Early the next morning, before the sun was much more than a glow at the edge of the ocean, Mark roused Charlotte so they could move out. He regretted his decision to take another run at the boat almost immediately. The stress and chaos of Eaton’s antics had taken a toll on Charlotte. She was trying valiantly to keep up with him, running on sheer adrenaline and desperation.
Holding her in his arms last night, the words had been on his heart. I love you. He couldn’t push them past his lips. Not yet. If they got off the island, there would be time to make it up to her. If they didn’t, there wasn’t any point in declaring feelings he couldn’t back up with actions.
And, as much as he prided himself on his bravery and self-confidence, he had no idea how she’d react. Would she even want to waste another minute with him after this?
He didn’t hold out much hope.
Creative problem solving was a hallmark of his career, yet he’d failed her in a spectacular manner when it had mattered most, back in the alley before things had really gone south.
They kept to the thickest part of the tree line and found the dock empty again as the sun inched over the horizon. While Charlotte stood watch, he carefully gathered up dried palms, stuffing them into an empty crate. He carried the crate to the dock and using the flare gun, he set the mass on fire. With a little luck, the fire would burn a good long time. At the very least, it should create a smoke plume and potentially catch a search party’s attention.
Or the attention of the boat, bringing it closer to shore where they could more easily try to commandeer it.
Mark was kneeling at the edge of the trees with Charlotte when he heard raised voices. South of the dock, on a small crescent beach, he spotted Eaton and Quick-Punch Kid.
Eaton was the only one with a radio.
They wouldn’t get that radio as long as Eaton continued breathing. The man was armed and motivated by a vast, inexorable sense of vengeance. Worse, he’d shown a remarkable lack of remorse over his actions.
Mark had no doubt that should Eaton get the chance, he’d kill Mark and Charlotte and never look back to this island. He started to give the hand signals for how he wanted to advance and realized he didn’t have the team. Only Charlotte.
She’d held up, but she didn’t magically know the code and signals. “I’ll take out Eaton,” he said, his voice barely audible as he eyed the best way forward. “Quick-Punch Kid will try and intervene, but he isn’t armed, and there might be a limit to how involved he wants to be.”
“I can handle him.” Her voice was intense, ready. She had the gun in her hands and he had the knife ready. “I’ll keep him distracted,” she promised.
“Shoot him if you have to.” Mark was relieved he didn’t have to ask her to distract Muscle, though he had no doubt she’d happily find a reason to put a bullet in the big man. He kissed her. Fast and quick. Not a last kiss, more of a promise there would be more once the work was done.
“You do that with your SEAL team?” she teased.
“They wish,” he quipped.
She clamped her lips together, her eyes dancing with laughter. In that moment, he was suddenly sure everything would work out.
He picked up a rock, hefted it in his hand and waited for the right time to strike. He hurled it, pleased when it struck Quick-Punch Kid solidly on the side of the head. The man stumbled and fell forward to his hands and knees.
Eaton turned back and Mark charged forward from the dappled shadows of the trees, the knife in his grip. He used the downed man as a springboard and launched himself into Eaton, knocking the man to the ground before he could fire. His weapon flew across the sand toward the surf.
Mark drove a knee into Eaton’s gut, once, twice and a third time. The man gasped for air while Mark scrambled to get the radio off Eaton’s belt. He couldn’t manage it with one hand and Eaton knew it.
Eaton twisted around, landing an elbow to Mark’s jaw that sent him reeling. He dropped the knife. That never would’ve happened before being caged and tortured and manipulated by the threats to Charlotte. Excuses didn’t make a SEAL strong; adversity did. Mark blocked the next punch and bucked his hips, rolling Eaton over and finally pinning the man to the shifting sand.
Protective concern tempted him to glance over his shoulder and check on Charlotte’s progress. He had to trust she could manage on her own. Eaton was too dangerous and would capitalize on the smallest opening. Distraction equaled disaster here. Mark would not let him land another blow. Would not give him another minute to exploit Charlotte or inflict emotional abuse on his family.
