by Regan Black
“I imagine the injury I inflicted gave them something to consider. Why?”
“It’s caught up with me,” she admitted. “We can keep moving if that’s best, but I wouldn’t argue with just sitting here for a while.”
“Wherever you are, it’s a paradise,” he agreed, dropping to sit beside her.
The quiet companionship was lovely, but she could tell he was antsy, deliberating over their best next move. “You’d like to leave me here and just go handle things, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“But you haven’t.”
“Those cameras changed the equation,” he said. “Eaton loves a show and a SEAL on a rampage without any context would ruin me, Dad and put a significant dent in the program.”
She hadn’t thought of that, but it made sense in a sick way. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t have any helpful suggestions.
“Does death really increase the value of an artist’s work?” he asked. “I hated that Eaton said that to you.”
She nodded. “It’s the law of scarcity. The painting I did for him won’t be my last,” she said. “And there are some pieces in my studio that I didn’t think were ready for the show.” She cocked her head, studied his striking profile. “Don’t tell me you have one of my paintings.”
“All right, I won’t.” She gawked and he chuckled. “Just hypothetically, how much would it be worth if you died?”
“Far more than it’s worth now.” Which painting had he bought and when? “Hey, maybe we should use the cameras and fake my death so we can all be rich.”
“I’d give you a cut,” Mark teased. “Of course, Eaton’s rich enough thanks to Zettel’s perverted hunting habit.”
“True.” She picked at the mud under her fingernails. “Even before Zettel, if you think about it. He had to have capital to set this up. Are snipers that well paid?”
Mark shook his head. “Eaton went into mercenary work after he blew up his army career. He’s made some powerful and ugly friends in the years since.”
An understatement if ever she’d heard one.
“I think,” Mark said, rolling to his feet, “with some scouting and planning, I can make this cove a safe place for tonight.”
“If you disable the cameras we find, won’t it be obvious we’re here?”
“They’re motion sensitive. If we block the lenses, they would come on when the wind blows, but they wouldn’t show us moving.”
“That’s brilliant,” she exclaimed, jumping up. “How can I help?”
He smiled. “We’ll start with the closest camera and then I’ll scan the cove for others. Then if there’s enough light, we can see about finding the dock and a boat.”
The encouraging plan gave her the second wind she desperately needed.
* * *
“Mark and Charlotte are being hunted?” Patricia didn’t shout. She didn’t panic. There were no tears. She spoke with the quiet, contained calm that was far more dangerous than any outburst.
Ben had been dreading this conversation from the moment the video clip had hit his phone. He and Luke had managed to get the information to Hank first, but as the day wore on and the plan came together, there was no keeping Patricia out of the equation.
He’d brought his wife into the office and prayed she wouldn’t ask to see the video. It helped to know Hank, still working the investigation in Virginia, was on standby to answer any questions he wasn’t comfortable with.
“Where are they?” she demanded.
If he knew that, they’d be having this talk on the boat and underway. “Based on the information from Charlotte’s painting and the video clip Eaton sent this morning, Hank is narrowing it down. It is likely Eaton has them on a barrier island south of here.”
“And when are we joining the search?” she asked.
“We’ll leave in the morning.”
She pursed her lips. “Sue Ellen and Ron are in town. I have our gear and food packed. We’ll leave tonight.” She stalked out of the office, giving him no chance to argue.
He didn’t want to argue. Like her, he wanted to get out there and find the kids.
For the first time since Mark and Charlotte had disappeared, Ben hoped he and Patricia wouldn’t be the first to find them. His wife would happily kill Eaton with her bare hands and then Ben wouldn’t have a chance to beat the man senseless before the authorities locked him up for life.
* * *
Mark felt pretty accomplished by the time the storm blew over. It had rained inland all through the afternoon, which only made it easier to screen the two cameras he’d found.
They had a base camp, if woefully underequipped, but feeling safe in this protected corner of the island perked up Charlotte so much he didn’t dare point out what it lacked in amenities. She made an adorable picture in her borrowed boots with her hair braided back and her muddied scrubs. He had to work not to stare.
Between the steady sound of the ocean rolling in and the quiet task of searching for the cameras, he’d shaken off the embarrassment of telling her about his ugly failings with Maria. Of all people to confide in, he wasn’t sure why he’d unloaded on Charlotte.
Luke had pestered him a bit when he’d heard about the breakup. Mark had tried more than once, but he just couldn’t bring himself to talk about it at the time. And, after several months had passed, bringing it up felt like wallowing. It was done, she was gone and no amount of picking it apart would change anything.
Blocking the cameras also gave him time to realize Charlotte was right. At the core, he was built for traditional family dynamics. A wife and kids, and that house he kept picturing in his head. He still had a few years in an intense career, but maybe someday that vision would come to pass.
This was a strange time and place for epiphanies.
He’d honestly thought Maria had been the one. Someone who could commit, love and compromise as they built a life together. Hurt by her rejection and devastated by the loss of a child he would never meet, he’d locked away those wounded pieces of himself and vowed never to let anyone in again. Charlotte made him want to reconsider, to break that vow and try one more time.
