Mistaken Target

She shook her head in disbelief. “But dry clothes. Food. The man who might be able to help us. All of that is back at the camp.”

“There is a lighthouse on the other side of the island. There might be a boat or something there we can use.” He still thought leaving the island was the safer choice. He stepped toward her and squeezed her arm above the elbow. “If you want to stay alive, we have to outthink him. Do what he doesn’t expect. I know this place better than he does—we need to use that to our advantage. By afternoon, we can sneak back into the camp if we can’t find a way off the island.”

His touch seemed to shake her from her trance. She met his gaze and nodded. “If that’s what we have to do.”

“Good, then.” He turned and took off at a jog. A moment later, her footfall sounded behind him as she kept up the pace with him.

When they came to an open area, he stopped, still wondering what the assassin had up his sleeve. There were hills he could climb that would provide a view of much of the island. But if the shooter hadn’t brought a rifle, he wouldn’t be able to take them out at that kind of distance. This guy was clearly a pro. Diego knew he couldn’t rule out that the killer had more firepower. He could have stowed a rifle somewhere when he got to the island.

Diego slowed his pace. The one assumption he could make was that the guy was behind them, not in front of them. “Why don’t you get in front of me?” He could at least shield her from possible gunfire.

The lighthouse came into view. They ran toward it. He could smell the salt air and hear the waves crashing on the rocks. Diego yanked a dilapidated door out of the way and laid it to one side. He swept his hand out in a grand gesture. “Your castle awaits.”

“My castle?” Her voice remained monotone but her face brightened just a little.

He felt a responsibility to pull her from the dark place she’d gone to emotionally. He was glad to see it had worked somewhat. They made their way to the top of the spiral staircase, entering a round room that provided a 360-degree panorama of the island. Though forest shielded some of his view, he saw no one approaching from any direction.

Samantha crossed her arms over her body. Her skin was pale, and she was shivering. The pajamas she was wearing were probably still wet.

He pulled his sweater over his head so he was down to a cotton T-shirt. “This is wool. It’s almost dried out already. It pulls the moisture away from your body.”

“But won’t you get cold?”

“I’ll be all right.” Knowing that she might argue, he grabbed her hand and placed the sweater in it. The silky smoothness of her skin as he drew back reminded him of how fragile she seemed. She came from a much safer world than the violent one he’d grown up in.

Yet she’d revealed some core of inner strength. She’d pulled herself together enough to follow him to the lighthouse when she’d wanted to give up.

The cold, damp air soaked through the thin cotton of his T-shirt.

She lifted the wet pajama top at the hem. “I think it will warm me up more if I get out of this first.” She glanced around as though looking for a private place to change.

“About halfway down the stairs, there’s a room off to the side,” he said.

She studied him for a moment, her gaze dropping to the gun now visible in his waistband. She turned and disappeared down the stairs. He listened to the sound of her footsteps fading. What had he seen in her eyes? Fear, maybe. She still didn’t completely trust him. He couldn’t really blame her.

He walked the circle of the lighthouse floor. He had a view of the ocean and most of the island. The cabins were hidden by the forest. Hopefully, if the assassin came for them, they’d have fair warning.

So far, he’d seen no sign of a boat or raft. They couldn’t stay here forever, though. Or even for the thirty or so hours it would take for the ferry to show up. They needed food and water. Both of those things were back at the camp.

Samantha’s footsteps sounded delicately on the metal stairs as he turned to face her. Her long dark blond hair framed her soft features. “Warmer?” he asked.

“A little, yes. Thank you,” she said.

The color had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes appeared clearer. “You were smart to take the wet top off first.”

“When I was a kid, my parents sent me to summer camp. They taught us city kids some wilderness survival basics at Camp Goodhope.”

“Camp Goodhope? I went there, too.” He’d been part of a program that sent underprivileged kids to the island where the camp was to teach them about community and faith. Though the message had not sunk in until his mother’s death, the camp had been a haven from the violence of his neighborhood and where he’d first heard about Jesus.