He dug his knees into Eaton’s sides, squeezing his rib cage and impeding his breathing. Eaton wedged his body into the loose sand to get relief. It was enough to throw Mark off balance and he rolled away and up onto his feet. Eaton reached the knife before he did.
Holding the man’s attention, Mark moved to put his body between Eaton and the rest of the island. If Charlotte had failed, he was now vulnerable to a sneak attack from Quick-Punch Kid. Mark didn’t peek over his shoulder, he kept his eyes on Eaton.
The older man’s face was red from sunburn or exertion or a combination of the two. Didn’t matter. Winning this fight for Charlotte’s life mattered.
“You think you’re special, Riley?” Eaton taunted.
Mark ignored his taunting. The sly gleam in Eaton’s eyes was enough proof that they both understood the stakes here. Only one of them would walk away from this beach.
Mark stalked closer to his prey, not giving a damn who currently had control of the knife.
Eaton lunged, Mark spun, felt his shirt give as the blade sliced through the thin fabric and his skin. The sting and burn were only more motivation. Using his momentum, he caught Eaton around the hips and threw him back toward the encroaching surf, farther away from Charlotte.
Eaton struggled to break Mark’s hold and his rusty hand-to-hand combat skills made it clear why he liked to stay behind a gun. If the man hadn’t had the knife, Mark wouldn’t have any injuries worth mentioning as they grappled for dominance of the weapon.
The surf was sucking at the sand under their feet, challenging his balance as the water foamed up around his ankles. His hands, slippery with blood, made it hard to get a good grip. At last Mark succeeded and tossed the radio up toward Charlotte as he fell to his knees.
Eaton, yammering on with nonsensical threats and insults, let loose a violent scream of frustration as Charlotte sent out the Mayday call, just as he’d instructed her earlier.
She’d survive. It was like taking his first breath after a long dive. One way or another, she would get off this blighted island and resume the life she was meant to have, the work she was meant to give.
Eaton turned, knife raised high over his head as if he was auditioning for a remake of Hitchcock’s Psycho. Charlotte screamed. Mark focused.
Dodging to the side, he used Eaton’s power against him, driving the blade deep into the man’s thigh. Shocked, mouth open, eyes glazed with pain, Eaton fell forward into the surf.
Gripping fistfuls of Eaton’s shirt, Mark hauled him deeper into the water. The whole way, the man continued tossing out dire threats against all Rileys. Despite everything he’d done, with Charlotte watching from the beach, Mark might have been compelled to grant mercy if Eaton had asked. Thankfully he didn’t.
Mark walked out farther, still dragging the man who’d put his family through so much fear and grief in recent months. The surf swirled around Mark’s knees, buoying more of Eaton’s body. The ocean was Mark’s element, soothing and centering, even as the salt water illuminated every open wound.
Though Eaton thrashed, Mark held on, dragging him deeper. The man tugged to free the weapon from his leg. Blood tinted the water—his or Eaton’s, Mark didn’t care. He started shouting more nonsense and threats. Mark shoved his head under the water and waited. Eaton came up sputtering and cursing.
With both hands, Mark shoved him hard in the chest. Eaton stumbled backward as the surf moved over the sand. For the first time in days, Mark was grateful for the thin scrubs and his bare feet. Eaton’s heavy boots and clothing were waterlogged, making it impossible for him to fight the ocean’s pull.
Now, it would be man versus nature. Mark watched with detached curiosity to see who won.
Eaton flailed in the next wave and went under the surface.
Mark kept his eyes on the spot as the surf flowed out from under him and he let the rollers buoy him onto the beach, away from the blood trail flowing out of Eaton.
The man’s head didn’t clear the water again.
Nature had won this battle.
He hoped a shark wouldn’t be injured by the knife in the man’s leg.
