Sylvie pushed her body because her life depended on it. Grateful for the diving boots she’d worn under her fins to protect her feet, she ran from another madman, this one holding a high-powered rifle instead of a diver’s knife. If she could just make it to the water. Again. Hard to believe she’d escaped the crazy diver beneath the surface only to face off with another dangerous man. This wasn’t some random meeting, but an elaborate plan to assure her death. She could almost laugh at their efforts—how hard had they believed she would be to kill? Her legs screamed, and she stopped to lean against a Sitka spruce, catching her breath. The dry suit hadn’t been designed for running. At first she’d thought the plane was just another part of the plan. A diver. A man with a rifle. Why not a floatplane to attack her in some other, horrible way?
