by Madelon Smid
He picked up a couple of the heavy fronds, carried them over, and dumped them on her pile. “Morning. What are you going to do with these, light a bonfire?”
Her shoulders separated an inch from her ears. “Too much smoke. Can’t give away our position.”
“No. You wouldn’t want that.” His eyes told her he knew exactly what position she spoke off.
Her shoulders headed skyward again.
“I suggest you don’t tidy the beach, then? This pretty much shows someone’s around.”
She dropped the frond, attacked the pile, and started tossing them onto the beach. “You’re right.” Now chagrin mixed with regret in her expression. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. Big mistake.”
Well, that says it all. Message heard and received. He started hurling the heavy branches alongside her. The energy required provided only a small amount of satisfaction. He needed a wall he could put a fist through in a testosterone-laden display of masculine frustration.
His mistake hadn’t been claiming her, but in assuming she’d accepted the inevitable and they’d move on from there. His body insisted he close the space between them, sweep her into his arms, and take her all over again. His brain urged him in a different direction. He deleted his assumption and searched for a more workable equation. He’d broken more difficult codes than Catarina Duplessis.
“I need coffee.” He strode back toward the cottage, paused in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust, and studied her home. Sunlight filtered in narrow streams through the cracks in the closed shutters. In the dim light, he found the private pieces of her heart she hid from the world, from him. He took in the large painting which hung over the stone fireplace, bright hibiscus flowers in yellow and fuchsia. The green fronds winding among them looked like lovers. The photograph of a couple, framed in roughly-hewn wood, sat on the mantel. They appeared young, in love. Cat’s green eyes looked out at him. Her dossier said she’d lost her parents when she was just a child. She’d told him she lived with her grandmother in this tiny home until her Gogo died, at which time Cat had enlisted.
He filled the kettle from the water cooler beside the sink, turned on the propane burner, and set the water over the flame. Inside the three small cupboards, he found mugs, a French press, and a can of coffee. She didn’t come inside until he’d depressed the plunger and the aroma of coffee mixed with the smell of rain-washed palm leaves and damp sand.
“There’s only non-perishable goods stored here.” She opened a lower cupboard and bent over a row of cans and plastic storage containers. “Grits with syrup or baked beans with biscuits?”
His stomach tapped an SOS on his spine. “Both.” He poured coffee into the two mugs, left hers beside the stove, and took an appreciative sip of his. “I can do the beans and syrup, but don’t have a clue about grits and biscuits. Sorry.”
She gave him a quick sideways look, pulling a couple of the canisters out of the cupboard. “No problem. The cutlery is in there.” She nodded at a drawer. “The can opener there.” She pointed her foot at another while she set her containers on the counter top.
“Not bad,” he said thirty minutes later. “Grits are tolerable.” A telltale flush slashed her high cheekbones. “But your biscuits are heaven.”
Her gaze slashed across his, telling him she’d caught the innuendo. She gasped as she took a hasty sip of her coffee. When she started to wheeze, he reached across and gave her several substantial smacks on the back. “Let me help you.”
He didn’t think it so amusing when she looked up at him, fear surfacing in her eyes, her body hunching into a protective curve. A vulnerable Cat sucked the air out of his lungs. He backed off, wondering how he’d ever persuade her to conquer her fear.
Chapter Eight
The attack came at dawn. Cat had insisted on sleeping on the sofa, knowing she’d need to be vigilant. Knowing the meager distance wouldn’t give her nearly as much space from Josh as she needed. But at least it would help her keep her head and keep him safe. Shame washed over her in waves each time her mind touched on her total surrender the night before. Thank God, the storm had cloaked their presence, for she hadn’t done anything to protect Josh, lost as she was in a sensory jungle. Once more on high alert, she stood to the side of the kitchen window. Lifting the curtain with a fingertip, she peered out. A hump distorted the flat plane of the dock. Another protuberance shifted at the edge of the palm trees. Two or more people were working their way into position. They mustn’t get trapped in the cabin.
