From a dangerous reunion at sea…

To undercover as husband and wife.

Forced to jump ship during her investigation, undercover DEA agent Grace Young’s rescued from criminals and raging waters by her ex-husband, Coast Guard swimmer Dakota Young. Now to save the mission, Grace and Dakota must pose as a married couple to take down a drug ring. But will facing danger together reunite two broken hearts—or place targets on both of their backs?

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 hyper 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.

Also By Sharon Dunn

Dead Ringer

Night Prey

Her Guardian

Broken Trust

Zero Visibility

Montana Standoff

Top Secret Identity

Wilderness Target

Cold Case Justice

Mistaken Target

Fatal Vendetta

Big Sky Showdown

Hidden Away

In Too Deep

Wilderness Secrets

Undercover Threat

True Blue K-9 Unit

Courage Under Fire

Texas Ranger Holidays

Thanksgiving Protector

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Undercover Threat

Sharon Dunn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90712-9

UNDERCOVER THREAT

© 2020 Sharon Dunn

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Wave after wave washed over their fragile raft.

“Hang on, Grace.”

Dakota continued paddling, keeping his eyes on the distant shore up ahead.

“Oh, no.” Grace’s voice was weak, faraway.

He craned his neck to see what she was looking at behind them. He had only a moment to register that a wave towered above them, blocking his view like a wall of water. The wave descended, crashing over their boat. As though forced by some giant hand, the raft plummeted beneath the water, sending Grace and Dakota to the depths of the ocean.

Dakota struggled beneath the weight of the water and the overwhelming power that had pushed him deeper underwater. He had only minutes to right himself and get to the surface before both he and Grace drowned.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed reading about Dakota and Grace and how they faced danger together and found a renewed love for each other. As with all my books, I have favorite scenes. I think the scene early in the book where Grace nearly drowns and cries out to a God she has never spoken to before is one I really like. Though she is in physical danger, the scene in a way represents where we have all been at one time or another in a symbolic way. We have all felt overwhelmed and like we might drown emotionally, either because of finances or health or family problems or just a to-do list that never gets shorter. At the beginning of this book, I included the verse from Jonah because it was such a perfect picture of how God hears us when we’re drowning, and we cry out to Him. Feeling overwhelmed today? Cry out to God; He will answer.

Thanks,

Sharon Dunn

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.

—Psalm 30:5

I cried by reason of mine affliction unto the Lord, and he heard me; out of the belly of hell cried I, and thou heardest my voice. For thou hadst cast me into the deep, in the midst of the seas; and floods compassed me about: all thy billows and thy waves passed over me.

—Jonah 2:2–3

For Shannon, who brings so much humor and adventure into my life. So glad you are my son.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Undercover Drug Enforcement agent Grace Young stepped into the dark galley of the cruise ship where she was working as a cook. She took in a deep breath to try to release some tension in her body. The anonymous note had said to meet in the kitchen at midnight. The rest of the crew and passengers were sound asleep.

Since being hired on, Grace had dropped hints of how cash-strapped she was. She’d implied that she’d had brushes with the law. Would this meeting be her “in” for finding out how drugs, mostly meth, were being manufactured in Seattle, trafficked up through Canada and then brought back into the United States via the northern border? DEA had traced most of the transport to one particular cruise line that did tours of the San Juan Islands and Canada. Whether the owner of the cruise line, Mitchell Wilson, was involved or if someone who worked for the cruise line was running the operation was not clear. Only Grace’s undercover work could ferret that out.

She tuned her ears to her surroundings, hearing only the creaking of the ship. Wind had picked up and the ship was lilting side to side at a more extreme angle. A storm was moving in. She reached for the light switch.

A hand went over her mouth.

Hot lava breath pummeled her ear. “I know what you’re up to.”

Had her cover been blown? How would he have found out? If so, she was a dead woman. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. She didn’t recognize the man’s voice. This was a small ship with a crew of only fifteen and forty passengers. His voice was generic in character.

The man wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her even closer. She felt pressure on her stomach, making it hard to breathe.

She tried to twist free.

“No one horns in on my game, you hear me?”

So her cover wasn’t blown. This guy just didn’t want to share his illegal cash cow with anyone. Was he the only operator for this leg of the trafficking? “You mean to tell me you’re the only one who gets to see some green from this little gig of yours? Come on, share the wealth.”

“I don’t know who you’ve been talking to or what you know but stay out.”

She relaxed a little. Maybe he was just going to warn her and let her go.

“I can tell you love to run your mouth.” He pressed his lips close to her ear again. “You’re going to tell someone what I’ve been doing, aren’t you?”

Fear came back tenfold. His voice was filled with murderous rage. She shook her head even as her heart pounded.

“I’ll make sure you don’t,” he said.

His words chilled her to the bone. He was probably going to kill her and throw her overboard. She had to get away. She kicked him hard in the shin.

He released his hold and she whirled around. He pulled a gun out from his waistband. It had a silencer on it. No one would hear the shot.

Though it was dark, she recognized him as one of the crew members who worked above deck, not someone she interacted with much. She knew him by first name only, Joe.

They stood staring at each other. He raised the gun so the red dot laser sight landed on her chest.

Her heart raced. She put a protective hand out as if that would stop the bullet. “If I disappear that will raise a red flag to the authorities. You don’t want the cops sniffing around, do you?”

She took a step back toward the counter, remembering that she had taken an open bag of flour out of the pantry to make biscuits in the morning.

He sneered and stepped toward her, still aiming the gun at her chest. “They’ll never find your body. I’ll just tell a story about what a druggie you were. That you probably fell overboard.”

