Undercover Threat

Once again, Grace had the sense that she was powerless against the forces of nature. It was as if a vacuum sucked her down while the weight of the water pushed from above. She lost all orientation to where she was in space. She flailed her arms trying to find the water’s surface.

God, please, if You are real, I don’t want to die.

A force grabbed her shirt collar and jerked her up. And then arms wrapped around her waist. Dakota had found her in the depths. Weak from the fight, she was a rag doll in his arms. He kicked and used his free arm to break through the surface of the water. Both of them gasped for air.

The wave had pushed them closer to the shore. She could barely see the large boulders on the beach and beyond that the evergreens. The overcast sky made the darkness seem even blacker. With Dakota doing most of the work, they made their way closer to shore until the water was shallow enough for Dakota to stand up in. Rain sprinkled on them as they reached the rocky shore.

Dakota helped her to her feet. Her knees buckled when she tried to stand on her own. He gathered her up and held her in his arms as he carried her around the large boulders and into the trees. She shivered. His dry suit kept him warm, but she was wearing street clothes. He sat her down so her back was up against a tree. The canopy of the trees kept the rain out. She was coherent enough to understand that her body was going into hypothermia.

He put both his hands on her cheeks. “Stay with me. Don’t give up.”

She nodded. When they’d worked together as DEA agents, Dakota had always had her back.

He unzipped the front of his dry suit and patted his chest, meaning his body heat would help warm her up. He helped her get out of the thin, soaked jacket she had on and then drew her close.

There was a time when she had loved being held by him. And yes, given that they had no other option, this was the best solution to warm her up again. He rubbed her arms as she pressed close to him. She could feel his heartbeat against her ear.

She was so cold she was vibrating like a washing machine with an unbalanced load. Shivering was good; it meant her body was still trying to fight the cold. Once hypothermia took hold, brain fog would make it hard for her to even cogitate what was happening as her organs started to shut down.

That she’d had such an intense exposure to cold and wet and was still coherent felt like an answer to her desperate prayer.

“Better?” Dakota’s chest vibrated when he spoke.

She nodded. “Think so.” Her teeth were still chattering.

He pulled away. “We need to get you warmed up faster.” He tore his flippers off and slipped out of his dry suit, stripping down to his swimming trunks and T-shirt. “Get into this. It will warm you up faster.”

“But you’re going to be cold.”

“Do what I say, Grace.” He rose to his feet.

When he used that tone of voice, she knew not to argue with him. He was trying to keep her alive.

He shoved the dry suit toward her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“While you change, I’m going to try to figure out where we are and how to get the rescue crew’s attention. If they can get out at all, they will be looking for us.”

That was a big if…

“I’m worried to about that guy who shot at us. He might still come after us.” He turned to go but then pivoted to look at her. “Sit tight. Do not move because I need to be able to find you. I’ll be back. I promise. I thought I saw a flashing light when we were out on the water. I think there might be a lighthouse on the island.”

She watched as he took off running, barefoot. He disappeared into the thickness of the evergreens.

Grace pulled off her soggy canvas shoes and got into the dry suit. She zipped it up. The warmth enveloped her. Dakota was six inches taller than her. The bottoms of the legs of the suit covered her feet almost to the ends of her toes. She wrapped her arms around her body and sat back down against the tree. The shivering stopped. Her head cleared.

Dakota was out in the elements trying to find a way to get to safety with hardly any covering to keep him warm. He was willing to take risks to help her even though it had been three years since she’d seen him. After the divorce, he’d quit the DEA. They couldn’t work together anymore. She heard through mutual friends that he’d joined the Coast Guard. Still, seeing him swimming toward her in the water had been a shock almost as severe as the cold and wet.

She had no idea where they were. They might even be connected to the mainland, though more likely they were on an island. She drew her knees up to her chest. Though her muscles were heavy with fatigue, she was no longer cold. She brushed her long wet hair off her face.

