MIDNIGHT INTRUDER

The isolated island retreat was the last place anyone would look for former socialite Samantha James. Yet danger finds her anyway—accidentally. The assassin who breaks into her room doesn’t realize that she and Diego Cruz—his real target—switched cabins. But it doesn’t matter that she’s not who he came to attack. She’s seen his face…so she’s his new target. Blaming himself for her situation, Diego will do anything to keep Samantha safe. After years working undercover as an FBI informant, he’s accustomed to danger. But he’s not used to having a beautiful woman’s life resting in his hands…or a killer with everything to lose closing in on his heels.

The footsteps drew nearer…

Sweat beaded her brow as her fingers gripped the sheets. Inching to the edge of the bed, she rolled onto the floor and crawled away.

A hand grabbed her ankle.

As she flailed her arms, her hand touched fabric, a knit cap she ripped off. In the moonlight she saw his face.

“You saw me. Now I have to kill you.” He yanked her hair and she screamed as pain shot through her. Who was this man? Diego had said something about switching cabins before she got here. Had this man come for Diego?

His hand clamped her throat, cutting off her air. As the room spun, she heard a thud and then the pressure released. She hit the floor, gasping. Strong arms lifted her and pushed her out the window. Diego.

Outside, he tugged her hand. “Run. Hurry.”

Shaking, she struggled to speak. “What…is going on here?”

“I don’t know.”

But she knew. She’d stepped into a nightmare…and if her assailant had his way, she wouldn’t live to wake up.

Ever since she found the Nancy Drew books with the pink covers in her country school library, SHARON DUNN has loved mystery and suspense. Most of her books take place in Montana where she lives with three nearly grown children and a spastic border collie. She lost her beloved husband of twenty-seven years to cancer in 2014. When she isn’t writing, she loves to hike surrounded by God’s beauty.

Mistaken Target

Sharon Dunn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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I call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life…

—Deuteronomy 30:19

As always, for Michael, friend and husband.

I miss you every day.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Diego Cruz peeked through the open door of the resort dining and kitchen facilities.

The woman mopping the kitchen floor didn’t look like a good prospect for conversation, but after days of isolation on the primitive island resort off the Washington coast, Diego hungered for any kind of human contact. He was an extrovert by nature. This much time alone was making him loco.

He stepped across the threshold. “Need some help?”

She jumped, placing a palm over her heart. “You scared me.” She shot him a hard look before returning her attention to dragging the mop across the floor.

So she wasn’t exactly amistosa. He didn’t care. Even a hostile conversation would be better than pacing the floor of his cabin. Three days ago, he’d been a confidential informant for the FBI, working his way up the ranks through years of undercover work until he’d gained the confidence of the number two man dealing drugs in the Northwest. Someone had outed him, putting his life in danger. The Bureau responded by holing him up in no-man’s-land until they could find the source of the leak.

Until the woman had disembarked from the ferry yesterday, the only people on the island had been Diego and a caretaker, an unfriendly old man named George who spent most of his time wandering into the forest with an easel and paints. George informed him the island was designed for people who wanted to detox from electronics. Diego suspected they didn’t have the green to update, so being low-tech became the new marketing angle for the run-down getaway. To Diego, it meant no cell service and more boredom.

When Diego stepped toward the woman, her back stiffened. He smiled at her anyway. “So you’re in my old cabin,” he said.

She turned her back to him and slammed the mop in the bucket. “What do you mean?” Every word held a tiny punch, an effort to push him away.

“I started out in that cabin, but picked a different one. The view is better in the one I’m in now.” The truth was the sight lines for the first cabin were bad. He was pretty sure the Bureau knew how to hide a man, but if he was found out, he wanted to see his assassin coming so he’d have time to grab his gun and defend himself.

She turned so he saw her profile. She was pretty, in an uptight, prep school sort of way, hair the color of dark honey, delicate bone structure. Despite the effort at dressing down in a flannel shirt and turtleneck, the clipped tone of her words and that perfect posture said she’d been raised uptown.

He’d grown up on the streets of Seattle and come up through the gangs. The gift that had kept him alive and now helped him with his work was his ability to read people. Seven years ago when a gang member’s stray bullet had taken his madre’s life, he’d come back to the God his mother had prayed to every day. Becoming a CI was his way of righting all the wrong he’d done as a teenager and maybe saving another homeboy’s mother in the process, since he couldn’t save his own.

“I like the cabin fine.” Her gaze bounced briefly at him and then she stared out a dusty window. “I’m not here for the view. I’m here to do a job. In two days, the catering company I work for will arrive for a destination wedding. I’m getting paid extra to come early and set up and clean.”

So she was from money, but she had to work minimum wage for a living. Now he was curious. What was her story? “Look, I’m going a little crazy here. Far as I can tell, you, me and that caretaker are the only ones on the island,” he said.

“Spring is the off-season. I guess this place is really busy in the summer, so this was the only time the couple could get this wedding booking.” She rearranged the cleaners and sponges in the supply-cart holder. “I’m sure they have a bigger staff then.”

Her voice had a soft lilting quality that made his heart beat a little faster. “I was wondering if we couldn’t eat a meal together or build a campfire. We’ll see if we can get the old man to join us.” George would probably not be interested, but he didn’t intend for her to feel unsafe or wonder about his motives. He only wanted someone to talk to. He held out his hand. “So what do you say? My name’s Diego Cruz.”

She spoke slowly, taking a step back. “I’m...Samantha.” She glanced down at his outstretched hand, but didn’t take it. Feeling awkward, he let it fall to his side. “I’m really busy with work. I didn’t come here to build campfires.”

He couldn’t understand her hostility. She didn’t even know him. He knew he should probably just take the hint and walk away, but he couldn’t stand the thought of spending even more time with no one to talk to.

He stared out the window at the building next to the cafeteria. It was generously called the community room. It consisted of dusty furniture, tattered board games and stacks of National Geographic. The rest of the resort, and he was using the word resort loosely, consisted of five cabins and lots of trees. Samantha might not be a laugh a minute, but she was still the most interesting thing he’d seen on the whole island.

In two days when the ferry came back this way, maybe an agent would bring word what his next move was. Maybe the Bureau would tell him he could catch the ferry back to civilization. In the meantime, this kind of isolation and inactivity ate at his gut. He’d walked the island half a dozen times, memorized every fir tree and rock and explored the broken-down lighthouse at the edge of the island.

“You want to play a board game over in the community room?”

She lifted her chin and met his gaze with a look of cool disdain. Just more proof that she came from money—he’d got that exact look from more rich people than he could count.

“I’m really not interested in recreating with you,” she said. “I came here to do a job.”

Though she attempted to keep her words flat and emotionless, he’d picked up on the heavy intention of each syllable. She turned away from him, but not fast enough for him to miss the glazing of her eyes. She acted almost afraid of him.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just—” He stepped toward her.

She turned to face him. Her eyes grew wide with fear. She took a swift step back, accidentally brushing a full spray bottle off the counter. The cap must have been loose, because the cleaner spilled out across the concrete. She dived down to the floor.

“Let me help you with that.” He grabbed a rag, knelt down beside her and started to sop up the liquid.

“I’ve got it. Thanks,” she said.

“I don’t mind.”

His hand bumped against hers. She let out a small gasp, making eye contact for the briefest moment before jerking to her feet. She turned her back to him again. “Like I said, I don’t want to visit. Please, just leave me alone.”

“Suit yourself.” He didn’t want to upset her further, even though he saw now that the hostility was an act designed to push him away. Why?

