Mistaken Target

He refused to admit that he had a problem—and had promised her that he would never let her go. She knew it wasn’t because he loved her but because, as he put it, no one crossed Eric James. So when she refused to call off the divorce proceedings, he responded by destroying her life, as completely as he could. After he threatened her physically, she’d signed the house over to him.

To the other residents in Cambridge Heights, he remained charming Eric. Slowly, his subtle lies poisoned the rest of the tight-knit community against her. So thorough was his manipulation, they’d believed Eric over her. When her father passed away, she lost her last ally. Her mother had died when she was a little girl.

The final straw had been the car accident Eric caused by grabbing the wheel and driving them off the road so he could tell everyone that she had a drinking problem. The windshield had shattered, embedding glass in her neck and chest.

After the accident, she grew tired of the sideways glances and controlled whispers as she walked around Cambridge Heights. Eric’s destruction of her reputation made it impossible for her to live in the neighborhood she’d grown up in. She had no one to turn to and no resources left to fall back on. When the divorce was final, she moved away, rented an apartment and got a job as a waitress while she tried to figure out how to put her life back together.

Seattle was a big city, and she was careful not to talk about her past to anyone. She used her maiden name on job and rent applications. Still, she didn’t stay at any one job or apartment for very long. If she could ever manage to save enough money, she’d move out of the city.

She touched her neck again, taking in a quick, sharp breath. She didn’t like other people to see the scars. They made her feel ugly, and telling the story of how she’d got them caused her to feel shame all over again. But in a way, she was glad for the scars. They served as a reminder that nothing was as it appeared to be and everyone had secrets. Especially men. For all his charm, Diego Cruz was probably a drug dealer or married or who knew what.

What was he doing staying here in the off-season, anyway? Even that seemed weird. He was definitely hiding something. She had been told that there would only be a caretaker on the island.

She shook her head. Why was she even letting him take up space in her brain? All she had to do was avoid that man until the ferry and the rest of the work party arrived. She did like her job with Evergreen Catering and the people she worked with. It was exciting to be part of a team making a celebration come together. Whether it was a wedding or birthday, bringing joy to others kept her from giving in to self-pity.

She crossed her arms and stared out the window at the darkness. Her encounter with Diego had her all stirred up to the point where she thought she’d seen someone outside. She didn’t feel safe here anymore.

The metal of the lock on the door was cold against her fingers as she clicked the dead bolt shut. She retreated back into the cabin and pulled out the hide-a-bed in the couch. The cabin consisted of two rooms, a small bathroom and a second room that served as living room, kitchen and bedroom. She turned out the lights, slipped under the covers and squeezed her eyes tightly shut to keep the tears from coming. Anguish suctioned around her throat, and she wondered if there would ever come a time when she’d find a place where she could truly feel settled again. She’d been driven from her home. She didn’t belong anywhere or to anyone.

The sound of her own breathing surrounded her in the dark. She closed her eyes and waited for the heaviness of sleep to overtake her.

Instead, the muffled thud of someone breaking into her bathroom sent a shot of terror through her body.

TWO (#ulink_da2e86cf-9c15-51c4-bdc0-eff954f243d6)

Diego stomped along the rocky shoreline, searching the inlet for the boat. He’d wasted precious time going first to the big dock where the ferry pulled in. He hadn’t found any trace of the boat, but that didn’t mean anything. A motorboat could pull in almost anywhere. Darkness shrouded the landscape, and he wished he’d had the presence of mind to grab a flashlight before he’d taken off running. He was sure he’d heard the sound of an approaching motorboat. Maybe it was just someone from a neighboring island out for a late-night boat ride, but he had to check it out.

He felt not only a need to protect himself but Samantha, too. She sure didn’t need to get caught up in any trouble that might have come after him.

As he recalled their encounter, it was that moment of vulnerability he’d seen in her when their fingers touched that kept replaying in his mind. As if all of her hostility was an act designed for protection. She wasn’t easy to figure out and that intrigued him.

Where was that boat? He jogged, scanning the shoreline. Why was he even thinking about Samantha? Hopefully, he’d be out of here in a couple of days, after which he’d probably never see her again. He wasn’t sure what he’d be going back to. With his cover blown, he couldn’t return to the hood he’d called home for the past seven years. He’d have to find some other way to make a difference.

He wondered if the Bureau had been able to sort out who had figured out his double life. He was deeply embedded in the Valley Hood Pirus and careful about how he communicated with the Bureau. He’d gone over and over his actions, trying to figure out what had led the dealer nicknamed Princeton, because he claimed he had an Ivy League education, to turn a gun on him and say, “I know who you are.” Diego was lucky Princeton was such a bad shot—and a slow runner, especially compared to Diego’s speed.

The days alone on this island had given him time to relive every conversation and encounter. Where had he slipped up?

