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.
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