She startled when she heard noises. Something moving through the trees from the shore side, not where Dakota had gone. Some kind of wildlife, maybe?

The wind continued to blow, causing the branches at the top of the trees to creak and sway. She didn’t hear any more sounds.

She focused on her own breathing and the hardness of the tree as she pressed her back against it. She was grateful to be warmed up again but worried about Dakota being affected by the cold. A flash of movement in the trees off to the side caught her attention. She studied each tree trunk, separating them out but not seeing or hearing anything out of place. The silence fell around her like a heavy blanket. Only the creaking of the topmost branches as they fought with the wind reached her ears.

Her heart beat a little faster as she rose to her feet and stretched her hand back for the support of the tree. Even though she couldn’t see anything, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. She was a trained agent. That meant she needed to trust her instincts. Most threats were detected at the gut level before the senses even registered them.

After pulling up the legs of the dry suit so she wouldn’t trip, she took a step to the side, turned and ran in the direction that Dakota had gone. Her bare feet padded through the forest floor. Moss provided some softness, though twigs and tiny rocks dug into her feet. She glanced over her shoulder. Again, there was no sensory evidence to suggest she was not alone, but the prickling of the hairs on the back of her neck told her otherwise.

She ran through the evergreens, guessing at which path Dakota had taken. Once she was free of the trees, the wind whipped around her. The sky thundered and flashed as lightning struck the turbulent dark water. She had a view of only one shoreline, which meant the island might be quite large.

Though she was barefoot, her strength had been renewed by being warmed up. She broke into a run. The terrain was rolling hills with only brush and grass. When she had run some distance, she turned back around, looking at the trees where she had just come from. Again, she saw movement, a glimpse of color that stood out from the trees, and then nothing. Whoever was back there did not want to be seen and had taken cover behind a tree.

It was most likely Joe, the man who had shot at her. With the severity of the storm, there were probably plenty of people who had been tossed overboard or had jumped from sinking ships. But a survivor from another ship or even the one she’d been on would just show him or herself, relieved at seeing another person. Whoever was out there didn’t want to reveal himself.

She ran faster. Grass and pebbles poked the bottoms of her feet.

How was she ever going to figure out where Dakota had gone? He wasn’t anywhere out in the open. The grassy terrain dipped down and then rose up toward another cluster of trees. He must have gone there. She reached the edge of trees just as the rain sprinkling from the sky turned into a downpour. More thunder cracked against her ears. She scanned the forest, desperate to locate Dakota.

Dakota hurried back through the trees. He’d run far enough to have a view of a distant shore where he’d spotted a lighthouse. Most lighthouses these days were automated. So far, he’d seen no other signs of habitation on the island. The lighthouse would at least provide some shelter and maybe some way to contact help. He glanced back at the roiling dark waters that surrounded the island. Thunder crackled and lighting lit up the sky. Help might not be able to get to them until the storm broke up.

The mossy forest floor moist from spring rain was almost spongy beneath his feet. Right now, his focus was on keeping Grace safe.

He hurried through the tall trees. Moss grew everywhere, weighing down branches and covering trunks. Once he was beneath the protection of the trees, not much rain fell on him. Still, he was cold from exposure and fatigued from the exertion of the swim and then run. He sprinted through the trees.

He heard his name called, though it sounded very far away. Grace.

“Over here.” With the wind so intense, he wasn’t sure his voice would carry far. He ran in the general direction the sound had come from. Why had she left the spot he’d asked her to stay in?

“Dakota.”

“Here, Grace. I’m right here.” He corrected the direction he’d been going. He slowed, trying to see through all the green of the trees and moss. “Grace?”

She burst through the trees and fell into his arms.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“I think someone else is here with us.”

He shook his head. “Yours wasn’t the only ship to send out a distress signal.”

She tilted her head. “He didn’t come out into the open.”

