“No.” He had to discard this plan immediately. “I am not leaving this island without you.” Her heart thumped in her chest at the thought of returning to civilization without him.
“Even if it’s the only way to save your life?” He trailed a finger along her jaw.
She reached up, covering his hand, holding the touch close as though she could absorb still more of his courage through her skin. It stung a little, acknowledging how much she must be holding him back, though she’d done her best to keep up. “If we go to the dock and surrender, he’ll kill you from a hundred yards out and not bother to ask me questions later. He’s not going to give me up just because you want him to.” At his sigh, she added, “You know I’m right.”
“It’s still four against two, Lottie, and the one radio I stole was busted.”
“We’ll make another plan, Mark.”
He rolled to his back again and he was quiet for so long she thought he’d fallen asleep.
“Eaton intends to survive at all costs,” he said.
“Obviously.” She reached for his hand, laced her fingers through his. “So do we. We have a gun, a knife and two stakes. I think the odds are in our favor.”
“I like your ruthless side.”
She heard that sexy, unrepentant grin in his voice. “Thanks. Now, without a boat, how do we make tomorrow our last day in paradise?”
“He isn’t leaving until I’m dead or until I break and kill a bunch of people on camera. Can you think of a way to fake either of those scenarios?”
She knew he didn’t expect her to have an answer, but still she tried to come up with something. “What about the flare gun?”
“Who would we signal?” he asked.
“I’m thinking about what Eaton would do if we set the dock or part of the island on fire. It’s not ideal, but I think our lives outrank nature in this scenario.”
“Tell me more,” he urged.
“Well, if we successfully set something on fire, it might be seen from a boat out on the water.”
“That’s a plus for as long as the fire burns,” he said.
“You mentioned Eaton had an exit strategy. He obviously won’t let anyone else kill you. Today while he thought we were together, no one came anywhere near me.”
“If Muscle was helping Eaton hunt me, he was in stealth mode,” Mark said, propping up on an elbow. “Quick-Punch Kid is the only other person I saw.”
“Maybe Muscle took the cabin cruiser in for supplies or reinforcements. And where would that leave the third man on the new team?”
Mark was nodding now. “Guarding a second boat, maybe? It would be easy to hide something like a rigid-hull inflatable in another cove on the eastern side.”
“Surplus military issue, no doubt,” she said, peeved. Eaton was such a scumbag.
“No doubt.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Talking it out helps.”
She was immensely pleased with the praise. “So how do we win?”
“We stick together this time,” Mark replied, subdued again.
Guilt swirled through her mind like a wisp of smoke, leaving a bitter scent of failure behind. No matter what he said, her misstep in that trap today had cost them a good chance to gain any real advantage. Though he was kind enough not to blame her outright, she blamed herself.
He pressed a kiss to her palm, the gesture equally comforting and stimulating. She scooted into his embrace, momentarily forgetting the threats and consequences currently out of sight.
As his lips slanted over hers, she surrendered to the marvelous distraction of being in his arms. When he eased back, she was breathless, her pulse thundering in her ears. She laid a palm over his chest and felt his heart racing, as well. It was wonderful to be wanted by the man she loved, even if he continued to hold back. Maybe that five-star resort would be where she broke through the last of his shell.
“About that plan,” he said after several long minutes.
She smothered a giggle. It wasn’t at all where her mind had been. “Yes?”
“We’ll wing it. You’re practically a SEAL now anyway.”
She curled into him, smothering her laughter over such an enormous exaggeration. His breathing settled as his amusement faded, but she knew he wouldn’t sleep deeply. A part of him had kept watch from the minute they’d been kidnapped. She wished there was something she could say or do to convince him to really sleep.
That too might have to wait for the resort.
“Charlotte?” He stroked her hair back over her ear in a motion that never failed to knock her out. “Sleep while you can.”
She took a long, measured breath and let it out, repeating the process a few times, but her mind was restless. However this ended, did she dare hope for some kind of romantic future?
What would that even look like? Would they go back to Virginia and start dating until he deployed again?
If they took Eaton down, she assumed Mark would be free to get back on the regular rotation with his SEAL team. Where he belonged, based on how well he’d endured these past days. She couldn’t deny that.
Regret was a cold vise around her heart. In the light of a normal day, would Mark be able to look at her and not think about these days of torture and abuse? What kind of Special Forces operator would build a life with a woman so closely tied to his worst memories?
Sure, they were physically compatible, obviously, but that wasn’t the kind of foundation for the relationship she wanted anyway. He hadn’t given her any indication of his feelings for her, not even echoing the loving words she’d given to him. Which was absolutely fine. She appreciated that Mark didn’t plant false hope when it mattered most.
His actions showed how much he cared. Caring would have to be enough for her.
She loved him. Not a fleeting trial-by-fire sort of affection either. No, she loved him enough that she wouldn’t say it out loud again. When they were rescued and back in the real world, she’d walk away from him with her dignity so he wouldn’t feel forced to push her away.
As she’d told him, her heart would always be his.
