I’ll never have a home again.
My legs tanglein the sheets as I flop over, seeking a cool part of the pillow. But it’s no use. I’m wide awake, despite my exhaustion.
Damn hormones. At least that’s what I’m blaming for tonight’s insomnia. It’s been happening more and more.
My first year on the run, I rarely slept more than a couple hours at a time. Every noise was a potential threat. But slowly, I started to relax. The first time I made it through an entire night, I wept.
And then a few months after my forty-fifth birthday, my sleep started to go to shit. Right along with my cycle. Being a woman sucks sometimes.
I flip the pillow over and draw my legs up close. Why didn’t I go for a long swim this afternoon? That would have helped.
Because the best swimming takes you right by Doc’s campsite.
My inner voice doesn’t pull her punches.
A dull ache thrums through my nipples as they scrape against my t-shirt, and I shudder. Gladys would tell me to get my ass down the hill and strip naked outside Doc’s tent. Or inside of it.
But then I’d lose another piece of myself to the handsome doctor. One night—a handful of passionate kisses and some groping—and I’ve fantasized about him for over a year. If we actually fucked… God.
That single missing piece has already slowed me down. A second? It could stop me completely.
I can’t allow that.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” I mutter and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t even know him.”
Except, I do. Through Gladys.
I begged her to cover for me whenever Doc was scheduled to show up. And she was only happy to do so. Now, I finally realize why.
She was vetting him. For me. And she told me everything.
He used to work in the ER. Now he spends his weekends at a low-cost clinic in Seattle. He loves thrillers and non-fiction, particularly survival stories. He flies up here on a sea plane he bought a couple of years ago. Hates the gym, but loves rock climbing. He’s good with his hands. Knows his way around an electrical box. He can play the guitar.
Did she tell him anything about me?
That would require her to know anything about me. Anything real, anyway.
With a huff, I pull on a pair of loose gray pants and pad out to the kitchen for a glass of water.
But standing at the sink is a mistake. Through the trees, I catch a glimpse of Doc’s tent at the bottom of the hill.
Anger and frustration start a war inside me. One so violent, I snatch a glass from the cabinet and slam the door.
No amount of self-talk can keep my gaze from the window. Not even when I reach for the faucet.
A face coalesces in the reflection. Dammit. I need sleep. I’m seeing things. But then something glints in the light from the hall. Metal.
Gun!
Whirling around, I throw the glass with everything I have, then drop to my knees behind the counter.
Athunkfollowed by a low, male curse chills the blood in my veins. I can’t see the asshole, but he’s too close. And armed.
There’s no crime on the island. Hasn’t been for a decade—according to Gladys. He’s here for me. To kill me. I stayed too long, and now, I’m out of time.
Focus!
I have to get to my closet. My Glock is in my go bag. It’s the only chance I have.
