then louder, “Marshall?” Her flashlight beam hit something and as she moved closer, she saw it was Emma. On the floor, in a pool of dark liquid. Craig was right next to her, his head skewed at an impossible angle. Neither of them moved.
A scream rose in her throat and she bit her lip to keep it in.
“What are you doing here?” Marshall’s voice startled her and she jumped.
“Go, get out.” He propelled her to the door, one arm around her waist.
“They’re dead, aren’t they?” she yelled over the howl of the wind.
Marshall kept a tight grip on her arm and they ran back to the main house. Once inside, he shut and locked the door.
“Get some dry clothes on and take this gun and shut yourself in a closet. I’m going to get an emergency beacon from the storage shed and try to get a signal with my cell phone.”
“Why would someone kill Emma and Craig?”
“I don’t know. Both of their weapons were nearby, so they intended to put up a fight. Tara, please do what I say, take the gun and get in the closet after you lock the door behind me. I’ll bang on it four times for you to let me back in.” Marshall yanked open a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a set of keys. “I’ll be right back.”
“What about you? You’re unarmed now.”
“I grabbed Craig’s weapon. Don’t worry about me.”
He ran the back of his hand down her cheek and gazed at her steadily. The passion she’d seen hours ago was replaced by tenderness and concern. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”
The determination she heard in his voice and the grim set of his mouth slowed her racing heart a bit and a measure of her terror subsided. She stripped off her wet clothes and changed, hands shaking as she pulled up the zipper of her jeans. Her mouth was dry and as she crouched on the floor of the closet, she realized she had to pee. She tried to put the thought out of her mind, but the more she did the greater the sense of urgency became. This situation was bad enough, she decided, without adding the discomfort and embarrassment of urine-soaked pants to the night. She eased open the closet door and peeked around the bedroom, listening intently. There was no one in the house, she was certain.
Tiptoeing down the hall, she held the gun in one hand and felt her way along the wall with the other. There was a faint glow coming from the bathroom, and she remembered they’d left a small battery-powered lantern burning there. Once inside, she eased the door partway shut, wincing as the hinges squeaked. Cursing herself for this ridiculous automatic gesture, she left the door where it was, dropped her drawers and quickly emptied her bladder.
There. Now she could think straight. She picked up the lantern, stuck her head out the door and listened intently for any unusual sounds, but only heard the wind and rain. Creeping down the hall, she turned the corner to the bedroom and there, next to the dresser, was a tabby cat, shaking water off itself.
Tara froze. The animal looked at her and she could swear it smiled, seconds before it morphed into a man. Denzel, from the coffee shop. She turned to run but he reached her first, grabbed her arm and squeezed hard. She dropped the gun and the lantern with a yelp of pain. He scooped up the weapon and pointed it at her head.
Suddenly, four loud knocks rang out from the back door and Marshall yelled her name. Tara didn’t move. They both started at the sound of the back door breaking. Denzel grabbed her and pulled her to him, the gun against her temple.
Marshall burst into the bedroom, his weapon up, flashlight shining straight at Denzel. “Let her go.”
“I don’t think so,” Denzel said. The pressure of the barrel increased and Tara whimpered. “Get that fucking light out of my eyes or I’ll shoot her right now.”
“You pull that trigger, I pull mine. You’re not going to get off this island for a while, and I’ll make sure every minute you spend here is pure agony.”
Denzel
A scream rose in her throat and she bit her lip to keep it in.
“What are you doing here?” Marshall’s voice startled her and she jumped.
“Go, get out.” He propelled her to the door, one arm around her waist.
“They’re dead, aren’t they?” she yelled over the howl of the wind.
Marshall kept a tight grip on her arm and they ran back to the main house. Once inside, he shut and locked the door.
“Get some dry clothes on and take this gun and shut yourself in a closet. I’m going to get an emergency beacon from the storage shed and try to get a signal with my cell phone.”
“Why would someone kill Emma and Craig?”
“I don’t know. Both of their weapons were nearby, so they intended to put up a fight. Tara, please do what I say, take the gun and get in the closet after you lock the door behind me. I’ll bang on it four times for you to let me back in.” Marshall yanked open a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a set of keys. “I’ll be right back.”
“What about you? You’re unarmed now.”
“I grabbed Craig’s weapon. Don’t worry about me.”
He ran the back of his hand down her cheek and gazed at her steadily. The passion she’d seen hours ago was replaced by tenderness and concern. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”
The determination she heard in his voice and the grim set of his mouth slowed her racing heart a bit and a measure of her terror subsided. She stripped off her wet clothes and changed, hands shaking as she pulled up the zipper of her jeans. Her mouth was dry and as she crouched on the floor of the closet, she realized she had to pee. She tried to put the thought out of her mind, but the more she did the greater the sense of urgency became. This situation was bad enough, she decided, without adding the discomfort and embarrassment of urine-soaked pants to the night. She eased open the closet door and peeked around the bedroom, listening intently. There was no one in the house, she was certain.
Tiptoeing down the hall, she held the gun in one hand and felt her way along the wall with the other. There was a faint glow coming from the bathroom, and she remembered they’d left a small battery-powered lantern burning there. Once inside, she eased the door partway shut, wincing as the hinges squeaked. Cursing herself for this ridiculous automatic gesture, she left the door where it was, dropped her drawers and quickly emptied her bladder.
There. Now she could think straight. She picked up the lantern, stuck her head out the door and listened intently for any unusual sounds, but only heard the wind and rain. Creeping down the hall, she turned the corner to the bedroom and there, next to the dresser, was a tabby cat, shaking water off itself.
Tara froze. The animal looked at her and she could swear it smiled, seconds before it morphed into a man. Denzel, from the coffee shop. She turned to run but he reached her first, grabbed her arm and squeezed hard. She dropped the gun and the lantern with a yelp of pain. He scooped up the weapon and pointed it at her head.
Suddenly, four loud knocks rang out from the back door and Marshall yelled her name. Tara didn’t move. They both started at the sound of the back door breaking. Denzel grabbed her and pulled her to him, the gun against her temple.
Marshall burst into the bedroom, his weapon up, flashlight shining straight at Denzel. “Let her go.”
“I don’t think so,” Denzel said. The pressure of the barrel increased and Tara whimpered. “Get that fucking light out of my eyes or I’ll shoot her right now.”
“You pull that trigger, I pull mine. You’re not going to get off this island for a while, and I’ll make sure every minute you spend here is pure agony.”
Denzel
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