Despite the fear and terror of the ordeal, new paintings were already filling her mind and she focused her thoughts on what she wanted to create. Small and cramped canvases to challenge the audience. Open soaring views tethered to nothing but hopes and dreams. Those would likely challenge even more people. A direct encounter with death changed a person. There was no going back to the woman and artist she’d been a week ago.
If only she had the courage and skills to slip away and take out Eaton while Mark dozed.
She didn’t.
She was an artist, stranded with the man she’d dreamed about for over a decade, and she had no tangible skills or recourse to help them survive.
CHAPTER 13
Early the next morning, before the sun was much more than a glow at the edge of the ocean, Mark roused Charlotte so they could move out. He regretted his decision to take another run at the boat almost immediately. The stress and chaos of Eaton’s antics had taken a toll on Charlotte. She was trying valiantly to keep up with him, running on sheer adrenaline and desperation.
Holding her in his arms last night, the words had been on his heart. I love you. He couldn’t push them past his lips. Not yet. If they got off the island, there would be time to make it up to her. If they didn’t, there wasn’t any point in declaring feelings he couldn’t back up with actions.
And, as much as he prided himself on his bravery and self-confidence, he had no idea how she’d react. Would she even want to waste another minute with him after this?
He didn’t hold out much hope.
Creative problem solving was a hallmark of his career, yet he’d failed her in a spectacular manner when it had mattered most, back in the alley before things had really gone south.
They kept to the thickest part of the tr
ee line and found the dock empty again as the sun inched over the horizon. While Charlotte stood watch, he carefully gathered up dried palms, stuffing them into an empty crate. He carried the crate to the dock and using the flare gun, he set the mass on fire. With a little luck, the fire would burn a good long time. At the very least, it should create a smoke plume and potentially catch a search party’s attention.
Or the attention of the boat, bringing it closer to shore where they could more easily try to commandeer it.
Mark was kneeling at the edge of the trees with Charlotte when he heard raised voices. South of the dock, on a small crescent beach, he spotted Eaton and Quick-Punch Kid.
Eaton was the only one with a radio.
They wouldn’t get that radio as long as Eaton continued breathing. The man was armed and motivated by a vast, inexorable sense of vengeance. Worse, he’d shown a remarkable lack of remorse over his actions.
Mark had no doubt that should Eaton get the chance, he’d kill Mark and Charlotte and never look back to this island. He started to give the hand signals for how he wanted to advance and realized he didn’t have the team. Only Charlotte.
She’d held up, but she didn’t magically know the code and signals. “I’ll take out Eaton,” he said, his voice barely audible as he eyed the best way forward. “Quick-Punch Kid will try and intervene, but he isn’t armed, and there might be a limit to how involved he wants to be.”
“I can handle him.” Her voice was intense, ready. She had the gun in her hands and he had the knife ready. “I’ll keep him distracted,” she promised.
“Shoot him if you have to.” Mark was relieved he didn’t have to ask her to distract Muscle, though he had no doubt she’d happily find a reason to put a bullet in the big man. He kissed her. Fast and quick. Not a last kiss, more of a promise there would be more once the work was done.
“You do that with your SEAL team?” she teased.
“They wish,” he quipped.
She clamped her lips together, her eyes dancing with laughter. In that moment, he was suddenly sure everything would work out.
He picked up a rock, hefted it in his hand and waited for the right time to strike. He hurled it, pleased when it struck Quick-Punch Kid solidly on the side of the head. The man stumbled and fell forward to his hands and knees.
Eaton turned back and Mark charged forward from the dappled shadows of the trees, the knife in his grip. He used the downed man as a springboard and launched himself into Eaton, knocking the man to the ground before he could fire. His weapon flew across the sand toward the surf.
Mark drove a knee into Eaton’s gut, once, twice and a third time. The man gasped for air while Mark scrambled to get the radio off Eaton’s belt. He couldn’t manage it with one hand and Eaton knew it.
Eaton twisted around, landing an elbow to Mark’s jaw that sent him reeling. He dropped the knife. That never would’ve happened before being caged and tortured and manipulated by the threats to Charlotte. Excuses didn’t make a SEAL strong; adversity did. Mark blocked the next punch and bucked his hips, rolling Eaton over and finally pinning the man to the shifting sand.
Protective concern tempted him to glance over his shoulder and check on Charlotte’s progress. He had to trust she could manage on her own. Eaton was too dangerous and would capitalize on the smallest opening. Distraction equaled disaster here. Mark would not let him land another blow. Would not give him another minute to exploit Charlotte or inflict emotional abuse on his family.
He dug his knees into Eaton’s sides, squeezing his rib cage and impeding his breathing. Eaton wedged his body into the loose sand to get relief. It was enough to throw Mark off balance and he rolled away and up onto his feet. Eaton reached the knife before he did.
Holding the man’s attention, Mark moved to put his body between Eaton and the rest of the island. If Charlotte had failed, he was now vulnerable to a sneak attack from Quick-Punch Kid. Mark didn’t peek over his shoulder, he kept his eyes on Eaton.
The older man’s face was red from sunburn or exertion or a combination of the two. Didn’t matter. Winning this fight for Charlotte’s life mattered.
“You think you’re special, Riley?” Eaton taunted.