She spun, grabbed the bag of flour off the counter and tossed it at him. It hit him square in the head, creating a cloud around him. The move seemed to stun him. He’d dropped the gun.

She turned and raced toward the door to get down the hall where the rest of the crew slept. She’d wake the captain, tell him this man had tried to rob her at gunpoint. He’d be taken into custody at the next port. The ruse would buy her time and maybe keep her cover intact.

He gave up looking for the gun and blocked her way to the hallway.

She did an about-face and sprinted toward the stairs. She had no choice but to go on deck where the passengers slept in their rooms. She’d have to bang on doors and raise a ruckus.

She ran halfway up the stairs.

A hand with an iron grip wrapped around her ankle and dragged her back down. She twisted around and kicked him in the face. The move was enough to paralyze him for a moment. She flipped over and bolted up the stairs.

He was right at her heels, reaching out to grasp her shirt hem. She pulled away.

She sprinted to get above deck. The ship rocked and swayed, and the wind blew around her. The storm was picking up. He did not come right after her, which meant he must have gone back for the gun.

She’d taken two steps toward the long corridor that led to where the passengers were sleeping in their rooms when he grabbed her from behind. She spun around to defend herself so she could escape. He must have put the gun in his waistband again. Maybe he was afraid of witnesses. People might be awake because of the storm. Otherwise, he would have shot her in the back.

He clamped his hands around her neck, squeezing. She tried to push him away by pressing her hand against his chest. She pinched his pectoral muscle, not exactly in the DEA training manual, but it worked. He let go.

The ship continued to sway, tilting at a severe angle. They both fell and slid across the deck as a spray of water hit her. The storm was getting worse. The captain must have been at the helm by now even if crew members hadn’t been pulled out of bed yet. Could she get to him before this man shot her or threw her overboard? Maybe she should just scream for help, though she doubted she would be heard above the noise of the storm.

They both rose to their feet. She tried to find her balance on the unsteady platform. Joe stalked toward her. He clamped his hand on the front of her neck and pushed her until her back was against the railing of the ship. Again, he tried to choke her, trapping her in with his other hand. She clawed at his hands. She could feel herself getting light-headed. In her peripheral vision, she saw the high rolling waves coming toward the ship. Hitting the side. Splashing across the deck.

“Something wrong here?” The voice sounded very far away.

Joe let up on the hold he had on her neck.

On the far side of the deck the crew member who had called out to her, whose name she did not know, had emerged, probably to deal with issues connected to the storm.

“He tried to hurt me!” She was shouting to be heard above the intensity of the waves and wind, but it felt like her words fell at her feet.

Joe took the gun out and pointed it at the other crew member, who put his hands up. They all had to put their energy into not falling. None of them had solid footing on the rocking ship. She lunged toward Joe, intending to snag the gun away from him. An innocent man didn’t need to die. The two wrestled with the gun. The crew member disappeared around a corner. He would get help. This would all be over soon.

Joe hit her across the jaw with the gun. She stumbled backward against the railing.

He aimed the gun at her. He must have known he had only minutes before he’d be found out. She braced for the impact of the bullet. A wave came up, washing over her and the entire ship. She felt herself being lifted up and then sucked underwater. She surfaced long enough to get a breath. She’d been pulled overboard by the wave.

She caught a glimpse of Joe anchoring himself by clinging to the railing before another wave covered her.

The ship drew farther away as more waves hit it. It was lilting to one side. Something wasn’t right with the ship.

It must have been taking on water.

She tried to swim but the waves crashed against her, hitting her body with such force it was like being hit with liquid rocks.

The last thing she saw was Joe cutting the dinghy loose and getting into it. He knew he’d been caught. Was he going to try to get away or come after her? Maybe both.

As she struggled to stay above water, she wondered if she might die. In a way, maybe that would be relief from the pain she’d been trying to outrun. She’d been taking dangerous assignments ever since her two-year-old daughter had died and her marriage had fallen apart as a result three years ago.

Another waved crashed over her, pulling her under. She struggled for air, slicing her arms through the weight of the water to try to get back to the surface. She didn’t want to die.

Was there a God? Would He hear her if she cried out to Him?

Coast Guard rescue swimmer Dakota Young stood at the edge of the helicopter ready for his drop. He searched the turbulent waters surrounding the San Juan Islands. The storm had come up with a vicious intensity. Way beyond what the forecast had predicted.

They’d received calls of boats taking on water. And of people tossed overboard. He surveyed the ocean below. He saw a man in a motorized dinghy and then a smaller object in the water caught his eye. “There.” He pointed. His was trained to discern the gray of the water from the color of a person’s head and arms. At this distance, he couldn’t tell if the person in peril was male or female. They would rescue the man in the dinghy but the person in the water was priority. He watched as the person, aware of the helicopter, tilted his or her head for just a moment before being covered by another wave.

The helicopter dropped in altitude. Wind gusted against the body, rocking it.

Dakota took in a breath that contained a silent prayer. This was not going to be an easy drop. Though he had not been raised a Christian, he’d found a deep faith during his training with the Coast Guard. The life-and-death situations the men and women faced made them cling to each other and to God.

The pilot’s voice reverberated in the radio in Dakota’s ear. “That’s as close as I can get.”

The chopper jerked from the force of the wind. Dakota gave the pilot the thumbs-up and he nodded at the other two crew members. Dressed in a dry suit and flippers, Dakota made the leap into the roiling dark waters. He hit the surface and plunged beneath, trusting that his body would naturally rise back up.

Now he could see that he was dealing with a woman. She was clinging to a piece of wood or plastic; he couldn’t tell exactly what it was. She tried to ride the waves as they rolled over her. As he stroked through the water, he had a view of only the back of her head, her long hair soaked and stringy. She turned, her expression growing wide with recognition. He almost didn’t believe what he was seeing. The woman in the water was his ex-wife, Grace.

