Shannon shivered in his arms. “Gross. Oh no, so gross. He always gave me the creeps when Father assigned him to escort me.”
Adam glared at his buddy, expecting another unfounded accusation, but Connor only sneered back. Keep it up, buddy, and I’m going to knock your head off.
“Was it... was it...?” Shannon blew out a big breath. Finally, she faced Connor. “Was it Dillon?”
“Yes.” He spat the one-word bullet at her.
She bowed her head and whined. “No, no, no. He was a nice boy. He was supposed to go to school. He wanted to be a pilot, and... no!”
Despite his burning ribs, Adam held her tighter still. “Dillon didn’t suffer, Shannon. You remember he died from the crash, don’t you?”
“I know but…” she drew in a long, quivering breath, “he didn’t deserve that.”
“None of us did, Missy Reagan,” Connor growled.
Izza pushed gently away from her husband, her hand on his cheek. “Why are you being so mean to Shannon? You don’t feel good, do you?”
Connor’s jaw dropped. He looked at her with something akin to horror. “I’m just trying to take care of you.”
“But you do know I can take care of myself, don’t you?” She ran her fingers through his hair. “Come here, baby. Let’s sit down and talk about this. Shannon’s our friend. She wouldn’t hurt us. You know better than that.”
Just that fast the fight was over. Connor sank to the sand and Izza sat on his lap, her injured leg stiff in front of her. Adam pressed Shannon against him, still not willing to let her go. Ramsey was out there, and this island was small. He could be watching them this very minute and planning his next move.
“You’re not to go anywhere by yourself from now on, do you hear me?” he muttered into Shannon’s ear. “Never again. You go; I go. That’s the rule, and you damned well better follow it.”
“I was just trying to help. Everyone’s hurt, and I thought... I just thought...” She choked back a sob. “You’re all so capable, and I’m just a civilian, and I wanted to help.”
“I know.” Adam held her tight, wincing as he did. Damned broken ribs. “And you did exactly what I would’ve done. You helped all of us, just don’t do it again.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. Soft teary eyes blinked back at him. The woman in control he thought he’d seen a day ago was gone. “Ramsey is out there, Shannon. Don’t go anywhere alone. Promise me.”
She nodded, wiping her face, and the truth sprang up within his heart. It was happening. He had to keep her safe. There was no way this tender woman was guilty of the insinuations Connor had just leveled against her. Izza didn’t seem to think so, either.
Izza faced Adam, her arms still wrapped around her husband’s neck. “Let’s get those bodies buried, then we need a better position than this beach. It’s too open.”
Adam nodded. “We found an inlet. It’s shallow, but it’s full of fish and there’s fresh water nearby. How’s the leg?”
Izza smiled at Shannon. “Ask my lady doctor-friend there. Whatever she did, it feels a lot better.”
“I just cleaned it,” Shannon whispered. “That’s all.” Carefully, she pushed out of Adam’s arms and wiped her face.
Izza offered that cocky smile again, the most reassuring thing on the island at the moment. “Let’s keep our eyes open.”
“I will too,” Shannon said quietly, like she was part of the team. His team.
Her answer made Adam smile. Between the three of them, they could handle Connor. With a war-hardened Marine like Izza, and a city girl willing to take chances, it was just a matter of timing before they handled Ramsey, too
Any sniper knew that.
Chapter Thirteen
Seven days already. One week. And still no sign of search planes. No sign of anything.
The funeral laid the dead to rest, but it created more questions, too. Adam hadn’t noticed the true cause of death to the pilot, copilot, or flight attendant until he and Connor moved Dillon’s body. All the blood pouring down the poor guy’s neck hadn’t come from massive internal bleeding or any injury relevant to the crash. The young man’s throat had been cut.
They’d hurriedly checked the copilot’s body then. He hadn’t died from the crash, either. Neither had the pilot. Both were stabbed. Apparently, Ramsey had been real busy once he’d landed. He’d taken out the experts in crash survival first. If it was Ramsey.