Did he have the guts for that?
As they split a meal bar, conserving their resources, he watched the sky. Dusk was falling and lead-colored clouds were breaking apart to the north. In a few hours, he could head out for some recon, maybe impair a few more spotters.
“You’re thinking of leaving me here again, aren’t you?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes,” he replied. She’d see right through any attempt to lie.
“You have to stop doing that.”
“Can’t. Keeping you safe is my primary objective.” Her lips tilted in a way that made him forget all about looking for an escape. He started to lean in to kiss her and pulled back.
He couldn’t keep kissing her and expect to survive. Outwitting Eaton was enough of a challenge. With Zettel on the island, their odds of escape dwindled considerably.
“Don’t go alone. I can help,” she said. “Be a lookout or whatever.”
“I’m sure you’d be an incredible lookout,” he said. “I’m second-guessing the whole idea to find the dock right now.”
“Why?”
“Ideally, I’d stay right here and forget about everything but you.” She blushed and his blood heated. With a weapon and ammunition, it was a defensible position. Unfortunately they only had a flare gun, a knife and two ground stakes.
“You had a valid point earlier. If the boat is at the dock, everyone else is likely there too. No reason to have more than one guard at the office. Eaton must be using the boat as a staging point. How else would he have been able to pick up painting supplies or bring in the hot fresh food he tortured me with?”
“If Zettel did give up the hunt for today, I doubt he’d settle for a lousy outdo
or camp when he could be warm and dry on the boat,” she said. “He thinks he has all the time he needs. I’d rather not walk right into his rifle sight.”
“I don’t know the man, but I know the type. He isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty or suffer for the sake of the hunt.”
Her eyebrows flexed into a frown. “You realize that’s not exactly comforting?”
“Wasn’t meant to be,” he said. “I said it mostly to remind myself what’s at stake.”
She pulled the tie from her hair and started untangling the mass of rose-gold waves with her fingers. The rain had washed away the mud she’d used to dull the color earlier. “I think we’re better off sticking together.”
“You don’t approve of how I disabled the guard dog with the flare gun?”
“Of course I do.”
She shook back her hair and then began weaving it into a fresh braid. It was all he could do not to help. He’d seen his sisters do the same countless times. Her too, but not like this. Not when all he could think about was how it would feel to unwind that braid again.
“You do what’s right, no matter who or what you’re up against,” she said.
The all-encompassing confidence made him want to live up to her high opinion. “That’s flattery,” he teased. “You’ve only seen me at my worst. Ninety-nine percent of the good work I’ve done is classified.”
She tied off the braid with the dirty scrap of fabric. Given a chance, he would dote on her and spoil her with the best of everything. But solid family values or not, he wasn’t sure he was her guy. Not yet. There was still more he wanted to do with his career and his SEAL team. Could Charlotte be patient through that, or would she have second thoughts on lonely nights like Maria?
Charlotte wasn’t Maria, but it would be worse to make the wrong moves with her. A mistake between him and Charlotte would have repercussions through both of their families. Did they have anything in common beyond a talent for kissing and a mutual belief that he could do anything? She was built to create and develop and celebrate life. He was trained to kill. She deserved a man who would be home for her every night, a man who could give her a real relationship.
What had she planned for her career? He knew about the art therapy, and the year in her studio, but what was next? He caught himself before he asked. The idea that her work or her heart would carry her out of his reach was a hard pressure in his chest.
He had to be overreacting. Pain, stress, lack of sleep and the emotional conversation about Maria’s choices were obviously impairing his judgment. Feelings weren’t his strong suit. Better to focus on what he did right.
“Are you fishing for compliments?” She tossed her braid over her shoulder.
“What?” It took him a second to pull his thoughts back in order. “No.”
“I’ve seen you play just about every sport either casually or competitively. I know what you can do. And I watched you repeatedly draw Eaton’s attention from me.”
“Yeah, that worked so well,” he grumbled.
“Worked well enough that we’re both still alive,” she said. For a quiet girl, she suddenly had a lot to say. “I know you took every beating Eaton dished out, all the while thinking about how you’d save me.”
“That’s a no-brainer. You’re precious—”
“So are you, Mark.”
Shocked by her declaration, he gaped at her.
“Yes, I said it. You’re precious to me and plenty of other people. Looking for the dock on your own is too risky. We don’t have a way to communicate if one of us gets hurt or found,” she said. “Leaving me sitting here fretting over you won’t do either of us any good.”
And there was his answer about the future. Leaving her sitting at home fretting while he was deployed would drain her wonderful, vibrant and creative spirit. He wasn’t the guy for her.
“If we go together, we could just as easily be caught together.” He felt obligated to point out the obvious.
She spread her hands wide. “So far, we’ve made together work in our favor.”