He remembered the man with the gun. Grace had a lot of explaining to do but now was not the time. He could only assume that it was connected to her work with the DEA. He’d heard through mutual friends that she was doing undercover work. When Anita was born, they had both agreed that undercover work was too dangerous. They didn’t want to leave their child an orphan. How strange life had turned out. “Are you sure you saw someone?”

“Just a gut feeling I got. You remember those, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

“And then I’m almost sure I saw movement in the trees, a human not an animal,” she said.

“I trust your judgment.” He studied her. He thought he saw trust in her blue eyes. The years they’d been together, snapshots of memories, flashed through his mind. They had been good together. “I spotted a lighthouse. We should go there.” He pointed. “This way up the hill.”

She fell in beside him. Though both were barefoot, they ran as fast as they could as the rain fell on them. He glanced over his shoulder, not seeing anyone. If there was someone else on the island, he wanted to stay out of sight.

It could be that it wasn’t the man with the gun but someone who had suffered a head injury in the fall from a boat and did not have very good survival skills. Even as the thought ran through his brain, he realized how far-fetched it seemed. If Grace had seen someone, and he had not shown himself, he was probably hostile.

They sprinted up the hill and down into a valley. The grove of trees they passed through provided some shelter and escape from the wind and rain.

Grace slowed down. “How far is it?”

He stopped and turned to face her. “I saw the lighthouse from the top of the next hill, but it’s all the way across the island. Five miles, I would guess.” Her drooping shoulders and sagging features suggested weariness. He reached out to touch her arm. “I know it’s a ways, but it’s our best option. Battling the ocean wore us both out. Can you make it?”

She nodded. “You’re the one who’s dressed for a beach party. You must be cold.”

He was chilled, but she didn’t need to know that. “I’m all right.” He didn’t want to add to her list of concerns. “Come on, Gracie Girl, let’s go.”

Her expression changed as though a shadow had fallen over her face. When they were married, Gracie Girl had been his nickname for her. Something no one else called her. He’d used the endearment out of habit, not to upset her.

“Sorry.”

She shrugged. “Let’s focus on getting to that lighthouse.”

They continued through the forest and up the next hill. The storm continued to stir up the waters around them.

They ran and rested and kept running until they were too tired to jog and then they walked as the lighthouse drew closer. His feet touched the stone walkway that led to the lighthouse entrance. He was shivering and wet. They stood at the doorway of the lighthouse, where a placard was hung. As he suspected, the lighthouse was automated. At least he knew where they were now: on Patos Island.

“I guess they’ll understand if we break in, huh?” Grace stood beside him on the cement slab outside the door. He could hear the fatigue in her voice.

He reached for the doorknob. “Some of these places are set up for tourists or for people in distress.” The knob turned and the door creaked open.

He gestured for her to go first and then he stepped in behind her. They entered a small room that had more placards and a wall with photos designed to give tourists the history of the island. There were two doors. He found a room with a sink and toilet. When he tried the other door it was locked, which meant it probably led up to the lighthouse tower, not something the general public would have access to without a ranger around.

Grace peered into the bathroom. “We can get a drink of water at least.” She stepped into the bathroom. He could hear her opening and shutting cupboard doors on the vanity and then another that had been on the far wall.

“Probably just cleaning supplies,” he said.

“It’s worth a try.” Another cupboard slammed. She stepped back out into the room holding a plastic tub filled with jackets, shirts and hats. She smiled triumphantly. “The lost and found of Patos Island.”

Her smile could still lift his spirits even in the most trying of circumstances. “Good job.”

She sat the tub down and rooted through it until she found a sweatshirt with the words World’s Greatest Grandma emblazoned on it. “That looks like about your size.” She tossed it toward him.

He held it up. “And such a fitting moniker.”

She released a small laugh.

“So glad there are plus-size grandmothers in the world, huh?”

They both laughed. They took turns going into the bathroom to change into dry clothes.

After they got a drink of water, they settled down with their backs against the wall. Grace made a blanket with the remaining clothes. He sat down beside her but a few inches from her.

