by LENA DIAZ,
Thunder sounded. Lightning lit up the clearing, illuminating Dillon. He still wasn’t moving.
Oh, dear God, no.
Ashley jumped to her feet. If nothing else, she could swing her tied fists at the gunman and try to knock his gun out of his hand before he could shoot Dillon again. She charged forward.
The gunman stopped beside Dillon and raised his gun.
Ashley pulled her tied hands back like a bat to swing at him. Dillon suddenly jerked to the side and kicked Iceman’s legs, knocking him to the ground. Ashley yelped and scrambled out of the way. The two men grappled with each other, locked in combat.
The storm was getting worse. Sheets of rain pelted them through the gaps in the trees. Ashley shoved her wet hair out of her face. Lightning cracked overhead in short bursts, a strobe light revealing the men’s movements every few seconds, like a projector showing every other frame in a movie.
They rolled back and forth, grunting, twisting as they each strained for the advantage over the other. One of them got his arm free and swung his fist with massive force against the other man’s jaw. A loud crack echoed in the clearing. His opponent screamed and fell to the side, clutching his face, shaking his head as if in a daze.
The victor climbed to his feet. Moonlight glinted off the gun in his hand.
Ashley pressed her hand to her throat. Who was lying on the ground? And who was holding the gun? Lightning flashed again, revealing the face of the man who was standing. Ashley’s shoulders slumped with relief.
“I’m Detective Dillon Gray. You’re under arrest,” he gasped between deep breaths. His chest heaved from exertion, but the gun never wavered in his grip. “What’s your name?”
The other man shook his head again, as if trying to get his bearings. He rubbed his jaw and glared up at Dillon while climbing to his feet. He staggered at first and then straightened to his full height, several inches taller than Dillon.
Thunder boomed, startling Ashley, but Dillon didn’t even flinch.
“Your name,” he demanded again, but the other man remained mute.
“Miss Parrish,” Dillon said. “Get behind me. Make a wide berth around this gentleman, please.”
Staying well away from her abductor, she hurried to the other side of the clearing. Iceman’s head swiveled, following her every move, like the sights on a rifle. She thanked God it was too dark for her to see the look in those creepy dead eyes. She stopped beside Dillon, but he shoved her behind him.
“Facedown, on the ground,” he ordered the other man.
Ashley peeked around Dillon’s broad shoulders. Her abductor wasn’t cooperating. Instead of getting down, he braced his feet wide apart.
“Ah, hell,” Dillon said.
Ashley clutched the back of his shirt. “Can’t you just...shoot him?”
“I’d certainly like to, but my boss frowns on shooting unarmed civilians.”
Iceman grinned, his teeth flashing in the moonlight like a wolf baring its fangs.
“That doesn’t mean I won’t,” Dillon warned him. “If you take a single step, I’ll shoot. I’m too exhausted for another boxing round and I’m freezing. Not to mention I have a civilian to protect. I will shoot if you force my hand. Get down on the ground. Now.”
The man’s grin faded. Ashley couldn’t see well enough to identify the expression on his face, but judging by the way his shoulders stiffened, she’d bet he was considering charging the detective. If she had a gun, she wouldn’t wait for the bad guy to make a decision. She’d shoot, right now. This man had already attacked both of them. If he got another chance, she had no doubt he’d do it again.
“Who are you?” Dillon repeated. “Why are you after Miss Parrish?”
“He said he needed me alive,” Ashley said.
Dillon digested that for a moment. “Have you ever fired a gun?”
“Me?” she squeaked.
He sighed. “I guess that’s a no. There’s no safety. All you do is point and squeeze. I want you to point my gun directly at our guest while I handcuff him. If he moves, squeeze the trigger. Can you do that?”
“I’d have no trouble shooting this jerk. He stole my shoes,” she said.
His mouth twitched, as if he was trying not to laugh. “If I didn’t have to keep this gun trained on this fellow I’d cut those laces with my pocketknife. But I don’t want to risk cutting you. Hold your hands up and I’ll untie them.”
