Chapter Nine

Doc

I sit up in the darkness, unsure what woke me. Until a loud crack pierces the night.

Who the hell would be shooting up here? That wasn't a hunting rifle. It sounded like a pistol.

Fuck. This island doesn't have a police force. Or any crime for that matter.

I'm out of my sleeping bag in seconds. Pants. Boots. Tactical knife. It's never far from me—even when I sleep—and I use my free hand to slowly unzip the tent flap. Call 911? It'd take them an hour to get here. Maybe more.

I scan the beach. Empty. The cabins are a mile away. But Nat's house…that's so much closer.

My watch face glows in the darkness. It's almost 2:00 a.m. I hold my breath and listen. Nothing out of place. Then again, I don't hear anything at all, and that's a problem. None of the nocturnal creatures in the underbrush. No birds. There's usually an owl or two hooting quietly in the distance.

It's like the entire island knows something's wrong.

A muffled cry carries over the breeze. Did that come from Nat's? I peer up at her house. No lights. No movement that I can see.

Maybe I imagined the whole thing. I was holding Tessa's body in my dreams. That one, terrible night has been haunting me lately. The night everything changed. The night I lost everything.

A woman screams. Nat's in trouble. Fear squeezes my heart in a vise. She's all alone up there.

I take off at a run. This isn't a dream. This is very, very real.

Her place is less than a quarter mile away, but the steep hillside is covered with pieces of driftwood, rocks, and shifting, sandy soil. My foot lands wrong, and I go down. Something sharp slices my knee, but I don't care. I have to get to her.

Her house is only a hundred yards away. A dull thud sounds from somewhere in the trees. Then another. A branch snaps. Fists land on soft flesh. Again and again and again.

"Why won't you stay down?" a man snaps.

"You…first." Nat's voice is strained. Higher pitched than it should be. Almost…thin. She gasps, then whimpers softly.

I creep closer. Years of training, and I'm still light on my feet. Utterly silent when I need to be. It's second nature, despite being a civilian for more than a decade.

A flash of light and another shot. I'm close now. Thirty yards. Twenty. I can hear Nat's ragged breathing. Uneven footsteps crash through the underbrush. They're on the move. Both of them. Their shadows are so close together. He's almost on top of her.

Gripping the knife like it's an extension of my hand, I focus on Nat's attacker. He doesn't know I'm here. Neither does she. They're too focused on each other. The crescent moon provides just enough light for me to see his outline. He's built. Bulky, but maybe an inch shorter than I am. Dressed all in black. Nat staggers behind a tree. She's wearing a light blue t-shirt and pale gray pants. Her arms are bare. She can't hide in the darkness like he can.

Tree bark splinters with his next shot. "If I have to chase you again?—"

"Fuck you—shit!" Nat yelps as the man grabs her by the hair and throws her to the ground. She tries to roll away, but he aims a swift kick to her stomach.

Retching, Nat curls in on herself.

"You were supposed to die eight years ago, bitch. Say hi to your big brother."

I don't give a shit about stealth now. Not when he jabs the pistol against her temple.

The asshole must hear me a second before I sink the blade into his shoulder. His pained cry is music to my ears. Except I missed the mark. I was going for his neck. His carotid artery to be precise.

Wrenching the knife free, I adjust my grip. He sweeps his leg back and catches me in the shins. Off balance, I only graze his arm. Nat tries to get up, but collapses before she makes it to her feet.

The gunman swings around, ready to fire. But he's losing blood. A lot of it. Maybe enough to be fatal if I can keep him focused on me. Or I'll get to slide the knife across his throat and watch him die.

I tuck and roll, coming up five feet away. "You want a fight? Bring it."

He rushes me. I'm not fast enough to sidestep his tackle. We hit the ground together. The impact drives the breath from my body. A tree branch digs into my back, into the old injury that never fully healed. Two vertebrae pop. My left leg starts to tingle, and for too long, I can't move.

Shit. Fuck. Not now. Not now!

"Should have stayed out of it, gramps."

