Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set

by Addison Fox, Cindy Dees, Justine Davis

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered again. “How’d things go with J.D.?”

  “He won’t be taking any long walks for a while.” Mark set the gun down and pulled the knife out of the backpack. “The effort wasn’t a total loss.”

  “Yay,” she cheered with fake enthusiasm. “Is anyone else headed this way?”

  “Not so far,” he replied.

  “You should go,” she said. “Hide until they come for me.”

  “Not a good play.”

  She disagreed completely. He could hide and pick off whoever came for her.

  He gazed above her at the rope. “Let me make sure cutting you down doesn’t trigger some other trap. How’s your head?” he asked.

  It took a second to follow the conversational leap. “Aches.” In fact, her vision was starting to blur. “Hazy.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  “I should have spent more time on abs at the gym.”

  “Your abs are fine,” he said, laughing a little. “I saw them just last night.”

  Stopping directly under her, the snare kept his face just out of kissing range. But she could touch him, so that was a bonus. She ran her fingertips across his beard, swaying a little with the motion, unless that was only an effect of her blurred vision. “Are there two of you?”

  “You wish.” His lips twitched.

  “Don’t you dare laugh,” she ordered.

  “Lottie, you put the cute in life-and-death situations.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” she said.

  “It doesn’t.” He seemed to say it more to himself than to her. His gaze tracked up the length of her body to the rope again and presumably to where the line was anchored. “I bet you’d do just about anything for this knife right now.”

  “Stop teasing and get me down.” She was terrified Eaton would catch them both and the nightmare would start over again. “Better yet, just leave me here and capture Eaton when he shows up.” Had she said that? Becoming bait wasn’t the worst idea. She’d finally be an asset rather than a burden.

  “You’ve suggested that.”

  “I did?” It was getting harder to think clearly. “Did you like the idea?”

  “No,” he replied. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

  “Think about it,” she urged, twisting to try to keep him in sight.

  “Hush.”

  He went perfectly still. Or she thought he did. It was hard to tell when a breeze caught the tree and set her in motion again. The pounding of blood in her ears made it harder to hear anything else. Was it too late for Mark to set a countertrap?

  “Hide.” She waved her hands for him to run, but as she twisted around, she couldn’t see Mark at all.

  In the distance, she heard Eaton barking out orders. It was impossible for her to determine if he was talking to someone directly or using the radio Mark wanted so badly. She couldn’t make out his words, though that didn’t matter to her as much as making sure Mark got away safely.

  Fighting the tunnel vision and pressure from hanging upside down, she vowed to fight back, stall or otherwise impede Eaton’s plan. She’d do whatever was necessary to give Mark a chance to escape.

  Suddenly the ground surged up to meet her and a big drab olive shadow blocked her vision. Mark’s leg, she realized slowly. He’d added his weight to the snare line. She could touch the ground with her fingertips, but she wasn’t free.

  “Almost done. Protect your head and neck,” he whispered. “Going down,” he continued like an elevator operator.

  She did her best, willing him to hurry. In a moment, her body dropped and she curled in on herself as she hit the ground. What were a few more bruises among friends?

  Before she could stand, Mark was at her side, cutting away the rope knotted around her ankle. He helped her up, giving her a steady anchor point as her blood flow resumed a normal healthy pattern away from her head. Her vision still fuzzy, she had no idea where he was taking her until the blast of sunshine caught her in the face. She winced and shied away.

  “Keep going, you’re doing great,” Mark encouraged. “They probably know by now that I have the guard’s gun and radio. It will give them something to think about.”

  Believing him took less energy than arguing and it was far more pleasant to think she really wasn’t the problem child out here.

  She heard a shout behind them and this time the sound was clear, close and furious. Either her hearing had improved or Eaton was practically on top of them.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Mark said.

  She could smell the brackish water of the creek and knew what he intended. “Beats death by madman,” she quipped, following him into the murky water. Once more the creek bought them precious seconds.

  When Mark gave the all clear, she climbed to the opposite bank, grateful they had several hours of sunshine to dry their soggy clothes.

  “Why didn’t you just kill Eaton back there?”

  “I thought about it,” he admitted. He used his hands to squeeze the water from her hair.

  His gaze turned possessive as he studied her face. Suddenly, the sunlight wasn’t the source of the heat coursing through her system. It was a wonder her clothing didn’t instantly steam dry. When his thumbs glided over her cheekbones, she thought she’d melt from the tenderness in his touch. “You were fading,” he said. “Besides, if I’d missed, you would have been hurt.”

  “You don’t miss.”

  His lips kicked to one side. “Your confidence notwithstanding, I couldn’t take that kind of chance with you.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Charlotte. When we get off this island, you will be in one piece.” He kissed her, a sweet, gentle assurance for both of them. “You’ll be able, mind and body, to return to the life you’ve made for yourself. Anything less is a failure in my eyes.”

