Page 46 of Under the Radar
She threw her leg over the seat, and none too soon. The smiling man and woman from the boutique were scaling the fence. Mac eased the ride into motion and accelerated quickly, throwing sandy dust and stones in the direction of the fence. Mo closed her eyes and locked her hands onto his belt in the front. It had been such a lovely day. How could this be happening?
Mac peeled out of the parking lot, zipped onto a main street, and swerved around several cars. She peered over his shoulder as he rode up the skirt of a driveway, sped down the sidewalk, and jumped a curb to catch the green light. Pedestrians waved their arms and shouted at him but he kept moving. Where were they going? Small shops and eateries blurred past at warp speed. Nausea welled up in Mo’s throat, and she forced it back down.
There was a squeal of brakes on their right in the middle of an intersection. Mo swung her head toward the sound. A black SUV careened toward them, and she screamed. The SUV was close enough for her to see the outline of faces in the front seat. The SUV veered left and just missed them as their scooter sped straight through the middle of a two-lane back-up. They’d be toast if anybody opened a car door. There was barely enough room for them to squeeze through, and the occasional bump of side view mirrors hurt like a mother. How did Mac muster the nerve to roll on through the thick line of traffic?
They broke free of the congestion at the next intersection. Mac turned left and then right onto a less congested street and accelerated dramatically. Mo’s teeth chattered with each bump in the road. Her hair and the skirt of her sundress danced aloft in the wind. Mac’s hand patted her forearm for just one reassuring second. How far had they driven? One mile? Two? She had no idea.
Mo peered over Mac’s shoulder and gulped. The black SUV drove straight at them this time. Mac didn’t slow as the other vehicle slid into a horizontal blockade in front of them. At the last moment, he turned into a driveway and sped up the sidewalk once more. Mo bit her lip in the tense seconds before Mac’s turn and tasted blood, a tang she was uncomfortably familiar with.
Mac veered sharply onto a rocky, winding downhill path toward the water. The gargantuan blue water slide of their ship glimmered in the distance against the orange-red of a spectacular sunset. Mac slowed and swung the bike to a quick stop in the sand.
Mo’s purse bounced against his chest as they raced toward the pier where the jet skis were tied up. Mac singled out a red machine, grabbed the key from a nearby post, yelled to the attendant that it was for Hugh, and hoisted Mo onto the ride before leaping on himself. “Same principle as the scooter, babe. Keep your body glued to mine.” This time, he took off so fast, the momentum threw her back. This was harder to balance on than the scooter. She glanced back at the pier as they charged ahead. The clerk waved papers from the little pier but there was no sign of the people who had been chasing them. She could’ve wept with relief. All this for a birthday present for her mom.
The wind bathed her sweaty face in the blessedly cool evening air. There was a speedboat on their left a distance away, and a yacht past the bridge with its lights on. Mo rested her head on Mac’s back and gave him a firm squeeze. We’re safe.
But the speedboat barreled toward them. Couldn’t the pilot see the bright red of their jet ski? The boat curved to the right and drove in a wide arc in front of them. Mo knit her fingers together on Mac’s abs as the muscles in his arms bulged with strain. The previously glass-like water churned into a foamy chop as the wake assaulted their little craft. Mo lifted her butt a fraction to re-center herself when a swell of water washed over them. Choking on the salt water, she fought to stay glued to Mac in the wet seat.
The motorboat pivoted and drove straight at them this time. No, no, no. Mo closed her eyes. Mac turned hard to the left, and she grappled to keep her hold on him. Their jet ski charged through another vicious swell of water, and her hands unhinged from Mac’s chest.
Soaring through the air, she landed and bounced like a skipping stone on top of the water. Pain radiated through her as she repeatedly smacked the water on her burning face and stomach. Finally, her battered body flopped into the water.
Dazed. She floated while thoughts rapid fired through her mind. Am I alive?Hurts. Mac.
Mo heard nothing, but the primal need for air beckoned. Flailing for the surface, she burst through sputtering and gasping. Where was Mac? A popping sound followed by a tat-tat-tat whizzed by her and sheer survival forced her to inhale and dive deep.
Down she went as things flew by her in the water. No…are those bullets?
Omigod…Mac…nooooo. Time stalled as a stingray darted past her.
In need of air, Mo peered up, glimpsing the jet ski with its red skis hovering in a small circle above her. She hurried to get to him. One, two, three huge pushes then Mac hauled her onto the small craft—this time in front of him, chest-to-chest. She collapsed onto his chest, trying to stay small and crouched so he could drive. She flinched every time the pop-pop-pop sounded again but locked her hands around his waist and kept her head low. She would not let go this time.
They slowed as the shadow of their cruise ship covered them in a blanket of near darkness. If only she could remain hidden forever.