Damn it, Adam knew a killer when he saw one, and Ramsey fit the bill to a T, but the guy wouldn’t have parted willingly with his prized weapon, nor would he have simply lost his knife. Special operators didn’t lose anything, not unless they meant to.
The mystery deepened. If it wasn’t Ramsey running the show, then who? The puzzle of the missing drones nagged just as much. Where the hell were they and were they armed? Not one night had gone by he hadn’t fought sleep, half expecting one or all four of them to show and lay waste to their pitiful camp. That annoying itch between Adam’s shoulder blades never let up. Someone was watching. Maybe the drones…
The only carry-on Adam and Connor had located so far was Izza’s, which proved a good thing. Like any mother and wife, she’d over-prepared. Tucked under one of the passenger seats instead of stowed in an overhead compartment, her carry-on hadn’t turned into a flying object. The darn thing didn’t even get wet.
While it lasted, they had a first-aid kit with Ibuprofen, a couple of antibiotics, and sunscreen. She’d also brought a travel-sized sewing kit, and now sported a nicely stitched leg wound, thanks to Adam’s skill with a needle and a piece of the nylon filament pulled from the parachute. So far, so good. Her leg was healing, her back didn’t bother her, and she was on her way to being herself again.
Connor was another problem altogether. One minute he was cheerfully helpful, the next, adversarial and combative. Exhaustion seemed to trigger his tantrums. It was the day after the funeral, when he’d helped Adam drag one leather recliner from the Gulfstream through the surf that he’d turned on Izza. Even Shannon stopped in her tracks to watch that mistake.
“I’m sick and tired of you telling me what to do,” he’d bellowed. “Back off!”
“Come on, Connor—” Adam had tried to intervene.
“You, too! Stay the hell away! You’re all after me; I know it. You think I can’t hear you talking behind my back? You think I don’t know you’re gunning for me?” Connor had backed into the surf like he was surrounded, but Izza never hesitated, not even once. She’d marched right up to him.
Adam worried that Connor might hurt his wife. He towered over Izza, but whatever she’d said took the fight out of him. He’d spent most of the time since then sprawled on the cover of a banana leaf floor and sound asleep. The man was hurting. Adam just hoped rest was all Connor’s brain needed. Adam didn’t want to bury anyone else.
Dire necessity had become the mother of innovation. Their limited arsenal consisted of Ramsey’s blade, two pocketknives, Izza’s pocket-sized Beretta, which she’d had the good sense to pack in her carry-on, the cockpit crash axe, and a handful of Chinese stars, also courtesy of the deadly Mrs. Maher. The woman knew how to pack.
The utility tools on the Swiss Army knives provided a means for Adam to remove wall paneling from the wreck. The crash axe allowed him to split several downed trees and turn them into primitive planks.
So far, he’d improvised three separate three-sided enclosures, one for the Mahers, one for Shannon, and one for the head, discreetly located far enough from the cove for the sake of privacy, yet close enough to hear a scream if trouble came calling.
For himself, Adam opted for nothing more than a higher lookout in the banyan to keep watch over all. The tree’s branches were sturdy, wide, and comfortable enough.
A freshwater shower or a waterfall would’ve been a godsend, given the harsh effects of saltwater on a person’s skin. He intended to remedy the lack of that convenience when he could, but for now they relied on the fresh water from the two island streams. One
emptied into the cove, the other at their first campsite. Adam fully intended to explore the entire island when he had time, but he refused to leave his compromised friends to fend for themselves.
When his ribs complained too much, he rested. When they barely complained, he pushed harder. Work had to be done. For now, they reminded him with every swing of the axe that they weren’t healed enough for the strenuous work he put them through. He ignored them. Too many things could happen. Ramsey was still out there. A storm might hit the island. Pirates. Anything and everything seemed possible.
Dressed in her slacks, now reduced to cut-offs, Shannon stalked the cove with a sharpened wooden spear for those pesky fish. Adam had fastened a sliver of metal debris from the Gulfstream into one end of her weapon for added killing power, then rigged the nylon netting between wooden stakes at the mouth of the cove. He pulled the net aside every night. When the tide came in, the day’s catch came in with it. He closed the trap and on most days, Izza went fishing and they ate fairly well.