A sliver of moonlight glints off the barrel of the gun as he takes aim. My diaphragm spasms. Air floods my lungs. I rear up, and the knife sinks into the soft flesh of his thigh. His eyes roll back. Dropping the pistol, he scrambles to pull the blade from his body.

Fuck. He's still not going down. My left leg is almost useless, but I aim an uppercut to his balls. A thin cry escapes his lips, and he falls to his knees.

"Respect…your elders…son," I grit out.

Asshole still isn't giving up. He fumbles on the ground, then slams a rock into my ribs. The crack of bone reverberates through me. For a few seconds, the world turns soft and fuzzy. Nat screams and leaps onto his back. Her fingernails rake down his face, leaving bloody trails on his cheeks. He lets out a roar, staggers to his feet, and slams her back into the closest tree.

She slides to the ground, wheezing.

Pine needles crunch under my fingers. The grip of the gun is sticky with blood. Getting up is harder than it should be. My knee threatens to buckle, but I draw down on the asshole. I'm in too much pain. My first shot goes wide.

I can do this.

The second two hit their mark. The man clutches his chest, turns, and runs.

The fucker just won't die. Was he wearing a vest? I stumble after him, but my leg is still half numb. He crashes through the woods to the west. I follow, but at the top of the hill, my foot lands on some loose brush and I go down. My hands find a pool of blood. So much, I don't know how the asshole isn't dead already.

A low oof is followed by a thud, and I squint down the hill in the darkness. He's rolling, sliding, falling. All the way to the main road. There's no way he'll survive this.

"Nat?" I pick my way over the uneven ground. "Say something!"

No response. My cracked rib sends sharp pain wrapping around my torso with each breath.

She hasn't moved. "Can you hear me?" I ask as I drop to my knees. Her eyes fly open, and she surges up with my knife clutched in her bloody fingers. I grab her wrist before she can strike. She's stronger than I'd expected. Strong enough I have to use both hands to pry the blade from her grasp. A low, almost feral sound rumbles in her throat a second before she collapses against me.

"I'm not him, Nat. It's Doc." I ease her back down to the ground. If she had a neck injury, she probably wouldn't have been able to attack me like that. But I can't carry her back inside. Not yet. I need to know moving her won't do more damage.

"Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

Nothing. Shit. Why didn't I grab my ruck?

"Because even without the tent, the damn thing weighs thirty pounds, and I never would have made it up the hill in time," I mutter. Except now, I need it. I never travel without my med kit and sat phone. McCabe might never call me again, but if he does, and I don't answer, someone could die.

With the handle of the knife, I check her reflexes. Knees. Elbows. Good enough.

After shoving the knife into my pocket and the gun into my waistband, I take Nat's arm and ease her up over my shoulders. I don't know if her house is safe, but it's sure as shit better lit and with more resources than out here.

A handful of steps lead up to the back deck. My knee buckles twice, but I manage to stay upright. One of the French patio doors hangs open, shards of glass littering the wood planks. Nat hasn't made a sound, and I pick my way over the mess and through the kitchen to find more broken glass on the other side of the counter.

The house is mostly dark, but light shines from the hall. Enough to see the couch is clear. Laying her down, I weigh the risks of going for my kit. If her attacker isn't dead, I'm leaving her vulnerable. But without it…

When I find the light switch, a lamp on the side table bathes the room in a gentle glow. Fucking hell. Her left cheek is swollen and bruised, the eyelid bright red. A dozen tiny cuts mar her forehead. But she's still so beautiful. Even now.

I skim my fingers through her hair and find bits of glass embedded in her scalp.

Shit. The asshole slammed her head into that door. She's barefoot. Her feet are bleeding. But they're nothing compared to her hip. A dark, red stain blooms over the pale gray pants.

"Nat? I need you to open your eyes."

Taking her hand in both of mine, I start rubbing it vigorously. Her eyelids flutter. "There you go. Look at me." Seconds pass, each one an eternity, until she blinks up at me.

