Mistaken Target. Sharon Dunn

she said.

      The color had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes appeared clearer. “You were smart to take the wet top off first.”

      “When I was a kid, my parents sent me to summer camp. They taught us city kids some wilderness survival basics at Camp Goodhope.”

      “Camp Goodhope? I went there, too.” He’d been part of a program that sent underprivileged kids to the island where the camp was to teach them about community and faith. Though the message had not sunk in until his mother’s death, the camp had been a haven from the violence of his neighborhood and where he’d first heard about Jesus.

      She let out a breath. “That’s kind of wild. I wonder if we were ever there at the same time.”

      “I would have remembered someone as pretty as you.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

      Her lips formed a perfect O, but she didn’t say anything. She took a step back, and he saw the fear emerge again in her expression.

      He shook his head and dropped his gaze. Just when he’d built up a little connection with her, he had to go and mess up. What had made her so distrustful of him...of men? He only knew he needed to tread lightly around her. He wasn’t lying, though. He did think she was pretty.

      She cleared her throat. “I suppose we should see if we can find something to eat and some water.”

      “You’re right that we need to search the place. Maybe we’ll find a raft. First, though, we need to get dried out. We can build a fire outside down by the shore. The lighthouse will shield it from view.” He turned toward her, putting on his best get-down-to-business face. “This is the high ground for now. He can’t come for us without us knowing.”

      She turned in a half circle. “I hope he’s looking for us and not bothering the caretaker.”

      Bother was kind of a mild word. “Yeah, me, too.” The safety of the caretaker weighed heavily on him. Chances were if the assassin didn’t want his identity known, he wouldn’t seek the caretaker out to hurt him, but there was no way to know for sure. Diego headed toward the stairs. “Let’s see what we can find.” He brushed past her. Their arms touched briefly, and he felt a surge of electricity through his shoulder and into his stomach. They locked eyes for a moment before he headed down the stairs to find something—anything—that might help them survive.

      * * *

      As she rummaged through cupboards on the main floor, the sound of Diego’s footsteps echoing through the lighthouse was unsettling. He clearly had the skills to keep both of them alive. She was starting to believe she could trust him in that arena, but what he said about her being pretty only opened old wounds. She’d caught the smolder in his eyes as she’d stepped past him on the stairs. That look only led to heartbreak and pain.

      She searched several cupboards. Though run-down, the lighthouse wasn’t overly dusty, implying that it had gone unused for only a short time. She found some brochures inviting corporations to bring employees to the island for outings, including a meal served by the lighthouse. Maybe the owner of the resort had let this part of the resort go due to a lack of funds.

      She located a can pushed toward the back of a bottom cupboard.

      “Find anything?” Diego’s voice boomed behind her.

      She startled, disconcerted that she hadn’t heard his approaching footsteps. After glancing at it, she held the can up. “Pears.”

      “That’s good. There’s some liquid in them that will keep us hydrated.” Diego had what was either a poncho or a Navajo rug flung around his shoulders.

      She laughed. “That’s a really good fashion statement for you.”

      He snorted, amused. “Hey, it’s warm and dry.”

      She took a closer look. It was clearly a rug that he had torn a hole in to make it into a poncho.

      “I’ll look good for the fashion shoot later, don’t you think?” he said. He struck a pose.

      The levity of the moment lifted her spirits. Despite everything, he managed to see humor in something.

      “I have a lighter. Let’s build a fire out on the shore,” he said.

      She gathered together some paper and an old chair to build the fire and followed him outside. Diego broke up the chair and started the fire. Both of them stood close to it, soaking in the heat and drying out.

      He reached for the can of pears. “Give me that. I can open it with my pocketknife.”

      She studied him as he focused his attention on opening the can. Diego’s dark hair was still slicked back from having been so wet. His high cheekbones and strong jawline made him a good-looking man.

      She turned her head slightly. The sweater she wore smelled like him, a combination of wood smoke and upturned earth. She sat down close to the fire.

      Diego sat down beside her and tilted the can toward her. “Drink first.”

      Her stomach growled when the sweet aroma of the pears hit her nose. Embarrassed, she placed a hand over her belly as she drank down some of the liquid from the can.

      Diego offered her his charming smile. “Me, too. It’s been a while since I had any food.”

      She liked the way his comment defused her embarrassment. It showed a certain sensitivity she wasn’t used to. He took a drink from the can and then handed it back to her.

      She scooped up one of the pears with her plastic spoon. Her mouth watered when the fruit touched her lips. She handed the can back to him. By the time they finished the last pear, she felt a little stronger though still not full.

      She noticed then that he was still shivering. “Why don’t you try to get warmed up? Over by me away from the smoke,” she said. “I’m not doing too bad. Thanks to your sweater.”

      He scooted toward her to get closer to the fire. She jerked away when his shoulder touched hers. The response on her part had been almost involuntary.

      Again, his steady smile conveyed that he was okay with her overreactions to his touch. She studied his profile. Under different circumstances, it would be so easy to relax around him.

      After a few minutes, he jumped to his feet. “We can’t stay out here long. We need to keep watch.” He tilted his head toward the charcoal sky. “Looks like we might have some rain coming.”

      Just when they’d got dried out. They had no rain gear or even coats. The prospect of fighting hypothermia again—and the assassin at the same time—didn’t sound like a good idea.

      “Why don’t you head up there and keep a lookout. I’ll put the fire out.” He jogged toward the shore, where he found a piece of wood to use as a shovel and scooped up some sand.

      She made her way up the spiral staircase to where she had a panoramic view of the island. The rain began pouring out of the sky just as she heard Diego traipsing up the stairs. He was so tall he filled most of the doorway.

      She stared out at the downpour. “I’m not going out in that. I guess we stay here for now.” They were somewhat protected here at least. The thought of having to go back and be used for target practice made her chest tight. But staying in one place would make it easier for their attacker to find them. “Do you think it’s just a matter of time before he comes for us?”

      “I can’t lie to you. He’s looking for us. I’m sure of it,” he said.

      The thought made her shiver involuntarily.

      He stepped a little closer to her, staring out at the forest and ocean. He was at least eight inches taller than she. His gaze fell back down to her neck.

      The collar of her pajama top had covered the scars, but the sweater did not. She drew a protective hand up to her neck. “It was a car accident.” That was all he needed to know.

      He