by Regan Black
“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.”
“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 scoote
d 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 tree 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 explo
it 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.