"Doc? You can't be here. Go. Run." She tries to push herself up on an elbow, but I grab her shoulders.

"You need medical attention. My kit is back at my tent. I'm going to go get it, but I want you to answer some questions for me first. Do you know what day it is?"

"Don't have time for this." She twists out of my grasp, sits up, and sways. "Shit."

"You'll make time. Unless you want to pass out on your own and possibly bleed out right here." Even if she spent the next ten minutes calling me every name in the book, I wouldn't leave her like this, but I need her to know I'm serious.

"Is he…dead?" She grabs my biceps, fingers digging into the muscles hard enough to bruise. "If he's not dead, we have to get out of here. Now."

"I shot him twice. After I stabbed him. He fell down the embankment behind the house. If he's still walking, he's a fucking zombie."

Nat scowls. "Not good enough." Her lips tighten with pain. "Doc, please. I…we have to leave."

"You're in no shape to get up, baby." I cringe at the term of endearment. I don't have any right, but I can't help it. Did she notice?

"Doesn't matter." She closes her eyes and swallows hard. "If we don't leave, we're dead. We have to get to the marina. You can fly us to the mainland. It's the only way we live through this."

Whoever that asshole is—or was—she's terrified of him. And she needs a hospital. We both do. At least one of my ribs is broken, and my back is seriously fucked.

I pull the pistol from my waistband and eject the magazine. Four bullets left, plus one in the chamber. "You steady enough to fire a gun?"

Nat peers up at me warily. "Yes."

"Stay here and do not move. I need my ruck, then we'll go. I'll get us off the island."

Her hands shake as she accepts the Glock, but she grits her teeth and they steady.

"Hurry."

The five minutes it takes me to double time it back to my campsite feel like forever. I don't like leaving her, but what choice did I have? She's convinced we don't have much time, and I'm slow enough as it is with a cracked rib and bum leg.

Once we're in the air, we'll be safe. At least from the shooter and any friends he might have brought with him. But I'll have to fly close to the water. The Coast Guard station in Anacortes will be monitoring radar. If they see me without a flight plan, they could shoot me down.

I don't bother with the tent, cooler, or lantern, but roll up the sleeping bag and clip it to the bottom of the ruck. It'll be cold in the air, and Nat's lost too much blood.

The trip back up the hill is agony. Nothing can prepare you for the pain of a broken rib. How every shallow inhale sends an electric shock through your torso.

Steps from the deck, a spasm of pain steals my breath, and I go down. Hard. Another crunch comes from my rib. Not good. Nat isn't the only one in trouble here. But I force myself up, dragging the ruck behind me.

It's completely silent when I enter. Something's wrong. She's not where I left her. The house still smells like her though. Flowers and citrus amid the harshness of blood. No other scents.

Something hits the floor down the hall.

"Nat!" I drop the ruck and rush toward the sound. A large duffel bag lies on its side, and she's panting, her hand braced on the wall next to the closet. "I told you not to move."

"I don't take orders from you," she huffs and, with considerable effort, manages to straighten.

"Until we're in the air, you do. You have a car?" I heft the duffel over my shoulder and almost lose my balance. "Shit. If I find a set of dumbbells in here, we're going to have words later."

"You even look inside that bag, and we'll have words now." She pushes past me, her steps uneven. "I might need you right now, Doc, but the minute we land in Seattle, I'm gone. And you need to forget you ever met me."

I don't bother telling her there's no fucking way I'm forgetting her or letting her disappear. Not with how pale she is. With the sweat dotting her brow. With her obvious battle skills. She's got a history, and I hope she'll share it with me.

The short path to the garage feels like I'm walking through quicksand. I refused to let her carry the bags, and my strength is fading. Fast.

She doesn't have a car, but her ATV has a full tank of gas. I try to slow my breathing as Nat helps strap the bags to the back of the vehicle. That last fall didn't do me any favors. Nat, at least, doesn't appear to be getting any worse.

"Can you hold on to me?" I ask as the ATV sputters to life. "Be honest. How bad off are you?" Cupping her cheek, I make a show of checking her pupils, but I just needed to touch her. To know she's still with me.

