Her mind raced with options unfolding like an in-flight emergency checklist. Could she make it back to shore? To the boat? Or maybe she should continue to hide in the plane wreckage and defend herself until Max arrived.
Even then, her odds sucked.
She considered luring the divers away from Max. For all of three roaring breaths.
Max would find her. No way would he quit searching until he located her, landing unaware into God only knew what.
Warning him would increase their odds. She had to race for the shore and alert Max. Likely he was already on his way. Close. She hoped.
Darcy palmed the knife and kicked. Hard. Sweeping around the other side of the plane and searching the water for signs of Max. At least the clear Guam waters had allowed her the advance warning of seeing the attackers from a distance.
A small advantage, but she'd take it.
Darcy's arms strained. Her breathing labored. She sucked in air from her tank. The underwater beauty she'd so enjoyed earlier dulled to monochromatic grays streaking past. Not nearly fast enough.
Why the hell did this have to happen underwater? She could kick the crap out of two guys on land. Or one underwater. But even with Max's help, these two-to-one underwater odds chilled her. If she could just make it to shore, that would level the playing field.
Her legs pumped harder past a reef of poisonous red coral.
God, she hoped when she hauled onto the sandbar those four divers would laugh and apologize for scaring the hell out of her when they were only hunting.
Instinct told her otherwise, and trusting instincts was critical to flyers who planned to stay alive in combat.
Darcy risked a glance behind her. The gap narrowed as the swimmers streamed over the downed bomber. No more than a hundred yards between her and the four looming bodies and two spears. Did they plan to kill her outright? Or take her, as she'd been taken before.
Panic bubbled up her throat. Darcy propelled by the coral reef. Around.
A figure exploded into view. She clutched her knife. Ready. Her vision cleared.
Max.
Relief punched through her until she couldn't breathe. Had her tank gone dry? Air rushed in. Darcy gestured behind her, searching for ways to make him unders—>"Oh, great. I can hardly think straight and you're able to strategize a schedule for consummation. Nice to know I really sent your hormones into overload, Doc."
He'd hurt her pride. Again. But if he took her here, now when she didn't have a clue who he was...
No. She deserved better.
Darcy yanked her dive vest up from the sand. "I'm so sorry for what you've been through, Max, but I can't let you play mind games with me. I am fed up with people telling me what's right and wrong for me. God, I wish you would quit being so freaking protective." She spun on him, blazing anger and jabbing a finger his way. "And don't even toss the birth control protection excuse at me. Because it's not like you plan to follow through even if we swam straight back to a quick-mart."
Indignation radiated from her. Sparked through her. She was so damned hot. And gorgeous. And actually making some sense.
"Besides, I have a Norplant. Are you clean, of diseases I mean?"
Following her conversational twists was damn well giving him whiplash. "Yeah, but—"
"Me, too. Obviously." She jammed her arms through the vest one at a time. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You're wondering what the hell a virgin needs with implanted birth control. Apparently, I don't need it today."
"Hold on. Let's just—"
"I got it for combat." She plowed over his words as if he hadn't spoken. "I'm hoping like hell I never get shot down, but just in case, I thought I should protect myself." She paused to shoot him a toxic glare. "All of which I would have told you if you hadn't needed to retreat after today's 'interlude' as fast as humanly possible."
Her warrior spirit radiated. Damn, she was magnificent when pissed, and he wanted to kiss her pliant again. But his lack of control had already caused enough damage for one day. He deserved her rant. And more.
Darcy whipped her weight belt off the sand and began securing it around her waist. "Not all captors are sticklers about following the Geneva Convention on treatment of prisoners. It won't protect me from diseases, but at least I won't risk ending up pregnant."
Whoa. What the hell was going on? He struggled to follow the conversation shifting faster than riptides.
Max sorted through her words while she jerked on the rest of her gear with angry hands. She'd never shared her kidnapping experience with him, but he heard the reverberating implications all the same.