Today Shannon took over that chore. She hadn’t actually caught anything yet, but he had to give her credit for trying. The woman didn’t seem to have it in her to sit down and feel sorry for herself. She’d had a couple of weak moments. Who hadn’t? Her broken arm kept her off-balance, but she didn’t complained. Not once. And she looked good trying to be helpful yet again. Damned good.
Izza puttered around the camp, scavenging when something useful washed close enough to shore, reorganizing their ‘stuff’ when she couldn’t scavenge. The woman knew how to repurpose and make do.
Once she’d become mobile, she’d gone into the waves time and time again to retrieve everything and anything she could, including both of Adam’s boots. She only found one of Connor’s, a decent trade considering most of the heavy work fell to Adam for the time being. Her storehouse of scavenged stuff lined the area where they’d first camped. Connor kidded it would all blow away in the first tropical storm. Izza just smiled.
For now, they had stuff. Lots of stuff. Including a pan for boiling water, plastic containers for fresh water, and four of the recliner-style passenger seats from the Gulfstream around their fire pit by the cove. If she’d had her way, the refrigerator from the galley would be front and center of their cozy camp, but that project required more muscle than Adam had at the moment.
With one eye on the women, he pulled his mind back to the necessity at hand. Eventually, he planned on a tree house, but for now, each rough-hewn board he hacked out of the downed trees would be used to strengthen their flimsy camp with better walls. Maybe fences. All those civilized things folks back home took for granted.
The parachutes had become a handy resource. Three braided strips of the nylon fabric made a decent rope to secure the boards until Adam could figure out something stronger. Little by little, the banyan was becoming home, sweet home. Well, home anyway.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead and eyes, Adam took a moment to catch his breath. It never failed. If he wasn’t worrying about Ramsey, he was thinking of Donavan. Where the hell was he? Adam would’ve preferred digging another grave than the confounded pain of not knowing.
That missing detail would make breaking the news to Donavan’s parents more difficult. Lost at sea was just as vague and twice as useless as missing in action. Both left loved ones wondering for the rest of their lives. Of course, that only mattered if and when they were rescued. Until then, they were all lost at sea. Every last one of them missing in action.
The glint of a reflection far out at sea caught his attention, and Adam stopped again to catch his breath. He stretched the ache out of his back and neck muscles. Whatever it was—ocean-liner, cargo ship, or fishing trawler—the shiny glint of hope was too far away to get excited about. He stared at it until the glitter dropped over the horizon like the others over the past days. Without any way to communicate with a passing freighter, there wasn’t much more to be done. That this little speck of an island wasn’t in any major shipping lanes had already become abundantly clear.
“Got it!”
Adam turned at Shannon’s delighted voice, followed by a lot of splashing. She was in the cove, dancing like a little girl with her spear stabbed into the sandy bottom of the cove. “Look, Izza, I did it. I caught one.”
“Don’t just stand there. Toss it on shore before it gets away,” Izza advised.
Adam smiled at her childish joy at catching her first fish and froze. A gray-striped blur of bunched muscle and fur pounced just as she lifted her neatly speared catch out of the water and held it high. She was still celebrating her success when the animal flew past her head, snagged her prize, and disappeared into the jungle.
Izza laughed. Not Shannon.
“Did you see that?” she asked in awe, but then her voice hardened. “He stole my fish.”
By now, Izza had to hold her stomach, she was laughing so hard. Adam tried not to chuckle, but Shannon didn’t do angry very well. She turned to him, her eyes blazing. “Did you see that... that thing?”
He couldn’t hold his grin back. This woman was just plain sweet to the core. “I did.”
“You’re laughing at me, too? But I’m trying to help and... and...” She turned away, and damn. He’d hurt her feelings again. She seemed more sensitive with every passing day. Like the man he was, he dropped his axe against the log he’d been jacking on and splashed his way into the shallow cove to make amends. “I’m sorry.”
