Lena’s blood. His horrified gaze fell lower. His pants, his shirt, even his shoes were crimson. He was covered with her blood.

      He stared a moment longer, then he closed his fingers, his knuckles shining under the bright lights of the corridor as a rush of guilty rage shook him. Lifting his arm in one fluid movement, he slammed his fist into the wall. A hole appeared as a rain of green plaster cascaded to the floor.

      His whole side went numb, but his mind—and his heart—cracked open wide.

      THE DOCTORS and the nurses were talking. Their voices were hurried, but distinct, each word a perfectly formed entity that Lena heard, then saw. They floated above her, just out of reach in little cartoon boxes, as did the masked faces of the people nearby. She wanted to tell them she felt fine but everyone seemed too rushed to listen to her mumbles. She closed her eyes slowly, the lids fluttering down. The next thing she knew, she was at the beach. Jeffrey, the youngest of all her brothers, was chasing her into the tide, splashing her and calling her a baby, telling her about the monsters that were just offshore, waiting to get her.

      She looked out into the emerald waves and shivered. Monsters were out there, all right, but they weren’t in the water. They were closer, closer than either of them had ever suspected. She shut her eyes and screamed, but no one heard her.

      ANDRES HEARD Phillip McKinney long before he saw him, the man’s unmistakable voice rolling down the hallway and bowling over everything in its path. Andres jumped to his feet and after a questioning glance, Carmen, at his side, stood as well. A moment later, Lena’s father strode into the waiting room, his entourage following behind him as he plowed through the crowd of cops who’d begun to congregate after hearing the news.

      Phillip had aged a bit, but not that much. His hair, always silver, was a little thinner and his step a little slower, yet his back was ramrod straight, his skin tanned and tight. The handmade suit, the polished shoes, the silk foulard tie, they hadn’t changed at all. Expensive and flashy, they were essential to Phillip’s presence.

      At seventy, he was a still practicing attorney with personal injury lawsuits his speciality. His thriving partnership had given him the kind of wealth and power few men could ever achieve; he was well-known all over Florida and even in the nearby states.

      Almost as an afterthought, Andres’s brain registered the identities of the men surrounding Phillip. They were Lena’s brothers, all older than her except for Jeffrey, the baby of the family. Bering, the eldest, waited anxiously just beside his father. On the other side of the old man was Richard, her second brother. Behind those two came Stephen, and finally, trailing, came Jeffrey.

      As always, Jeff was a peripheral member of the group. Even though he worked at Phillip’s law firm alongside his brothers, he was the black sheep of the family. Idealistic and sometimes naive to Andres’s way of thinking, Jeff continually disavowed what he considered the other McKinneys’s base materialism. He spent his

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