justified.
“We don’t know how many people Trask has here,” she whispered. “We need to assume at least six. He couldn’t have gotten back from Mount Baker by now, but”-she glanced at her watch-“we’re getting into the window where he may show up.”
“We need to get Lucy to the boat as quickly as possible and over to the island where the copter is waiting.”
“Don’t wait for me.”
“Dammit, Kate!” She was still focusing on Trask. “We have enough on Adam Scott to stop him. Don’t do this.”
She stared at him, her eyes softening a bit. “I can swim, Dillon. We don’t know what condition Lucy is in. Get her to safety. I’m not going to be stupid. I promise.” She squeezed his hand. “Don’t wait for me.”
He touched her face. He needed to touch her. To give her a connection to something good and real and whole.
“There are people who care about you, Kate. Don’t forget that.”
She swallowed, nodded. Did she have tears in her eyes?
“Let’s go.”
They’d already decided that Dillon would get to Lucy and Kate would cover them.
They crept up the deck, keeping low, listening.
A sliding door opened.
“Ollie!”
A female voice.
“Dammit, Roger, I don’t know why he’s not-” the door closed and they couldn’t hear anything except muffled voices.
Dillon pictured Lucy as she’d been on the video. There was a window in the room where she was being held. The window had some sort of shade covering it.
Kate motioned for him to go left, around the back side of the deck.
They split up. He circled around the deck, looking at the windows for one that looked familiar. One entire side of the cabin, which he avoided, was a wall of windows overlooking a narrow inlet. Lucy must be in the rear of the cabin.
He rounded the corner, his heart pounding, completely focused on his sister. There were two shaded windows. He pictured the film. There had only been one window where Lucy was kept, based on the shadows and quality of light. Which one was Lucy behind?
Cautiously, he peered around the edges of the first window he approached. It was dark inside, the filtered afternoon sun casting shadows through the slit less than a quarter-inch wide.
A bed. A dresser. Nothing else. He listened. A female cry from the room next door.
Anxious, he treaded lightly to the second window. There was no slit for him to see through. He listened. Nothing.
Then, a woman screamed.
He swallowed his panic. Carefully, silently, he tried the window. Locked.
“Stop! No, no, no!” Lucy cried from inside.
Dillon quickly studied the window. One sheet of glass, double-paned. No gentle tap would break it.
He retrieved Connor’s gun from his pocket and slammed it into the window. Before it finished shattering, Dillon jumped through it.
Kate heard the scream followed by breaking glass.
She ran back to the main door, opened it. It was, surprisingly, unlocked.
“Kate Donovan.” The voice was low and husky.
She turned. Denise Arno held a gun aimed at her.
“Roger!” Denise called.
Kate swung her leg up without hesitation. She made contact with Denise’s hand at the same time the gun went off. The heat of the bullet brushed by her face.
She let her momentum take her around instead of fighting for her balance. She rolled out of the way a split second before a second gunshot came from down the hall.
She fired three times at Denise, then twice at the shadows in the hall. From the corner of her eye she saw Denise go down, blood coating her chest.
Gunfire rang out from the hall. Dammit, she hadn’t put Roger out of commission.
Who else was here? Where was Dillon? Where was Lucy?
Another gunshot, this time from the back of the cabin.
A man was naked and on top of Lucy.
Dillon heard himself cry out. The man looked up, startled and confused. He fumbled for a gun that was far beyond his reach, crawling off Lucy as he tried to stand.
Dillon strode over and kicked him in the face. The man grunted, rolled over, reached his gun in the corner.
Dillon aimed his gun and fired. Again. Again. He saw blood but didn’t make the connection.
The man screamed out and clutched his leg. “Fuck! Fuck!”
Dillon picked up the bastard’s gun and pocketed it, then brought out the knife Jack had given him before they’d split at the small airport. He slashed the ropes binding Lucy.
“Dillon, you’re here. You’re really here!”
“Lucy, we have to get out. Now.”
She nodded, silent tears running down her face.
Dillon pulled off his T-shirt and handed it to his sister. Shaking, she put it on. It hung to her thighs. She started for the door.
“No,” he said quietly. He picked up the camera and threw it against the wall, where it broke, pieces falling to the threadbare carpet.
He led Lucy to the window and eased her over the broken glass before following her out.
He didn’t want to think about the gunshots he’d heard moments before. He didn’t want to think that Kate was dead.
He had to get Lucy out.
He also had to find Kate.
Torn, he took one look at Lucy’s face and knew she couldn’t do it on her own. Kate was strong and trained. She was a survivor. He had to believe that.
Lucy was a terrified eighteen-year-old. He would get her to safety, then come back for Kate.
He helped Lucy over the deck railing. “I have a boat.”
She nodded, trusting him implicitly.
“You’re going to be okay, Luce. I promise.”
She nodded again, tears running down her face. Her entire body shook.
Dillon took her hand and they ran low through the trees. He heard no more guns. He heard no more shouts.
Each step was torture as he realized that he was running away from Kate. That she could be dead, dying, in need, and he was leaving her behind. Maybe she’d gone for the boat. She could run faster alone than he could with Lucy. She could be at the cliff already.
The thought propelled Dillon forward. Less than ten minutes later they reached the edge of the island.
Kate wasn’t there.
No time to go back. Dillon said to Lucy, “Trust me.”
Lucy only nodded, her large brown eyes looking left and right. Terrified.