She held her clasped hands on his left side while he kept his gun trained on the quiet, deadly stranger with his right hand.
He plucked at the laces, mostly by feel, and soon they were loose enough so she could unclasp her hands.
“I can get it the rest of the way.” She worked the laces free and dropped them to the forest floor. Rubbing her aching wrists, she glared at the man responsible. Her glare was probably wasted since it was so dark, but it made her feel better.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she said.
Dillon kept his gun trained on the other man while he pulled out a set of handcuffs from a holder on his belt.
“Mister, I strongly suggest you cooperate. If you lie still while I put the cuffs on, you won’t get shot. But if you try anything, Miss Parrish seems quite anxious to repay you for her ill use tonight.”
The man hesitated, then got down on his knees and lowered himself to the ground. He lay with his head to the side, watching both of them as he put his arms behind his back.
Dillon cursed softly beneath his breath.
“What’s wrong?” Ashley whispered.
“That was way too easy.”
“You think he’s planning something?”
“I think he plans to fight me again. He’s assuming you won’t shoot.”
“But I will. I promise.”
His mouth twitched again. “Actually, I’d prefer you don’t, since you’ve never fired a gun before,” he whispered. “I don’t want to get shot again. I’m already a walking bruise. We’ll bluff, but don’t shoot unless your own life is in danger. I repeat, do not shoot when I’m anywhere near him.” He handed her the gun, keeping it pointed at the other man.
She tightened her fingers around the grip. It was heavier than she’d expected. Her hands dipped beneath the weight. He grabbed her wrists and steadied the gun.
“Like this.” He adjusted her hold, making the gun more balanced. She nodded to let him know she had it this time.
“Only shoot as a last resort,” he whispered again. “To save yourself.”
“All right,” she assured him. But she had no intention of doing nothing if Iceman tried something. If it came down to it, she would shoot, but she didn’t tell Dillon that. He seemed too worried she’d shoot him. It was a bit insulting, really. How hard could it be to aim and pull a trigger from ten feet away?
He moved forward, keeping well clear of the other man’s legs. He suddenly dropped down with his knee in the small of the man’s back. At the same time he twisted the man’s arms up between his shoulder blades.
Iceman let out a low roar of rage. Whatever he’d planned to do was a moot point now. Dillon had immobilized him before he could even move. Ashley was thoroughly impressed.
Dillon snapped the cuff around one of the man’s massive wrists.
A loud boom echoed through the trees. Dillon stiffened and fell to the side, landing hard on the ground with a pained grunt.
A bald-headed man ran out of the woods holding a gun. Iceman jumped up from the ground, the handcuffs dangling from his left wrist.
Ashley aimed at Baldy and squeezed the trigger. The gun boomed and jerked in her hands. She fell back on her butt in the mud. Dang it. She twisted to the side and scrambled to her feet, expecting to feel the bite of Baldy’s bullet any second.
But Baldy didn’t have his gun anymore. Iceman had it. Somehow her
shot, instead of hitting the bald man, had hit Iceman in the shoulder. Blood ran down his arm and dripped from his limp fingers. He must have taken the gun from his partner, because he glared at Ashley and started to raise his other hand, the one now holding the gun.
She braced her legs so she wouldn’t fall back this time and squeezed the trigger again and again and again. Both men shouted and dove to the ground. They took off running into the woods.
An arm snaked around her waist and the gun was plucked from her hands.
She jerked against her captor and tried to twist in his arms to get the gun back.
“Stop fighting me.” Dillon’s harsh command sounded near her ear. She hadn’t even seen him get up off the ground.
She blew out a relieved breath and stopped struggling. He let her go and she turned to face him. “I did really good! I scared them both away.”
“You scared all of us the way your bullets were ricocheting around the clearing. I told you not to shoot.”
