WICKED INTENTIONS { Completed}

Chapter 29

Nathan heard the shots just as they were exiting the cabin. Trading a shocked look with Randall, he took off in the direction of the gunfire. He raced to the back of the cabin and towards the forest. Easily finding the path between the line of trees, he darted in with Randall right on his heels.

Until now, Nathan had never known real desperation. It raced in his veins like hot lava scalding him until he was sure his whole body was a volcano on the verge of erupting. If something had happened to Shakira....he didn't know how he was going to live without her. He couldn't.

Not knowing whether he was going in the right direction, he followed his instincts and the muddy path. Panting in hushed irregular bursts and aware of Randall's heavy steps beside his, he weaved through the thick foliage and to the opening at the end of it.

They emerged from the trees just in time to see Karyn limping across the deck of the white sailboat, gun raised and her head whipping back and forth as if hunting for something. So intent was she on her search that she didn't notice the two men racing towards her until they were almost upon her.

"Put your gun down," Randall bellowed as they hurtled down the dock, the wood creaking and groaning under them and threatening to collapse. He yelled again, "Gun down."

She backed away as her shocked eyes fixed on Nathan and Randall. She turned the gun on them but before she could pull the trigger, shots rang out. Nathan wasn't sure which one of them caught her in the leg but her gun fell to the deck, its thump masked by the woman's shrill scream.

Nathan barely heard the agent's screeching, as he hurtled closer to the sail boat and his eyes scanned the deck seeking Shakira. Nothing! Instinctively he turned his hunt the murky grey depths of the lake. His heart almost stopped when he spotted the blue jacket floating above the water.

Without second thought, Nathan dropped his gun and dived into the lake, his entire being occupied with the need to save her. Slicing across the water with quick sharp strokes, he swam towards her. She was face down. Treading the water, he turned her.

Jesus.

Her skin was an ashen grey, there was a swelling lump on her jaw and her eyes were closed. She looked dead.

You're not dead. You're not dead. Nathan chanted desperately as he hauled Shakira's soaked, prone form towards the sailboat. Randall was there to help him lift her on deck. His clothes were wet and heavy as he scrambled up the side ladder but he barely noticed them or Karyn who was now handcuffed to the guardrail. He rushed to Shakira who was now on her back.

Randall had already turned her head to the side to drain water from her mouth and nose. He moved aside for Nathan to take over. Turning her head back to the center and pinching her nose, Nathan took a strong gulp of air then bent. He connected his lips to hers then pushed air into her lungs. Four strong breaths later, he put his ear on her mouth to see if she was breathing.

Nothing.

She didn't cough.

Her chest didn't move either.

You're not dead. You're not dead.

He placed two fingers on her wrist for ten seconds. There was no pulse.

Please dear God. Don't let her die.

Aware of the tears that were slipping down his cheeks, he took another deep breath and dipped his mouth to hers. As he pushed four breaths into her, he skimmed over the strange peak right below her shoulder and moved his hand to her chest. Ignoring the wet t-shirt clinging to her body, he knelt then pushed the heel of his hand downwards starting chest compressions.

"Wake up, Kira," he pleaded as he pumped rhythmically on her chest. "Wake up."

On the seventeenth compression, her body spasmed upwards violently - and then she coughed.

"That's it." Nathan had never been that happy to see someone coughing and retching water.

She had come back to him.

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