Waves lapped against the shore as he made his way toward the water. Salt air filled his lungs. He continued to walk. Up ahead, he spotted the shadowy outline of an object. He sprinted along the beach, leaned over and felt the damp wood of the boat. He circled around the boat. He touched the motor at the back. It was still warm.

This might have nothing to do with you.

But if it did... Adrenaline shot through him even as he tried to remain calm.

They were five miles from the nearest island. He’d memorized the map in the community room as part of the futile attempt to get past his boredom. At that distance, it was unlikely that anyone was out for a late-night fishing expedition or a romantic rendezvous.

Maybe someone involved in the drug trade had seen him boarding the ferry and was searching each of the stops on the ferry route.

He needed to find the owner of the boat. Best not take any chances. His gun was back at the cabin—he’d get that first and hope that no one was positioned to ambush him in the dark along the way.

He swung around and sprinted across the rocks and into the trees. His feet pounded the path that led to his cabin door. A peek through the window revealed no sign of movement inside. That didn’t mean someone wasn’t lying in wait for him. He eased the door open and slipped inside. With his back pressed against the wall, he absorbed the sounds, trying to detect anything out of place. He knew from his gang days that you didn’t so much as hear or see an assailant as sense them. When a menacing presence was about to pounce, it was tangible.

His heart hammered in his ears, but he didn’t feel the prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck that indicated danger was close. Waiting a moment longer, he took in a breath and eased toward the table by the couch where he’d left the gun. As part of his CI work, it was normal for him to carry a gun the way most of the gang members did. He was glad he had the gun now.

He reached out for the cold metal of his Glock 9 mm. Once it was firmly in his grasp, he walked his fingers across the table until they touched the base of the lamp. In a smooth unbroken movement, he clicked on the lamp, swept the room with his eyes and his raised gun. No one was there.

With the gun in his hand, he searched the bathroom as well and then the only closet. Unless the guy was small enough to hide in the cupboards under the sink, the place was clear. The tightness in his chest evaporated.

He slumped down into a chair, but before he could relax, a realization spread through him. He bolted to his feet. This wasn’t the original cabin the Bureau had booked him into. What if the man in the boat had come for him, but thought he was in the other cabin? He raced out the door and up the dark path. Hoping, praying that he was wrong and that Samantha was safe.

* * *

Samantha froze as the footsteps drew nearer from the bathroom to the main room.

Another footstep padded lightly on the wooden floor. He was trying to be quiet and probably thought she was still sleeping. She closed her eyes, picturing the room. What could she use to defend herself? Sweat formed on her brow as her fingers gripped the covers. It was too late to hide.

Floorboards squeaked when he took another step. It was hard to gauge how close he was. Though she remained still, her heart threatened to explode in her chest. The room was almost pitch-black, but she knew the layout. She had to get away. Inching to the edge of the bed, she rolled out onto the floor and crawled toward the door as quietly as she could.

Not quietly enough.

Footsteps pounded. A hand grabbed her ankle.

She spun around, kicking wildly in the dark. She reached up toward where she thought his head was, grasping and scratching. Her hand touched fabric, some sort of knit cap. The man’s heavy breathing was close to her ear. She clawed at the hat, ripping it off.

A break in the clouds sent moonlight streaming through the window and gave her a snapshot of his face. It wasn’t Diego or the caretaker. How had this man got to the island? He saw her in a quick moment, a look of surprise on his face. He wasn’t expecting to see her. But then his expression was replaced by a look of determination.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” he said. “But now that you’ve seen me, I’ll have to kill you.”

She flipped over on all fours and scrambled toward the door. He stumbled after her, crashing into a table and cursing. Something glass fell to the floor, shattering.

She reached out for the door but touched only air. Her assailant stomped across the floor, searching for her or the light switch. She couldn’t tell.

A band of illumination appeared from across the room. She held her hand up toward her eyes, wincing at the blinding light of the man’s flashlight. She saw him in silhouette as he dived toward her.

She screamed and ran toward the bathroom. Before she could close and lock the door, he slammed into it, knocking her down. A hand grabbed her hair and yanked her up.

“Too bad I dropped my gun. Otherwise this would be quick.” His voice oozed with venom.

Pain shot through her scalp. “Please, I won’t tell anyone.” Why was he here? Diego had said something about switching cabins when he first arrived. Had this man come for Diego?

He released her hair, but the relief was momentary as his hand clamped on her throat and squeezed.

She fought for air and tried to angle away. He pressed tighter on her neck. She wheezed.

She felt light-headed, dizzy, as if the room were undulating. She was going to die here alone at the end of the earth. Who would even care that she was gone?

Any attempt to get away or kick only made her assailant’s fingers grip tighter on her throat. She probably had seconds to live...and she did want to live, despite the sorry condition of her life. She twisted her torso in one final effort to escape, arms flailing trying to hit a target.

“No you don’t, little missy.” He yanked her closer, wrapping his free arm around her waist. His stagnant breath assaulted her.