She whirled around. Again, she gave him a look of hardened steel, narrowing her eyes. “I will.” She brushed past him and raced out of the kitchen, leaving the door swinging on its hinges. Diego shrugged and decided not to chase after her.

He stood on the threshold of the kitchen. Moonlight allowed him to see her racing across the grounds to her cabin. Though he couldn’t see her cabin through the trees, he heard her door slam. He stood for a long moment, shaking his head.

A mechanical and distinct noise filled the air. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The noise grew louder, and he was able to discern what it was. A motorboat. Someone was docking on the island. This island didn’t get visitors.

Had someone come for him?

Fearing the worst, he sprinted out of the kitchen and ran toward the dock.

* * *

Samantha James’s heart pounded wildly as she slipped into the safety of her cabin. The hammering in her chest wasn’t just from the run across the resort grounds. That man, that Diego Cruz, hadn’t made any attempt to harm her, but even the slight contact of his hand against hers was enough to awaken old fears.

She grabbed a pillow from the couch and tossed it across the room. She crossed her arms over her body and paced, waiting for her sense of peace to return. Nothing worked.

She slipped out of her clothes and jumped into the shower, allowing the warm water to soothe her. Since heated water was at a premium here, she kept her shower to only a few minutes. By the time she stepped out and had got into her pajamas, she’d calmed down...a little. She retreated to the kitchen to make some tea. She was doing all the things that normally helped her relax, but she still felt bent out of shape.

The nerve of that man being so friendly. Hadn’t she made it clear that she didn’t want to make friends? She came out here to do a job and for a little extra money. Since the crippling end of her marriage to Eric, she’d spent the past year keeping her head down. People didn’t usually want to make an effort with someone as prickly as her...but Diego had. That kind of warmth and persistence was disarming. Her stomach twisted into a knot.

Then again, those qualities were the first things she’d been attracted to with Eric. She was shy by nature. She’d been drawn to Eric’s ability to navigate social situations with such ease. Diego struck her as being outgoing, too.

She washed her teacup with brisk jerky motions. Through the window above the sink, she thought she saw movement. Her heartbeat quickened. Was Diego wandering around outside her cabin? That was kind of creepy if he was. She leaned over the sink to get a better look...but there was nothing there. It had just been a trick of the evening light. Still...something had disturbed the tree branches. Maybe the caretaker was out checking on things or it was a wild animal of some kind.

As she turned her attention back to the teapot, her fingers brushed over the knotted scars on her neck and her chest, reminders of why she’d been running away from herself for the past year, why she would never let a man into her life.

She had loved everything about Eric, his laughter and his smile. People gravitated toward him. He seemed to know what she wanted even before she said anything. She’d felt so safe when he held her, when she nestled her head against his neck, breathing in the musky scent of his skin.

But shortly after they were married, she saw a darker side to Eric. He’d taken out credit cards in her name and run up debt that drained her savings. She found out he’d lied about his education. His response to questioning his actions was rage. Fearing for her physical safety, she’d filed for a separation and begged Eric to get help for his destructive behavior.

He refused to admit that he had a problem—and had promised her that he would never let her go. She knew it wasn’t because he loved her but because, as he put it, no one crossed Eric James. So when she refused to call off the divorce proceedings, he responded by destroying her life, as completely as he could. After he threatened her physically, she’d signed the house over to him.

To the other residents in Cambridge Heights, he remained charming Eric. Slowly, his subtle lies poisoned the rest of the tight-knit community against her. So thorough was his manipulation, they’d believed Eric over her. When her father passed away, she lost her last ally. Her mother had died when she was a little girl.

The final straw had been the car accident Eric caused by grabbing the wheel and driving them off the road so he could tell everyone that she had a drinking problem. The windshield had shattered, embedding glass in her neck and chest.

After the accident, she grew tired of the sideways glances and controlled whispers as she walked around Cambridge Heights. Eric’s destruction of her reputation made it impossible for her to live in the neighborhood she’d grown up in. She had no one to turn to and no resources left to fall back on. When the divorce was final, she moved away, rented an apartment and got a job as a waitress while she tried to figure out how to put her life back together.

Seattle was a big city, and she was careful not to talk about her past to anyone. She used her maiden name on job and rent applications. Still, she didn’t stay at any one job or apartment for very long. If she could ever manage to save enough money, she’d move out of the city.

She touched her neck again, taking in a quick, sharp breath. She didn’t like other people to see the scars. They made her feel ugly, and telling the story of how she’d got them caused her to feel shame all over again. But in a way, she was glad for the scars. They served as a reminder that nothing was as it appeared to be and everyone had secrets. Especially men. For all his charm, Diego Cruz was probably a drug dealer or married or who knew what.

What was he doing staying here in the off-season, anyway? Even that seemed weird. He was definitely hiding something. She had been told that there would only be a caretaker on the island.

She shook her head. Why was she even letting him take up space in her brain? All she had to do was avoid that man until the ferry and the rest of the work party arrived. She did like her job with Evergreen Catering and the people she worked with. It was exciting to be part of a team making a celebration come together. Whether it was a wedding or birthday, bringing joy to others kept her from giving in to self-pity.

She crossed her arms and stared out the window at the darkness. Her encounter with Diego had her all stirred up to the point where she thought she’d seen someone outside. She didn’t feel safe here anymore.

The metal of the lock on the door was cold against her fingers as she clicked the dead bolt shut. She retreated back into the cabin and pulled out the hide-a-bed in the couch. The cabin consisted of two rooms, a small bathroom and a second room that served as living room, kitchen and bedroom. She turned out the lights, slipped under the covers and squeezed her eyes tightly shut to keep the tears from coming. Anguish suctioned around her throat, and she wondered if there would ever come a time when she’d find a place where she could truly feel settled again. She’d been driven from her home. She didn’t belong anywhere or to anyone.

The sound of her own breathing surrounded her in the dark. She closed her eyes and waited for the heaviness of sleep to overtake her.

Instead, the muffled thud of someone breaking into her bathroom sent a shot of terror through her body.

TWO

Diego stomped along the rocky shoreline, searching the inlet for the boat. He’d wasted precious time going first to the big dock where the ferry pulled in. He hadn’t found any trace of the boat, but that didn’t mean anything. A motorboat could pull in almost anywhere. Darkness shrouded the landscape, and he wished he’d had the presence of mind to grab a flashlight before he’d taken off running. He was sure he’d heard the sound of an approaching motorboat. Maybe it was just someone from a neighboring island out for a late-night boat ride, but he had to check it out.

He felt not only a need to protect himself but Samantha, too. She sure didn’t need to get caught up in any trouble that might have come after him.

As he recalled their encounter, it was that moment of vulnerability he’d seen in her when their fingers touched that kept replaying in his mind. As if all of her hostility was an act designed for protection. She wasn’t easy to figure out and that intrigued him.

Where was that boat? He jogged, scanning the shoreline. Why was he even thinking about Samantha? Hopefully, he’d be out of here in a couple of days, after which he’d probably never see her again. He wasn’t sure what he’d be going back to. With his cover blown, he couldn’t return to the hood he’d called home for the past seven years. He’d have to find some other way to make a difference.

He wondered if the Bureau had been able to sort out who had figured out his double life. He was deeply embedded in the Valley Hood Pirus and careful about how he communicated with the Bureau. He’d gone over and over his actions, trying to figure out what had led the dealer nicknamed Princeton, because he claimed he had an Ivy League education, to turn a gun on him and say, “I know who you are.” Diego was lucky Princeton was such a bad shot—and a slow runner, especially compared to Diego’s speed.

The days alone on this island had given him time to relive every conversation and encounter. Where had he slipped up?