She let out a breath. “That’s kind of wild. I wonder if we were ever there at the same time.”

“I would have remembered someone as pretty as you.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Her lips formed a perfect O, but she didn’t say anything. She took a step back, and he saw the fear emerge again in her expression.

He shook his head and dropped his gaze. Just when he’d built up a little connection with her, he had to go and mess up. What had made her so distrustful of him...of men? He only knew he needed to tread lightly around her. He wasn’t lying, though. He did think she was pretty.

She cleared her throat. “I suppose we should see if we can find something to eat and some water.”

“You’re right that we need to search the place. Maybe we’ll find a raft. First, though, we need to get dried out. We can build a fire outside down by the shore. The lighthouse will shield it from view.” He turned toward her, putting on his best get-down-to-business face. “This is the high ground for now. He can’t come for us without us knowing.”

She turned in a half circle. “I hope he’s looking for us and not bothering the caretaker.”

Bother was kind of a mild word. “Yeah, me, too.” The safety of the caretaker weighed heavily on him. Chances were if the assassin didn’t want his identity known, he wouldn’t seek the caretaker out to hurt him, but there was no way to know for sure. Diego headed toward the stairs. “Let’s see what we can find.” He brushed past her. Their arms touched briefly, and he felt a surge of electricity through his shoulder and into his stomach. They locked eyes for a moment before he headed down the stairs to find something—anything—that might help them survive.

* * *

As she rummaged through cupboards on the main floor, the sound of Diego’s footsteps echoing through the lighthouse was unsettling. He clearly had the skills to keep both of them alive. She was starting to believe she could trust him in that arena, but what he said about her being pretty only opened old wounds. She’d caught the smolder in his eyes as she’d stepped past him on the stairs. That look only led to heartbreak and pain.

She searched several cupboards. Though run-down, the lighthouse wasn’t overly dusty, implying that it had gone unused for only a short time. She found some brochures inviting corporations to bring employees to the island for outings, including a meal served by the lighthouse. Maybe the owner of the resort had let this part of the resort go due to a lack of funds.

She located a can pushed toward the back of a bottom cupboard.

“Find anything?” Diego’s voice boomed behind her.

She startled, disconcerted that she hadn’t heard his approaching footsteps. After glancing at it, she held the can up. “Pears.”

“That’s good. There’s some liquid in them that will keep us hydrated.” Diego had what was either a poncho or a Navajo rug flung around his shoulders.

She laughed. “That’s a really good fashion statement for you.”

He snorted, amused. “Hey, it’s warm and dry.”

She took a closer look. It was clearly a rug that he had torn a hole in to make it into a poncho.

“I’ll look good for the fashion shoot later, don’t you think?” he said. He struck a pose.

The levity of the moment lifted her spirits. Despite everything, he managed to see humor in something.

“I have a lighter. Let’s build a fire out on the shore,” he said.

She gathered together some paper and an old chair to build the fire and followed him outside. Diego broke up the chair and started the fire. Both of them stood close to it, soaking in the heat and drying out.

He reached for the can of pears. “Give me that. I can open it with my pocketknife.”

She studied him as he focused his attention on opening the can. Diego’s dark hair was still slicked back from having been so wet. His high cheekbones and strong jawline made him a good-looking man.

She turned her head slightly. The sweater she wore smelled like him, a combination of wood smoke and upturned earth. She sat down close to the fire.

Diego sat down beside her and tilted the can toward her. “Drink first.”

Her stomach growled when the sweet aroma of the pears hit her nose. Embarrassed, she placed a hand over her belly as she drank down some of the liquid from the can.

Diego offered her his charming smile. “Me, too. It’s been a while since I had any food.”

She liked the way his comment defused her embarrassment. It showed a certain sensitivity she wasn’t used to. He took a drink from the can and then handed it back to her.

She scooped up one of the pears with her plastic spoon. Her mouth watered when the fruit touched her lips. She handed the can back to him. By the time they finished the last pear, she felt a little stronger though still not full.

