“Remain still.” Deboque warned. The gun was in his hand now and pointed at her heart. A fine film of sweat pearled over his brow as the sound of running feet pounded over their heads. He held the trigger lightly, but didn’t press home. Whatever trouble was on deck, he didn’t want to draw it down to him. “The case, Hannah.”

“A double cross?” Her eyes narrowed as she calculated how much time she dared stall him. “Yes, you would easily have paid me ten times this if you never intended to pay me at all.”

“The case.” He started toward her, slowly. Fear was blossoming inside him, not of death, not of defeat, but of prison. He would never survive behind bars again.

Hannah waited until he was two feet away, then with both hands on the handle, swung the heavy case at his gun arm.

*   *   *

Deboque’s men, whether in loyalty or fear, fought madly. Gunfire exploded back and forth from the two boats. A spray of bullets from a machine gun smashed in the wood above Bennett’s head and sent splinters raining down his back. He watched a man fall over the rail of the yacht and into the water below.

Already the firing from Deboque’s side was coming more sporadically, but time was speeding by. And Hannah was still with Deboque. Alive, Bennett told himself as he aimed and fired. She was alive. He’d know if it was otherwise because his heart would have stopped. But there was an urgency churning in him, more than the wild night and the scent of blood. Moving with it, he worked his way to stern and slipped into the water.

The night was rent with shooting and the shouts of men. He saw a man dive from Deboque’s yacht and swim frantically toward a shore that was ten miles off. His hand brushed a body that floated facedown. ISS or the enemy, he didn’t know. While the fighting raged, he swam silently around the yacht.

Because it was nearly over, Reeve signaled for his men to close in. It was then he noticed that Bennett was no longer beside him.

“The prince.” His throat went dry with panic. “Where is Prince Bennett?”

“There.” One of the men spotted Bennett just before he disappeared around the stern of Deboque’s yacht.

“In the name of God,” Reeve breathed. “Move in fast. Prepare to board.”

There was no one on the starboard side as Bennett dragged himself on deck. There was the occasional blast and rip of bullets, but the shouting had died. He’d spent an hour during that long, endless day below deck studying Hannah’s diagram of Deboque’s yacht. He went to find her.

*   *   *