Waves lapped against the shore as he made his way toward the water. Salt air filled his lungs. He continued to walk. Up ahead, he spotted the shadowy outline of an object. He sprinted along the beach, leaned over and felt the damp wood of the boat. He circled around the boat. He touched the motor at the back. It was still warm.

This might have nothing to do with you.

But if it did... Adrenaline shot through him even as he tried to remain calm.

They were five miles from the nearest island. He’d memorized the map in the community room as part of the futile attempt to get past his boredom. At that distance, it was unlikely that anyone was out for a late-night fishing expedition or a romantic rendezvous.

Maybe someone involved in the drug trade had seen him boarding the ferry and was searching each of the stops on the ferry route.

He needed to find the owner of the boat. Best not take any chances. His gun was back at the cabin—he’d get that first and hope that no one was positioned to ambush him in the dark along the way.

He swung around and sprinted across the rocks and into the trees. His feet pounded the path that led to his cabin door. A peek through the window revealed no sign of movement inside. That didn’t mean someone wasn’t lying in wait for him. He eased the door open and slipped inside. With his back pressed against the wall, he absorbed the sounds, trying to detect anything out of place. He knew from his gang days that you didn’t so much as hear or see an assailant as sense them. When a menacing presence was about to pounce, it was tangible.

His heart hammered in his ears, but he didn’t feel the prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck that indicated danger was close. Waiting a moment longer, he took in a breath and eased toward the table by the couch where he’d left the gun. As part of his CI work, it was normal for him to carry a gun the way most of the gang members did. He was glad he had the gun now.

He reached out for the cold metal of his Glock 9 mm. Once it was firmly in his grasp, he walked his fingers across the table until they touched the base of the lamp. In a smooth unbroken movement, he clicked on the lamp, swept the room with his eyes and his raised gun. No one was there.

With the gun in his hand, he searched the bathroom as well and then the only closet. Unless the guy was small enough to hide in the cupboards under the sink, the place was clear. The tightness in his chest evaporated.

He slumped down into a chair, but before he could relax, a realization spread through him. He bolted to his feet. This wasn’t the original cabin the Bureau had booked him into. What if the man in the boat had come for him, but thought he was in the other cabin? He raced out the door and up the dark path. Hoping, praying that he was wrong and that Samantha was safe.

* * *

Samantha froze as the footsteps drew nearer from the bathroom to the main room.

Another footstep padded lightly on the wooden floor. He was trying to be quiet and probably thought she was still sleeping. She closed her eyes, picturing the room. What could she use to defend herself? Sweat formed on her brow as her fingers gripped the covers. It was too late to hide.

Floorboards squeaked when he took another step. It was hard to gauge how close he was. Though she remained still, her heart threatened to explode in her chest. The room was almost pitch-black, but she knew the layout. She had to get away. Inching to the edge of the bed, she rolled out onto the floor and crawled toward the door as quietly as she could.

Not quietly enough.

Footsteps pounded. A hand grabbed her ankle.

She spun around, kicking wildly in the dark. She reached up toward where she thought his head was, grasping and scratching. Her hand touched fabric, some sort of knit cap. The man’s heavy breathing was close to her ear. She clawed at the hat, ripping it off.

A break in the clouds sent moonlight streaming through the window and gave her a snapshot of his face. It wasn’t Diego or the caretaker. How had this man got to the island? He saw her in a quick moment, a look of surprise on his face. He wasn’t expecting to see her. But then his expression was replaced by a look of determination.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” he said. “But now that you’ve seen me, I’ll have to kill you.”

She flipped over on all fours and scrambled toward the door. He stumbled after her, crashing into a table and cursing. Something glass fell to the floor, shattering.

She reached out for the door but touched only air. Her assailant stomped across the floor, searching for her or the light switch. She couldn’t tell.

A band of illumination appeared from across the room. She held her hand up toward her eyes, wincing at the blinding light of the man’s flashlight. She saw him in silhouette as he dived toward her.

She screamed and ran toward the bathroom. Before she could close and lock the door, he slammed into it, knocking her down. A hand grabbed her hair and yanked her up.

“Too bad I dropped my gun. Otherwise this would be quick.” His voice oozed with venom.

Pain shot through her scalp. “Please, I won’t tell anyone.” Why was he here? Diego had said something about switching cabins when he first arrived. Had this man come for Diego?

He released her hair, but the relief was momentary as his hand clamped on her throat and squeezed.

She fought for air and tried to angle away. He pressed tighter on her neck. She wheezed.

She felt light-headed, dizzy, as if the room were undulating. She was going to die here alone at the end of the earth. Who would even care that she was gone?

Any attempt to get away or kick only made her assailant’s fingers grip tighter on her throat. She probably had seconds to live...and she did want to live, despite the sorry condition of her life. She twisted her torso in one final effort to escape, arms flailing trying to hit a target.

“No you don’t, little missy.” He yanked her closer, wrapping his free arm around her waist. His stagnant breath assaulted her.

Behind her, she heard a single footstep and then a thud before all the pressure on her neck released. She fell to the floor, gasping and coughing. Strong arms lifted her up and dragged her all the way into the bathroom. Diego locked the door just as her would-be assassin pounded on it.

Diego yanked her away from the door. “Through the window—hurry.”

After slipping into the loafers she’d left in the bathroom, she jumped up on the toilet. The whole bathroom seemed to shake from her attacker slamming his body against the locked door over and over. Diego boosted her through the window, then followed her out.

Inside the cabin, the sound of the body banging against the door stopped. Light flooded through the cabin. Having given up on breaking the door down, the would-be killer must be looking for his gun in the cabin’s main room.

Diego gripped her pajamas at the elbow, applying pressure. “Come on. We’ve gotta get away.”

She was shaking so badly, it was a struggle to even form her question. “What...is going on here?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

Even without being able to see his face in the darkness, the tone of his voice told her he was lying. Deceptive. Diego knew why that man was here. What had she been pulled into?

He grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”

Shots fired in the darkness. She may not trust Diego completely, but she couldn’t stay here. They sprinted toward the trees. The gunfire made her feel as if her spine were being rattled from the inside. Diego didn’t seem fazed by it. He led her deeper into the forest. Branches scraped her head and rocks caused her to stumble. He grabbed her before she fell. They ran for at least ten minutes.

Eventually, she stopped, out of breath. Diego quit running but he didn’t stop moving. He glanced over his shoulder, rotated around to look at her and then began to pace back and forth.

“Who was that man?” she said between breaths.

“Some random crazy guy,” he said.

She didn’t believe him. He knew more than he was saying. Her throat went tight and she choked back tears. “I’ve never been shot at before.”

He touched her arm. The warmth of his fingers sank through her thin pajama sleeve. “I’m so sorry you have to go through something like this.”

He sounded genuine, but she couldn’t see his face in the dark. And he’d lied to her already.

“We’d better keep moving,” he said. “He wasn’t that far behind us.”

She wasn’t so sure going with Diego was the best idea.

He turned to run and then glanced back at her.

Another gunshot tore through the air. Diego pulled her to the ground as a second shot boomed over them.

“He’s close,” he said. “Vamos deprisa.”

He bolted to his feet and tugged on her sleeve. This time, she followed. At least Diego wasn’t taking shots at her.

She held on to his hand, blindly hoping that he was taking her to safety. Trusting a deceiver was never a good idea but what choice did she have?

She didn’t know where he was leading her. She only hoped that she hadn’t escaped one dangerous situation only to land in another.

THREE

Diego’s feet pounded the soft ground of the forest. Adrenaline charged through his body. He pushed his legs to move even faster. Samantha’s grip on his hand was like iron as she kept pace with him. Minutes had passed without any more gunfire. Maybe they’d shaken the assassin.