She tilted her head toward the ceiling. “I guess now we can’t do anything but wait for that storm to pass.”

Now that they were not fighting the elements, he sensed a tension between them. The moment of levity they’d shared seemed to vanish.

Even if the Coast Guard braved the storm, they would have no way of knowing where they’d ended up. He wondered if his brothers in the chopper had made it back to base or had to crash-land. They were probably going to be here for a while. Might as well try to make conversation.

“You could tell me what you were doing out there. Why that man shot a gun at you. Undercover work?”

“Actually, Dakota, I can’t tell you. It’s classified.”

A chill seemed to enter the room. There had been a time when they’d shared everything about work.

“I get it. I’m sorry. I’m not DEA anymore.”

“No, you’re not.”

And he wasn’t her husband anymore either. Pain stabbed at his heart. She was the one who had filed for divorce. Maybe he had been working longer hours to run from the grief of losing Anita while she had taken a leave of absence, sleeping sixteen hours a day. Neither one of them had been there for the other. He saw that now.

He thought for a moment before he spoke up. “I’m glad you were able to go back to work.”

“I had bills to pay. I had to.”

“But undercover work, it’s so dangerous,” he said. “I worry about you.”

“It’s not your job to worry about me anymore.” She tugged on one of the jackets that covered her legs. “It’s my choice.”

“Just promise me you don’t have a death wish, because for a long time I think I did. It scared me. That’s why I got out of the DEA.”

“I don’t have a death wish, okay? Can we talk about something else?”

The conversation wasn’t going as he’d hoped. He wanted to tell her about the healing he’d found and the God he knew because of the Coast Guard. “Sorry, I seem to be putting my foot in my mouth.” It appeared that the pain of their past was just beneath the surface for her.

“I thought you got out of the DEA so you wouldn’t have to run into me,” she said. Her words tinged with pain.

“No, if that was the case, I could have put in for a transfer to a different office.”

“Dakota, I appreciate you trying to talk to me. But maybe we should just rest until the storm breaks.”

“Sure.” He rose to his feet and stepped toward the door. He clicked the dead bolt on it. “Just in case that person you saw in the trees catches up with us.” He turned to face her, seeing fear in her eyes.

He sat down beside her a little closer than before. She didn’t pull away from him. He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t see you for three years and the first thing I do is tell you how to live your life.”

Her voice softened. “It’s okay.” She lay down using one of the articles of clothing as a pillow. Her back was turned toward him.

He rested his head on the cold hard floor, allowing sleep to overtake him. Of all the Coast Guard swimmers who could have been sent out on the call to save Grace, he had been the one to arrive to save her. He didn’t think that was a coincidence. It had to be God.

Hours later, the sound of breaking glass and the smell of fire roused him from his slumber. Several flaming items were thrown through the broken window. The room looked like a series of campfires, all increasing in intensity. Smoke filled the air, stinging his eyes. He jumped to his feet ready to battle the consuming flames.

THREE

A smell tickled Grace’s nose. She awoke with a start. Flames and heat were in front of her. Three burning objects on the floor. A pamphlet rack low to the ground had caught fire.

Dakota was on his feet even as the room filled with smoke. He glanced around for something to smother the fire with. He couldn’t stomp on it with his bare feet.

Grace jumped up, grabbing a bandanna that had been in the pile of clothing. She tore it in half as she ran toward the bathroom. She wet both pieces.

She shoved a bucket used for cleaning in the sink and turned on the water. Dakota coughed. The flames traveled up the rack of brochures, consuming the paper. A chemical smell filled the air; the plastic that covered the wire rack was melting.

She handed him the wet bandanna and put the other half over her mouth and nose. After grabbing a small wastebasket, she ran back to the bathroom to get the bucket, which was half full. She put the basket under the tap and carried the bucket toward the fire. Dakota knocked the burning rack of brochures to the floor. She remembered one of the jackets in the lost-and-found pile that looked like it was made of wool. She grabbed it and put it on one of the burning brochures.

