UNDERCOVER TWIN by Lena Diaz

her weight.
    The large crack seemed to echo around them like a beacon. Nick tensed and froze, waiting, listening. A shout, something in Spanish, sounded off to their right. Nick took off, towing Heather with him, no longer trying to be quiet. They raced through the woods, hopping over fallen logs, dodging around trees as fast as they could go, trying to outrun their pursuers.
    Heather cursed her short legs. She’d never cared before that she didn’t have the long legs of a model. But right now she’d do anything for those longer strides so she wouldn’t hold Nick back. If it weren’t for her, he’d be perfectly safe. He wouldn’t have given her his bulletproof vest and the men chasing them wouldn’t be catching up.
    Shouts sounded behind them. Footfalls pounded the ground.
    Heather’s breaths came in short pants. Nick was half dragging her along with him, forcing her to run faster than she’d even thought she could run. She knew she couldn’t keep up this pace very long. The stitch in her side was already so painful she was clutching one hand against her ribs to try to keep going.
    Ahead, moonlight glinted off the ocean, visible through breaks in the trees. In the daytime, Heather would have welcomed the sight. She longed to explore the thin, rocky, seashell-strewn strips of sand and clear blue-green water beyond. But seeing that water, inky-black in the night, get closer and closer, meant only one thing—they were trapped. With the ocean ahead and gunmen behind, there was nowhere else to go.
    Nick shoved Heather behind a tree. He whirled around and squeezed off two shots into the woods behind them. A guttural scream of pain echoed through the woods.
    “Vámonos, vámonos!” someone else, farther off, shouted in Spanish.
    “Good grief, how many of them are there?” Heather whispered. She breathed in huge gulps of air, clutching her side.
    Nick swiveled toward her. “Can you swim?” he asked, his voice low and urgent.
    “I’m a Florida native. Of course I can—”
    “Go.” He waved toward the water visible through the trees. “Swim out about fifty feet. Then swim parallel to the shore, south, back toward town.” He pointed toward his left.
    She hesitated. “What about you? Aren’t you coming with me?”
    “I’ll try to take out a few more of our pursuers and lead them away from the water. I’ll catch up with you. Just swim south.” He gestured to the left again to make sure she knew the direction.
    “Nick, I’m a good shot. Give me a gun.”
    He pressed his lips next to her ear. “I’m not willing to bet your life, or mine, on your marksmanship under pressure, not as long as there’s a safer alternative. Now go.”
    A footstep sounded near them.
    “Go,” he mouthed, making a shooing gesture with his hand.
    Heather fisted her hands in frustration. She whirled around and took off toward the ocean, stepping as quietly as she could, staying close to the trees for cover. Part of her was furious that Nick didn’t trust her to help. But the other part was well aware of how even the most highly trained people—law enforcement officers, soldiers—were notoriously inaccurate with firearms when in a high-pressure situation. She had only ever fired at targets, and the shooting range certainly wasn’t stressful in any way. Maybe Nick was right not to trust her ability to shoot in this type of situation. And if he was worrying about her, he couldn’t adequately defend himself.
    Crashing noises sounded in the woods, moving north and off to the east, away from her. Nick’s plan was working.
    Hating herself for leaving him, but knowing there wasn’t much she could do without a gun, Heather lunged between the last two trees. She sprinted onto the narrow strip of sand. Her foot hit something hard and she went sprawling onto the ground. A conch shell. Heather shoved it away and climbed to her feet. She made her way more carefully to the water that was only a few feet away.
    She didn’t stop. She ran