Mark ignored his taunting. The sly gleam in Eaton’s eyes was enough proof that they both understood the stakes here. Only one of them would walk away from this beach.
Mark stalked closer to his prey, not giving a damn who currently had control of the knife.
Eaton lunged, Mark spun, felt his shirt give as the blade sliced through the thin fabric and his skin. The sting and burn were only more motivation. Using his momentum, he caught Eaton around the hips and threw him back toward the encroaching surf, farther away from Charlotte.
Eaton struggled to break Mark’s hold and his rusty hand-to-hand combat skills made it clear why he liked to stay behind a gun. If the man hadn’t had the knife, Mark wouldn’t have any injuries worth mentioning as they grappled for dominance of the weapon.
The surf was sucking at the sand under their feet, challenging his balance as the water foamed up around his ankles. His hands, slippery with blood, made it hard to get a good grip. At last Mark succeeded and tossed the radio up toward Charlotte as he fell to his knees.
Eaton, yammering on with nonsensical threats and insults, let loose a violent scream of frustration as Charlotte sent out the Mayday call, just as he’d instructed her earlier.
She’d survive. It was like taking his first breath after a long dive. One way or another, she would get off this blighted island and resume the life she was meant to have, the work she was meant to give.
Eaton turned, knife raised high over his head as if he was auditioning for a remake of Hitchcock’s Psycho. Charlotte screamed. Mark focused.
Dodging to the side, he used Eaton’s power against him, driving the blade deep into the man’s thigh. Shocked, mouth open, eyes glazed with pain, Eaton fell forward into the surf.
Gripping fistfuls of Eaton’s shirt, Mark hauled him deeper into the water. The whole way, the man continued tossing out dire threats against all Rileys. Despite everything he’d done, with Charlotte watching from the beach, Mark might have been compelled to grant mercy if Eaton had asked. Thankfully he didn’t.
Mark walked out farther, still dragging the man who’d put his family through so much fear and grief in recent months. The surf swirled around Mark’s knees, buoying more of Eaton’s body. The ocean was Mark’s element, soothing and centering, even as the salt water illuminated every open wound.
Though Eaton thrashed, Mark held on, dragging him deeper. The man tugged to free the weapon from his leg. Blood tinted the water—his or Eaton’s, Mark didn’t care. He started shouting more nonsense and threats. Mark shoved his head under the water and waited. Eaton came up sputtering and cursing.
With both hands, Mark shoved him hard in the chest. Eaton stumbled backward as the surf moved over the sand. For the first time in days, Mark was grateful for the thin scrubs and his bare feet. Eaton’s heavy boots and clothing were waterlogged, making it impossible for him to fight the ocean’s pull.
Now, it would be man versus nature. Mark watched with detached curiosity to see who won.
Eaton flailed in the next wave and went under the surface.
Mark kept his eyes on the spot as the surf flowed out from under him and he let the rollers buoy him onto the beach, away from the blood trail flowing out of Eaton.
The man’s head didn’t clear the water again.
Nature had won this battle.
He hoped a shark wouldn’t be injured by the knife in the man’s leg.
* * *
Watching Mark in the gently rolling surf, Charlotte held her position just out of reach of the groggy Quick-Punch Kid. She’d trussed him up, using the cord of his survival bracelet to bind his hands together behind his back. She’d cinched his ankles together with his belt.
He didn’t put up much of a fight, either due to the head injury or simply the realization that he couldn’t get out of this, she wasn’t sure. He was too heavy for her to move him to a shady spot. She assumed after the coast guard arrived, sunburn would be the least of his worries.
She had control of the gun now, as well as the radio. While Mark had wrestled Eaton, she’d considered shooting their tormentor, but held back, afraid she’d hit Mark by accident.
Her hero, she thought, her heart swelling with pride and love as Mark rode the waves back to shore. Alone. Gripping one item in each hand, she held her ground, waiting for a signal from Mark that it was safe. She assumed Eaton was dead. Remorse didn’t even flit through her mind.
She focused instead on Mark. He exhibited an ease in the water she’d always admired. She took a halting step toward the water. A swim might do them both some good, but she’d prefer to find a place where Eaton’s body wasn’t lurking under the waves.
Suddenly it was as if everything caught up with her. Her knees felt stiff, her feet sore and her entire body begged for a warm soaking bath, fragrant soaps and a head-to-toe massage. Her hands ached with the stress of staying out of Mark’s fight with Eaton. Her pulse pinged oddly and her stomach clenched as if she might be sick. After everything they’d endured, this seemed like the wrong time for her body to stop cooperating. Shouldn’t they be celebrating?
Forcing herself forward on wobbling knees, she went down to the tide line to meet Mark, staying clear of the bloody ruts in the sand. “Mark? Are you okay?”
“I am now.”
Now she could see his shirt had been sliced and blood seeped from a long thin cut across his shoulder blade. That would leave a big scar across those perfect muscles as it healed. She didn’t mind the potential imperfection. No, she struggled against the idea of another woman seeing it years from now. They’d faced impossible odds and survived. They had a shared history of sorts as family friends and they’d certainly explored a passion that had both startled them and saved them during the crisis.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set Page 92