“Josh, wake up. We’re moving.” She smacked the bottom of his foot with the butt of her semiautomatic rifle. Now!” She smacked his foot again, relieved when he woke alert and stepped into his shoes without wasting time on questions. From the locker at the base of the bed, she extracted grenades, another pistol, and cartridges for her automatic. She tossed the cartridges into her backpack, stuck her arms through the straps. The pistol she loaded and passed to him.
“I hope you know how to use this. It might be the only thing between you and death,” she warned. She grabbed one of the burn phones lying at the top of Josh’s gym bag. Time staggered like a drunk going nowhere, while she waited for the satellite signal. When the face lit up, she texted RG one word. Breached. She disconnected and dropped the burn phone onto the bed.
She toured the room, window to window, staying out of sight, staying quiet. She checked the position of the two men, hoped they were stationary so she could confirm there were no others. The anomaly on the dock had disappeared, and nothing moved along the edge of the trees. They’d repositioned themselves, moving closer. She heaved the rattan rug off the floor into a pile, exposing a trap door. In seconds, she’d lifted the heavy lid and dropped through the hole.
“Move,” she ordered, keeping her voice low, but strong. “They could blow the house any second. It’s barely a five foot drop.”
He lowered himself, crouched with her in the space left by the stilts, hidden by lattice on four sides.
She’d planted colorful vines outside the lattice. Climbing profusely, they provided cover for their escape route. She slung her rifle across her backpack and flattened herself on the ground. “There are two of them, front and east side. I don’t think they’ve worked their way around the back. We’re gambling I’m right because we can’t stay here. We go into the trees, and you follow me. Don’t get separated.” She pulled night goggles into place. Light already fingered the horizon. They’d only be good for another few minutes, but in those minutes, they would give her the edge.
A small square of lattice lifted on hinges at the back of the space. She listened, absorbing every detail of her surroundings before sliding into a tangle of wild grass. He followed closely, noiselessly lowering the lattice into place. She silently thanked him for being so quick to pick things up, so observant.
Using her elbows and knees, she belly crawled toward the heavy growth of palms covering most of her island. She slid forward with stealth, hiding each movement in the slow sway of the grass. Josh, with his long body would find the crossing harder, but all the muscle built from climbing would assist him.
In minutes they were far enough into the trees she felt safe to stand. She put her finger to her lips, pointed in the direction they would travel. He fell in behind her moving as quietly as possible, when he could barely see.
Off to her right, a figure loomed. Bullets zipped into the trees around them. Cat hit the ground, grabbed Josh by his waistband, and dragged him down with her. From behind the shelter of a fallen tree, she lay in wait. A man shouted. Another answered. Minutes ticked by with no sign of the shooter.
Behind them a huge explosion rent the night. Flames leapt high, and the percussion smacked their bodies into the ground. “They took out the house.” She answered Josh’s questioning look. “They would figure the gunfire had woken us and struck before we could move.”
“Glad you’re a light sleeper.” He mouthed back.
“Keep moving.” They wove like wraiths through the plantatio
n for half a mile, before hitting the north end of the island. Here rocky cliffs descended in shelves to the ocean. She pulled down the goggles, left them hanging around her neck. She crouched behind a large outcropping of rock, looking for invaders, for a boat or inflatable raft from which another could have accessed this side of her island.
Another explosion sounded, then a third. She moaned. “The boathouse,” she whispered. “My beautiful Creole Lady just exploded.” Resolutely she pushed the loss away. Keeping Josh safe was the only thing that mattered.
The sun, now two inches above the horizon, danced across the light chop throwing sparkles like confetti onto the waves. Shrugging her backpack into a more comfortable position, she checked the load on her automatic. The press of the pistol inside the waistband of her jeans and the cold metal of the ankle gun tapping her skin reassured her. Now or never. He followed her onto the first level of rock, mimicking her low to the ground stance.