The smoke seemed to be everywhere. She retrieved the basket filled with water and placed the bucket under the running tap. She continued the process until all the flames had been extinguished.

Dakota stood back, out of breath and coughing. Smoke still filled the room.

This had to be the work of the man who’d been hiding in the trees, probably Joe from the boat. How he’d found something dry to start a fire with she could only guess. Maybe he’d had a lighter on him.

As the smoke settled and the scent of charred and burnt objects filled the air, she wheezed in a deep breath. “That was something, huh?”

In the dimness she could barely make out Dakota’s expression, but he nodded. His body went rigid as he drew his attention to the windows. Flames were shooting up behind them.

Heart pounding, panic kicking into high gear, she ran toward the broken window. She peered out, careful not to touch the glass because it might have been hot. Outside, the flames were at about waist level. Something flammable had been stacked in front of the door. The fire had risen up the door past the doorknob. Joe must have smeared or poured something highly combustible on the door.

Dakota bolted toward the door that led to the tower. “He’s trying to either burn us alive or smoke us out. We have to find another way out.” He rattled the locked door and then began to search around in the dim light, probably for something to break the lock.

She ran toward the pile of clothes, holding the wet bandanna over her mouth. She picked up a jacket, twisted it into a ball and shoved it into the place where the window had been broken. Still coughing, she grabbed a T-shirt, ran it under the tap and stuffed it under the door that led outside. The wooden door was warm to the touch. She knew enough not to touch the metal knob. At least now no more smoke would get inside.

Dakota continued to root around behind a display counter. “If I can just find something heavy enough to break the lock.”

“Even if we get up to the top of the tower, he can burn us out,” she said.

“It will take a while for the flames to travel up the stairs. We can find a way to crawl down,” he said. “He has no way of knowing if we’ve gone up there.” He hurried into the bathroom to continue his search. He shouted at her from the next room. “He will think we died of smoke inhalation in here.”

She stared outside at the rabid flames. If they opened the door, the wall of flame might consume them. Even if they got through the fire, Joe would be waiting for them, ready to attack. They had no option but to go up.

Dakota returned holding what looked like a wrench. Probably used to repair the plumbing under the sink. Over and over he beat on the doorknob. When it didn’t budge, he hit the door with the wrench even harder. The pounding continued while she watched the flames outside growing higher and higher.

A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, tossing something liquid on the fire, causing the flames to eat away even more of the door. She screamed when another pane of the window burst. A heavy object fell only feet from her. Glass scattered across the floor. Smoke circled in through the new hole.

Dakota had not been wrong. There had been a time in her life when she had wanted to die to be with her baby. Maybe that was why she took the dangerous assignments. She coughed as smoke filled her lungs. “Hurry. We don’t have much time.” She bent over. She didn’t want to die. She knew that now. Again, she called out to a God she wasn’t even sure she believed in.

Please, God, help us escape.

Dakota had all but shredded the door. He reached through the splintered hole, trying to undo the locking mechanism. He nearly tore the door off its hinges flinging it open. He turned and reached out toward her.

She was still doubled over from coughing. The smoke was so thick she almost couldn’t see. His hand found hers and he pulled her up the narrow winding stairs. Dakota closed what was left of the door behind him. With the thick smoke and the darkness there was no way the arsonist would know they had escaped up to the tower. He coughed. The rising smoke was an issue. They needed to escape and fast.

She hurried up the metal stairs to the large round room where the beacon light flashed. Once again, the god she wasn’t even sure was real had saved her…for now. The first time she’d prayed, Dakota had shown up. Of all the Coast Guard swimmers who could have taken the call, it was her ex-husband.

“We have to get out of here.” Her throat was scratchy from the smoke. Her sinuses were thick with mucus.

Dakota was already pacing around the circular space. “We can break out a window and climb down.”