Dakota was transported back to three years ago. His marriage had fallen apart after the death of their little girl, Anita. Grace had become depressed. At first, he had poured himself into his work as a DEA agent. They drifted apart. Once the divorce was final, he’d joined the Coast Guard knowing that he had to do something that was more life-giving. He hadn’t seen his ex-wife in three years.

He swam toward her. “Grace, I’m going to get you out of here.”

Already the chopper was lowering the rescue basket, though the high winds made it a challenge to achieve any degree of accuracy.

Her hand touched his cheek briefly. “Dakota. How strange that it should be you.” He suspected there was a whole story around her comment but now was not the time to find out.

She was shivering, cold and wet. If hypothermia had not set in, it would soon. He could only guess at how long she’d been in the cold waters.

She was still clinging to the wooden board. He had to shout above the roar of the waves. “Let go of the board and hold on to me.”

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, then he stroked toward where the rescue basket was still being whipped around in the wind. They drew closer. Hours of exercise and training gave him the stamina he needed to tow Grace and still make progress through the waves.

Well trained to stay calm in perilous situations, she clung to him. If she had fought him by flailing out of panic as some victims did, he might have to let go until she calmed enough so she didn’t take them both under. That was the hardest part of rescue.

Above the wind and the crashing waves, a different kind of noise reached his ears, a sort of piercing zing. He glanced across the water, shocked to see the man in a motorized dinghy taking aim at them. The man fired several times.

Dakota was within five feet of the rescue basket. The chopper jiggled and then slanted to one side.

Through his earpiece radio, Dakota heard the pilot’s panicked voice. “Got some sort of engine failure. Maybe damage from the storm. Will limp back to base. Pray we make it. Calling for help. Someone will come for you.”

The pilot must have been so focused on his job that he hadn’t noticed the man in the dinghy shooting at them.

Smoke swirled from the helicopter motor as a mechanical grinding noise replaced the smooth hum of the engine. A package was pushed out of the chopper. Dakota knew that they had provided whatever they could to help him.

The chopper turned and twisted, still dragging the rescue basket. Islands in the sound were within sight but still some distance away. He prayed they would find safe landing before the motor gave out if they couldn’t get back to base.

Grace screamed as the man fired yet another shot. Dakota worked his way toward where the chopper had dropped something, trying to put distance between himself and the shooter.

He glanced over his shoulder just as a huge wave knocked the man out of the boat. The chopper had dropped an inflatable raft. Letting go of Grace, Dakota pulled the cord. Even before it was fully inflated, he reached out for Grace and lifted her into the craft. She was clearly weak from her struggle.

The other boat looked as though it had been battered and damaged by the waves that had taken the shooter under. The man had not yet bobbed to the surface.

Dakota crawled into the raft as well. Both of them lay on their stomachs gasping for air. Waves continued to rock the boat as water sprayed across the bow. He pulled himself into a sitting position and grabbed the oar that was attached to the inner wall of the craft. The waves were so strong he had very little control despite his strength and skill. Water cascaded into the boat. Grace clung to the safety rope, still lying on her stomach.

The rain came down with such power, it looked like gray sheets hung from the sky. He could barely make out the helicopter in the distance. It seemed to be sputtering and shaking, losing and gaining altitude at random. They were close to a tree-covered island. The chopper disappeared into the gloom created by the rain and then his radio cut out. He had no idea if they had been able to land or had simply crashed.

Help would come for them all. But right now, he needed to get Grace to dry land where she would be safe and warm. He steered the boat toward the island, not sure what he would find there. Neither the man who had shot at them nor his boat was anywhere in the inky turbulent waters.

Wave after wave washed over their fragile raft.

“Hang on, Grace.”

He continued paddling, keeping his eyes on the distant shore up ahead.

“Oh, no.” Grace’s voice was weak, faraway.

He craned his neck to see behind at what she was looking at. He had only a moment to register that a wave towered above them, blocking his view like a wall of water. The wave descended, crashing over their boat. As though forced by some giant hand, the raft plummeted beneath the water, sending Grace and Dakota to the depths of the ocean.

Dakota struggled beneath the weight of the water and the overwhelming power that had pushed him deeper underwater. He had only minutes to right himself and get to the surface before both he and Grace drowned.

TWO

Once again, Grace had the sense that she was powerless against the forces of nature. It was as if a vacuum sucked her down while the weight of the water pushed from above. She lost all orientation to where she was in space. She flailed her arms trying to find the water’s surface.

God, please, if You are real, I don’t want to die.

A force grabbed her shirt collar and jerked her up. And then arms wrapped around her waist. Dakota had found her in the depths. Weak from the fight, she was a rag doll in his arms. He kicked and used his free arm to break through the surface of the water. Both of them gasped for air.

The wave had pushed them closer to the shore. She could barely see the large boulders on the beach and beyond that the evergreens. The overcast sky made the darkness seem even blacker. With Dakota doing most of the work, they made their way closer to shore until the water was shallow enough for Dakota to stand up in. Rain sprinkled on them as they reached the rocky shore.

Dakota helped her to her feet. Her knees buckled when she tried to stand on her own. He gathered her up and held her in his arms as he carried her around the large boulders and into the trees. She shivered. His dry suit kept him warm, but she was wearing street clothes. He sat her down so her back was up against a tree. The canopy of the trees kept the rain out. She was coherent enough to understand that her body was going into hypothermia.

He put both his hands on her cheeks. “Stay with me. Don’t give up.”

