Page 137 of One Secret

The first shot hits the rim of the boat and pings up towards the mast somewhere. The second flies wide entirely. The third catches the front of the helm, barely inches from Cyrus's hands.

'Shit!' he curses, dodging out of the way and taking up his rifle. A series of shots in their direction has the speedboat realigning itself and their guns holding fire. But it also has us drifting and swaying dangerously on the water.

'Give me that!' I demand, reaching for the rifle. When Cyrus, on instinct, pulls the gun out of my reach, I dive for the holster under his arm instead and free one of his Glocks.

'Hey—!'

'Get us straight!' I cut him off, bracing my feet and leveling the gun at the enemy.

For a moment, it's as if the world slows down. The boat under my feet isn't a rocking turbulence but a predictable ebb and flow. The winds throwing hard against my outstretched arms are just a steady pressure on which to lean. The hurrying figures in black aboard the speedboat don't scurry but lumber in slow motion about the deck.

I take a slow inhale, absorbing the movement of the world around me in my knees and shoulders. I keep my sight flowing straight down the line of the barrel.

I exhale.

I shoot.

My target spins like a top, taking the slug in the shoulder and knocking clean off his feet. He'll live.

My second shot hits the driver of the boat clear through the neck.

He won't.

'Darcy, you need to get down!' Cyrus calls over the ringing in my ears.

'Hold on!'

'You're out in the open!'

There are two more men on the deck. One of them, I recognize in a gleam of moonlight, is Rocco Caruso.

'Darcy, now!'

I aim true but, as I pull back on the trigger, the boat hits an undertow and the bullet flies a few inches wide. I only clip Rocco in the ribs.

Big mistake.

The next thing I know, I'm hurled backward by an almighty punch in the chest. It throws me clean off my feet and I tumble back beside Cyrus. My spine hits the console and my vision goes all funny.

Something like a roar comes out of Cyrus, as a white-hot agony finally registers in my chest.

What the crap—?

I feel the boat lurch beneath me, and blink to see Cyrus's shape blotting out everything else. Several rounds of gunfire are muffled and oddly distorted in my ears.

I've been shot before. Twice in fact. But one was just a grazing flesh wound and the other was in my leg. It had been painful as all hell but I'd been able to compartmentalize and carry on back to my unit. This was—is—entirely different.

'Darcy!'

Cyrus sounds like he's coming from the wrong end of a long tunnel and I try to shake my head. I really need to get my ears checked.

And the misfires shooting across my eyes are equally annoying.

'Darcy, talk to me!'

What does he want to talk about? I wonder with sudden hilarity. The weather?

How about all the secrets I've been carrying because I'm too much of an idiot to realize they'd be safe with him? Or how I've spent my entire life believing that loneliness is akin to quiet contentment? How I've mistaken calm for happiness?

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