“I can’t get a clear shot,” Joe said with frustration as he put his gun down. “He’s right behind her. I’ll shoot her, dammit.” He moved to the side. “I’ll see if I can get him from another angle. Don’t call out and startle him. I don’t want to have him move on her before I can get my shot.”

If there was enough time.

It was going to be Catherine, Eve realized in agony. Catherine was the one who was going to die. And Eve had to stand there and watch it happen. She couldn’t even cry out and warn her.

But Catherine had been with Gallo in the bayou. Why wasn’t he there?

Dammit, where was Gallo?

THROW THE KNIFE.

Gallo’s hand was frozen on the hilt.

He had to move, but he couldn’t do it. Not this time.

It was as if everything were happening in slow motion.

He could see Catherine stiffening and knew those wonderful instincts with which he’d become so familiar were in play.

She knew.

Even as he watched, he saw her whirl and start to drop to the ground as she saw her attacker.

Too late.

He was already on Catherine, his knife raised.

It was coming down.

She was going to die.

“No!” The agonized cry tore from Gallo’s throat.

He threw the knife.

DEAR GOD, HE’S FAST, Catherine thought as she reached for the knife in the holster on her thigh.

Fall. Roll. Then stab the bastard in the gut.

But he was over her, his dagger coming down and-

He screamed as a bowie knife pierced the hand holding the knife and came out the other side!

Gallo’s bowie knife. She recognized it. And Gallo standing in the water several yards from the bank.

It gave her enough time to roll away and get her knife out of the holster.

“Dammit, get out of the way, Catherine.”

She glanced toward the trees. Joe. Trying to get his shot.