She nodded. When they’d worked together as DEA agents, Dakota had always had her back.

He unzipped the front of his dry suit and patted his chest, meaning his body heat would help warm her up. He helped her get out of the thin, soaked jacket she had on and then drew her close.

There was a time when she had loved being held by him. And yes, given that they had no other option, this was the best solution to warm her up again. He rubbed her arms as she pressed close to him. She could feel his heartbeat against her ear.

She was so cold she was vibrating like a washing machine with an unbalanced load. Shivering was good; it meant her body was still trying to fight the cold. Once hypothermia took hold, brain fog would make it hard for her to even cogitate what was happening as her organs started to shut down.

That she’d had such an intense exposure to cold and wet and was still coherent felt like an answer to her desperate prayer.

“Better?” Dakota’s chest vibrated when he spoke.

She nodded. “Think so.” Her teeth were still chattering.

He pulled away. “We need to get you warmed up faster.” He tore his flippers off and slipped out of his dry suit, stripping down to his swimming trunks and T-shirt. “Get into this. It will warm you up faster.”

“But you’re going to be cold.”

“Do what I say, Grace.” He rose to his feet.

When he used that tone of voice, she knew not to argue with him. He was trying to keep her alive.

He shoved the dry suit toward her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“While you change, I’m going to try to figure out where we are and how to get the rescue crew’s attention. If they can get out at all, they will be looking for us.”

That was a big if…

“I’m worried to about that guy who shot at us. He might still come after us.” He turned to go but then pivoted to look at her. “Sit tight. Do not move because I need to be able to find you. I’ll be back. I promise. I thought I saw a flashing light when we were out on the water. I think there might be a lighthouse on the island.”

She watched as he took off running, barefoot. He disappeared into the thickness of the evergreens.

Grace pulled off her soggy canvas shoes and got into the dry suit. She zipped it up. The warmth enveloped her. Dakota was six inches taller than her. The bottoms of the legs of the suit covered her feet almost to the ends of her toes. She wrapped her arms around her body and sat back down against the tree. The shivering stopped. Her head cleared.

Dakota was out in the elements trying to find a way to get to safety with hardly any covering to keep him warm. He was willing to take risks to help her even though it had been three years since she’d seen him. After the divorce, he’d quit the DEA. They couldn’t work together anymore. She heard through mutual friends that he’d joined the Coast Guard. Still, seeing him swimming toward her in the water had been a shock almost as severe as the cold and wet.

She had no idea where they were. They might even be connected to the mainland, though more likely they were on an island. She drew her knees up to her chest. Though her muscles were heavy with fatigue, she was no longer cold. She brushed her long wet hair off her face.

She startled when she heard noises. Something moving through the trees from the shore side, not where Dakota had gone. Some kind of wildlife, maybe?

The wind continued to blow, causing the branches at the top of the trees to creak and sway. She didn’t hear any more sounds.

She focused on her own breathing and the hardness of the tree as she pressed her back against it. She was grateful to be warmed up again but worried about Dakota being affected by the cold. A flash of movement in the trees off to the side caught her attention. She studied each tree trunk, separating them out but not seeing or hearing anything out of place. The silence fell around her like a heavy blanket. Only the creaking of the topmost branches as they fought with the wind reached her ears.

Her heart beat a little faster as she rose to her feet and stretched her hand back for the support of the tree. Even though she couldn’t see anything, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. She was a trained agent. That meant she needed to trust her instincts. Most threats were detected at the gut level before the senses even registered them.

After pulling up the legs of the dry suit so she wouldn’t trip, she took a step to the side, turned and ran in the direction that Dakota had gone. Her bare feet padded through the forest floor. Moss provided some softness, though twigs and tiny rocks dug into her feet. She glanced over her shoulder. Again, there was no sensory evidence to suggest she was not alone, but the prickling of the hairs on the back of her neck told her otherwise.

She ran through the evergreens, guessing at which path Dakota had taken. Once she was free of the trees, the wind whipped around her. The sky thundered and flashed as lightning struck the turbulent dark water. She had a view of only one shoreline, which meant the island might be quite large.

Though she was barefoot, her strength had been renewed by being warmed up. She broke into a run. The terrain was rolling hills with only brush and grass. When she had run some distance, she turned back around, looking at the trees where she had just come from. Again, she saw movement, a glimpse of color that stood out from the trees, and then nothing. Whoever was back there did not want to be seen and had taken cover behind a tree.

It was most likely Joe, the man who had shot at her. With the severity of the storm, there were probably plenty of people who had been tossed overboard or had jumped from sinking ships. But a survivor from another ship or even the one she’d been on would just show him or herself, relieved at seeing another person. Whoever was out there didn’t want to reveal himself.

She ran faster. Grass and pebbles poked the bottoms of her feet.

How was she ever going to figure out where Dakota had gone? He wasn’t anywhere out in the open. The grassy terrain dipped down and then rose up toward another cluster of trees. He must have gone there. She reached the edge of trees just as the rain sprinkling from the sky turned into a downpour. More thunder cracked against her ears. She scanned the forest, desperate to locate Dakota.

Dakota hurried back through the trees. He’d run far enough to have a view of a distant shore where he’d spotted a lighthouse. Most lighthouses these days were automated. So far, he’d seen no other signs of habitation on the island. The lighthouse would at least provide some shelter and maybe some way to contact help. He glanced back at the roiling dark waters that surrounded the island. Thunder crackled and lighting lit up the sky. Help might not be able to get to them until the storm broke up.

The mossy forest floor moist from spring rain was almost spongy beneath his feet. Right now, his focus was on keeping Grace safe.