He knew when to compromise. “All right. Let’s go.” He caught the flash of victory in her blue eyes before he ticked off the ground rules. She listened attentively, promising to follow his directions and bolt if he told her to go. He carried the pack, though they left half of the remaining water and meal bars hidden at the camp. Better odds for her survival if they did get separated.
“The general plan is to follow the coastline to the dock,” he explained. “That way all you have to do is retrace the route if there’s trouble.”
Her lips pursed. “Relax. I’ll only send you back if absolutely necessary.”
“And what if you’re the one who has to retreat?” she asked.
He supposed such a scenario was possible, but the idea made him queasy. “I’ll do it,” he promised.
They left the cove in silence, both of them on high alert for any sound that didn’t belong in the maritime forest or the sloping beaches where the island met the ocean. He made note of the first camera they found on their route, but he didn’t block it. It was aimed inland and they were able to maneuver around it.
“Do you think he has someone watching the beach?” she asked in a whisper.
She never ceased to impress him, though it was odd to hear her voice the question that was at the forefront of his mind. “It would be the best way to keep an eye on these open stretches. I looked for camera gear in the trees around the cove. Either the person who staked the cameras on this side is afraid of heights or the breeze off the ocean renders them useless.”
They walked on and he resisted the urge to take her hand and pretend they were just two people out for a stroll.
At the first sound of voices, he stopped moving and tucked Charlotte behind him. The speakers were too far away for him to pick up particular words, but there was definitely more than one person. Under the voices, he heard the break of soft rollers coming in from the ocean and the random squeak of plastic bumpers designed to protect boat hulls from a dock. He crouched low, signaling Charlotte to wait. Inching forward, he crept to the edge of the trees to see who was there.
Mark had to give Eaton a gold star for organization and planning. The dock was sheltered from open water on one side by a sandbar. He’d used the island topography to great advantage. The odds of being noticed from anyone out on the ocean were slim and day travelers cruising between the mainland and island would never see it.
Eaton had guards posted at both ends of the dock and Mark smiled. The man had prepared for an assault from the water. So he was smart enough to respect Mark’s training.
The boat tied up now wasn’t the glamorous yacht he’d expected to see. Maybe Zettel would prefer camping to the cramped and worn cabin cruiser that would benefit from some serious maintenance and a fresh paint job.
Looking back, he motioned Charlotte forward. She soaked up details like a sponge. “Is that the boat you arrived on?”
“Yes.”
His body came to attention as she stretched out beside him, brushing against his leg, hip and side. Her cheek was close enough to kiss and if he leaned in just an inch or two, he could bury his nose in her hair.
“We won’t get on that boat tonight,” he whispered, focusing on their immediate crisis. They’d wasted time and energy on this hike after all.
“What about the modified container? If everyone’s here, we could send an SOS through the cameras there.”
“I’m not convinced everyone is here,” he replied. “That’s Muscle at the ocean end of the dock. I’ve never seen the guy closest to us, have you?”
She paused, studying the scene. “An extra from Zettel’s team?”
“Possibly.” Eaton seemed to have a steady supply of mercenaries ready and willing to cash his checks. “The spotter I wounded needs a doctor. They wouldn’t have been able to get him out by plane duri
ng the storm.”
“I never heard the plane leave after Zettel arrived.”
He’d been thinking the same thing. “But where did they land? There must be a clearing on this side of the island.”
“Or it’s a seaplane. Either way, he’ll have it heavily guarded.” She wriggled, her hip bumping his. “The supplies must be on the boat,” she said. “They weren’t in the container where we were held.”
“Then we must be close to a good-sized city for Eaton’s men to keep things stocked. In a small town, that crew would stand out too much.”
She nodded her agreement. Resting her chin on her stacked hands, she watched the activity on the dock. “I have this urge to ask you to go all covert ops and take that vessel.”
He smothered his laughter in his arm. “The kiss was that bad that you’d send me on a suicide mission?”
She turned her head and met his gaze. He was instantly lost in those blue depths, deeper in the fading light. “I would never want anything bad to happen to you.”
“Same,” he said. He forced his gaze back to the dock and watched for a few more minutes. Was there anything he could do tonight without getting captured, killed or putting Charlotte in grave danger?
“What I wouldn’t give for binoculars.” He eyed the worn footpath from the dock, across the dunes and into the trees. The trek wasn’t a total loss. He now had a mental map of this segment of the island, but could only guess as to the full length, breadth and location. Having actual coordinates would mean a faster rescue if they could snag a radio or phone.
As far as Mark had seen, Eaton didn’t trust anyone else with the radio. That posed a problem for Mark, who wanted to steal it, but it made things challenging for Eaton, as well. His men couldn’t call for backup or to clarify orders if they got in a bind. Mark intended to put them all in a bind in the days ahead.
His pulse settled as a loose plan took shape in his mind. Before he and Charlotte retreated, he’d give Eaton something to think about overnight.
“I’m taking the flare gun,” he said, reaching into the pack she wore. “You start back—” He stopped talking as someone approached.