“Never mind.” She turned away. “I’ll show you guys. I caught one fish and I’ll catch another, and when I do, I’ll show that flying cat creature, too. We’re having fish again today, darn it.” With that said, she raised her spear over her shoulder, once again stalking the mighty fish of the dangerous, two-foot deep waters.
Izza winked at Adam, so he joined her at the edge of the cove. “Is he any better?” he asked, his eyes on the audacious Amazon warrior.
“The swelling’s gone down,” Izza said, “and he isn’t having those headaches anymore. I think we’re past the worst of it.”
“Good.”
“You do know it took her all morning to catch that one fish,” she muttered quietly out of the side of her mouth. “Think I should teach her the right way?”
Adam shook his head. “Not yet.”
No reason to spoil the show. Shannon looked prettier every day, and it was more than just the blonde streaks in her hair or her deepening tan. The now sleeveless blouse hanging over her waist added to the mystique. Her tongue sticking out while she concentrated on stabbing another fish didn’t hurt, either. She glowed, an odd development considering their meager diet of fish, fruit, and coconuts. It had to be all the sun.
“You like her, don’t you?”
He nodded. Liking Shannon wasn’t the problem. His feeling went far beyond that simple emotion. He couldn’t ignore the fierce trumpet call to protect her that had sounded deep inside his gut. Other body parts, too. Anymore he hardened at the mere sight of her. The slightest sigh from her lips. The slightest brush of her fingertips on her bronzed skin or through her hair.
He chose to be more careful. Sharp-eyed Izza had already picked up on it. Connor too. The only one who didn’t seem to know how much he cared was Shannon. He’d caught her shy looks in his direction on occasion, but other than the day she’d wrapped his broken ribs, she had yet to reciprocate. Either she wasn’t interested, or she thought she was too good for him.
Whether he wanted to believe it or not, that assessment was likely true. Until this crash, Shannon and he had travelled in different circles. Their singular need to survive was the only common thread between them at the moment. Rescue would break that thread. She’d go her way. He’d go his, and that would be that.
Maybe…
Leaning back on his elbows, Adam stretched both legs and watched. Shannon may not be interested in him, but he was interested in her. He couldn’t seem to catch a breath when she was around, and it had nothing to do with the limited capacity of his lungs.
A cov
ert operator spent a lot of time alone stalking his prey, and Adam had never minded the solitude. Until now. The magnetic energy from her slight frame pulled at him like the moon did the tide. Even now, he wanted to go to her, wrap her up in his arms, and show her how to hold that spear and how to aim. He wanted to teach her where to strike, and where to hunt those skittish fish, how they hid in the shadows. Guide her arm when she struck. Hell, he wanted to kiss the breath out of her. Who was he kidding?
He’d sensed the difference between him and her that day in the Sit Room, but attributed it to the power of her family name. Seemed he was wrong. The compelling draw of her spirit had nothing to do with her being a Reagan, but everything to do with her soul.
Shannon believed in the inherent goodness of people. Even Connor’s. She had yet to engage in his tirades, just let Izza handle him when he spouted off. How she’d escaped her father’s manipulative nature amazed Adam, but she had.
Her gullibility made her dangerous to her teammates, though. She’d put them at risk twice now by innocently walking into danger. What if Ramsey had gotten to her in the jungle instead of that silly spider? What if a shark had attacked her on her quest for a nice cozy campfire? In both scenarios, Adam wouldn’t have thought twice. He would’ve risked his life to save hers. She could’ve gotten him killed. Maybe Connor and Izza, too.
Adam brushed a quick hand over his face wishing it provided a mask. He’d altered their sleeping arrangement in direct proportion to his awareness of her tempting body. Instead of spooning like they had that first night, he now kept a respectable distance and his hands to himself. Close quarters could make two strangers best friends or nasty enemies. He couldn’t take the chance. It might also make them lovers.
He suffered in hard-on agony most nights as it was, and a goodly portion of most days. That thin excuse for a blanket he’d fashioned out of a parachute wouldn’t stop him if he’d been inclined to have his way with her. Or if she’d so much as hinted that she wanted him. But she didn’t, and he wasn’t the kind of guy to take what wasn’t offered.
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