  “Mark…” She couldn’t articulate everything his words and hands and lips stirred up inside her. Not when he touched her with so much love while at the same time he spoke of going their separate ways when this ordeal was behind them. It hurt that he seemed so determined to walk away from the connection and passion she felt growing between them.

  Love was patient, she reminded herself. And love didn’t look anything like she thought it might or should. Her infatuation with him had only been the first spark. What she felt now was something so different and deep. It was a fresh and unexpected view of the man she thought she’d known. She started to try again, but she could tell by his narrowed gaze that he’d snapped back into survival-guide mode.

  “We need to dry out and find a safe place for the night.”

  “It’s not even noon yet.” She tipped her head back, trying to peer at the sun’s position in the sky.

  She trudged after him, feeling another stab of guilt that he was barefoot again. As much as she’d previously protested the option, she was more and more convinced that he should park her somewhere and just finish this on his own. When he looked at her, he couldn’t see anything more than an obligation. A pretty one, by his words, but still an extra person he had to keep track of. She was making his survival harder. Maybe now that they had a gun he would implement the stash-the-inept-girl plan. She could defend a secure position with a loaded weapon.

  “Promise me something?” She wanted several promises from him, but this time the most important one was about making sure he’d take care of himself.

  “Whatever you need,” he replied without looking back at her.

  “When we get out of here, promise me you’ll get a pedicure and then never go barefoot again.”

  “That sounds…”

  “Delightful?” she supplied when he was lost for words. “Luxurious? The right thing to do for your poor, abused feet?”

  He turned, a grin spreading across his face and the dimple flashing in his cheek. “Horr
ific. Besides, according to those cheesy romantic movies my sisters watched, walking barefoot on the beach beats paying someone to exfoliate. Plenty of room to do that right here.”

  She remembered a line like that from a movie she and Jolene had watched on one of their boisterous dual-family vacations. “But you have to follow up the exfoliation with hydration and preferably shoes,” she said.

  “One step at a time,” he teased.

  When he looked at her that way, those silly youthful fantasies of Mark sweeping into her life like those teenage heroes filled her head and carried her away to a sweet place without cages, guns and men bent on violent revenge.

  Until a chunk of the tree on the other side of Mark’s head exploded.

  * * *

  Mark gathered Charlotte into his arms and took them both to the ground, his body covering hers.

  All this time, Eaton had let others do the dirty work. Finally the man was pulling the trigger himself. Of course, that was little comfort considering he was a world-class sniper, willing to take the hard shots.

  They were too far from the creek now for that escape route. Putting himself between the gunfire and Charlotte, he pushed her along ahead of him, deeper into the trees. In this area, it was impossible not to leave a trail through the ferns and fallen leaves and needles of scrub pines.

  Sure enough, bullets followed their movement, biting into the bark here and there. The man was missing on purpose. The movement they made scrambling through the trees might as well be a beacon to a shooter of Eaton’s skills.

  Charlotte’s body jerked with every shot and Mark’s temper rose in response. She didn’t deserve this. No one did, but especially not a woman so full of talent and light. The world needed the hope and beauty she could offer.

  Mark’s mind worked through what he knew of the island. Based on the angle of the first shot and those following them now, Eaton was trying to herd them into the marsh where they’d be completely exposed. The trees were their only defense and at the same time telegraphed their movements too well.

  Spying a gap created by a tree recently felled by a storm, he nudged Charlotte over the rotting log and into momentary safety. “You okay?” he whispered.

  Her blue eyes were round with fear and full of worry. “I’m not wounded if that’s what you mean.”

  “It is.” Mark paused, listening for any evidence that Eaton’s men were trying to flank them. “He’s pushing us to the marsh.”

  Her hands gripped his tightly. “I don’t want to hide in that water.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” A bullet whizzed overhead, punching through a small limb. Mark covered Charlotte, letting the debris rain down across his back. He barely felt it, his mind shifting to operator mode while his body catalogued her long legs and soft curves tucked under him.

  “He’s guessing now,” Mark said. “Do you know where we are?”

  “Hell,” she replied in a weary whisper.

  He chuckled. “Close enough. I meant specifically.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment and then looked up at the sky and the trees overhead. He knew she was mentally retracing their route away from the dock.

  Another bullet grazed a tree nearby. Charlotte tensed and trembled. If they’d been on the move, Eaton would have guessed their position with distressing accuracy. It also confirmed Mark’s theory that the man wanted to push them to the marshes.

  “The marshes are on the west side. So we must be heading in that general direction,” Charlotte said, her voice pitched low. “These are live oaks and they grow thicker inland.”

  “You’re brilliant.” He smiled, more pleased than he cared to admit. “Can you get back to our camp at the cove from here?”

  She nodded, her gaze drifting to his lips. Yeah, he had a long list of things he wished they’d done last night too.

  “You’ll need to move north and east,” he said, trying to focus on saving them.

  Sitting up a little, she glanced around, getting her bearings. “I can do it.”

  “Good. Go back there and hide behind that screen of palm leaves we made.” He pressed the gun into her hands. He knew she could shoot and was familiar with a weapon like this.