Watching Mark in the gently rolling surf, Charlotte held her position just out of reach of the groggy Quick-Punch Kid. She’d trussed him up, using the cord of his survival bracelet to bind his hands together behind his back. She’d cinched his ankles together with his belt. He didn’t put up much of a fight, either due to the head injury or simply the realization that he couldn’t get out of this, she wasn’t sure. He was too heavy for her to move him to a shady spot. She assumed after the coast guard arrived, sunburn would be the least of his worries.
She had control of the gun now, as well as the radio. While Mark had wrestled Eaton, she’d considered shooting their tormentor, but held back, afraid she’d hit Mark by accident.
Her hero, she thought, her heart swelling with pride and love as Mark rode the waves back to shore. Alone. Gripping one item in each hand, she held her ground, waiting for a signal from Mark that it was safe. She assumed Eaton was dead. Remorse didn’t even flit through her mind.
She focused instead on Mark. He exhibited an ease in the water she’d always admired. She took a halting step toward the water. A swim might do them both some good, but she’d prefer to find a place where Eaton’s body wasn’t lurking under the waves.
Suddenly it was as if everything caught up with her. Her knees felt stiff, her feet sore and her entire body begged for a warm soaking bath, fragrant soaps and a head-to-toe massage. Her hands ached with the stress of staying out of Mark’s fight with Eaton. Her pulse pinged oddly and her stomach clenched as if she might be sick. After everything they’d endured, this seemed like the wrong time for her body to stop cooperating. Shouldn’t they be celebrating?
Forcing herself forward on wobbling knees, she went down to the tide line to meet Mark, staying clear of the bloody ruts in the sand. “Mark? Are you okay?”
“I am now.”
Now she could see his shirt had been sliced and blood seeped from a long thin cut across his shoulder blade. That would leave a big scar across those perfect muscles as it healed. She didn’t mind the potential imperfection. No, she struggled against the idea of another woman seeing it years from now. They’d faced impossible odds and survived. They had a shared history of sorts as family friends and they’d certainly explored a passion that had both startled them and saved them during the crisis.
She’d told Mark she loved him, but still she couldn’t seem to find the courage to ask for what she really wanted. Forever had been a clear and tangible end point when Eaton was in control. Now it seemed like a wisp of something she couldn’t grasp.
Life and freedom. They had both now. The wide-open possibilities of the future created a new kind of fear in her heart. Fear that these were her last moments with Mark. Her breath caught as the incoming tide swirled between her toes.
The urgent need to tell him what she hoped for most faded much as the foam skittered away to rejoin the ocean. He’d been through enough, saving them both. She wouldn’t take the risk that he might see her feelings as yet another burden.
Offering only comfort, she rested her hand on the top of his shoulder, well away from the injury. “This needs stitches.”
“If you say so. You can see it better than I can.” He tilted his head up, blocking the sun with a hand. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”
“Dumb time to lose it, I know,” she said.
His long fingers circled her wrist and a new shiver went through her at the touch. He tugged her down beside him in the sand and pried the radio from her grasp. “And the gun,” he said, holding his palm open.
“Is he dead?”
“Unless he had oxygen tanks tethered right where I dropped him.”
After what she’d seen, she wouldn’t put it past him. “You’re not serious?”
“No. Logically, he’s fish food.” Mark cocked his head, his gaze on the soft rollers rising and breaking. “Although I wouldn’t have minded watching a shark frenzy in this particular instance.”
“He didn’t deserve the fanfare,” she said.
Mark chuckled. “I do like this bloodthirsty side of you.”
Relief and need overwhelmed her. She climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs. Gently, gently, knowing he was sore and there were likely plenty of injuries she couldn’t see, she took his face into her hands.
She was about as useless as could be with survival and fighting, but she knew how to bare her soul, to open that window and give back the beauty she saw in the world. With every heartbeat, she willed him to accept everything she offered, whether or not he could reciprocate.
Right now, she only wanted him to feel this astounding awareness that life was new again, all options open. Where there had been terror and fear, she would have him embrace hope and love.