She meets my gaze for a long moment. I've only seen that look in her eyes once before. When Gladys fell. She's scared.

"I can hold on. But floor it."

As if I wouldn't.

She settles herself behind me and wraps an arm around my waist. Pain stabs deep from under my arm all the way to my sternum. I can't take a full breath. The garage door rises too slowly. Nat keeps the Glock clutched tightly in her free hand.

"Clear," she says. "Go." I accelerate onto what passes for a road around here and get the vehicle up to speed. Nat's warm weight at my back is reassuring, even as it gets harder and harder to breathe with her arm around me.

We round the final bend. The marina stretches out below us, peaceful and still. Half the berths are empty. In a few days, boats will be tethered to one another six deep. Summer weekends see every campground, cabin, and vacation rental occupied. But for now, there's nothing stopping us from getting the hell off the island.

Easing the ATV to a stop as close to the dock as I can get, I wait for her to slide off the vehicle. I miss her body heat, but I need to be able to take a deep breath. Except, I can't. It's like someone wrapped ropes around my torso. They're getting tighter and tighter with every passing minute.

Fuck me. The broken rib. The fall. The slight wheeze only I can hear. I could be in real trouble. Air in my chest cavity is collapsing my lung. A pneumothorax can turn fatal fast. It's only a forty-five-minute flight back to Seattle. Will I make it? God, I hope so.

The Cessna bobs gently on the water. I dig the keys out of my ruck and toss them to Nat. "Get in. Stow the bags. I'll…take care of the moorings."

She nods. In the lights dotting the dock, blood glistens along her hip. A rivulet trails down her temple. Head wounds bleed like a son of a bitch, and she has a dozen of them.

My wheezing is getting louder. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. The thick ropes securing the plane to the dock weigh twice as much as they should.

I toss the first hank through the open door and move to the rear tie down. Before I can finish winding the second rope around my arm, a crack shatters the silence of the night. Followed by a metallic plink along the wing.

A second shot, then a third hit the fuselage. If we don't get out of here right fucking now, there won't be a plane left to fly.

"He's not…dead!" I shout as I dive through the door. "Stay down!"

Nat's glassy eyes widen. She slides lower in the copilot's seat. "He'll never stop. He'll find me. And you."

I open the throttle, flip the master switch, and turn on the fuel pump. Another shot hits the wing. "Shit." My vision tunnels for a breath. A very strained breath.

"You have a back door on this thing?" Nat asks.

"Baggage…hatch." I jerk my head toward the rear of the plane. She lurches between the seats, drops to her knees, and pulls the gun from her waistband.

I can't worry about her. Not now. Getting the plane in the air is all that matters. Fuel mixture. Beacon light. Ignition.

The propeller starts to spin. Nat gets the baggage door open. A bullet whizzes through the cabin. She takes aim and fires. The plane jerks, then starts to accelerate out of the slip. Another shot hits the opposite wing.

At this rate, we'll be lucky to get out of the marina.

I crane my neck to see out the window. The asshole should have died half an hour ago. All that blood. He staggers down the dock, a rifle aimed right at us.

"Come on. Come on," Nat chants. "A little closer."

I force as much of a breath as I can. "Last…chance."

She fires again. We're close enough, I can see the arterial spray. Kill shot. Right through the throat. The rifle clatters over the wood planks and follows him into the water.

"Close…the door... Unless you're…sure…he doesn't…have friends."

"Not sure of anything." Nat slams the hatch shut, locks it, and climbs back into the seat next to me.

Come on, baby. Just a little bit more.

I open the throttle, adjust the flaps, and set the rudder. I can do this. I've done it a hundred times before.

The gentle tug of the water as we lift off is the most reassuring sensation in the world. I turn us south, but as we pass over Lopez Island, the engine starts to sputter.

"Fuck…fuck!" I wheeze. The fuel gauge hovers just over Empty. "Asshole…shot the tanks. We're going down."