A sniffle broke the silence, and she wiped her nose with the back of her free hand. Was she crying? The question hung in Bo's head. He didn't move, barely breathing through his mouth as he waited to see what she did next.
She whimpered. The pathetic sound bounced off the hard walls, reverberating through the stairwell in both directions.
What was she doing?
"What are you doing here?" she asked, choking on the sobs she couldn't hold back any longer. "Why do you keep doing this to me?"
Bo frowned at the question. He didn't understand. Had she seen him? And if so, how did she know who he was? And what did she mean, keep doing this? He hadn't done anything to her. Not yet.
"I told you to leave me alone, not to come back here. So why? Why do you do this? I was moving on with my life. I got a great gig here, started all over again. And you keep popping up, carving out fresh wounds. Do you have any idea what you've done to me, how this hurts all the way down to my core? I loved you. More than anything."
She paused, and the crying resumed for almost a minute.
Bo didn't know what to do. He always knew what to do. Her emotional breakdown, however, threw his plans into a tailspin. It didn't change his intentions. He was still going to do what he came here to do.
He inched one step closer to her, keeping the pistol aimed squarely at her spine.
"You told me you wouldn't come back, that you'd let me be. I can't go through this again. You know that. So why are you here? I thought you were supposed to be disappearing. You said that being here would put me, could put me in danger. If you truly cared about me, you wouldn't be here."
Bo realized who she thought he was. She hadn't seen him. She thought he was Dak. He hadn't realized the depth to how badly his ex-teammate had screwed things up with this woman. From the sound of it, she didn't realize how much ending the relationship had hurt him too.
This was too perfect.
"Well? Are you going to say anything or are you just going to stand there?" Her head drooped. "Answer me, Dak? Why did you come here?"
She whirled around and faced the man. Realization stretched across her face. She stared into the eyes of a killer. Her gaze fell to the weapon in his hand.
"You're not Dak," she said, her voice cracking at the epiphany.
"No, darlin’. I'm definitely not."
"Who are you? What do you want?"
A sickly grin creased his lips. "You'll find out soon enough."
Eight
Nazaré
Will and Dak stepped onto the elevator in the apartment building with their clothes still dripping wet. They'd managed to escape the beach without being noticed by witnesses, utilizing the explosion and the subsequent panic to sneak away.
First responders arrived on the scene within minutes, sirens blaring from every adjoining street.
Emergency crews didn't pay attention to the two sopping wet men as they climbed the hill back to Will's building.
Dak was grateful no one occupied the elevator on their return journey. He had no doubts that the people they'd seen before would recall the two men with the paddle board and the office chair. From there, it would only be a matter of time until those witnesses connected the dots and started feeding information to the authorities.
Will pressed the button for his apartment's floor. The doors closed two seconds later and the lift started to ascend. For a second, neither of the men spoke; both still breathing hard from the hike up the hill combined with the harrowing experience prior.
"Thank you," Will said, staring straight ahead at the doors per the social custom in elevators. No one ever seemed to make eye contact in the sacred space. Perhaps it was too intimate.
"You're welcome," Dak said.
"Although it's kind of your fault."
"Kind of?"
"Okay, it's entirely your fault."
The lift doors opened and Dak poked his head out through the opening, checking both directions before he stepped onto the floor. Will followed and then took the lead, heading toward his apartment.
Dak didn't say anything until they were safely back inside the flat.
The second the door closed behind him, Dak locked it and continued the conversation. "Yes, I know. And I'm sorry. You're right. It's all my fault. I should have never brought you into this."
"Relax, brother," Will said. He went to the refrigerator and opened it, pulled out two bottles of beer, and set them on the counter. "I'm just messing with you." He used a steel bottle opener next to the fridge to open both bottles, then handed one to his friend. "Although, it was your fault. For the record."
Dak grinned, shaking his head as he accepted the proffered pilsner. "Yeah, well, I know you would have done the same for me."
Will took a sip as if contemplating the insinuation. After he swallowed the cool liquid, he shrugged. "Maybe."
Dak pulled a swig from the bottle. "That was close, though. Too close."
"Yeah, next time you ask for help with hunting for a psychopath like Bo Taylor, remind me to tell you no thanks."
"Where's the fun in that?" Dak said and took another sip.
"Touché."
"Besides, it's not like your current line of work is some sort of cushy office gig. I'm sure you deal with plenty of crazies."
"Yeah, but none of them have strapped me to a bomb in my apartment."
"Yet."
Will rolled his eyes and took a big gulp from his bottle. He walked by Dak who stood next to the entryway with the bottle in his hand and a satisfied, smug look on his face.
When he reached the
