End of Enemies Read Free Page A

get the feeling you’re in the wrong place?” the voice said.
    He turned.
    She had lustrous, shoulder-length black hair and a delicately curved neck that could only be called elegant. Her skin was flawless and tanned. She was stunning, Tanner thought.
    As do most men, Briggs did his best to convince himself he was in control of his reactions to women, and like most men, he was wrong. Happy he hadn’t fallen off his stool, he smiled and said, “Pardon me?”
    She gestured to the nearby tables. He looked and suddenly realized the rest of the Tiki’s patrons were couples—all newlyweds, he guessed.
    â€œIt seems we’re surrounded,” he said.
    â€œMay I?”
    â€œPlease do.”
    â€œMy name is Camille.”
    He shook her extended hand and felt an ineffable tingle; her accent was Eastern European, perhaps Slavic. She smelled like plumeria. Or was it hibiscus?
    â€œI’m Briggs.”
    â€œInteresting name.”
    â€œA long story. An ancestral name my father took a liking to.”
    â€œI like long stories. Tell me.”
    Tanner shrugged. “Okay. Let’s go outside. It’s too nice a night to waste.”
    They ordered two more drinks, then stepped onto the pool deck and wound their way through the umbrella-covered tables and sat down at the edge of the pool. The aerators gurgled softly, and the underwater lamps glowed amber. Camille took off her sandals and dangled her legs in the water.
    â€œSo,” she said. “Your story.”
    â€œYou’re sure you want to hear this?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDo you want the unabridged version or the Reader’s Digest condensed?”
    â€œUnabridged.”
    â€œOkay…” Tanner said. “According to my father, it began back in 1774…”
    By the time he finished the story, Camille was laughing so hard she was doubled over, tears streaming down her face. He caught her arm and gently pulled her upright. A few wisps of her hair had dipped into the pool, and she brushed them away.
    â€œYou made that up,” she said.
    â€œEvery word is true.”
    â€œSo you’re named after a … a … what is the word? A pirate—”
    â€œBack then they were called privateers.”
    â€œIs there a difference?”
    â€œNot much.” He took her glass and stood up. “I’ll go freshen our—”
    Beyond the fence came the squealing of tires. An engine roared, brakes screeched, followed by a crash and shattering glass.
    â€œThat sounds close,” Camille said, jumping up.
    Tanner ran toward the fence. He was ten paces from it when he noticed a figure scrambling over it. The man reached the top, teetered, then tumbled headfirst into the shrubbery. Dragging his left leg, he lurched onto the patio.
    Tanner caught him as he fell. “I’ve got you, slow down—”
    â€œAmerican!” the man sputtered. “You’re American?”
    â€œYes. What—?”
    The man glanced over his shoulder. “They’re coming!” Tanner looked but saw no one. “Help me! Please !”
    On an impulse that would be his first of two that evening, Tanner nodded and helped the man to his feet. “Okay, come on.”
    They were turning toward the Tiki when Briggs saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced back. A pair of arms were reaching over the top of the fence. Then a head appeared. Tanner caught a glint, moonlight on metal. Instinctively he knew what it was.
    â€œGun!” he yelled and shoved Camille to the ground. “Down!”
    The crack came a second later.
    The slug entered the man’s upper back and exited the hollow above his collarbone. Off balance, Tanner felt the man slipping from his arms and tried to compensate by stepping backward. His foot plunged into the pool, followed by his leg.
    The man was lying on his side, head resting on the concrete. He was alive, Tanner realized, but not for long. Dark