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—
He nodded. Knife in hand. He already knew. The clear water must have alerted him as it had her.
A school of fish scattered.
Darcy stiffened. Readied. Blood in the water would draw sharks, but a more imminent threat waited around the reef.
A figure circled into sight, spear aimed straight for Darcy. Eyes behind the mask glinted with pure evil.
No question of his intent now.
Max detonated into action. Yanked the spear, levering the diver forward. Max locked a bulging arm around the attacker's neck. His knife arced down, cut the attacker's air hose with a swift skill and unsettling efficiency that startled her. Reassured her.
One down in only seconds. Hope buoyed Darcy.
A body slammed into her, jerked her arm. Adrenaline surged through her veins, pulsed in her ears. She curled her knees and kicked forward. Thrust. Hard. Slammed the looming diver into the toxic spines of the red coral. The diver twitched, fell away.
Darcy thrashed left, then right, searching for the other two in the distance. She steadied her breathing, strategizing her next move. Another figure slid into view.
Damn it, how many did they have? Already her legs quivered from the exertion combined with their earlier dive. No question, Max's skills in the water outstripped hers. If only she could hold up her own end. She needed to give him an edge.
A hand banded round her arm. Memories of the past blurred with the present, of another hand years ago clamping on her arm at a luau, dragging her away from the crowd.
No!
She powered an elbow back into the attacker's neck. Bought a moment's freedom while Max maneuvered out of reach of a spear and knife.
She sucked in more air. Gritting her teeth for a battle she feared she couldn't win.
And then it came to her. The only plan with a chance of succeeding. She'd just been too trapped in the past to recognize it.
Only minutes earlier she'd vowed that she'd learned, that she would see the big picture in relationships and service. No longer would she seek glory at the expense of what others needed from her.