In minutes, she brought them onto the rocky beach, where the tide ran out in silver streams. She jogged around a shallow bay, stopped where a heavy tumble of foliage overhung the cliff. Again, she stood motionless, checking in every direction, using every sense to detect the presence of an enemy. Then she disappeared under the foliage. Josh followed her into what was a small cave dug into the side of the cliff.
He dropped his gym bag onto the ground and pulled out a flashlight. “Okay?” he mouthed in her direction.
She nodded, wondering when he’d grabbed his bag. He’d looped his arms through the handles leaving his hands free, probably when she’d made her last round of the windows. She was glad he had his supplies with him.
“This cave wasn’t formed by high tides.” He tested the jagged surface. It felt like a giant had dug a spoon into it over and over.
“No. I dug it out.” She wiggled out of her pack, unzipped it, and dropped in the night goggles. “Get comfortable, we’re going to be here a while.” She settled cross-legged facing the screen of vines. He sat just behind her, his back against the wall, calculating the amount of dirt and rock she’d hacked through to form a hollow big enough for two people.
“Turn off the flashlight and conserve battery power,” she instructed. She checked her weapons in the few fingers of light coming in through the vines and positioned her ammo clips for a possible firefight.
The ratatattat of machine gun fire sounded. “They’re shooting at shadows now,” she said with satisfaction.
“Sorry about your home and cruiser,” Josh said, resting his hand on her shoulder. “I know they meant a lot to you.”
She shrugged. “Just as long as they don’t destroy my island, everything else can be replaced.”
With a light squeeze, he pulled his hand away. She grabbed his wrist, spun around. “Where’d you put the flashlight?” He handed the small light over. She aimed the tiny circle of light at his hand, followed a track of blood from fingers to biceps. “My God, you’ve been shot.”
“Just a flesh wound,” he responded, his voice a little light, a little tight.
“This is no flesh wound.” On her knees, she scrambled through her pack for first aid supplies.
She slapped a gauze pad onto the front of his upper arm and pressed another to the back. He lurched against the rock wall.
“This is a through and through. You’re damn lucky the bullet didn’t hit an artery. You’d bleed out in minutes.”
“Lucky Josh, that’s me.” He kept his eyes closed, while she lifted the pads, inspected the torn flesh front and back, and slapped on two more.
She lifted the pads again. Gave a small nod of satisfaction. “This might sting,” she barely got the words out of her mouth when she doused him with alcohol.
She felt terrible when she saw he’d bit through his lip holding back a yell.
“A little warning next time.” He narrowed his eyes and glared at her. “I could have screamed and given away our position.”
A husky laugh bubbled out of her throat.
“What’s so funny about that?”
She expertly wound gauze around two clean pads, cut tape with her Swiss knife, and fastened the bandage closed. “You’d never give away our position.”
He looked startled by her certainty. “If someone held a chain saw against my leg, I sure as hell would.”
She shook her head. “No, you’d visit some Zen place in your mind and let them hack away. But, speaking of pain, you must have some. Take a couple of these.” She shook several capsules into his palm, handed him a bottle of water. She tossed the leftover supplies back in her backpack and turned to scrutinize the landscape visible through the crisscross of vines. “I’m sorry you were shot on my watch. He fired randomly hoping he’d force our location. Got lucky.”
“What will RG do?” Josh downed the painkillers and leaned back against the rock wall, stretching his legs on either side of her hips.
“Mount an offensive. He’ll send in a helicopter. They’ll fix on your GPS location. It’s just a question of whether or not his troops arrive before they find us.”
“Whoever is out there might think we’re dead already. Wouldn’t they conclude we were killed when your cottage exploded?”
“Professionals don’t assume. They’ll search for any sign we escaped. They might find the lattice door intact, pick up a foot print, cross your blood spatters. They sure as hell weren’t supposed to know we were here. Either RG, you, or I gave away the location.”
“How?”