It was his fault that Samantha had almost been killed. He suspected the man had come for him. If only he hadn’t switched cabins.

Another thought hit him. The shooter had known which cabin he was supposed to be in. Only people in the Bureau would have access to that information. The leak might be within the Bureau.

He glanced over his shoulder. How close was the attacker? He couldn’t hear anything. He was used to running for his life on city streets. Sound didn’t carry in the forest like it did in an urban setting.

He brushed a branch out of the way before it hit Samantha, grateful for the time he’d spent walking the island. It made navigating in the dark that much easier—and it was an advantage their attacker didn’t have.

Samantha planted her feet. “Where are we going?” Her voice was filled with suspicion.

“He came in a boat,” he said. “I think if we can get to it, we can get away.”

“Shouldn’t we call for help? There must be a radio even if the cell phones don’t work. The caretaker would know.”

They were wasting precious time. “George is safer if we don’t involve him.” He’d already put one person in danger. He wasn’t about to do it to another. And anyway, he wasn’t sure they would survive while they waited for help to show up. Escape seemed like the best option.

She remained still, facing him in the dark. “Who are you?”

“I can’t say.” He understood why she was looking for answers. He hated the deception. She was an innocent in all this, but he had to protect his own identity. The less she knew, the safer she would be. “We really need to keep moving.”

She responded to the urgency in his voice and took off running again. He sprinted to get in front of her and lead the way. They ran hard for another five minutes. Feet pounding, air filling his lungs.

She stopped to catch her breath.

She tilted her head toward the stars. Her words came out in fearful halting spurts. “He said...that because I saw him. He was going...to have...to kill me.”

The images of the attack must have been raging through her head the whole time they were running. She wasn’t like him, used to dealing with the trauma and violence. Moved by compassion, he reached up and placed a palm on her cheek. “It’s gonna be okay. Let’s get to the boat.”

She jerked away from him. “It’s going to be okay?” Her voice turned to ice again.

He spoke in a whisper while part of his attention remained tuned in to his surroundings. “It’s not that far to the boat. We can get off the island.”

“What about the caretaker? What if that guy is back there hurting him?”

She was thinking of others when her life was under threat. That said something about her character. He thought for a moment. “I think he’ll be all right. He’s after you because you can identify him. The old man is safe as long as he stays in his cabin.”

He reached out a hand, but she didn’t take it. He couldn’t force her to come with him, and there was no time to waste convincing her further. He just had to hope that if he left, she’d follow. He turned and took off running. A few seconds later, her footsteps pounded behind him. He understood her hesitation in following him, why she was suspicious. But couldn’t she see that he was trying to save her life?

They ran in an arc to the edge of the forest. The terrain changed from the lush debris-laden forest floor to rocky beach as the lapping of the waves pressed on his eardrums.

He glanced over his shoulder. Still no sign of their pursuer. He’d been on their heels and then nothing. What had delayed him? Had they really been able to throw him off or did he have some other surprise attack up his sleeve? “So you saw the guy? You could tell the police what he looked like?” Knowing who had come to kill him—who had got that confidential and protected information from the FBI—would go a long way to finding out who had blown his cover.

“Yes... I suppose. It was only for a quick second.” Her voice sounded far away, as if she couldn’t accept the reality of what she’d experienced. “I’m not sure how well I could describe him, but if I saw him again, I’d recognize him.”

“We’ll get back to the mainland. I’ll fix this,” he said. He meant it. His lack of forethought had dragged her into this mess. That meant that it was his responsibility to keep her safe.

“Will you?” Disbelief colored her voice. She whirled around and trudged forward.

Her words were like a knife through his heart. He was a man of his word. Why would she doubt that? He shook off his frustration. Fine, he’d have to prove himself to her. He surveyed the dark shoreline. He knew from the landmarks along the beach where to find the boat. “Over here.”

The boat was pulled halfway up the shore. He moved to the back of the boat to start the motor. The cold water of the bay suctioned around his feet.

“Once I get the motor started, I’ll need your help pushing it out to deeper water.”

She nodded and then turned back toward the tree line. She was smart enough to watch for their attacker without being told. For a girl from the burbs, she had solid survival instincts.

After twisting the throttle, he yanked the rip cord once. The motor sputtered but didn’t ignite to life. He tried again, exerting more force. Still no results. He tried a third time. The engine sparked and then caught.

“He’s here. I see him.” Her voice reverberated with terror.

Diego glanced up, not seeing anything distinct. The shooter must still be close to the trees. “Let’s go. We can make it. Jump in to steer. I’ll push off.”

As he pushed the boat off the sand, the first gunshot came so close to his head his ear stung with pain. Samantha flattened herself in the boat with her hand still on the rudder. He jumped in. More shots were fired as the assassin made his way toward the water.

The motor clattered and then stopped altogether.

“We can restart it,” Samantha said.

The shooter was too close. They weren’t going to make it out of the inlet in time. “We’ve gotta bail.”

He dived into the water and prayed that Samantha would do the same. He swam parallel to the beach, toward a rock formation that would shield them. He pulled himself up on the hard, rough stone.

A moment later, Samantha’s head bobbed to the surface. He pulled her up. Both of them were shivering. He peered around the rocks. “He’s trying to save the boat. Now’s our chance to get away.”

He slipped back into the icy water, swimming toward the beach but putting distance between himself and the man struggling to push the malfunctioning boat back to shore. The attacker would be as wet and cold as they were by the time he rescued that boat.

They hurried back toward the camp, running across the rocky shore and then into the trees.

A gunshot exploded behind them. Samantha stuttered in her step, releasing a scream that was almost a gasp. “Keep moving,” he commanded. Gripping Samantha’s hand, Diego sprinted into the shelter of the forest.

He zigzagged through the evergreens. The sound of the assailant close on their heels, footsteps and branches breaking, spurred him to run faster. Though they were shrouded in darkness, Diego managed to steer them back to the camp.

Several minutes passed without any additional gunfire. They slowed their pace, both of them out of breath and glancing over their shoulders.

“He can’t be far behind.” Diego resumed a jog.

Samantha ran beside him. “We have to get help. There must be some way to communicate with the mainland in case of emergencies. Let’s see if there’s a radio in the community room.”

She was right—but it still wasn’t a great option. It would take hours for help to arrive. Hours they’d have to spend dodging their attacker and trying to find a way to warn and protect the caretaker before morning came and he left the safety of his cabin. “That’s where we go, then.”

He turned and started running. She followed behind him.

Moonlight reflected off the metal roof of the community room. He surveyed the area around them. No sign of their assassin. Had they shaken him or did he have another trick up his sleeve?

They entered the community room. Samantha wandered around the small space opening doors and slamming them, searching for anything useful. She tossed a blanket in his direction after grabbing one for herself. “Where would a radio be?”

They were both shivering and wet. She drew the blanket tighter around her. Diego continued to search for the radio. “We should go back to the cabins and get dry clothes,” she said.

He came up beside her. “He might be searching the cabins. That would explain why he didn’t come here first.”

He looked around. The room was maybe twelve by sixteen feet. There weren’t that many places to put a radio.

He walked over to a small cupboard and opened it. Shook his head in disbelief. “No.”

She turned toward him, voice filled with worry. “What is it?”

“The radio is here, but it’s been disabled.” That must be why the assassin was delayed in getting down to them at the bay. He must have seen them heading toward the boat but estimated he had time to destroy any chance of getting help before coming after them. The guy had to be a pro. Not some teenage gangbanger trying to earn his stripes. And how had he known to look in the community room? He must have had intel ahead of time.

