Czytaj książkę: «Mistaken Target»

As always, for Michael, friend and husband.

I miss you every day.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Diego Cruz peeked through the open door of the resort dining and kitchen facilities.

The woman mopping the kitchen floor didn’t look like a good prospect for conversation, but after days of isolation on the primitive island resort off the Washington coast, Diego hungered for any kind of human contact. He was an extrovert by nature. This much time alone was making him loco.

He stepped across the threshold. “Need some help?”

She jumped, placing a palm over her heart. “You scared me.” She shot him a hard look before returning her attention to dragging the mop across the floor.

So she wasn’t exactly amistosa. He didn’t care. Even a hostile conversation would be better than pacing the floor of his cabin. Three days ago, he’d been a confidential informant for the FBI, working his way up the ranks through years of undercover work until he’d gained the confidence of the number two man dealing drugs in the Northwest. Someone had outed him, putting his life in danger. The Bureau responded by holing him up in no-man’s-land until they could find the source of the leak.

Until the woman had disembarked from the ferry yesterday, the only people on the island had been Diego and a caretaker, an unfriendly old man named George who spent most of his time wandering into the forest with an easel and paints. George informed him the island was designed for people who wanted to detox from electronics. Diego suspected they didn’t have the green to update, so being low-tech became the new marketing angle for the run-down getaway. To Diego, it meant no cell service and more boredom.

When Diego stepped toward the woman, her back stiffened. He smiled at her anyway. “So you’re in my old cabin,” he said.

She turned her back to him and slammed the mop in the bucket. “What do you mean?” Every word held a tiny punch, an effort to push him away.

“I started out in that cabin, but picked a different one. The view is better in the one I’m in now.” The truth was the sight lines for the first cabin were bad. He was pretty sure the Bureau knew how to hide a man, but if he was found out, he wanted to see his assassin coming so he’d have time to grab his gun and defend himself.

She turned so he saw her profile. She was pretty, in an uptight, prep school sort of way, hair the color of dark honey, delicate bone structure. Despite the effort at dressing down in a flannel shirt and turtleneck, the clipped tone of her words and that perfect posture said she’d been raised uptown.

He’d grown up on the streets of Seattle and come up through the gangs. The gift that had kept him alive and now helped him with his work was his ability to read people. Seven years ago when a gang member’s stray bullet had taken his madre’s life, he’d come back to the God his mother had prayed to every day. Becoming a CI was his way of righting all the wrong he’d done as a teenager and maybe saving another homeboy’s mother in the process, since he couldn’t save his own.

“I like the cabin fine.” Her gaze bounced briefly at him and then she stared out a dusty window. “I’m not here for the view. I’m here to do a job. In two days, the catering company I work for will arrive for a destination wedding. I’m getting paid extra to come early and set up and clean.”

So she was from money, but she had to work minimum wage for a living. Now he was curious. What was her story? “Look, I’m going a little crazy here. Far as I can tell, you, me and that caretaker are the only ones on the island,” he said.

“Spring is the off-season. I guess this place is really busy in the summer, so this was the only time the couple could get this wedding booking.” She rearranged the cleaners and sponges in the supply-cart holder. “I’m sure they have a bigger staff then.”

Her voice had a soft lilting quality that made his heart beat a little faster. “I was wondering if we couldn’t eat a meal together or build a campfire. We’ll see if we can get the old man to join us.” George would probably not be interested, but he didn’t intend for her to feel unsafe or wonder about his motives. He only wanted someone to talk to. He held out his hand. “So what do you say? My name’s Diego Cruz.”

She spoke slowly, taking a step back. “I’m...Samantha.” She glanced down at his outstretched hand, but didn’t take it. Feeling awkward, he let it fall to his side. “I’m really busy with work. I didn’t come here to build campfires.”

He couldn’t understand her hostility. She didn’t even know him. He knew he should probably just take the hint and walk away, but he couldn’t stand the thought of spending even more time with no one to talk to.

He stared out the window at the building next to the cafeteria. It was generously called the community room. It consisted of dusty furniture, tattered board games and stacks of National Geographic. The rest of the resort, and he was using the word resort loosely, consisted of five cabins and lots of trees. Samantha might not be a laugh a minute, but she was still the most interesting thing he’d seen on the whole island.

In two days when the ferry came back this way, maybe an agent would bring word what his next move was. Maybe the Bureau would tell him he could catch the ferry back to civilization. In the meantime, this kind of isolation and inactivity ate at his gut. He’d walked the island half a dozen times, memorized every fir tree and rock and explored the broken-down lighthouse at the edge of the island.

“You want to play a board game over in the community room?”

She lifted her chin and met his gaze with a look of cool disdain. Just more proof that she came from money—he’d got that exact look from more rich people than he could count.

“I’m really not interested in recreating with you,” she said. “I came here to do a job.”