“You’re welcome,” she grumbled. The least the man could do was be grateful since she’d probably saved his life. Her gaze dipped to his chest and she gasped at the sight of two bullet holes in his shirt. “That man shot you.” She ran her hands over the fabric, feeling the vest beneath. “Did the vest stop the bullets? Did the other guy shoot you, too? Are you okay?” She trailed her fingers to his sides and then down his arms.
He sucked in a breath and plucked her hands off him. “I’m okay.” His eyes widened and he stared past her across the dark clearing. “We can’t catch a break, can we? I hear them. They’re coming back. How much do you want to bet they probably both have guns this time?”
He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the trees behind him.
One of her bare feet came down on a hard rock. She yelped and tugged her hand out of his grasp. “My shoes. I need my shoes. They’re back over—”
The wood exploded on the tree by her right leg and a deafening boom echoed through the clearing.
Ashley took off running, leaving Dillon to chase after her.
Chapter Five
“Why are we stopping?” Ashley tried to say, but it came out more like “wwwwhy are wwweee stoppppiiinng” between her chattering, clenched teeth. The cold wouldn’t have bothered her so much if she wasn’t cold and wet. And she had a stitch in her side from running so long and so hard over rough terrain. She clutched the nearest tree for support and drew deep, gasping breaths while trying to will away the painful ache in her side.
She certainly didn’t mind stopping—that wasn’t why she’d asked the question. She’d like nothing more than to curl into a tight ball on the forest floor and give her aching muscles a rest, in spite of the incessant rain still coming down. But she also didn’t want to give their pursuers a chance to catch up to them.
Dillon didn’t spare her more than a quick glance. He slid the clip out of the gun and checked it, then slid it back in until it clicked. He stood protectively in front of her, peering into the gloom surrounding them. The darkness would have been welcome under the circumstances, since it helped conceal them, but lightning kept flashing overhead like a spotlight.
“Why did we stop?” she repeated, proud she’d managed to speak coherently this time without her teeth chattering. She impatiently shoved her wet hair out of her eyes.
“We’re almost at the end of the island.” His voice was pitched low. “If we keep running, we’ll end up in the river. We’ll have to double back, find somewhere to shelter and take a stand.” He glanced at her. “Besides, your feet are a bloody mess. The only reason you’re still able to run is because the cold has made you numb.”
She lifted one of her feet, gasping when she saw the blood. He was right. She hadn’t even felt the pain. But of course, now that he’d mentioned it, her feet started throbbing.
“Okay, ouch. But it doesn’t matter. We have to keep going. I’d really love not to get shot today.”
Amusement lit his eyes and he raised a brow.
Her face flushed hot. “Yes, I know. You’ve been shot, what, two, three times? I’m really, really sorry about that.”
He let out a puff of laughter. “You’re not the only one.” He absently rubbed his chest as if it pained him and scanned the trees again. Seemingly satisfied, he shoved his gun in his waistband, then pulled his shirt off over his head.
Ashley blinked in surprise, and her mouth suddenly watered in appreciation. The bulletproof vest hid much of his chest, but his bulging biceps were now displayed for her viewing pleasure. She’d always been a sucker for muscles and golden skin, and Dillon’s arms were like a sculpted work of art. Her fingers itched with the desire to slide over that smooth skin, up his arms, over his broad shoulders to sink into his thick, dark hair. How good would it feel to have those strong arms close around her and cradle her to his chest? What would the rest of his body look like without the armor? Would it be as enticing as she imagined? Or even better?
A ripping sound had her blinking again. She’d zoned out, fixating on totally inappropriate thoughts given their circumstances. She blamed her lack of focus on blood loss from her injured feet. Dillon, thankfully, didn’t seem to have noticed her distraction. He was too busy cutting strips off his shirt with a pocketknife.
“Detective Gray—”
“Dillon.”
“Dillon, it’s cold out here. And it’s still raining. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
“I did notice, actually. Especially since I swam in a freezing-cold river to get here.”
She winced. “I never thanked you for that. Thanks.”