She noticed then that he was still shivering. “Why don’t you try to get warmed up? Over by me away from the smoke,” she said. “I’m not doing too bad. Thanks to your sweater.”

He scooted toward her to get closer to the fire. She jerked away when his shoulder touched hers. The response on her part had been almost involuntary.

Again, his steady smile conveyed that he was okay with her overreactions to his touch. She studied his profile. Under different circumstances, it would be so easy to relax around him.

After a few minutes, he jumped to his feet. “We can’t stay out here long. We need to keep watch.” He tilted his head toward the charcoal sky. “Looks like we might have some rain coming.”

Just when they’d got dried out. They had no rain gear or even coats. The prospect of fighting hypothermia again—and the assassin at the same time—didn’t sound like a good idea.

“Why don’t you head up there and keep a lookout. I’ll put the fire out.” He jogged toward the shore, where he found a piece of wood to use as a shovel and scooped up some sand.

She made her way up the spiral staircase to where she had a panoramic view of the island. The rain began pouring out of the sky just as she heard Diego traipsing up the stairs. He was so tall he filled most of the doorway.

She stared out at the downpour. “I’m not going out in that. I guess we stay here for now.” They were somewhat protected here at least. The thought of having to go back and be used for target practice made her chest tight. But staying in one place would make it easier for their attacker to find them. “Do you think it’s just a matter of time before he comes for us?”

“I can’t lie to you. He’s looking for us. I’m sure of it,” he said.

The thought made her shiver involuntarily.

He stepped a little closer to her, staring out at the forest and ocean. He was at least eight inches taller than she. His gaze fell back down to her neck.

The collar of her pajama top had covered the scars, but the sweater did not. She drew a protective hand up to her neck. “It was a car accident.” That was all he needed to know.

He didn’t answer right away, as though he were debating what to say. “I have scars, too.” He lifted his shirt. He pointed to a mound of round white scar tissue. “Bullet when I was twenty.” He turned to the side and stretched the collar of his T-shirt, pointing at the upper half of his pectoral muscle. “Knife wound when I was twelve.”

She gasped as suspicions bubbled to the surface. “What kind of life have you lived?”

“I came up through the gangs in West Seattle. Turned my life back over to God after my mother died from a bullet that was meant for a gang member.” The slight waver in his voice hinted at deep sorrow. “That’s the life I’ve led.”

She saw in his unwavering gaze that he was telling the truth. She turned away and stared out at the rolling waves for a long moment, absorbing the gravity of what he’d told her. “You’ve been through a lot,” she said. His willingness to be so open almost made her want to share more about the car accident.

“I serve a man with deeper scars than my own,” he said.

“Jesus, you mean.” The name felt foreign on her tongue.

When she pivoted to face Diego, there was a weightiness to his gaze as he studied her, as though he could see straight through her and knew the condition of her own shredded faith. His eyes softened and she thought she saw compassion there.

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll stand watch and then we can switch off,” he said.

The mention of sleep made her whole body feel heavy. She slipped down to the floor.

He took off his makeshift poncho and tossed it toward her. “Use it for a pillow.”

She folded the rough fabric and placed it on the floor. Even though the hard floor wasn’t very comfortable, it took her only minutes to fall asleep.

She was awakened by Diego shaking her shoulder. “Your turn to take watch.”

Her eyes fluttered open. She gazed out at the clear sky as she rose to her feet. The rain had stopped. “How long was I out?”

“It’s late afternoon,” Diego said. “Give me an hour’s rest and we’ll head back to the camp.”

Her stomach growled. “Okay.”

Diego’s expression changed as if he sensed something. Slowly, he drew his eyes away from her and toward the window. His back stiffened. A high-pitched popping sound filled the tiny space where they were trapped. Plaster fell off the lighthouse wall. A bullet. They were being shot at.

FIVE

“Get down.” Diego’s arm wrapped around her back and took her to the floor. The impact with the cold concrete sent reverberations through his body.

The dust the bullet had stirred up breaking the plaster settled and the heavy silence enveloped the room. They both lay flat on the floor facing each other, with their cheeks pressed against the concrete.