Though she attempted to keep her words flat and emotionless, he’d picked up on the heavy intention of each syllable. She turned away from him, but not fast enough for him to miss the glazing of her eyes. She acted almost afraid of him.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just—” He stepped toward her.

She turned to face him. Her eyes grew wide with fear. She took a swift step back, accidentally brushing a full spray bottle off the counter. The cap must have been loose, because the cleaner spilled out across the concrete. She dived down to the floor.

“Let me help you with that.” He grabbed a rag, knelt down beside her and started to sop up the liquid.

“I’ve got it. Thanks,” she said.

“I don’t mind.”

His hand bumped against hers. She let out a small gasp, making eye contact for the briefest moment before jerking to her feet. She turned her back to him again. “Like I said, I don’t want to visit. Please, just leave me alone.”

“Suit yourself.” He didn’t want to upset her further, even though he saw now that the hostility was an act designed to push him away. Why?

She whirled around. Again, she gave him a look of hardened steel, narrowing her eyes. “I will.” She brushed past him and raced out of the kitchen, leaving the door swinging on its hinges. Diego shrugged and decided not to chase after her.

He stood on the threshold of the kitchen. Moonlight allowed him to see her racing across the grounds to her cabin. Though he couldn’t see her cabin through the trees, he heard her door slam. He stood for a long moment, shaking his head.

A mechanical and distinct noise filled the air. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The noise grew louder, and he was able to discern what it was. A motorboat. Someone was docking on the island. This island didn’t get visitors.

Had someone come for him?

Fearing the worst, he sprinted out of the kitchen and ran toward the dock.

* * *

Samantha James’s heart pounded wildly as she slipped into the safety of her cabin. The hammering in her chest wasn’t just from the run across the resort grounds. That man, that Diego Cruz, hadn’t made any attempt to harm her, but even the slight contact of his hand against hers was enough to awaken old fears.

She grabbed a pillow from the couch and tossed it across the room. She crossed her arms over her body and paced, waiting for her sense of peace to return. Nothing worked.

She slipped out of her clothes and jumped into the shower, allowing the warm water to soothe her. Since heated water was at a premium here, she kept her shower to only a few minutes. By the time she stepped out and had got into her pajamas, she’d calmed down...a little. She retreated to the kitchen to make some tea. She was doing all the things that normally helped her relax, but she still felt bent out of shape.

The nerve of that man being so friendly. Hadn’t she made it clear that she didn’t want to make friends? She came out here to do a job and for a little extra money. Since the crippling end of her marriage to Eric, she’d spent the past year keeping her head down. People didn’t usually want to make an effort with someone as prickly as her...but Diego had. That kind of warmth and persistence was disarming. Her stomach twisted into a knot.

Then again, those qualities were the first things she’d been attracted to with Eric. She was shy by nature. She’d been drawn to Eric’s ability to navigate social situations with such ease. Diego struck her as being outgoing, too.

She washed her teacup with brisk jerky motions. Through the window above the sink, she thought she saw movement. Her heartbeat quickened. Was Diego wandering around outside her cabin? That was kind of creepy if he was. She leaned over the sink to get a better look...but there was nothing there. It had just been a trick of the evening light. Still...something had disturbed the tree branches. Maybe the caretaker was out checking on things or it was a wild animal of some kind.

As she turned her attention back to the teapot, her fingers brushed over the knotted scars on her neck and her chest, reminders of why she’d been running away from herself for the past year, why she would never let a man into her life.

She had loved everything about Eric, his laughter and his smile. People gravitated toward him. He seemed to know what she wanted even before she said anything. She’d felt so safe when he held her, when she nestled her head against his neck, breathing in the musky scent of his skin.

But shortly after they were married, she saw a darker side to Eric. He’d taken out credit cards in her name and run up debt that drained her savings. She found out he’d lied about his education. His response to questioning his actions was rage. Fearing for her physical safety, she’d filed for a separation and begged Eric to get help for his destructive behavior.

He refused to admit that he had a problem—and had promised her that he would never let her go. She knew it wasn’t because he loved her but because, as he put it, no one crossed Eric James. So when she refused to call off the divorce proceedings, he responded by destroying her life, as completely as he could. After he threatened her physically, she’d signed the house over to him.

To the other residents in Cambridge Heights, he remained charming Eric. Slowly, his subtle lies poisoned the rest of the tight-knit community against her. So thorough was his manipulation, they’d believed Eric over her. When her father passed away, she lost her last ally. Her mother had died when she was a little girl.

The final straw had been the car accident Eric caused by grabbing the wheel and driving them off the road so he could tell everyone that she had a drinking problem. The windshield had shattered, embedding glass in her neck and chest.

After the accident, she grew tired of the sideways glances and controlled whispers as she walked around Cambridge Heights. Eric’s destruction of her reputation made it impossible for her to live in the neighborhood she’d grown up in. She had no one to turn to and no resources left to fall back on. When the divorce was final, she moved away, rented an apartment and got a job as a waitress while she tried to figure out how to put her life back together.