He hurried through the tall trees. Moss grew everywhere, weighing down branches and covering trunks. Once he was beneath the protection of the trees, not much rain fell on him. Still, he was cold from exposure and fatigued from the exertion of the swim and then run. He sprinted through the trees.

He heard his name called, though it sounded very far away. Grace.

“Over here.” With the wind so intense, he wasn’t sure his voice would carry far. He ran in the general direction the sound had come from. Why had she left the spot he’d asked her to stay in?

“Dakota.”

“Here, Grace. I’m right here.” He corrected the direction he’d been going. He slowed, trying to see through all the green of the trees and moss. “Grace?”

She burst through the trees and fell into his arms.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“I think someone else is here with us.”

He shook his head. “Yours wasn’t the only ship to send out a distress signal.”

She tilted her head. “He didn’t come out into the open.”

He remembered the man with the gun. Grace had a lot of explaining to do but now was not the time. He could only assume that it was connected to her work with the DEA. He’d heard through mutual friends that she was doing undercover work. When Anita was born, they had both agreed that undercover work was too dangerous. They didn’t want to leave their child an orphan. How strange life had turned out. “Are you sure you saw someone?”

“Just a gut feeling I got. You remember those, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

“And then I’m almost sure I saw movement in the trees, a human not an animal,” she said.

“I trust your judgment.” He studied her. He thought he saw trust in her blue eyes. The years they’d been together, snapshots of memories, flashed through his mind. They had been good together. “I spotted a lighthouse. We should go there.” He pointed. “This way up the hill.”

She fell in beside him. Though both were barefoot, they ran as fast as they could as the rain fell on them. He glanced over his shoulder, not seeing anyone. If there was someone else on the island, he wanted to stay out of sight.

It could be that it wasn’t the man with the gun but someone who had suffered a head injury in the fall from a boat and did not have very good survival skills. Even as the thought ran through his brain, he realized how far-fetched it seemed. If Grace had seen someone, and he had not shown himself, he was probably hostile.

They sprinted up the hill and down into a valley. The grove of trees they passed through provided some shelter and escape from the wind and rain.

Grace slowed down. “How far is it?”

He stopped and turned to face her. “I saw the lighthouse from the top of the next hill, but it’s all the way across the island. Five miles, I would guess.” Her drooping shoulders and sagging features suggested weariness. He reached out to touch her arm. “I know it’s a ways, but it’s our best option. Battling the ocean wore us both out. Can you make it?”

She nodded. “You’re the one who’s dressed for a beach party. You must be cold.”

He was chilled, but she didn’t need to know that. “I’m all right.” He didn’t want to add to her list of concerns. “Come on, Gracie Girl, let’s go.”

Her expression changed as though a shadow had fallen over her face. When they were married, Gracie Girl had been his nickname for her. Something no one else called her. He’d used the endearment out of habit, not to upset her.

“Sorry.”

She shrugged. “Let’s focus on getting to that lighthouse.”

They continued through the forest and up the next hill. The storm continued to stir up the waters around them.

They ran and rested and kept running until they were too tired to jog and then they walked as the lighthouse drew closer. His feet touched the stone walkway that led to the lighthouse entrance. He was shivering and wet. They stood at the doorway of the lighthouse, where a placard was hung. As he suspected, the lighthouse was automated. At least he knew where they were now: on Patos Island.

“I guess they’ll understand if we break in, huh?” Grace stood beside him on the cement slab outside the door. He could hear the fatigue in her voice.

He reached for the doorknob. “Some of these places are set up for tourists or for people in distress.” The knob turned and the door creaked open.

He gestured for her to go first and then he stepped in behind her. They entered a small room that had more placards and a wall with photos designed to give tourists the history of the island. There were two doors. He found a room with a sink and toilet. When he tried the other door it was locked, which meant it probably led up to the lighthouse tower, not something the general public would have access to without a ranger around.

Grace peered into the bathroom. “We can get a drink of water at least.” She stepped into the bathroom. He could hear her opening and shutting cupboard doors on the vanity and then another that had been on the far wall.

“Probably just cleaning supplies,” he said.

“It’s worth a try.” Another cupboard slammed. She stepped back out into the room holding a plastic tub filled with jackets, shirts and hats. She smiled triumphantly. “The lost and found of Patos Island.”

Her smile could still lift his spirits even in the most trying of circumstances. “Good job.”

She sat the tub down and rooted through it until she found a sweatshirt with the words World’s Greatest Grandma emblazoned on it. “That looks like about your size.” She tossed it toward him.

He held it up. “And such a fitting moniker.”

She released a small laugh.

“So glad there are plus-size grandmothers in the world, huh?”

They both laughed. They took turns going into the bathroom to change into dry clothes.

After they got a drink of water, they settled down with their backs against the wall. Grace made a blanket with the remaining clothes. He sat down beside her but a few inches from her.

She tilted her head toward the ceiling. “I guess now we can’t do anything but wait for that storm to pass.”

Now that they were not fighting the elements, he sensed a tension between them. The moment of levity they’d shared seemed to vanish.

Even if the Coast Guard braved the storm, they would have no way of knowing where they’d ended up. He wondered if his brothers in the chopper had made it back to base or had to crash-land. They were probably going to be here for a while. Might as well try to make conversation.

“You could tell me what you were doing out there. Why that man shot a gun at you. Undercover work?”

“Actually, Dakota, I can’t tell you. It’s classified.”

A chill seemed to enter the room. There had been a time when they’d shared everything about work.

“I get it. I’m sorry. I’m not DEA anymore.”

“No, you’re not.”