  “What about you? You’ll need this.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” He pulled out the radio. “I might be able to get a signal. Either way, I’ll stroke Eaton’s ego and let him drive us toward the marshes.”

  Her long fingers curled around his, gripping hard. “Please don’t do that. It’s too open.”

  “Shh.” He cupped her cheek, giving her all the tenderness he could offer. Once they parted, he had to be ruthlessly focused on taking out the enemy. “Alone, I can get him where he wants us and come back to you.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Dwindling numbers,” he reminded her. “Someone is with the boat. It will be months before the guard from the dock can do anything after I tore up his leg.”

  “That still leaves Muscle and Quick-Punch Kid helping Eaton. They’re rested and you’ve been physically punished for days. What if they’re armed?”

  Mark hated the fear in her eyes. Fear for him. A prickle of unease slid along his skin. He didn’t know what to do with it. Did she want him thinking about failing her?

  “This is what I do, baby,” he said, mustering every drop of arrogance and bravado he had left. “I need you to take the gun and wait this out at the cove.”

  Her gaze narrowed and her full lips thinned. He held on to that annoyance, leaned into it. This was survival. “Wait until he’s following me, and then go.”

  “Sure.”

  He gazed into that lovely face, regretting his tactic immediately. He didn’t want her harboring any doubt about how much he cared. Stealing a fast kiss for luck, reassurance or both, he popped up and started running.

  When bullets followed him, he grinned like the fool he was.

  * * *

  Charlotte gazed up at the star-studded sky overhead and couldn’t help thinking the island at night would be a beautiful place to unwind. Especially if she could remove the terrors seeking them out and add spa-quality bathrooms and a well-planned picnic basket complete with good wine.

  She was ridiculously proud of herself for finding the cove without getting lost. She hadn’t even had a heart attack while she worried and waited for Mark to return to the cove. The occasional gunshots had done more than rattle her. She was sure her stylist would find her hair had turned gray after this.

  When Mark had returned to the cove at twilight, he’d been a muddy mess, and full of himself for sending Eaton on a wild chase. His only regret had been that he hadn’t been able to get the radio working to ask for help. She’d launched herself into his arms when that dimple had winked at her, not caring if he’d thought she was a worrywart. She hadn’t been able to help it. He wasn’t just her best hope of getting out of here alive. He held her heart and always would.

  No amount of that brusque-and-brave-warrior routine could change that.

  After going for a swim and downing a meal bar, he’d stretched out beside her, but he wasn’t asleep yet. She’d promised to keep watch, but she didn’t think he could actually shut down. He’d done everything short of building a raft to escape. Knowing him, he’d probably thought of it and rejected the idea because it would make them easy targets as they floated out to sea.

  She continued to watch the sky, debating how best to get all those layers of darkness to sink into the canvas and reach back out again. In the sky at full dark, she saw the immense, limitless beauty. “I’ll paint this sky when we’re home,” she murmured. To purge the dread and reclaim the good, she would paint this sky.

  “You want to remember this place?”

  “Why would I want to forget your bravery and courage?” she countered. She’d never forget his kiss or his touch, the exquisite pleasure he
’d given her. She surely wouldn’t forget the way he kept putting her safety and well-being above his own. “You’ve taught me tactics and directions and other things I didn’t know I wanted to learn.”

  “You wouldn’t need to learn any of it if I hadn’t followed you into the alley.”

  The idea of him out here, coping with Eaton alone, sent a fresh spike of icy fear down her spine. “Sounds like it’s my turn to remind you that someone is looking for us. We need to stay positive.”

  “But will they find us in time? I’m sorry.” He sat up a little, his silhouette blotting out a chunk of the sky and filling her creative mind with more ideas for another series of nightscapes. “I can’t help wondering that if someone was coming to help, they’d be here by now.”

  “We took out the cameras, with good reason,” she added hastily. The less Eaton could use against the general, the better.

  “We have to end this,” Mark said. “I can’t ask you to deal with this for one more day.”

  “It would be over by now if the boat had been there,” Charlotte reminded him. “We’ll make it.” She flopped to her back once more. The deep velvet-black sky, dotted with stars, winked overhead through the swaying palms as the wind picked up.

  The breeze through the palm fronds was constant, just like the steady beat of the ocean against the shore or her boundless love for the man beside her. She turned her head, admiring Mark’s strong profile. This man was a constant, as well. Take away the guns and the madman and there were worse things than being stranded on an island with a sexy, affectionate man.

  “Charlotte?” he asked, turning to her. “You with me?”

  Always. In any time or place, she was his. Following the welcome distraction, her artist’s memory filled in the details of his face that the shadows blurred. “I’m with you,” she replied. She might not be survival trained like he was, but even she recognized they wouldn’t last out here indefinitely. “Are we planning our five-star resort or a way off the island?”

  He didn’t laugh. Instead he rolled to his side, facing her, almost nose to nose. “I’m thinking we need to surrender. It would draw Eaton in and we could negotiate to get you out of here.”