Samantha couldn’t conceal the fear in her voice. “What do we do now?” She lifted her gaze toward him, eyes filled with expectation.

He glanced out the dusty window, feeling the heaviness of what they were up against. “He’s out there watching us. I feel it.”

* * *

Feeling a chill, she pulled the blanket tighter around her neck. “We’re sitting ducks in here.”

“We’re sitting ducks anywhere on this island. We have to get off it. I still say that’s our best option.” Diego paced the perimeter of the cabin, peering through each window. “There must be an emergency raft or something. Did you see anything like that?”

She shook her head. “The caretaker would know and maybe he has some way other than the radio that he uses to communicate with the mainland. Do you think we have time to get over to his cabin before the man with the gun finds us?”

“We might have to do that. George is going to come out of that cabin in a couple of hours and start wandering around anyway.” Diego’s expression made it clear he didn’t like that option. He let the blanket fall to the floor. His hand went to his waistband, brushing over a gun his sweater had covered.

She took a step back, wondering if the greater danger wasn’t in the room with her. Her eyes fixated on the gun. “Just who are you?” She edged closer to the door.

He bent his head sideways and hesitated as though he were trying to come up with the right answer. “I’m with law enforcement. That’s all you need to know.” His voice sounded reassuring, almost gentle, but that didn’t mean anything. His caring response might just be a manipulation.

How could she trust he was telling the truth? He’d lied about not knowing why the assassin was here. This was too much. She felt as though her already fragile world had been shaken to pieces. She wasn’t in the habit of dodging bullets. Her legs weakened beneath her, and she collapsed into a chair.

He rushed over to her. “You all right?” He knelt on the floor so he could look her in the eye.

She thought she saw compassion in those dark brown eyes, but she didn’t trust her own judgment anymore, not after Eric. “No...” Her voice faltered. “No, I’m not.”

Dragging a chair across the floor, he sat opposite her. “Look, I’m sorry about all of this. I can’t explain everything to you, and I know you think I’m lying. This is my fault. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t switched cabins.”

“What are you saying? That man came here to kill you?” Anger coursed through her veins. Lie upon lie. “So he’s not just some random crazy who decided to make sport of hunting us down and killing us, like you said before.” What if Diego was no better than the man out there? He didn’t act like a cop.

“I’m asking you to trust me. I will get you out of here alive.” He didn’t break eye contact with her.

She didn’t know what to think or believe. He seemed so sincere. She couldn’t survive on her own. The man with the gun had made it clear he wanted her dead. Right now, staying with Diego was her only option. “How are we going to do that?”

Diego bolted to his feet and started pacing. “We need a way off the island. We need to keep George from becoming a target, too.”

“We can’t stay in here.” She stepped toward the door.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “You can’t just run out there. Let’s make sure the coast is clear first.”

She yanked away from him, fighting off a rising frustration. “None of this would have happened if you had stayed in your assigned cabin. That man wouldn’t have showed up and—”

He turned to face her, eyes like steel. “And killed me. While you slept. You would have been unharmed and unaware, but I would have been dead.”

A rush of remorse filled her. “I didn’t mean it that way. Of course I don’t want you to have died so I could have a good night’s sleep,” she said. Her face warmed. She was ashamed for having said that. “I’d never wish anyone dead.”

“I’m alive and you’re alive and we’re together. I can’t help but see God’s protection in all this.” The intensity of his gaze made her take a step back. Eric had sat with her in church every Sunday. Her faith had been the final casualty of Eric’s deceit. But she hadn’t ever heard someone talk about God the way Diego did.

“God? I don’t think He has anything to do with this.” Her voice lacked commitment, compared to the passion she’d heard in his. She studied his face. Some unnamed emotion stirred in her gut. Whoever this man was, either his faith was real or he was a better deceiver than Eric.

Diego’s expression changed as he whirled around, scanning the forest through the dusty windows. An instant later, gunshots shattered the glass. His body enveloped hers, taking her to the floor.

He rolled off her, the warmth of his protection fading.

“Stay down,” he said.

Another window shattered. The flying shards of glass were too clear a reminder of the car accident. Her vision narrowed. She couldn’t move. Her brain fogged. She was shutting down, caught between painful memories and the terrifying present. She felt the strength of Diego’s hands guiding her, almost carrying her as the bullets tore through furniture.

She found herself propped in a corner behind a couch. Diego crouched low and crawled toward one of the broken windows. He peered above the sill, took a shot and dived back down.

Several more shots tore through the tiny room. Samantha pressed hard against the wall. She couldn’t stop shaking.

Diego took several more carefully aimed shots before he dived to the floor, resting his back against the wall.

Samantha’s breath hitched. She counted to five as dust settled around her. The silence was almost as scary as the gunfire. It probably meant the shooter was finding a better angle of attack.

Her throat had gone dry. “Did...you get him?”

He lifted his head above the sill. “I’m not sure. Maybe he’s just repositioning. Far as I know, he’s only got a handgun. He can’t be too far away if he wants to get a decent shot in.”

Invisible weight pressed on her chest as she struggled to breathe.

He scrambled across the floor. “We should make a break for it.” He hesitated in his step as he registered that he saw how badly she was shaking. “Hey, it’s okay.” He pressed her hands between his. “Most people don’t handle gunfights well.”

Her impulse was to pull away, but his touch and the kindness she heard in his voice had a calming effect on her. “All this is hard to deal with, but it is the...the sound of breaking glass that messes me up.” She met his gaze. The swell of compassion she saw in his expression made her legs weak all over again. She wanted to believe that he was a good man.

His eyes searched hers. “You’ll have to tell me sometime why that bothers you more than gunfire.”

Another gunshot zinged through the broken window. Both of them crumpled to the floor. “He’s getting closer. Let’s get out of here.” Diego reached up and turned the doorknob. “Use the building for cover. Stay close to me.”

The night air chilled her skin as she pressed close to Diego’s back. The soft fabric of his sweater brushed over her cheek. He pulled her into his side and put a protective arm across her torso while he surveyed the woods around them.

She peered over his shoulder, watching the forest. Her eye caught a flash of movement, the killer racing from the cover of one tree to another. “There,” she said. He was dressed in black and had recovered the ski mask that hid his face.

Diego grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the shelter of the trees. Again they fled. Though this time they had the benefit of early-morning light. After they’d run only a short distance, Diego headed away from the camp. Where was he going?

When he peered over her shoulder, his expression transitioned from pensive to fearful. He lunged toward her, pulled her to the ground. The impact on the hard rocks made her shudder with pain.

The bullet that hit a rock near her feet told her the plunge had been necessary. She looked up in the direction the shot had come from. The killer was there, barely hidden by the shadow of the trees.

“Let’s go.” He helped her to her feet.

“Aren’t we going to warn George?” she asked.

“Too risky. We’ll have to double back after we shake the shooter.”

They ran along the beach away from their assailant. She was tired; she was hungry; she was wet and cold. She didn’t know if she’d be alive when the ferry showed up or if they’d find a way off the island. Diego didn’t seem to have much of a plan. More than anything, she wanted to believe that Diego was someone she could trust. At this point, she was staking her life on that hope.

FOUR

Diego led Samantha toward the large boulders that populated the shoreline. He glanced over his shoulder. No sign of their pursuer. Not good. If he knew where the guy was, he’d feel safer. This assassin had shown he was tricky. Not seeing him meant he might be setting up an ambush.

Samantha slowed her steps. He let go of her hand and turned to look at her. She stopped completely.

“Where are we going?” Her voice conveyed a pleading quality, but her expression was lifeless.

