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.
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