Someone was watching…
Chapter 48
Cold.
That’s what Chelsea felt both inside and out as she trudged up the beach after Dagan. Her teeth chattered. Her muscles clenched tight in an effort to generate heat. But it was the frosty chill of his words, the icy way he behaved, that blew through her heart like a winter wind.
Love conquers all.
It was a pretty lie. People believed it because theywantedto believe it. Because they wanted something to cling to, something to combat the fear that the only person they could truly count on was themselves.
For a time, she had dared to believe the pretty lie.
She was such a fool.
“Stay behind me,” Dagan instructed in a harsh whisper.
From the pocket of his coat, he pulled the little revolver he’d taken off Morrison, flicked open the cylinder, and dumped the two remaining bullets into his hand. He blew through the holes of the cylinder to dry them and reloaded.
“What’s happening?” she asked, the skin on her back crawling.
“Someone is watching us.”
She wouldn’t have thought after the day she’d had that a drop of adrenaline remained in her system. But she felt a spike of the stuff shoot through her bloodstream. It helped to speed her steps.
Pulling her glasses from where she’d stored them in a zippered pocket on her jacket, she wiped the water from the lenses as best she could and slid them onto her face. The world came into focus, and the first thing she noticed was that light from the moon. It cast their shadows in long, inky streaks behind them, like they were being trailed by dark, malevolent specters. But other than that, she saw nothing. No movement. Nowatcher.
The word sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the freezing water dripping from her clothes and her soggy backpack. Then she reminded herself that just because someone was watching didn’t mean that someone wanted to do them harm. Heck, it could be a local or a tourist who’d spotted them lumbering out of the surf—and whowouldn’tstop to watch that?
“Where?” she whispered. Sand stuck to the bottoms of her wet boots, making each step heavier than the one before it.
“Not sure.” Dagan turned toward a parking lot nestled close to the beach. It was empty except for a panel van and one beat-up-looking Renault. The latter appeared to have left the assembly line sometime when Reagan was president.
“Not sure? Then how do you—”
“Instinct,” he cut her off. “A sixth sense. Years of finding myself in the middle of someone’s crosshairs. Whatever you want to call it. Someone is watching us. I can feel it.”
“Okay, then.” She swallowed the fear that rose in the back of her throat.
Just a local or a tourist, she reminded herself. Herself didn’t answer back, which meant the chick remained glaringly skeptical.
“Shit,” Dagan cursed, picking up the pace toward the parking lot when a man in a long, dark raincoat crossed the street and headed in their direction.
“The watcher?” she asked.
“Likely.”
“He doesn’t look too scary.” She breathed a sigh of relief. The man was bald and a good five inches shorter than Dagan. Despite that, she would bet he was pushing 250 poundsdressed and hung, as her daddy would have said.
“Bonsoir!” The man raised a hand. “Nice night for a swim, eh?”
His voice reminded Chelsea of an oil slick, all sticky and dark. AndBritish. There was no mistaking that accent. She was instantly reminded of Surry and Morrison. The hairs along the back of her neck lifted. “Dagan—”
“Stay behind me,” he hissed.
She didn’t dare disobey, quickening her steps until she was right on his boot heels.
“You lost?” Raincoat asked, still moving in a diagonal line toward them. Andthatwas as much a warning sign as anything. A normal person didn’t watch two fully dressed folks mysteriously emerge from the Channel at night and then try to start up a friendly conversation.