He knew that blank stare. She was giving up. The trauma had been too much for her. His heart flooded with compassion toward her. No one should have to go through this.

“We can’t go back to the camp. Not right away. He’s probably expecting that, and it puts George at risk,” he said.

She shook her head in disbelief. “But dry clothes. Food. The man who might be able to help us. All of that is back at the camp.”

“There is a lighthouse on the other side of the island. There might be a boat or something there we can use.” He still thought leaving the island was the safer choice. He stepped toward her and squeezed her arm above the elbow. “If you want to stay alive, we have to outthink him. Do what he doesn’t expect. I know this place better than he does—we need to use that to our advantage. By afternoon, we can sneak back into the camp if we can’t find a way off the island.”

His touch seemed to shake her from her trance. She met his gaze and nodded. “If that’s what we have to do.”

“Good, then.” He turned and took off at a jog. A moment later, her footfall sounded behind him as she kept up the pace with him.

When they came to an open area, he stopped, still wondering what the assassin had up his sleeve. There were hills he could climb that would provide a view of much of the island. But if the shooter hadn’t brought a rifle, he wouldn’t be able to take them out at that kind of distance. This guy was clearly a pro. Diego knew he couldn’t rule out that the killer had more firepower. He could have stowed a rifle somewhere when he got to the island.

Diego slowed his pace. The one assumption he could make was that the guy was behind them, not in front of them. “Why don’t you get in front of me?” He could at least shield her from possible gunfire.

The lighthouse came into view. They ran toward it. He could smell the salt air and hear the waves crashing on the rocks. Diego yanked a dilapidated door out of the way and laid it to one side. He swept his hand out in a grand gesture. “Your castle awaits.”

“My castle?” Her voice remained monotone but her face brightened just a little.

He felt a responsibility to pull her from the dark place she’d gone to emotionally. He was glad to see it had worked somewhat. They made their way to the top of the spiral staircase, entering a round room that provided a 360-degree panorama of the island. Though forest shielded some of his view, he saw no one approaching from any direction.

Samantha crossed her arms over her body. Her skin was pale, and she was shivering. The pajamas she was wearing were probably still wet.

He pulled his sweater over his head so he was down to a cotton T-shirt. “This is wool. It’s almost dried out already. It pulls the moisture away from your body.”

“But won’t you get cold?”

“I’ll be all right.” Knowing that she might argue, he grabbed her hand and placed the sweater in it. The silky smoothness of her skin as he drew back reminded him of how fragile she seemed. She came from a much safer world than the violent one he’d grown up in.

Yet she’d revealed some core of inner strength. She’d pulled herself together enough to follow him to the lighthouse when she’d wanted to give up.

The cold, damp air soaked through the thin cotton of his T-shirt.

She lifted the wet pajama top at the hem. “I think it will warm me up more if I get out of this first.” She glanced around as though looking for a private place to change.

“About halfway down the stairs, there’s a room off to the side,” he said.

She studied him for a moment, her gaze dropping to the gun now visible in his waistband. She turned and disappeared down the stairs. He listened to the sound of her footsteps fading. What had he seen in her eyes? Fear, maybe. She still didn’t completely trust him. He couldn’t really blame her.

He walked the circle of the lighthouse floor. He had a view of the ocean and most of the island. The cabins were hidden by the forest. Hopefully, if the assassin came for them, they’d have fair warning.

So far, he’d seen no sign of a boat or raft. They couldn’t stay here forever, though. Or even for the thirty or so hours it would take for the ferry to show up. They needed food and water. Both of those things were back at the camp.

Samantha’s footsteps sounded delicately on the metal stairs as he turned to face her. Her long dark blond hair framed her soft features. “Warmer?” he asked.

“A little, yes. Thank you,” she said.

The color had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes appeared clearer. “You were smart to take the wet top off first.”

“When I was a kid, my parents sent me to summer camp. They taught us city kids some wilderness survival basics at Camp Goodhope.”

“Camp Goodhope? I went there, too.” He’d been part of a program that sent underprivileged kids to the island where the camp was to teach them about community and faith. Though the message had not sunk in until his mother’s death, the camp had been a haven from the violence of his neighborhood and where he’d first heard about Jesus.

She let out a breath. “That’s kind of wild. I wonder if we were ever there at the same time.”

“I would have remembered someone as pretty as you.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Her lips formed a perfect O, but she didn’t say anything. She took a step back, and he saw the fear emerge again in her expression.

He shook his head and dropped his gaze. Just when he’d built up a little connection with her, he had to go and mess up. What had made her so distrustful of him...of men? He only knew he needed to tread lightly around her. He wasn’t lying, though. He did think she was pretty.

She cleared her throat. “I suppose we should see if we can find something to eat and some water.”

“You’re right that we need to search the place. Maybe we’ll find a raft. First, though, we need to get dried out. We can build a fire outside down by the shore. The lighthouse will shield it from view.” He turned toward her, putting on his best get-down-to-business face. “This is the high ground for now. He can’t come for us without us knowing.”

She turned in a half circle. “I hope he’s looking for us and not bothering the caretaker.”

Bother was kind of a mild word. “Yeah, me, too.” The safety of the caretaker weighed heavily on him. Chances were if the assassin didn’t want his identity known, he wouldn’t seek the caretaker out to hurt him, but there was no way to know for sure. Diego headed toward the stairs. “Let’s see what we can find.” He brushed past her. Their arms touched briefly, and he felt a surge of electricity through his shoulder and into his stomach. They locked eyes for a moment before he headed down the stairs to find something—anything—that might help them survive.

* * *

As she rummaged through cupboards on the main floor, the sound of Diego’s footsteps echoing through the lighthouse was unsettling. He clearly had the skills to keep both of them alive. She was starting to believe she could trust him in that arena, but what he said about her being pretty only opened old wounds. She’d caught the smolder in his eyes as she’d stepped past him on the stairs. That look only led to heartbreak and pain.

She searched several cupboards. Though run-down, the lighthouse wasn’t overly dusty, implying that it had gone unused for only a short time. She found some brochures inviting corporations to bring employees to the island for outings, including a meal served by the lighthouse. Maybe the owner of the resort had let this part of the resort go due to a lack of funds.

She located a can pushed toward the back of a bottom cupboard.

“Find anything?” Diego’s voice boomed behind her.

She startled, disconcerted that she hadn’t heard his approaching footsteps. After glancing at it, she held the can up. “Pears.”

“That’s good. There’s some liquid in them that will keep us hydrated.” Diego had what was either a poncho or a Navajo rug flung around his shoulders.

She laughed. “That’s a really good fashion statement for you.”

He snorted, amused. “Hey, it’s warm and dry.”

She took a closer look. It was clearly a rug that he had torn a hole in to make it into a poncho.

“I’ll look good for the fashion shoot later, don’t you think?” he said. He struck a pose.

The levity of the moment lifted her spirits. Despite everything, he managed to see humor in something.

“I have a lighter. Let’s build a fire out on the shore,” he said.

She gathered together some paper and an old chair to build the fire and followed him outside. Diego broke up the chair and started the fire. Both of them stood close to it, soaking in the heat and drying out.

He reached for the can of pears. “Give me that. I can open it with my pocketknife.”

She studied him as he focused his attention on opening the can. Diego’s dark hair was still slicked back from having been so wet. His high cheekbones and strong jawline made him a good-looking man.

She turned her head slightly. The sweater she wore smelled like him, a combination of wood smoke and upturned earth. She sat down close to the fire.

Diego sat down beside her and tilted the can toward her. “Drink first.”

