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.
Lucy.
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.
Click.
“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.
Dillon!
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.
He picked her up and tossed her into the water, away from the rocks at the base of the cliff. He followed. Together, they both swam to the boat and climbed in.
He scanned the cliff. Dammit, Kate! Where are you?
“Who are you looking for? Were they following us?”
“Someone who’s been helping me find you.”
Kate was nowhere.
Dillon cut the lead rope and started the motor. He’d get Lucy to the copter.
Then he’d go back for Kate.
Kate checked Denise’s pulse. Nothing. She was dead.
The man outside was dead.
Gunfire was coming from two places in the cabin. One down the hall where she’d heard breaking glass. The other from the nook that turned into a kitchen.
She was behind a heavy wood table. She’d heard the scream, the gunfire, the breaking glass.
Please, Dillon. Get Lucy out now!
“Where is she?”
A man she didn’t recognize came out of the kitchen.
She needed to take her time. She had half a clip left. She couldn’t afford to waste the bullets. The gun she’d taken from the dead man outside had already been emptied.
Where was Roger Morton?
Roger emerged from the hall. “Someone took the girl. I’m going after them.” He ran past Kate’s hiding place.
The other man called out, “Where’s that bitch who killed Denise?”
“Hell if I know, she probably escaped with the girl!”
Roger left through the sliding glass doors and the second man hesitated, then followed.
Kate immediately left her hiding place and went to the room down the hall where Lucy had been held captive. Déjà vu hit her again as she stared at the broken camera, the broken window. Paige.
A naked man, bleeding, crawled toward her in the doorway.
She shot him in the head, imagining that he was Trask and she’d been in time to save Paige.
She jumped out the window, saw movement in the trees. A naked chest. Heard the startled cry of a girl in a dark green shirt.
Dillon had given his sister his shirt.
She had to buy them time to get to the boat.
She ran around the deck making noise. She fired into the air, then ran into the second man.
He was young, couldn’t be more than twenty. The realization startled Kate. She’d been expecting Roger.
But being young didn’t make him less of a killer. He raised his gun.
She was faster. Three pumps into his chest. He didn’t get a round off.
“Richie?”
Roger’s voice came from around the cabin. He emerged from the direction Dillon and Lucy had run from.
He saw Kate. “You fucking bitch!” He raised his gun. “I should have known it was you.”
Kate dove for cover, off the deck and into bushes. Hot, burning pain hit her upper arm and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out.
She pulled her tank top over her head-she had the black one over a white one-and tied it around her arm where Roger’s bullet had sliced cleanly through her skin. She leaned against a tree to catch her breath.
“Where’s the girl?” Roger called. Close. Too close.
Kate stood, got her bearings, exposed herself, and fired once, twice.
She missed, but Roger fell to the ground, giving her enough time to run.
Away from Dillon and Lucy. To give them time to get the hell off the island.