And he wasn’t her husband anymore either. Pain stabbed at his heart. She was the one who had filed for divorce. Maybe he had been working longer hours to run from the grief of losing Anita while she had taken a leave of absence, sleeping sixteen hours a day. Neither one of them had been there for the other. He saw that now.

He thought for a moment before he spoke up. “I’m glad you were able to go back to work.”

“I had bills to pay. I had to.”

“But undercover work, it’s so dangerous,” he said. “I worry about you.”

“It’s not your job to worry about me anymore.” She tugged on one of the jackets that covered her legs. “It’s my choice.”

“Just promise me you don’t have a death wish, because for a long time I think I did. It scared me. That’s why I got out of the DEA.”

“I don’t have a death wish, okay? Can we talk about something else?”

The conversation wasn’t going as he’d hoped. He wanted to tell her about the healing he’d found and the God he knew because of the Coast Guard. “Sorry, I seem to be putting my foot in my mouth.” It appeared that the pain of their past was just beneath the surface for her.

“I thought you got out of the DEA so you wouldn’t have to run into me,” she said. Her words tinged with pain.

“No, if that was the case, I could have put in for a transfer to a different office.”

“Dakota, I appreciate you trying to talk to me. But maybe we should just rest until the storm breaks.”

“Sure.” He rose to his feet and stepped toward the door. He clicked the dead bolt on it. “Just in case that person you saw in the trees catches up with us.” He turned to face her, seeing fear in her eyes.

He sat down beside her a little closer than before. She didn’t pull away from him. He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t see you for three years and the first thing I do is tell you how to live your life.”

Her voice softened. “It’s okay.” She lay down using one of the articles of clothing as a pillow. Her back was turned toward him.

He rested his head on the cold hard floor, allowing sleep to overtake him. Of all the Coast Guard swimmers who could have been sent out on the call to save Grace, he had been the one to arrive to save her. He didn’t think that was a coincidence. It had to be God.

Hours later, the sound of breaking glass and the smell of fire roused him from his slumber. Several flaming items were thrown through the broken window. The room looked like a series of campfires, all increasing in intensity. Smoke filled the air, stinging his eyes. He jumped to his feet ready to battle the consuming flames.

THREE

A smell tickled Grace’s nose. She awoke with a start. Flames and heat were in front of her. Three burning objects on the floor. A pamphlet rack low to the ground had caught fire.

Dakota was on his feet even as the room filled with smoke. He glanced around for something to smother the fire with. He couldn’t stomp on it with his bare feet.

Grace jumped up, grabbing a bandanna that had been in the pile of clothing. She tore it in half as she ran toward the bathroom. She wet both pieces.

She shoved a bucket used for cleaning in the sink and turned on the water. Dakota coughed. The flames traveled up the rack of brochures, consuming the paper. A chemical smell filled the air; the plastic that covered the wire rack was melting.

She handed him the wet bandanna and put the other half over her mouth and nose. After grabbing a small wastebasket, she ran back to the bathroom to get the bucket, which was half full. She put the basket under the tap and carried the bucket toward the fire. Dakota knocked the burning rack of brochures to the floor. She remembered one of the jackets in the lost-and-found pile that looked like it was made of wool. She grabbed it and put it on one of the burning brochures.

The smoke seemed to be everywhere. She retrieved the basket filled with water and placed the bucket under the running tap. She continued the process until all the flames had been extinguished.

Dakota stood back, out of breath and coughing. Smoke still filled the room.

This had to be the work of the man who’d been hiding in the trees, probably Joe from the boat. How he’d found something dry to start a fire with she could only guess. Maybe he’d had a lighter on him.

As the smoke settled and the scent of charred and burnt objects filled the air, she wheezed in a deep breath. “That was something, huh?”

In the dimness she could barely make out Dakota’s expression, but he nodded. His body went rigid as he drew his attention to the windows. Flames were shooting up behind them.

Heart pounding, panic kicking into high gear, she ran toward the broken window. She peered out, careful not to touch the glass because it might have been hot. Outside, the flames were at about waist level. Something flammable had been stacked in front of the door. The fire had risen up the door past the doorknob. Joe must have smeared or poured something highly combustible on the door.

Dakota bolted toward the door that led to the tower. “He’s trying to either burn us alive or smoke us out. We have to find another way out.” He rattled the locked door and then began to search around in the dim light, probably for something to break the lock.

She ran toward the pile of clothes, holding the wet bandanna over her mouth. She picked up a jacket, twisted it into a ball and shoved it into the place where the window had been broken. Still coughing, she grabbed a T-shirt, ran it under the tap and stuffed it under the door that led outside. The wooden door was warm to the touch. She knew enough not to touch the metal knob. At least now no more smoke would get inside.

Dakota continued to root around behind a display counter. “If I can just find something heavy enough to break the lock.”

“Even if we get up to the top of the tower, he can burn us out,” she said.

“It will take a while for the flames to travel up the stairs. We can find a way to crawl down,” he said. “He has no way of knowing if we’ve gone up there.” He hurried into the bathroom to continue his search. He shouted at her from the next room. “He will think we died of smoke inhalation in here.”

She stared outside at the rabid flames. If they opened the door, the wall of flame might consume them. Even if they got through the fire, Joe would be waiting for them, ready to attack. They had no option but to go up.

Dakota returned holding what looked like a wrench. Probably used to repair the plumbing under the sink. Over and over he beat on the doorknob. When it didn’t budge, he hit the door with the wrench even harder. The pounding continued while she watched the flames outside growing higher and higher.

A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, tossing something liquid on the fire, causing the flames to eat away even more of the door. She screamed when another pane of the window burst. A heavy object fell only feet from her. Glass scattered across the floor. Smoke circled in through the new hole.