Her stomach growled when the sweet aroma of the pears hit her nose. Embarrassed, she placed a hand over her belly as she drank down some of the liquid from the can.

Diego offered her his charming smile. “Me, too. It’s been a while since I had any food.”

She liked the way his comment defused her embarrassment. It showed a certain sensitivity she wasn’t used to. He took a drink from the can and then handed it back to her.

She scooped up one of the pears with her plastic spoon. Her mouth watered when the fruit touched her lips. She handed the can back to him. By the time they finished the last pear, she felt a little stronger though still not full.

She noticed then that he was still shivering. “Why don’t you try to get warmed up? Over by me away from the smoke,” she said. “I’m not doing too bad. Thanks to your sweater.”

He scooted toward her to get closer to the fire. She jerked away when his shoulder touched hers. The response on her part had been almost involuntary.

Again, his steady smile conveyed that he was okay with her overreactions to his touch. She studied his profile. Under different circumstances, it would be so easy to relax around him.

After a few minutes, he jumped to his feet. “We can’t stay out here long. We need to keep watch.” He tilted his head toward the charcoal sky. “Looks like we might have some rain coming.”

Just when they’d got dried out. They had no rain gear or even coats. The prospect of fighting hypothermia again—and the assassin at the same time—didn’t sound like a good idea.

“Why don’t you head up there and keep a lookout. I’ll put the fire out.” He jogged toward the shore, where he found a piece of wood to use as a shovel and scooped up some sand.

She made her way up the spiral staircase to where she had a panoramic view of the island. The rain began pouring out of the sky just as she heard Diego traipsing up the stairs. He was so tall he filled most of the doorway.

She stared out at the downpour. “I’m not going out in that. I guess we stay here for now.” They were somewhat protected here at least. The thought of having to go back and be used for target practice made her chest tight. But staying in one place would make it easier for their attacker to find them. “Do you think it’s just a matter of time before he comes for us?”

“I can’t lie to you. He’s looking for us. I’m sure of it,” he said.

The thought made her shiver involuntarily.

He stepped a little closer to her, staring out at the forest and ocean. He was at least eight inches taller than she. His gaze fell back down to her neck.

The collar of her pajama top had covered the scars, but the sweater did not. She drew a protective hand up to her neck. “It was a car accident.” That was all he needed to know.

He didn’t answer right away, as though he were debating what to say. “I have scars, too.” He lifted his shirt. He pointed to a mound of round white scar tissue. “Bullet when I was twenty.” He turned to the side and stretched the collar of his T-shirt, pointing at the upper half of his pectoral muscle. “Knife wound when I was twelve.”

She gasped as suspicions bubbled to the surface. “What kind of life have you lived?”

“I came up through the gangs in West Seattle. Turned my life back over to God after my mother died from a bullet that was meant for a gang member.” The slight waver in his voice hinted at deep sorrow. “That’s the life I’ve led.”

She saw in his unwavering gaze that he was telling the truth. She turned away and stared out at the rolling waves for a long moment, absorbing the gravity of what he’d told her. “You’ve been through a lot,” she said. His willingness to be so open almost made her want to share more about the car accident.

“I serve a man with deeper scars than my own,” he said.

“Jesus, you mean.” The name felt foreign on her tongue.

When she pivoted to face Diego, there was a weightiness to his gaze as he studied her, as though he could see straight through her and knew the condition of her own shredded faith. His eyes softened and she thought she saw compassion there.

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll stand watch and then we can switch off,” he said.

The mention of sleep made her whole body feel heavy. She slipped down to the floor.

He took off his makeshift poncho and tossed it toward her. “Use it for a pillow.”

She folded the rough fabric and placed it on the floor. Even though the hard floor wasn’t very comfortable, it took her only minutes to fall asleep.

She was awakened by Diego shaking her shoulder. “Your turn to take watch.”

Her eyes fluttered open. She gazed out at the clear sky as she rose to her feet. The rain had stopped. “How long was I out?”

“It’s late afternoon,” Diego said. “Give me an hour’s rest and we’ll head back to the camp.”

Her stomach growled. “Okay.”

Diego’s expression changed as if he sensed something. Slowly, he drew his eyes away from her and toward the window. His back stiffened. A high-pitched popping sound filled the tiny space where they were trapped. Plaster fell off the lighthouse wall. A bullet. They were being shot at.

FIVE

“Get down.” Diego’s arm wrapped around her back and took her to the floor. The impact with the cold concrete sent reverberations through his body.

The dust the bullet had stirred up breaking the plaster settled and the heavy silence enveloped the room. They both lay flat on the floor facing each other, with their cheeks pressed against the concrete.

Her eyes searched his.

He needed to explain, to calm her fears. “I saw movement on the hill closest to us.” So now he knew. The assassin had brought not just a handgun but something that could kill at a distance, as well. The odds were stacked against them.

“So what do we do?” Her voice trembled with fear.

He placed a calming hand on her back. “I guess we have to get out of here and back to the camp. If we can find a way to communicate with the caretaker without putting him in danger, we’ll do it.”

“George has probably left his cabin by now. He told me he spends his days wandering around the camp and out into the woods,” she said.

Diego took in a breath as his mind filled with a sense of resolve. They had been on the run playing defense since this ordeal began. Time to turn the tables. “We’ve got to set some kind of trap for the shooter so it buys us time to get to the camp and find George. This guy’s hunting us. We’ll hunt him.”

Her eyes grew wide. “How?”

“I’m not sure yet.” His mind cataloged through the terrain of the island. There must be some place for an ambush.

She lifted her head. “We can’t go out the front. That’s where the shot came from.”

Her powers of observation under stress were pretty impressive. Diego glanced around the circular room. “We’ll have to climb out one of the windows that faces the ocean.” He crawled across the floor toward the window, careful not to rise up too high and be seen by the shooter.

She came up behind him on her knees. “That’s a long way down and it’s rocky.”

He remembered seeing some rope in a storage closet one flight down. “Stay here and stay low.”

To get down the stairs, he had to stand up and be exposed for a moment. He rose to his feet but crouched. As expected, another rifle shot zinged through the window and into a far wall.

Terror was etched in Samantha’s expression. She crawled on all fours until her back was against the wall closest to where the shooter was. “Hurry,” she said.

He scrambled down the stairs and found the rope. When he returned, Samantha still had her back pressed against the wall, her eyes closed and her knees drawn up to her chest.

He placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. “We can do this.”

Aware that he risked being shot, he stood up and tied one end of the rope around the center pole. He crouched and dragged the rope across the floor and flung it out the window. It didn’t quite reach the rocks below. They would have about a three-foot fall.

He turned to face her. “You go first.”

She crawled across the floor and grabbed the rope. Heart pounding in his chest, he glanced over his shoulder. He moved so he would be between Samantha and the shooter when she was exposed.

She lifted her leg and crawled out the window. He watched her work her way down the rope. The roar of the ocean pressed on his ears. It bothered him that the shooter hadn’t fired again when he stood up. That meant he might be on the move.

Diego held his breath as he watched Samantha come to the end of the rope. She hesitated, looking at the rocks below and then up at him. He nodded, letting her know she could make the drop. She let go of the rope, landing on her feet.

He took in a breath. Just as he grabbed the rope, he heard the thunder of footsteps up the stairs. His heart raged in his chest as he gripped the rope and climbed through the window.

The pounding of footsteps assaulted his ears. He peered down below at Samantha, who looked up, waiting for him. “Go toward the forest. I’ll catch up with you.”

She opened her mouth as if to protest, then clamped it shut and nodded. He had about ten feet left of rope and then the drop. The assassin, still wearing the black mask, appeared above him.

