"Don't try ordering me around. Not now." Avery grasped a fistful of Nikki's hair and yanked.
She yelped.
Awake.
Damn, he'd thought she might be, but prayed she could simply sleep through this hell.
She blinked, not in the least groggy, apparently having listened to the whole exchange. "Carson, don't do it."
Avery tugged her hair tighter until the skin around her eyes pulled taut. "It's just a drink to save Nikki some pain and ease your own."
"He's going to kill us no matter what." Nikki's unwavering voice held a calm he wouldn't have expected from even a seasoned vet. "You don't have to do this for me."
He understood well what was going on here. There was no reasoning with this monster, only fighting to the death. Being captive had been bad enough with his crew, but seeing Nikki die and being unable to save her was beyond anything he could bear.
And even in the middle of the lowest point in his life, the heavy bottle in his hand didn't tempt him in the least. His mind was clear and focused on what mattered most. Nikki.
"I can make it painless for her. I really don't want to do this, but I can't sacrifice my whole future." Avery stared him in the eye without once shifting his weapon from Nikki, but Carson was ready to spring the second the man flinched. "Here's the deal. I'll knock you both out so she can drown while she's asleep. Simple. You just have to go along with my plan. But I can also beat the crap out of her and everyone will assume the injuries came from the wreck. What does it matter if you drink now? You're going to die. You might as well check out with one last taste on your tongue. You don't have to fight it anymore."
"Carson." Nikki's quivering voice drew his attention to her. "It's over."
The defeat in her tone pierced clean through him. He looked in her eyes, the neck of the bottle clenched in his hand with such easy familiarity. He expected to see anguish in her expression, even resignation.
Instead, he saw spunk, anger. Determination.
She hadn't given up at all. She was saying out loud what Avery expected to hear. Her eyes, however, were relaying something else entirely.
Carson glanced outside the windshield, no miraculous weapons to be found on the old battlefield, just the rickety bridge and water. He turned back to Nikki and realized they had everything they needed right here. Trust that flowed both ways.
He wasn't sure how, but she would get out of the line of fire long enough for him to take out Avery. If they died at least Avery couldn't hide a gunshot. There would be justice.
And they might well live. In fact, with Nikki by his side, the odds were damn good.
Eyes on hers, the connection between them hummed so tangibly strong he didn't need words. He raised the bottle, slow, as if torn, his hand shaking which kept Avery's rapt attention off Nikki for a few seconds.
Valuable seconds.
Avery's rabid gaze stayed locked, as if he got off on the control. The Lieutenant's ambition and need for power was all too clear.
Carson didn't dare look away from the bastard in the back, but in his peripheral vision, he could see Nikki's right hand sliding down. For the first time he cursed the luxury seats because the motorized controls wouldn't allow her to slam the sucker back quickly and ram Avery.
But her seat back would lower fast if she released the latch and pushed.
Carson could read her intent as clearly as apparently she read his. The move was risky since it might force Avery's gun arm down, but it would catch him unaware. Carson would just have to take advantage of that surprise to adjust the aim.
Even as he raised the bottle to his mouth, the fumes stinging his nose, glass kissing him like a familiar lover—a lover who'd betrayed him—never once did the faith in Nikki's eyes fade.
Time to act.
Simultaneously, she slipped down and slammed back the seat. Avery grunted in surprise. Carson swung the bottle at the copilot's face, jacking the gun arm up in reflexive defense. Glass and tequila sprayed the cab. A bullet pierced the roof, a second through the windshield before the weapon clattered to the floorboard. Nikki ducked, grappling for the gun and clearing the way for him to grip Avery's shirtfront.
Ears still ringing from the gunshots, Carson hauled him over the bench seat, slamming the younger man's face into the dash, once, twice, until he sagged. Unconscious. Thank God.
He couldn't waste a second on relief yet, not until he had Avery restrained and in jail. Convicted to a lifetime in Leavenworth would be damn nice, too.
Carson hauled Avery's limp body from the cab, face to the ground by a rusted cannon, hands behind his back in case the prone man regained consciousness. "Nikki, look in the floorboard for boat lines. Get them, please."
The need for vengeance for Nikki—for young Gary Owens, as well—fired hotter. The dead copilot had struggled valiantly to get his life together and this selfish ass had stolen Owens's second chance. Avery's actions could have subjected Nikki to a lifetime in prison. There wasn't a punishment harsh enough for that.