Читать книгу Mistaken Target - Sharon Dunn - Страница 12

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.