Diego rappelled off the lighthouse wall, causing the rope to swing. Hopefully, the movement would make him a harder target to hit. He watched as Samantha reached the edge of the forest and disappeared with a backward glance.

He tilted his head. The shooter lined up his shot. Diego let go of the rope and landed on the rocks below. The impact reverberated up his legs. A bullet hit the rocks a foot from him. Salt air filled his lungs.

He made a decision to run around to the front of the lighthouse and enter the forest at a different spot than where Samantha had gone. Why lead the shooter right to her? Adrenaline masked much of the pain from the fall. He entered the forest just as another gunshot stirred the earth in front of him.

* * *

Samantha stuttered in her step when she heard the gunshots. Her heart pounded against her rib cage. What if Diego was shot? She pictured him lying facedown, blood spreading out from his body staining the ground. She gasped for breath.

Keep running. Stick with the plan.

Another shot sounded. This one closer. She cringed and picked up her pace. She willed her feet to keep moving and walled off any thought of what might be happening to Diego. She had only a vague idea of where she should go. She remembered no landmarks from their run to the lighthouse. Her only clear memory was of holding on to Diego’s hand.

She pushed through the trees, keeping one ear tuned to the sounds around her. She thought she detected footfalls. She stopped. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized it might be the shooter stalking through the forest, not Diego. Her feet pounded the earth. The trees thinned. Where was Diego?

She could hear the roar of the ocean again as she stepped out onto the rocky shoreline. Now she knew where she was. Out of breath, she slowed to a brisk walk. Her own footsteps seemed to grow louder as a sense of impending doom settled into her bones. Instinct told her to drop to the ground just as a bullet charged overhead.

Diego seemed to come out of nowhere, his hand suddenly warming her back. “He’s right behind us. Head toward the cover of those boulders.”

Crouching, she ran as fast as she could, diving for the big rocks. The shots stopped as they made their way through the maze of stones and then darted toward a line of brush.

The quiet settled in around them. Diego lifted his head slightly and looked around. “I wonder if there is a way we could trap him in these rocks.”

After glancing around, she shook her head. “It’s like a labyrinth in here. At best you could slow him down.” Her words came out between panting breaths. She still hadn’t recovered from their last sprint.

His face brightened. “I know what we can do, though.”

She edged closer and spoke in a whisper, fearing that their pursuer might be in earshot by now. “What?”

“Fifty yards from here, there’s a blind cliff. It doesn’t look like it drops off. I’m going to lead him off in that direction. There’s a ledge close to the top I can jump down on. You need to follow behind but not be seen, so you can pull me up from the ledge. He’ll fall so far he won’t be able to climb out. He’ll have to go halfway around the island to get back to the camp.”

The plan sounded incredibly risky. What if the assassin caught up with Diego or shot him? What if she wasn’t able to get there in time? What if he missed the little ledge and fell all the way down himself? All the same, it was the best option they had. She took a deep breath and whispered, “I’ll be right behind you.”

He stood up. “I see him. He’s looking for us.”

They wove through more boulders until they came to the end of them. Diego signaled for her to stay behind as he burst out into the open. She watched as he slowed his pace, waiting for the assassin to make an appearance. The would-be killer slipped out of some brush and fell in behind Diego. He must have put his rifle down to run faster, or he had lost it somewhere.

Keeping both men in her sights over the hilly, rocky terrain, she ran toward the first clump of bushes, crouched for a moment and then sprinted again. If the killer looked over his shoulder, he’d see her.

The assassin had his pistol in one hand, but didn’t take a shot. The sound of the ocean grew louder as she approached the cliff. Still running, she watched Diego disappear over the edge of the cliff and then the assassin was gone, too.

She willed her feet to move and prayed that she would get there fast enough and that the plan had worked.

She slowed as she approached the cliff, remembering that Diego had said the edge caught you by surprise. She peered over. The drop-off was maybe fifteen feet, but the cliff face was ninety degrees with no footholds or places to grasp. Strong winds off the ocean buffeted her.

The assassin lay on the rocks below about ten feet from the ocean. He twisted sideways and got up on his hands and feet. His gun had fallen some distance from him and was nestled in the rocks. She could see it from her vantage point, but she doubted he could.

She looked for Diego, spotting the ledge where he should have jumped, but he wasn’t there. Instead, he was a few feet below there, clinging to the only tree that grew out of the cliff face.

He met her gaze and then craned his neck to the man below. “You’d better hurry.”

Though wobbly, the shooter had risen to his feet and was scanning the rocks for his gun.

She searched the area around her as she fought off the rising panic that threatened to paralyze her. She found a sturdy tree branch and ran back to the cliff edge. “Grab this and use it to pull yourself to the ledge.”

The shooter was closing in on his gun.

Diego’s muscles flexed as he gripped the tree branch and inched toward the ledge. Samantha leaned back, using all her weight to hold the branch.

Diego reached out for the ledge and pulled himself up to it. She let go of the branch and peered over the edge. The shooter was kicking rocks around. It would be only a matter of seconds before he found the gun.

She thrust her arm down so Diego could grab it. Diego planted his feet against the cliff face. Even though there was nothing to hold him there, it lessened the pressure and pull on her arm. He used his arm strength to pull himself up and reach out for the cliff ledge.

Down below, the shooter had found the gun.

She held on to Diego’s hand while he anchored his other hand on the cliff ledge and pulled himself up. A gunshot tore through the wind, grazing the base of Diego’s shoe just as he pulled himself to the top of the cliff with her help.

By the time the second shot reverberated through the air, they had managed to get to their feet and take off running.

They arrived back at the camp, both of them out of breath. They raced toward the caretaker’s cabin.

Diego pounded on the door as his gaze darted around nervously.

Tension snaked around her torso. She glanced through the window. The sheer curtains allowed her to see that there was no movement inside.

Diego knocked again.

“It must be almost dinnertime by now. He’s probably wandering through the woods with his easel.” Or worse, the assassin had got to him before coming to the lighthouse.

As though he could read her mind, Diego said, “Unless he saw the shooter, the old man is still alive. Professional killers like this guy don’t take anybody out unless they have to. They like things tidy that way.”

It scared her that Diego knew that kind of thing. His world was so different from hers. She studied the trees, waiting for the assassin to burst through them even though she knew, logically, that he wasn’t right on their heels. Not yet, anyway. “How long do you think it will be before he gets here?”

“To have to run in a big loop like that will take at least an extra fifteen minutes.” He tried the doorknob. “Under the circumstances, I think it warrants us breaking in and seeing if there is a phone or means of communication in there.” He pushed the door open. “You look around. I’ll watch the windows.”

She checked the living-room surfaces and opened some drawers. George’s cabin wasn’t any bigger than the guest cabins. She peered into a closet stuffed to the brim but saw nothing that looked like a radio or phone.

“If he has a phone that works out here, he must have taken it with him,” she said, fighting off the seeping disappointment.

“We’ve got time. Let’s go look for him around the camp and then out into the woods. We’d be okay shouting his name,” Diego said.

“I think we should leave a note here, warning him to stay in the cabin and to get help.”

Diego nodded. She found a pen and paper, and they left the note on the refrigerator.

They ran through the camp calling George’s name without any results. They stopped outside the kitchen. “Let’s hurry and get something to eat first before going to look for George in the forest,” Diego suggested.

“I’m starving, too,” Samantha agreed.

As they slipped into the kitchen, she caught Diego watching the forest. Both of them knew it was just a matter of minutes before the assassin made it back to the camp. She could only hope Diego had another plan, because she had no idea what they would do then.

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