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Lost in his kisses, her fingers entwined in his hair. They moved as one, riding the wave together until they crashed into the abyss.
Sarah didn’t remember closing her eyes, but when they next opened, the room was flooded with sunlight.
‘Good morning.’
Her mouth curved as his lips caressed the back of her neck. ‘Yes, it is.’
ChapterTwenty
They’d just picked up the training intensity after a few slower days where Sarah and Alex had taken advantage of the local festivities and played more than they trained.
Slowly, Alex came to believe that maybe they could outrun his past. The news broadcast had stopped mentioning the search for Sarah weeks ago. He allowed himself to relax, just a little, although the wariness was never far away. Every evening they found each other again. Sometimes their lovemaking was slow and tentative, as though only just discovering how to express their feelings physically. Other times it was wild and passionate, their hunger for each other like fire, alive and unable to be contained. They woke every day in each other’s embrace.
It was the week after New Year, a Wednesday. Together, they’d prepared a lasagna made from wild mushrooms bought at the local market and were washing down the meal with a glass of the region’s finest Chardonnay in the living room, nestled together on the tiny sofa. It was the kind of peaceful life he had never imagined would be his.
The atmosphere shifted just before the quiet footfall. Alex didn’t need to wait for confirmation of an intruder - the dark makes no noise. He was pleased to see Sarah reached for her gun at the same time as him. He didn’t have time to talk her through the plan again, or guide her out of the cottage. The thought of leaving her was almost impossible to swallow. He would rather die than lose her. But he had to trust she knew what she was doing. Trust that she could, and would, handle herself.
Squatting low on his haunches, he made his way through the living room, to the bedroom and out the window. He gave himself no time to adjust to the sudden dark and cold, wanting to draw any attention away from the house and Sarah. He pushed himself up against the wall and waited, gun in hand.
The moon gave an ineffectual glow over the winter landscape, giving its usual daytime beauty a desolate veil. Alex took aim at the shadow that edged its way from the front of the cottage. His first shot pushed the assailant off-balance, hitting his shoulder. A reactive shot fired into the night sky, muffled by a silencer. Alex bounded over the hedges, used the corner as cover and terminated the danger with two more shots to the head.
He waited, the silence amplified by adrenaline and anticipation. Doubtful the man would have come alone. The whine of the screen door jerking open gave him the location of a second man. Sarah should be clear of the house by now. He shook his head, needing to put her out of his mind. Instinct convinced him there was at least one other threat. He ducked his head around the corner, in the direction from which the first attacker had come. It was clear.
A floorboard creaked. The bedroom. He trained his gun on the open window. In the distance he heard the hum of a motorbike. One engine only. He couldn’t imagine The Devils had gone to the trouble of finding bikes while they were looking for him. He dismissed it as unrelated while refocusing his senses to hear what the noise of the bike might be covering.
A shot whizzed past his shoulder, millimeters from making contact. He backed around the corner. Behind him, more shots rang out. Muffled. Not Sarah firing. He heard the soft landing of his current problem as it jumped out of the window. He ran to the front of the cottage, knowing his shadow would give his position away if he didn’t move now.
The verandah was empty, no blood or signs of a scuffle. He stayed low, sure Sarah had lured at least one man away, but not willing to risk walking into a trap inside the cottage. With one hand on the railing, he lifted himself onto the verandah and pressed himself against the wall closest to the side he’d just come from.
‘Hollywood,’ a heavily accented voice whispered in the darkness.
Not The Devils, hired local guns.
‘I know you’re here. I can smell your Judas hide.’
The voice was low, disjointed in the twilight. Alex didn’t flinch.
‘The price on your head is worth losing one man.’
The accent wasn’t French. Maybe Greek, but he couldn’t be sure.
‘You can’t hide from me, you coward dog.’
That’s it, keep talking, fool.
The man’s breathing was loud, not from exertion. He was moving slowly. Adrenaline was rushing his senses, fear masquerading as bravado. The gun edged around the corner, Alex grabbed it, forcing the barrel skyward as he fired into the belly of his would-be killer.
He twisted the arm holding the gun until the bones were at snapping point, pulling the man against the balustrade.
‘Who sent you?’ he growled.
A strangled groan escaped.
‘Let’s try again. Was it The Devils?’
The man smiled through the blood that had traveled into his mouth. ‘Brian Isobel sends his regards. Looks like you killed the wrong brother.’
‘Fair enough.’