“If we get out of here alive, it will be the first question I ask.” She pressed her lips together, her mind searching for the answer. Sudden alarm stiffened the hairs on the back of her neck. She went over their conversation. If someone listened in, he would soon find their position. With a finger to her lip, she signaled Josh to maintain silence.
A boulder rolled off the top of the cliff and smattered on the rocky beach a hundred yards from where they hid. Voices carried on the breeze. She estimated two men walked the beach just around the curve. Twenty minutes later, a speed boat coasted around the island, making a slow pass of its beaches, looking for signs they’d taken another boat and run. They were pinned down in a position they’d somehow given away.
She trained the field glasses on the boat and swore when she recognized Maddox’s stringy-blond hair and wild eyes, from the FBI BOLO. He held a sniper rifle across his knees and raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes every few seconds. The boat passed their position and moved on. She hefted her Remington, fixed Maddox in the crosshairs of her scope. Her finger snugged around the trigger. God, she wanted that shot, wanted the sight of Maddox streaming blood before he fell from the boat. He’d made Josh’s life a living hell, pushed her to her limit.
Her finger relaxed. She couldn’t take the shot. At least two men would use the sound to zero in on their location. She could neutralize them before they got to Josh, but she had no assurance there weren’t more. Her prime directive was to safeguard Josh, not mount an offensive.
Maddox yelled at someone on the beach. With a sharp turn of the wheel, he spun the boat aiming it away from the island. He disappeared over the horizon line.
She wanted to swear, scream her frustration into the wind. She bit back her fury by sinking her teeth into her lip. She lowered the rifle. “Maddox,” she mouthed at Josh.
He tensed, then with a deep breath relaxed. “Too bad,” he mouthed back. Lifting his good arm, he rested his hand on her shoulder in a show of unity.
They hunkered down. When she finally heard the whop whop of rotating helicopter blades, she took her first deep breath in four hours.
The enemy must have made a run for it. Fools. She heard the static sound of automatic weapons firing and half a dozen others answering.
****
Ten minutes later, silence reigned. Josh shifted, rose onto his knees.
“We go nowhere till RG shows.” Cat pressed him down with a hand on his thigh. He settled, wished she’d leave her elegant fingers on his leg, while she studied the beac
h.
RG came down on them from above. Armed and backed by three other ex-military, he called out before taking the rocks in giant leaps. Cat, picked up her backpack by the strap, set the safety on her rifle, and pushed her way past the vines. Josh smelled the sickly sweet odor of crushed frangipani as he pressed through the screen. He’d always associate the smell with tight places—figuratively and literally. He didn’t want to ever be in one again.
He’d tamped down his fear for Cat over and over. He’d concluded the best way he could keep her safe was by following her orders. He’d mentally gone over every applicable trick she’d taught him over the past two months to keep her safe and been prepared to shoot or launch himself at the enemy. With the danger past, his fear for her burrowed out of him, seething, toothy, and demanding attention. He wouldn’t feel right until he scooped her into his arms and held her until he believed they were okay. He wanted to claim her in the most elemental way, reinforce life by erasing the memory of near death. He settled for resting a proprietary hand on her shoulder when they emerged from the cave to face RG.
RG scrutinized Josh’s dressing and color. “How bad?” He addressed Cat.
Josh answered before her. “I’m good to go.”
“Then let’s board the chopper, before we look at your arm.”
He fell into step behind RG, who led the way briskly back over the cliff and around to the south shore. A pile of rubble still smoked feebly.
Josh checked Cat’s reaction. For the count of ten, she took in the blackened ashes of her home, the missing cruiser and her dock blown to smithereens.
He squeezed her shoulder. There were no words to make up for the loss of all she held dear. In the chopper, RG took a quick look at Josh’s wound. “Still bleeding,” he announced. He replaced the dressing with a pressure bandage, gave him some more painkillers. “You’ll do until we get to Jake’s.” He slapped Josh, his eyes warming with approval.