Fruit and copper? What was so special about that? “So what are Fink and Evans doing here? Maybe the South American ship was carrying drugs? Or the African ship was smuggling diamonds?”

“Only one way to know.” He pointed at the fenced-in yard. “We’ve got to get in there and find them.”

He was crazy. The port had security monitoring almost every portion of the property. “And how are we going to do that?”

He held up his phone and waved it in front of her. “We’re going to jam the camera feeds by disrupting the signal. My app will jam every camera within thirty meters and play the previous few minutes of video on a loop. But we’ll need to move quickly and stay out of sight as much as possible.” They stopped in front of the fence, and he squeezed her hand. “Ready?”

She tilted her head back. “That’s a really high fence.”

He frowned. “Rach, can you climb a fence?”

She shrugged. There weren’t many opportunities for climbing fences in her childhood, but she couldn’t imagine it was too difficult. “I’ve never tried. Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Logan played with his phone. When he was done, he began to climb. “Come on. We’ve only got a couple minutes to get over the fence.”

She grabbed on to the fence and lifted herself up, sticking her feet into the holes. Then she hoisted herself higher and higher until she came to the top. She got into a squat and turned herself around, creeping down the other side of the fence. With Logan waiting for her on the ground, she released her grip on the fence and jumped down.

“Not bad for your first time,” Logan said with a grin. He took her hand and pulled her between the high towers of shipping containers. “This way toward the ships.”

They ran down the aisle, the noises of the port getting louder and louder the closer she and Logan got to the water. Her heart thudded against her chest, adrenaline shooting through her. At the end of the aisle, they stopped and peered out onto the dock. Workers unloaded crates and containers from the large white ship marked Media Congo.

Logan nudged her and pointed to the left of the ship. “There they are.”

Inconspicuously dressed in dark business suits, Evans was shaking the hand of a customs agent as Fink bent to pick up a slim green tubular object. Then they strode away, heading in the direction of her and Logan.

She couldn’t make out the green object. “What is Fink carrying?”

His brows wrinkled. “It looks like a gas canister.” As the agents moved closer, Logan grabbed her hand and pulled her back, flattening them against the shipping container.

“You think they saw us?” she asked.

“FBI! Freeze!” one of the agents shouted.

“I’d say that’s a yes,” Logan said. “Run!”

Trapped between the rows of shipping containers, they raced up the aisle. It wasn’t as if the agents would shoot them in the back in front of witnesses. Then again, she and Logan were two of the most wanted people in the country right now and allegedly armed and dangerous. It’s possible no one would bat an eye if an FBI agent shot and killed them during capture.

The booming noises of guns firing startled her, causing her to stumble.

“They want us dead,” she said breathlessly, wishing she’d taken a spinning class rather than Pilates. The reality of the situation crashed into her. They weren’t going to arrest her. There’d be no opportunity to prove her innocence. No trial. The agents needed to pin Rinaldi’s murder on her and Logan. Evans and Fink couldn’t afford the risk of them telling the authorities what they had witnessed.

“Really? I couldn’t tell by the bullets flying at us,” Logan quipped.

Looking over her shoulder at the agents, she tripped and fell forward, smacking her hands and knees on the ground. “Logan!”

From ten yards ahead, Logan stopped and turned around, his eyes wide with fear. He raced toward her.

Her heart jumped into her throat, beating faster than she would’ve thought possible, and her breath caught in her chest. She’d always wondered if what they said about life passing before your eyes was true.

It wasn’t.

The only thing going through her mind at the moment was how angry she’d be if the sons of bitches got away with her murder.

A sadistic smile spread across Evans’s face as he raised his arm and aimed for her head. She winced, anticipating the kill shot and hoping it wouldn’t hurt.

Logan bent and grabbed her from under her arms, heaving her to her feet and yanking her away just as a bullet pinged by and embedded itself in a nearby container. He flung himself in front of her, a gun suddenly in his hands. “Go,” he shouted. “I’ll meet up with you.”

It was a suicide mission. If he stayed, she’d never again see him alive.

She wouldn’t leave without him.

Fink shouted at Evans. “We’re not supposed to be here. If you shoot them, we’ll have to answer questions, and we’ll never make it on time for Friday. We’ve got to let them go.”

Evans kept his arm raised, a scowl on his face. The second he holstered his gun, she and Logan took off, not waiting around for him to change his mind. With trembling hands, she climbed back over the fence.

She and Logan returned to the truck and sped away, neither of them speaking about how close they’d come to dying.

Logan drove south, taking them onto the crowded highway where they could disappear into the chaos of Miami traffic.

The adrenaline from the past couple of hours wore off, leaving her hungry and restless. She rested her head against the glass and peered at Logan. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“I’m going to find us a hotel to stay at for the night.”

“What if someone recognizes us?”

His lips quirked up. “The kind of place we’ll be staying at won’t ask any questions.”

She lifted her head and tapped her nails on the window. “Ew, we’re going to stay at one of those rent-by-the-hour places, aren’t we? Have you seen those exposés on what shows up on ultraviolet light in hotel rooms? Not to mention the bedbugs. If they grow mosquitoes that large down here, how big you think the bedbugs will be?”

Cocking a brow, he glanced at her. “Well, if you’d rather skip the hotel, we can camp outside somewhere. They don’t have as many gators or black panthers down in these parts.”

As many? One gator or panther was one too many for her.

“Evans had mentioned the target is in Las Vegas on Friday,” she reminded Logan, recalling the conversation they’d overheard after Rinaldi was killed. And Fink had mentioned Friday again today. “That only gives us a couple of days to get there and stop whatever the hell they’re planning.” She paused. “What do you think is in that gas tank?”

“I wish I knew. But whatever it is, it can’t be good, especially coupled with the word target.”

“Maybe a weapon?” she said, theorizing. “But what kind of weapon could you get from the Congo that you couldn’t get anywhere else? And why hide it in a gas canister?”

“Because all ships have canisters of oxygen on them in case of emergency.” Logan glanced at her. “Either someone slipped something inside it, or they exchanged one canister for another.”

After an hour without incident, they pulled into the parking lot of a decrepit motel, the sign in front advertising rooms for ten dollars an hour and ninety-nine-cent shrimp cocktails.

While Logan went to check in, she sat in the truck, her gaze darting to every slam of a door and to every car that drove by. She kept waiting for the agents to arrive and finish what they started.

For some morbid reason, she wondered if anyone would really mourn her if she died.

Would her parents? Or had they already mourned the daughter they had lost?

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose to ward off the tears. She would not die. They’d figure it out, and when they did, she’d return to her real life, where she wouldn’t feel so helpless.