Her eyes searched his.

He needed to explain, to calm her fears. “I saw movement on the hill closest to us.” So now he knew. The assassin had brought not just a handgun but something that could kill at a distance, as well. The odds were stacked against them.

“So what do we do?” Her voice trembled with fear.

He placed a calming hand on her back. “I guess we have to get out of here and back to the camp. If we can find a way to communicate with the caretaker without putting him in danger, we’ll do it.”

“George has probably left his cabin by now. He told me he spends his days wandering around the camp and out into the woods,” she said.

Diego took in a breath as his mind filled with a sense of resolve. They had been on the run playing defense since this ordeal began. Time to turn the tables. “We’ve got to set some kind of trap for the shooter so it buys us time to get to the camp and find George. This guy’s hunting us. We’ll hunt him.”

Her eyes grew wide. “How?”

“I’m not sure yet.” His mind cataloged through the terrain of the island. There must be some place for an ambush.

She lifted her head. “We can’t go out the front. That’s where the shot came from.”

Her powers of observation under stress were pretty impressive. Diego glanced around the circular room. “We’ll have to climb out one of the windows that faces the ocean.” He crawled across the floor toward the window, careful not to rise up too high and be seen by the shooter.

She came up behind him on her knees. “That’s a long way down and it’s rocky.”

He remembered seeing some rope in a storage closet one flight down. “Stay here and stay low.”

To get down the stairs, he had to stand up and be exposed for a moment. He rose to his feet but crouched. As expected, another rifle shot zinged through the window and into a far wall.

Terror was etched in Samantha’s expression. She crawled on all fours until her back was against the wall closest to where the shooter was. “Hurry,” she said.

He scrambled down the stairs and found the rope. When he returned, Samantha still had her back pressed against the wall, her eyes closed and her knees drawn up to her chest.

He placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. “We can do this.”

Aware that he risked being shot, he stood up and tied one end of the rope around the center pole. He crouched and dragged the rope across the floor and flung it out the window. It didn’t quite reach the rocks below. They would have about a three-foot fall.

He turned to face her. “You go first.”

She crawled across the floor and grabbed the rope. Heart pounding in his chest, he glanced over his shoulder. He moved so he would be between Samantha and the shooter when she was exposed.

She lifted her leg and crawled out the window. He watched her work her way down the rope. The roar of the ocean pressed on his ears. It bothered him that the shooter hadn’t fired again when he stood up. That meant he might be on the move.

Diego held his breath as he watched Samantha come to the end of the rope. She hesitated, looking at the rocks below and then up at him. He nodded, letting her know she could make the drop. She let go of the rope, landing on her feet.

He took in a breath. Just as he grabbed the rope, he heard the thunder of footsteps up the stairs. His heart raged in his chest as he gripped the rope and climbed through the window.

The pounding of footsteps assaulted his ears. He peered down below at Samantha, who looked up, waiting for him. “Go toward the forest. I’ll catch up with you.”

She opened her mouth as if to protest, then clamped it shut and nodded. He had about ten feet left of rope and then the drop. The assassin, still wearing the black mask, appeared above him.

Diego rappelled off the lighthouse wall, causing the rope to swing. Hopefully, the movement would make him a harder target to hit. He watched as Samantha reached the edge of the forest and disappeared with a backward glance.

He tilted his head. The shooter lined up his shot. Diego let go of the rope and landed on the rocks below. The impact reverberated up his legs. A bullet hit the rocks a foot from him. Salt air filled his lungs.

He made a decision to run around to the front of the lighthouse and enter the forest at a different spot than where Samantha had gone. Why lead the shooter right to her? Adrenaline masked much of the pain from the fall. He entered the forest just as another gunshot stirred the earth in front of him.

* * *

Samantha stuttered in her step when she heard the gunshots. Her heart pounded against her rib cage. What if Diego was shot? She pictured him lying facedown, blood spreading out from his body staining the ground. She gasped for breath.

Keep running. Stick with the plan.

