Bodyguard. Shirlee McCoy

it was a panther, a bear, an alligator, but King was trained to differentiate between human and animal threats. Besides, thanks to former team member Jake Morrow, the Dupree crime family seemed to always be just one step behind the K-9 team. There was every possibility that one or more of Angus’s henchmen was wandering through the Everglades.

      He thrust Esme’s backpack into her arms, leaning close to whisper in her ear. “Stay down. Stay quiet. Don’t move.”

      She nodded, clutching the backpack to her chest.

      King’s growl changed pitch. Whoever was coming was getting closer. It wasn’t local law enforcement, and it wasn’t a member of the K-9 team. They were back at headquarters waiting for word that Ian had finally found Esme’s trail.

      That left only one other option.

      Angus Dupree or his hired guns.

      Ian acted quickly, shoving the canoe into the water with just enough force to keep it moving. He gave King the signal to heel and went with him into the shelter of thick vegetation. Mosquitoes and flies buzzed around King’s head, but the dog didn’t move; his attention was fixed on a spot just beyond the clearing. Ian knew the area. He’d walked it several times the past few days, certain that Esme would arrive there eventually.

      She was smart.

      There was no doubt about that.

      Ian had done his research. He knew as much as there was to know about her childhood, her schooling, her college years. He knew she’d built her business without the help of her older sister, that she’d never taken a dime from her brother. Everything she had, she’d earned on the right side of the law by using the brain God had given her.

      The fact that she’d escaped witness protection and had stayed under the radar for months was even more proof of her keen intelligence. Smart people didn’t go into situations without a plan. Ian had visited the trailer she’d been renting at the edge of the Everglades. He’d seen the old boathouse and the dock, and he’d known she’d had an escape route in mind when she’d chosen to rent the place.

      All he’d needed was a map and a highlighter. He’d done some calculations, tried to think of how far someone like Esme would be willing to travel in a hostile environment. It hadn’t taken any time at all to figure out that the quickest, most direct route out of the Everglades brought her here.

      He’d staked out the area, walking a grid pattern every day, waiting for her to show.

      Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d been haunting this place looking for her. She was smart, but she’d have been better off leaving the area. She hadn’t had the backpack with her while she was in protective custody with the local police, and she hadn’t visited any of the local outdoor supply stores, either. He had to assume that she’d returned to the rental to retrieve the pack. Which meant there was something she needed in it. Money seemed more likely than anything.

      King’s growl had become a deep rumble of unease. Scruff standing on end, muscles taut, he waited for the signal to go in. Ian waited, too. He didn’t know how many people were approaching or what kind of firepower they’d brought. Backup was already on the way. He’d called in to headquarters as soon as he’d seen Esme paddling toward the campsite.

      A shadow appeared a hundred yards out, and King crouched, ready to bound toward it. Ian gave him the signal to hold, watching as two more people stepped into view. A posse of three hunting a lone woman. If Esme had been bedded down for the night, they’d have been on her before she’d realized what was happening.

      An unfair fight, but that was the way the Duprees did things.

      One of the men turned on a flashlight, the beam bouncing across the camping area and flashing on the water. Twenty feet from the shore, the canoe floated languidly.

      “There!” the man hollered, pulling a gun, the world exploding in a hail of gunfire.

       TWO

      If she’d been in the campground, she’d be dead.

      Every bullet fired, every ping of metal against metal, reminded Esme that her family—the one she had loved and admired and been so proud of—wanted her dead.

      Traitor. Benedict Arnold. Turn-tail. Judas.

      Uncle Angus had whispered all those names as he tried to choke the life out of her four nights ago. The words were still ringing in her head and in her heart, mixing with the echoing sound of the automatic weapon Angus’s hit men were using.

      She wasn’t sure what had happened to Ian and King. Either they’d run or they were biding their time, waiting for an opportunity to strike. One man against three didn’t seem like good odds, and it was possible Ian was waiting for backup.

      He could wait until the cows came home.

      Esme was leaving.

      She slithered through muddy grass and damp leaves, praying the sound of her retreat was covered by gunfire. Eventually, they’d stop shooting. When they did, her chance of escaping undetected would go from slim to none.

      Who was she kidding?

      It was already that. She might get out of the Everglades. She might get out of Florida. Eventually, though, Uncle Angus would find her. He had money backing him, and he had a lot riding on his ability to silence her. If she testified against Reginald, everything the two men had built—the entire crime family they’d grown—would collapse. He’d been chasing her for months, and he wouldn’t give up now. Not with the trial date approaching. A few weeks, and she’d be in the courtroom, looking at her brother as she told the jury and judge what she’d seen him do.

      She shuddered, sliding deeper into the foliage.

      She wasn’t going to give up on life, and she couldn’t give up on saving the one remaining bright spot in her very dark family tree.

      Violetta.

      They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other since Esme had gone into witness protection, but they were sisters, bound by blood and by genuine affection for each other. As far as Esme knew, Violetta hadn’t been involved in any of Reginald’s and Angus’s crimes. Whether or not she’d known about them, however, was a question Esme needed to ask.

      After she testified and shut her brother’s operations down for good.

      The gunfire stopped, and she froze, her belly pressed into damp earth, her heart thundering. They’d check the canoe, find it empty, realize she’d escaped.

      She had to get farther away before that happened.

      Taking a deep breath, she slithered forward, her pack slung over her shoulder, the soft rustle of leaves making her heart beat harder. A man called out, and someone splashed into the water, cursing loudly as he went.

      She used the commotion as cover, moving quickly, trying to put as much distance between herself and the campsite as possible.

      “FBI, K-9 unit. Put your weapons down or I’ll release my dog,” a man called, his voice carrying above the chaos.

      She froze again. Ian was still there. She hadn’t intended on spending much time with him. The entire time they’d been talking, she’d been planning her escape, trying to work out a solution to the newest problem. Just like she did when she’d planned a wedding and there was a hiccup on the big day.

      “I said, drop your weapons,” he repeated sharply.

      A single shot rang out, and someone shouted. A dog growled, and Esme could picture the dark-eyed, dark-faced K-9 racing into danger.

      Two against three.

      One weapon against many.

      She couldn’t leave.

      No matter how much she wanted to.

      She couldn’t abandon a man to almost certain death.