Dakota had not been wrong. There had been a time in her life when she had wanted to die to be with her baby. Maybe that was why she took the dangerous assignments. She coughed as smoke filled her lungs. “Hurry. We don’t have much time.” She bent over. She didn’t want to die. She knew that now. Again, she called out to a God she wasn’t even sure she believed in.

Please, God, help us escape.

Dakota had all but shredded the door. He reached through the splintered hole, trying to undo the locking mechanism. He nearly tore the door off its hinges flinging it open. He turned and reached out toward her.

She was still doubled over from coughing. The smoke was so thick she almost couldn’t see. His hand found hers and he pulled her up the narrow winding stairs. Dakota closed what was left of the door behind him. With the thick smoke and the darkness there was no way the arsonist would know they had escaped up to the tower. He coughed. The rising smoke was an issue. They needed to escape and fast.

She hurried up the metal stairs to the large round room where the beacon light flashed. Once again, the god she wasn’t even sure was real had saved her…for now. The first time she’d prayed, Dakota had shown up. Of all the Coast Guard swimmers who could have taken the call, it was her ex-husband.

“We have to get out of here.” Her throat was scratchy from the smoke. Her sinuses were thick with mucus.

Dakota was already pacing around the circular space. “We can break out a window and climb down.”

“Climb down with what?” She glanced around, spotting only a toolbox. It was too much to hope that there would be rope or bedsheets or anything to use to scale down the side of the lighthouse.

Joe was likely on the other side of the lighthouse watching the fire. Eventually, it would burn through the wooden door and travel up the stairs. The stairs were metal and wouldn’t burn. Most people didn’t die from fire itself; smoke was the bigger concern, and it traveled faster than fire. They had to get out of here as quickly as possible.

Dakota peered through the window. “We don’t need to break it.” He twisted a latch and pushed the window outward. “Look, I can see a natural harbor out there. Maybe some boats anchored to get out of the storm.”

She came and stood beside him. Trees partially covered the view of the cove where boats could come in. Maybe a boat was hidden behind there, but that really didn’t help them right now. They were still trapped in the lighthouse. She turned her attention to the ground below. “How are we going to get out of here? We can’t jump. At the very least our legs would be broken.”

“There’s a lookout landing halfway down. We aim for that.” He gestured for her to come toward him. “Crawl through. I’ll hold your wrists and lower you down.”

She looked again. The landing was small and made of black metal. She hadn’t noticed it at first. The lighthouse had at one time been a home to the lighthouse keeper. The little lookout probably connected to a door that had led to living quarters. It was a small balcony, maybe two feet by three feet. She lifted her leg and crawled through. She grasped the windowsill while Dakota held her wrists.

Her legs swung, scraping the wall. Panic rose up, causing a sour taste in her mouth. “I can’t see down below me.”

“I’ve got you, Gracie Girl. I’ll lower you straight down. Tell me when you touch the landing with your toes.”

Her heart squeezed tight. Only Dakota called her Gracie. She tilted her foot hoping her toes would find the hard surface. “There. I feel it.”

He let go of her. She turned to face toward the ocean. The rain had stopped but the wind continued to whip around her. Waves crashed against the rocks.

She could smell the smoke from the fire. The front door that was on fire was on the other side of the lighthouse, not the side that faced the water where the lookout landing was. She didn’t see anyone. That didn’t mean Joe wasn’t watching. Once they were on the ground, it would be two against one. He had to have lost the gun when his boat capsized. Still, a confrontation didn’t seem like a good idea. He’d found a way to start a fire—maybe he’d found a weapon as well, a hammer or an ax.

She moved to the edge of the landing.

Dakota said, “Tell me if I’m going to miss it.”

He lowered himself down. She guided his feet. “Straight down.”

He let go of the windowsill and landed hard. The entire balcony creaked. It was old and designed for only one person to be on it.

“I’m going to go down first just in case he’s out there,” said Dakota. “I don’t want him jumping you.”

She wanted to remind him that she was a trained agent. But honestly, she liked his idea. She didn’t have the energy to get into a fight. Dakota lifted his foot over the metal railing and swung down, dropping to the ground. She waited.

He shout-whispered up to her. “It looks clear.”

She held on to the metal bars of the railing.

“Let go, I got you,” he said from below.

The drop was maybe ten feet. She released the grip she had on the bars. Dakota caught her as she fell, holding her waist and guiding her to the ground. She turned to face him, resting her palm against his chest. They stood frozen for a few seconds. The gesture was one she’d done a thousand times when they were married. He was standing close enough that when he exhaled, she could feel his breath on her forehead. A rush of memories both good and bad flooded through her mind.

She cleared her throat and took a step back. “We better get to that harbor before he figures out we escaped.”

“We could try to take him out. There are two of us. You have the authority to take him into custody.”

“I don’t want to risk him getting away and knowing that I’m DEA,” she whispered. “Hopefully, my cover hasn’t been compromised. I want to see this investigation to the end.”

“Then let’s make a run for it.” He grabbed her hand and jogged in the direction of the trees that would lead to the cove. They circled in a wide arc around the back side of the lighthouse, staying low and seeking the cover of some bushes. They came to what looked like a storage shed. The doors were flung wide open. There was a lawn mower and other groundskeeping equipment inside. That explained where Joe had gotten the gasoline to start the fire.

She glanced off to the side where the lighthouse was. Were the shadows she saw a man moving around or just her imagination?

Dakota tugged on her sleeve. “Keep going. Stay low and move slow.”

The distance between the shed and the trees was substantial. If Joe was watching from the shadows, they would be spotted. Maybe his attention was still on the fire and maybe he had seen them scaling down the lighthouse. She had to assume that Joe was still after them.