He smiled. “We’ve both been a bit busy. And to answer your next question, the reason I took my shirt off and am currently destroying it is because I’m going to use these strips to wrap your feet.” He put his knife away and waved at a fallen tree a few feet away, indicating for her to sit.
Normally, she’d decline the offer to sit on a half-rotted, probably bug-infested dead tree, but ever since he’d mentioned the cuts on her feet, they were stinging and throbbing. She gratefully plopped down.
Dillon crouched beside her with the cloth strips from his ruined shirt.
“Miss Parrish—”
“Detective Gray?”
He smiled. “Is that a hint to call you by your first name?”
“Nothing gets by you.”
His grin widened before fading away all too quickly. “Ashley, other than your feet, are you okay? When I first reached the island, I heard you scream. Did he... Did that man...hurt you?”
Her face heated at his intent look, and the obvious meaning behind his question. He wanted to know if she’d been raped. She swallowed hard, only now realizing how lucky she’d been tonight. With all the awful things that had happened, it could have been so much worse.
“No,” she quietly assured him, “he didn’t hurt me. Not the way you mean, at least. He backhanded me across the face. Twice. But nothing else.”
He frowned and studied her face. Lightning flashed, and he feathered his fingers across her cheek and jaw where the man had hit her. In spite of the gentleness of his touch, pain lanced through her jaw beneath his fingers. She drew in a sharp breath.
He dropped his hand. “Sorry. Nothing appears to be broken, but you’re definitely going to have a couple of good bruises in the morning. Your cheek and jaw are already swelling. Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do about that. But I can wrap your feet.”
“I’m not worried about my feet right now,” she insisted, only half lying because it felt so good not to be standing on her aching feet. “Those men could be anywhere. We need to get moving again.”
“You don’t think I know that? You’re leaving a blood trail that will be far too easy to follow when the sun comes up. We have to staunch the blood.”
Her lips formed a silent “oh” and she d
utifully lifted her left foot when he reached for it. She felt like a child who’d been reprimanded. Or a civilian who’d been reminded by a cop that he knew what he was doing.
Obviously, he did know, or she’d have been dead several times over today.
She sucked in a breath when he wrapped the strips of cloth around her foot. The pressure sent sharp, stinging pains zinging up her legs.
“Detective...Dillon, how did you find me? I mean, why did you come to my house tonight in the first place?”
“Your friend Lauren Wilkes was worried about you when she couldn’t get a call through. I guess the shooting this morning had her spooked, so she called nine-one-one. It’s a good thing she did.” His movements were quick and economical, as if he’d done something like this many times before, and soon both feet were bandaged.
“Yes, it is. I’ll have to thank her later. Assuming we make it off this island.”
“Don’t you worry. We’ll make it.” Straightening, he pulled the gun out again and held it down by his side. “I grew up around here. I know every inch of Cooper’s Bluff. There are some caves where we can probably hole up for the night. It’s a defensible position, probably the only one on the island. But it’s a ten-minute hike from here.” He looked down at her feet. “Maybe fifteen. Think you can make it?”
A thrashing sound echoed through the trees, faint, but definitely getting closer.
Defensible position sounded ominous to her, but those sounds of pursuit had her rising to her feet. The sudden fiery pain had her clenching her teeth to keep from crying out. Apparently the cloth had warmed some circulation back into her feet, making them throb far worse than before.
But that was nothing compared to what a bullet could do.
“I can make it,” she announced, not entirely sure whether she could or not. But she had to try.
He gave her an approving look and took her hand, leading her through the dark, sure-footed as if he really did know the way by heart. Lightning still flashed, though less frequently now. But he didn’t seem to need the bright light to guide him.
Careful to hold leaves and branches out of her way, he kept her close, guiding her footsteps. At first she thought he was being considerate, but as the sounds of pursuit faded, she realized everything he was doing was deliberate. He was helping her make as little noise as possible as they passed through the woods.