Page 33 of Ship Outta Luck

Shit.Shit.

“Shipment,” she says slowly, and her eyes light up. Snapping her fingers, she locks her gaze with mine. “Shipment. The man in the bar, the Russian…” Her face blanches. “Hitman, you called him.”

I nod when she stares at me.

“He said something about a shipment.” Her voice goes slightly squeaky again. “You’re DEA… You think my father was involved with drugs? A drug shipment? And you think I know where it is?” She laughs, her hand half-covering her mouth in disbelief.

“I think it’s possible,” I say, inclining my head.

“You’re wrong.” She lowers her hand, brushing off some of the crumbs clinging to the countertop. “You’rewrongabout myfather. He would never have done anything involved with drugs, not after—he wouldn’t have.”

I open my mouth, trying to come up with a question for her, with a reason I was cleared to give her, when a sudden flash of light nearly blinds me.

June’s mouth opens in surprise, her eyes wide.

The sound of the explosion follows, nearly deafening me.

My ears ring as I see June scream, clapping her hands over her ears in what seems like slow motion.

Out front, the Jeep’s a fireball.

They found us.

We overstayed our welcome— her stunt with the goddamn shotgun made things take longer than they should have, and being so close to her… it distracted me. Of fucking course they found us.

My teeth grind together.

“Come on,” I yell, but she shakes her head. She can’t hear. Tears stream down her face, and in one swift motion, I grab the shotgun off the floor and throw her over my shoulder. Handing her the shotgun as I make a break for the sliding glass doors.

Hoping she’ll aim at whoever is about to burst through the front doors andnotme. Trusting that sheisn’tworking with the cartel. Either she’s an incredible actress—which isn’t impossible, considering my ex—or sheisa civilian and we’re both in deep shit.

Well, either way, we’re in deep shit.

My throat tightens, pulse hammering as adrenaline pumps through my body.

“They’re trying to kill us,” she yells.

“Don’t let them.”

Blinding light signals she made a shot into the deepening dark of evening, alongside the sharp report of the shotgun. Sliding down my chest, June wraps her strong, bare legs aroundmy torso, the hot barrel of the gun sizzling against my t-shirt, my skin. Her hand dips into the pocket where I stuffed her shotgun shells, expertly reloading the chamber.

The hot barrel torches my shoulder as she uses it to steady the aim of the gun.

Smart.

I dare a glance at her as I run through the sliding doors, grunting as she fires another shot and the barrel sizzles on my skin. I don’t dare look back. We have to get to the boat.

Get to open water.

We have to get the hell away from the smugglers, who will sure as shit torture her for information. Or worse.

Fuck.

I shouldn’t have left my rifle in the goddamn Jeep.

She fires again, and I sprint. Her legs are locked tight around me, and I use one arm to balance, the other clenched around her waist.

Gulping air, I try to get as much oxygen in my bloodstream as possible.

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