Glass crunches to my left. I tuck and roll to the right, then come up in a crouch. Another few inches, and I’ll have a straight shot to the hallway.
I creep forward until a solid weight slams into me. My head hits the corner of the cabinet. The world goes fuzzy. Gloved fingers wrap around my throat. I can’t breathe.
Lungs seizing, I drive my elbow back. His grip loosens enough for me to suck in air. My fist rams something soft. The asshole yelps.
That’s right, idiot. Should have worn a cup.
Springing to my feet, I head for the hall, but only make it three steps.
An arm bands around my waist. My feet leave the ground. I’m flying. Until I hit the French doors. Glass shatters, slicing my cheek, my hands, my head.
The cuts burn. I’m dizzy. Rough decking scrapes my arm. I roll, and a shot pierces the night. Fiery pain spreads out from my hip. I can’t see through the haze of blood dripping into my eyes.
A plank creaks. Too close. I blink hard. His shadow looms over me. I reach for something—anything—I can use as a weapon.
My entire body turns to ice at the metallicclickof a hammer. Panic claws its way up my throat. My desperate fingers close around the spout of my watering can. The fancy, heavy one I bought the last time I went to Anacortes with Gladys.
I swing wildly. The metal connects with the man’s kneecap. He stumbles. The next shot makes my ears ring.
Scrambling up, I grit my teeth against the pain burning my hip. The motion light winks on—finally—and cold, dark eyes meet mine.
Parker.
A thick scar stretches from his nose down to his jaw. My brother almost killed him eight years ago. If Logan had gotten another inch, the knife would have pierced Parker’s carotid. And maybe…I’d still have a family.
The bastard takes a step closer. I back up the same distance. A second step, and he kicks the watering can out of the way. The gun is pointed right at my heart.
“Watch it, asshole. Ilikethat can.”
My back hits the railing.
“You’re going to pay for what you did, Natasha.”
“Eight years, and you couldn’t come up with anything more original thanthat?” Baiting him probably isn’t smart. But I can’t help it. His line really was ridiculously cliché.
“I was going to kill you quickly. But now, I think I’ll take my time.” He shifts his aim lower. “I shot your brother in the stomach. It’s a very painful way to die.”
“Please,” I whimper, cowering against the railing. Throwing him off balance is my only hope.
Confusion flashes in his eyes. It’s only a second, but that’s enough. The gun barrel wavers, and I vault over the railing as he pulls the trigger.
CHAPTER NINE
Doc
I situp in the darkness, unsure what woke me. Until a loudcrackpierces the night.
Who the hell would be shooting up here? That wasn’t a hunting rifle. It sounded like a pistol.
Fuck. This island doesn’t have a police force. Or any crime for that matter.
I’m out of my sleeping bag in seconds. Pants. Boots. Tactical knife. It’s never far from me—even when I sleep—and I use my free hand to slowly unzip the tent flap. Call 911? It’d take them an hour to get here. Maybe more.
I scan the beach. Empty. The cabins are a mile away. But Nat’s house…that’s so much closer.
My watch face glows in the darkness. It’s almost 2:00 a.m. I hold my breath and listen. Nothing out of place. Then again, I don’t hear anything at all, and that’s a problem. None of the nocturnal creatures in the underbrush. No birds. There’s usually an owl or two hooting quietly in the distance.
It’s like the entire island knows something’s wrong.