When her mouth met his, when his hands cruised up and over her hips and stroked heat up the length of her spine, she started to believe the worst was done. Fresh need spiked her system and bright energy sparkled along her skin at every place their bodies touched.
“I called for help,” she said as his lips and tongue glided down her throat. “On the emergency frequency.”
“I heard. I knew you could do it.” His voice rumbled against her skin and she trembled. “How long do we have?”
“I don’t know.” She didn’t care. Her hips rocked against his arousal. Yes, adrenaline was a contributor here, but it wasn’t the only factor. She needed all the physical affirmation she could get that they’d made it.
His hands stilled her hips, holding fast when she tried to move.
“You didn’t get an answer to the Mayday?”
“I did.” His grip eased. “The coast guard answered. I told them what we know of our position.” She dropped her head to his shoulder and just breathed in the scent of him. If this was all he could give, she’d savor it. “I described the cabin cruiser and Muscle.”
“What did they say?” he asked. “Exactly.”
“Someone saw smoke from the fire we set. Help was coming since this is supposed to be an uninhabited island.” She would paint the feelings of this moment and their ordeal for years to come. All the ugliness they’d endured and the glorious passion they’d shared was imprinted on her mind, body and soul. Already she knew her brush would touch the canvas differently. She could hardly wait to explore the new facets this experience revealed.
“Anything else?”
Tears burned behind her closed eyelids. She could cry later. When she was home and Mark was gone, out of her day-to-day life. “I don’t know. You were fighting and I...I...” She just couldn’t put her deepest fear into words. Not even with Eaton gone.
Mark had said she was light and joy and he was too dark, too jaded for her. Should she try again to explain the essential compatibility of light and shadow? As her first professor in Paris had said at the end of her time there, this interlude is at an end, but the memories would carry her as she reached for new stars.
For once it would be nice if the journey toward new stars didn’t feel so lonely.
“Shh, it’s all good.” Mark smoothed a hand over her hair. “You’re amazing. Just amazing, Lottie.” He shifted her to sit beside him again and then seemed to melt into the warm, damp sand. “Let’s just breathe here for a minute.”
“You need water. First aid.”
“Later. Just be here with me.”
She stared into his face, still handsome under the mosaic of cuts and bruises Eaton had dished out. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
“Now I know you’ve had a heatstroke.” His lips twitched in a faint echo of the teasing smirk he used to flash all the time. His eyes flew open, alert and ready once more. “Or hit your head. Did Quick-Punch Kid hurt you?”
“Easy,” she soothed him this time. “I’m fine.” Especially now that she knew he was mostly okay. “You’re the one still bleeding.”
He’d taken the brunt of Eaton’s vengeance since that first moment in the alley behind the gallery. It seemed a lifetime ago.
“A scratch,” he insisted.
“If you’re sure.”
He reached up and cupped her neck, bringing her face close for a kiss. She lost herself in the gentle affection and now-familiar heat of desire. Until she recognized the bone-deep weariness that echoed her own.
Lifting her head, she bumped her nose to his, then rolled to her back. Her hand found his and they stared up at the impossibly blue sky. “We’ll rest and breathe until the coast guard arrives.”
It was the best plan they’d made in recent days.
Hours or minutes passed. Quick-Punch Kid shouted and was summarily ignored. The shadows from the trees shifted as the sun moved higher into the sky. And the two of them rested, breathing it all in until at last the radio crackled to life and the commanding voice of General Riley asked for confirmation of their position.
Mark handled that call while Charlotte tried not to cry.
At the unmistakable sound of a helicopter rotor, she sat up and waved at the orange coast guard rescue helicopter overhead. A few minutes later a coast guard cutter came into view, trailed closely by the Rileys’ sailboat. Her emotions simply overflowed and she was laughing and crying with relief and joy as Mark pulled her to her feet and held her close, keeping her steady.
Rescued! They could finally rest easy, completely safe for the first time in far too long.
If only she didn’t feel as if her first steps toward rescue and freedom meant walking away from loving Mark.