The hills above the villa bloomed with light.
One chance, Sawyer thought, and prayed he’d timed it right. He might not live through it, but he had one chance to save Annika. He felt the gun against his head, the arm tight at his throat. And did something he’d never done.
He let go.
The arm dropped away, and there was nothing. Not even a sound. He gripped the compass, brought Annika into his mind. He’d never tried a shift within a shift, but he’d already counted off sixty precious seconds.
He had to make it back to her. If he couldn’t get her away, at least she wouldn’t be alone.
In the tank Annika lay still, eyes closed. She would fight again, beat and beat against the glass when she found the strength again. Now her body was weak, shaken. Only will kept her from simply drifting away.
She hoped they would kill her. They meant to kill Sawyer, she understood that. He would die if he came back, and he would come back.
He had too much honor to leave her behind.
She knew he hadn’t told Malmon the whole truth—he still protected the star. She believed he had a plan, would try. But he was hurt, bleeding, all but broken.
With all her heart she wished he would travel on, be safe. Then she heard something like thunder. The water in the tank trembled.
When she pushed herself up, her vision went gray, but she saw Malmon rush out of the cave, shouting. Saw Yadin reach for the controls.
Then Sawyer was with her—like a dream—in the water. He lifted his bound hands up, put his arms around her.
Light flashed to blinding. The tank rocked and shook as if by a giant’s hand. She heard screaming, such terrible screaming. Then they flew.
She wrapped her arms around him, felt his blood, wet and warm on her skin.
“I’ve got you,” he said in her ear.
“You came for me.” Before she could weep, they tumbled to the floor.
She heard gunshots, shouting, saw more lights flash. Felt Sawyer go limp under her. She managed to lift her head, look at him. His face, white, bone white under the blood and the bruising. And from his shoulder, his side, more blood seeped.
She wanted to stand and fight, but had no strength left, not even to bring the gift of her legs. So she did all she could, and tried to shield his body with hers.
Now she did drift, for a moment, for an hour—she couldn’t know. Dimly, she heard a voice. Riley.
“Fuckers won’t try that again anytime soon. Now let’s get this rescue party— Jesus, Jesus Christ. Bran!”
Hands on her, lifting her.
“No, no, Sawyer. He’s hurt. They hurt him. Sawyer.”
“Bran’s got him, Gorgeous. We’ve got him.”
“Doyle, take her out, into the pool. She needs the water. Riley, more towels. We need to stop this bleeding so Bran can work on him.” Sasha dropped beside Bran. “How bad?”
“Very. He’s lost a lot of blood. I think his cheekbone’s shattered, and his eye . . .”
“Let me help. I can take some of it.”
“It’s too much, Sasha.”
“I can do it. I can help.” She laid a hand on Sawyer’s cheek. Gave a shocked cry. “Oh, God.”
“Stop. It’s more than you can do.”
“It’s not. Work through me.” Desperation, pity, love all tangled in her. “You said you trusted me. Trust me now.”