Both of them dropped to the ground. Dakota was watching the area around the lighthouse as well. They sprinted the final distance to the trees, which grew at a downward slant leading to the cove. She reached out for branches and plants to keep from falling and rolling down the incline. Dakota as well slowed his pace.

The roar of the ocean waves reached her ears and she smelled salt air long before the sandy beach of the cove came into view. The water in the cove was far from calm. She took in a deep breath when she saw a small craft anchored there being bounced by the waves. The boat was maybe a twenty-footer. Big enough to have a below-deck area for sleeping, eating and storage. The kind people took out for short runs.

They stepped out from the forest. No lights were on in the boat. Both of them slowed down.

“Maybe they’re trying to conserve their electrical,” she said.

“And maybe the boat’s been here for a long time…abandoned for whatever reason.”

The boat was far enough from shore that they would have to swim out to it in the turbulent waters to even board it.

A sound in the forest behind her, the crackling of a branch, caused her to whirl around. Her heart beat faster and she stepped a little closer to Dakota. He touched her back and drew her close protectively.

“Let’s find a hiding place,” he whispered as he pointed to the other side of the cove.

The soft sand of the beach turned to small pebbles as they ran past the boat toward the trees. They were still barefoot. Both of them slipped into the shelter of the trees.

“Something is off with that boat,” said Dakota. “I don’t see a dinghy on it, which makes me wonder if whoever was on it rowed ashore and is waiting the storm out in the forest. Why does this feel suspicious to me?”

“It doesn’t have to be nefarious. It’s possible that someone was just out boating when the storm came up and this was the nearest place they could get to.” She watched the boat, seeing no sign of life. “Right?”

“Doesn’t your gut tell you something else is going on? I suppose they could have thought staying on the boat was unsafe.”

“My gut tells me to approach with caution.” She turned her attention to the trees where they had just been. Dakota leaned close to her, also watching.

Light flashed in the middle of the trees. The surge of illumination was so quick she almost thought she’d imagined it.

“I saw it too,” said Dakota.

The forest grew in a half circle around the cove. They both stood very still. The light appeared again, this time at the edge of the forest. It swept over the shore toward the boat in an arc and then disappeared.

She let out a heavy breath. “That could be the man who started the fire. Maybe he found a flashlight in that shed.”

“Could be,” said Dakota. “And it could be the people connected to that boat coming out to check on it.”

“I suppose we need to find out who we’re dealing with,” she said.

They made their way toward the center of the forest where they’d seen the light. Stepping slowly and silently, they moved deeper into the trees, farther away from shore. The crash of the waves faded. Still they did not see the source of the light or any sign of other human beings.

Grace’s feet padded softly on the moss of the forest floor. She sought cover behind the trunk of a tree. She signaled Dakota to stop. Faint and barely discernible above the wind and creaking branches, human voices seemed to murmur.

The sound was once again drowned out by the wind. With Dakota close behind her, she moved in the general direction the voices had come from.

They walked for several minutes before she heard people talking once again. This time the voices were more distinct. She could distinguish two, maybe three different voices, all male. The men would talk and then fall into silence. As they drew closer, the voices grew louder and more intense. The men were arguing.

She moved from tree to tree, close to the voices, until she had a partial view of the men. Dakota moved forward slowly as well, hiding behind trees and peering out. The men’s foul language and rage did not suggest friendliness. All the men had on rain gear and they had built a small fire.

One of the men had a long blond ponytail. He shoved the other. “How much longer are we going to hold up here? The storm is dying down.”

The man he shoved, muscular and wearing a baseball hat, pushed on Ponytail’s shoulder and then leaned close to his face. “I’m not piloting that boat out in those waters. Moving that cargo is not worth my life and losing that cargo is not an option.”

“In another couple of hours this place will be crawling with Coast Guard and other search and rescue. They will have people in the air. I don’t want to get caught with that cargo,” said Ponytail.

Grace wondered if the cargo referred to drugs.

A third man sat on a log, warming himself by the fire, not talking. The dinghy boat was behind him.

Grace’s breath caught when Joe stepped into the clearing. Two men drew a gun on him. Joe raised his hands. “Hey, whoa, I’m on your side.”

“Search for a gun,” said Ponytail.

The muscular man stepped forward and patted down Joe. “How’d you end up on the island?”

“My boat capsized. Give me a ride and I can help you get your cargo where you need to transport it. I have connections. Officials that will look the other way. I need your help with something.”

A chill trickled down her spine. The something Joe was referring to was probably about killing her and Dakota.

“I don’t think you understand the nature of our cargo,” said the muscular man.

Dakota lifted his chin to get Grace’s attention. He pointed back through the trees. Dakota slipped deeper into the forest and she followed. Her bare foot scraped a sharp object. She lifted her foot and stumbled but caught herself. Her other foot landed on a branch, breaking it.

Behind her, she heard voices.

“What was that noise?” one of the men said.

“There are two other people on this island,” said Joe. “And they are not your friends.”

“Better check it out.”

She wasn’t sure who had spoken. All she knew was that she needed to get away and fast. Heart racing, she sprinted over the uneven terrain. She caught glimpses of Dakota up ahead through the trees. He ran faster than she did.

Behind her, the men shouted as they crashed through the forest after her. She lost sight of Dakota. Her feet were scratched and cut. She ran even faster as the noise of the men pursuing her grew louder. A gunshot filled the air. Loud enough to be heard above the wind. Close enough to cause reverberation on her eardrums.

Panic filled her. She kept running, searching the forest for Dakota.

Hands grabbed her, yanking her off the path and deeper into the trees. She struggled for a breath as a hand went over her mouth.

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