Seattle was a big city, and she was careful not to talk about her past to anyone. She used her maiden name on job and rent applications. Still, she didn’t stay at any one job or apartment for very long. If she could ever manage to save enough money, she’d move out of the city.

She touched her neck again, taking in a quick, sharp breath. She didn’t like other people to see the scars. They made her feel ugly, and telling the story of how she’d got them caused her to feel shame all over again. But in a way, she was glad for the scars. They served as a reminder that nothing was as it appeared to be and everyone had secrets. Especially men. For all his charm, Diego Cruz was probably a drug dealer or married or who knew what.

What was he doing staying here in the off-season, anyway? Even that seemed weird. He was definitely hiding something. She had been told that there would only be a caretaker on the island.

She shook her head. Why was she even letting him take up space in her brain? All she had to do was avoid that man until the ferry and the rest of the work party arrived. She did like her job with Evergreen Catering and the people she worked with. It was exciting to be part of a team making a celebration come together. Whether it was a wedding or birthday, bringing joy to others kept her from giving in to self-pity.

She crossed her arms and stared out the window at the darkness. Her encounter with Diego had her all stirred up to the point where she thought she’d seen someone outside. She didn’t feel safe here anymore.

The metal of the lock on the door was cold against her fingers as she clicked the dead bolt shut. She retreated back into the cabin and pulled out the hide-a-bed in the couch. The cabin consisted of two rooms, a small bathroom and a second room that served as living room, kitchen and bedroom. She turned out the lights, slipped under the covers and squeezed her eyes tightly shut to keep the tears from coming. Anguish suctioned around her throat, and she wondered if there would ever come a time when she’d find a place where she could truly feel settled again. She’d been driven from her home. She didn’t belong anywhere or to anyone.

The sound of her own breathing surrounded her in the dark. She closed her eyes and waited for the heaviness of sleep to overtake her.

Instead, the muffled thud of someone breaking into her bathroom sent a shot of terror through her body.

TWO

Diego stomped along the rocky shoreline, searching the inlet for the boat. He’d wasted precious time going first to the big dock where the ferry pulled in. He hadn’t found any trace of the boat, but that didn’t mean anything. A motorboat could pull in almost anywhere. Darkness shrouded the landscape, and he wished he’d had the presence of mind to grab a flashlight before he’d taken off running. He was sure he’d heard the sound of an approaching motorboat. Maybe it was just someone from a neighboring island out for a late-night boat ride, but he had to check it out.

He felt not only a need to protect himself but Samantha, too. She sure didn’t need to get caught up in any trouble that might have come after him.

As he recalled their encounter, it was that moment of vulnerability he’d seen in her when their fingers touched that kept replaying in his mind. As if all of her hostility was an act designed for protection. She wasn’t easy to figure out and that intrigued him.

Where was that boat? He jogged, scanning the shoreline. Why was he even thinking about Samantha? Hopefully, he’d be out of here in a couple of days, after which he’d probably never see her again. He wasn’t sure what he’d be going back to. With his cover blown, he couldn’t return to the hood he’d called home for the past seven years. He’d have to find some other way to make a difference.

He wondered if the Bureau had been able to sort out who had figured out his double life. He was deeply embedded in the Valley Hood Pirus and careful about how he communicated with the Bureau. He’d gone over and over his actions, trying to figure out what had led the dealer nicknamed Princeton, because he claimed he had an Ivy League education, to turn a gun on him and say, “I know who you are.” Diego was lucky Princeton was such a bad shot—and a slow runner, especially compared to Diego’s speed.

The days alone on this island had given him time to relive every conversation and encounter. Where had he slipped up?

Waves lapped against the shore as he made his way toward the water. Salt air filled his lungs. He continued to walk. Up ahead, he spotted the shadowy outline of an object. He sprinted along the beach, leaned over and felt the damp wood of the boat. He circled around the boat. He touched the motor at the back. It was still warm.

This might have nothing to do with you.

But if it did... Adrenaline shot through him even as he tried to remain calm.

They were five miles from the nearest island. He’d memorized the map in the community room as part of the futile attempt to get past his boredom. At that distance, it was unlikely that anyone was out for a late-night fishing expedition or a romantic rendezvous.

Maybe someone involved in the drug trade had seen him boarding the ferry and was searching each of the stops on the ferry route.

He needed to find the owner of the boat. Best not take any chances. His gun was back at the cabin—he’d get that first and hope that no one was positioned to ambush him in the dark along the way.

He swung around and sprinted across the rocks and into the trees. His feet pounded the path that led to his cabin door. A peek through the window revealed no sign of movement inside. That didn’t mean someone wasn’t lying in wait for him. He eased the door open and slipped inside. With his back pressed against the wall, he absorbed 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 she have?

She didn’t know where he was leading her. She only hoped that she hadn’t escaped one dangerous situation only to land in another.