Another shot sounded. This one closer. She cringed and picked up her pace. She willed her feet to keep moving and walled off any thought of what might be happening to Diego. She had only a vague idea of where she should go. She remembered no landmarks from their run to the lighthouse. Her only clear memory was of holding on to Diego’s hand.

She pushed through the trees, keeping one ear tuned to the sounds around her. She thought she detected footfalls. She stopped. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized it might be the shooter stalking through the forest, not Diego. Her feet pounded the earth. The trees thinned. Where was Diego?

She could hear the roar of the ocean again as she stepped out onto the rocky shoreline. Now she knew where she was. Out of breath, she slowed to a brisk walk. Her own footsteps seemed to grow louder as a sense of impending doom settled into her bones. Instinct told her to drop to the ground just as a bullet charged overhead.

Diego seemed to come out of nowhere, his hand suddenly warming her back. “He’s right behind us. Head toward the cover of those boulders.”

Crouching, she ran as fast as she could, diving for the big rocks. The shots stopped as they made their way through the maze of stones and then darted toward a line of brush.

The quiet settled in around them. Diego lifted his head slightly and looked around. “I wonder if there is a way we could trap him in these rocks.”

After glancing around, she shook her head. “It’s like a labyrinth in here. At best you could slow him down.” Her words came out between panting breaths. She still hadn’t recovered from their last sprint.

His face brightened. “I know what we can do, though.”

She edged closer and spoke in a whisper, fearing that their pursuer might be in earshot by now. “What?”

“Fifty yards from here, there’s a blind cliff. It doesn’t look like it drops off. I’m going to lead him off in that direction. There’s a ledge close to the top I can jump down on. You need to follow behind but not be seen, so you can pull me up from the ledge. He’ll fall so far he won’t be able to climb out. He’ll have to go halfway around the island to get back to the camp.”

The plan sounded incredibly risky. What if the assassin caught up with Diego or shot him? What if she wasn’t able to get there in time? What if he missed the little ledge and fell all the way down himself? All the same, it was the best option they had. She took a deep breath and whispered, “I’ll be right behind you.”

He stood up. “I see him. He’s looking for us.”

They wove through more boulders until they came to the end of them. Diego signaled for her to stay behind as he burst out into the open. She watched as he slowed his pace, waiting for the assassin to make an appearance. The would-be killer slipped out of some brush and fell in behind Diego. He must have put his rifle down to run faster, or he had lost it somewhere.

Keeping both men in her sights over the hilly, rocky terrain, she ran toward the first clump of bushes, crouched for a moment and then sprinted again. If the killer looked over his shoulder, he’d see her.

The assassin had his pistol in one hand, but didn’t take a shot. The sound of the ocean grew louder as she approached the cliff. Still running, she watched Diego disappear over the edge of the cliff and then the assassin was gone, too.

She willed her feet to move and prayed that she would get there fast enough and that the plan had worked.

She slowed as she approached the cliff, remembering that Diego had said the edge caught you by surprise. She peered over. The drop-off was maybe fifteen feet, but the cliff face was ninety degrees with no footholds or places to grasp. Strong winds off the ocean buffeted her.

The assassin lay on the rocks below about ten feet from the ocean. He twisted sideways and got up on his hands and feet. His gun had fallen some distance from him and was nestled in the rocks. She could see it from her vantage point, but she doubted he could.

She looked for Diego, spotting the ledge where he should have jumped, but he wasn’t there. Instead, he was a few feet below there, clinging to the only tree that grew out of the cliff face.

He met her gaze and then craned his neck to the man below. “You’d better hurry.”

Though wobbly, the shooter had risen to his feet and was scanning the rocks for his gun.

She searched the area around her as she fought off the rising panic that threatened to paralyze her. She found a sturdy tree branch and ran back to the cliff edge. “Grab this and use it to pull yourself to the ledge.”

The shooter was closing in on his gun.

Diego’s muscles flexed as he gripped the tree branch and inched toward the ledge. Samantha leaned back, using all her weight to hold the branch.