Mistaken Target. Sharon Dunn

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.

      Behind her, she heard a single footstep and then a thud before all the pressure on her neck released. She fell to the floor, gasping and coughing. Strong arms lifted her up and dragged her all the way into the bathroom. Diego locked the door just as her would-be assassin pounded on it.

      Diego yanked her away from the door. “Through the window—hurry.”

      After slipping into the loafers she’d left in the bathroom, she jumped up on the toilet. The whole bathroom seemed to shake from her attacker slamming his body against the locked door over and over. Diego boosted her through the window, then followed her out.

      Inside the cabin, the sound of the body banging against the door stopped. Light flooded through the cabin. Having given up on breaking the door down, the would-be killer must be looking for his gun in the cabin’s main room.

      Diego gripped her pajamas at the elbow, applying pressure. “Come on. We’ve gotta get away.”

      She was shaking so badly, it was a struggle to even form her question. “What...is going on here?”

      “I don’t know,” he said.

      Even without being able to see his face in the darkness, the tone of his voice told her he was lying. Deceptive. Diego knew why that man was here. What had she been pulled into?

      He grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”

      Shots fired in the darkness. She may not trust Diego completely, but she couldn’t stay here. They sprinted toward the trees. The gunfire made her feel as if her spine were being rattled from the inside. Diego didn’t seem fazed by it. He led her deeper into the forest. Branches scraped her head and rocks caused her to stumble. He grabbed her before she fell. They ran for at least ten minutes.

      Eventually, she stopped, out of breath. Diego quit running but he didn’t stop moving. He glanced over his shoulder, rotated around to look at her and then began to pace back and forth.

      “Who was that man?” she said between breaths.

      “Some random crazy guy,” he said.

      She didn’t believe him. He knew more than he was saying. Her throat went tight and she choked back tears. “I’ve never been shot at before.”

      He touched her arm. The warmth of his fingers sank through her thin pajama sleeve. “I’m so sorry you have to go through something like this.”

      He sounded genuine, but she couldn’t see his face in the dark. And he’d lied to her already.

      “We’d better keep moving,” he said. “He wasn’t that far behind us.”

      She wasn’t so sure going with Diego was the best idea.

      He turned to run and then glanced back at her.

      Another gunshot tore through the air. Diego pulled her to the ground as a second shot boomed over them.

      “He’s close,” he said. “Vamos deprisa.”

      He bolted to his feet and tugged on her sleeve. This time, she followed. At least Diego wasn’t taking shots at her.

      She held on to his hand, blindly hoping that he was taking her to safety. Trusting a deceiver was never a good idea but what choice did