Page 21 of Critical Mass
But with a father like Richard Ravenscroft, Natalie had probably always had a target on her back.
Now she was running from terrorists, being shot at, and she’d discovered that the man she was falling in love with didn’t truly exist.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “For all of this.”
Natalie turned away from him, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. “Sorry doesn’t help me right now.”
No, it didn’t.
Nothing he could say would help.
But he could get her to safety, get her warm and dry, and then figure out how to protect her from the upcoming storm.
The boat engine sputtered and coughed, each sound making Natalie’s already-frayed nerves pull tighter.
They were running out of gas.
Ofcoursethey were.
Because this nightmare couldn’t possibly get any worse.
Except then she heard it—a rhythmic thumping sound growing louder, cutting through the night air.
Natalie looked up and saw lights descending from the sky.
A helicopter. An actual helicopter, lowering itself toward what looked like a small marina ahead of them.
“What—?” Her voice came out as a croak. “Hudson, who is that?”
“Help,” he said simply, his attention fixed on guiding the dying boat toward the dock.
The helicopter touched down in the marina’s parking lot, its rotors kicking up dust and debris that she could see even from the water.
Two figures emerged and ran toward the dock.
Natalie’s heart hammered against her ribs.
This was real. This was actually happening.
Helicopters and men running in the darkness and Hudson navigating like this was all perfectly normal.
“Are these your friends?” The question sounded absurd even as she asked it.
What kind of consulting job involved helicopters in the middle of the night?
No, he’d said he worked in private . . . something or other. She couldn’t remember what he’d said his real job was with all the chaos.
“Yes.” Hudson’s jaw was tight as the engine gave one final cough and died completely. “They’re my friends, and they’re here to help us.”
The boat drifted the last few feet to the dock, momentum carrying them in.
One of the men—tall and athletic with curly brown hair—caught the bow line and secured it.
“You look terrible, Hud,” the man said. Then his eyes found Natalie and his expression immediately softened. “Ma’am. Let’s get you out of that boat.”
Hud. So Hudsonwashis real name.
At least that part hadn’t been a lie.
