40. Jezebel

CHAPTER 40

JEZEBEL

F uck Demelza, fuck this island, fuck Witt and Clint and Jon.

Fuck this cast.

Fuck these stupid feelings that kept sucking me deeper and deeper into Cole’s orbit.

I climbed—carefully—onto the pile of nightstands and hoisted myself onto the barracks’ roof, then set about changing “HELP” to “BEAR.” If Echo thought I’d drawn a lion, she and Tulsa would have a good laugh and leave me here for some “alone time” before they sent a boat.

Changing the H to a B was easy enough, but changing the L to an A? Not so straightforward. When I tried to erase the line at the bottom of the L, the stones all mixed together into a greyish mess. And I couldn’t stand up properly in case Cole saw me messing around where I wasn’t supposed to be.

He’d gone down to the beach to catch dinner, so he said, but I hadn’t seen anything tasty in the water there yesterday. Which meant more slippery, bland sea cucumber. At least it was a source of protein. Cole planned to make a spear and try for fish, and if he lost my dive knife, I’d be a little irritated. That was an understatement.

I waved at the sky in case Echo was watching—I had no idea which time zone she was in, but she barely slept so there was a slim chance she’d see me—and carried on scraping at the stones. If Cole came up to the roof again for any reason, I’d have some explaining to do, but?—

Wait.

Had Echo seen the bear?

I heard the buzz of an engine in the distance, and it was getting closer. Not a merchant ship, but something smaller and faster, like one of the RIBs we used occasionally on operations. Definitely not the Crosswind —the sound was higher in pitch. If this was the Choir, I’d kiss Echo.

No, I wouldn’t. She’d hate that.

But I would fly to Paris and buy her a family-sized box of macarons.

Right after I came up with a cover story for Cole. Maybe we could say they were influencers on a scouting expedition? The girls would go along with it, of course they would, but he wasn’t stupid. The chances of success also depended on who came with the boat. If Dusk, Dice, or Tulsa showed up, the story wouldn’t wash because he’d seen them at the Sunrise Diner.

The engine noise grew louder, and there was no doubt the vessel was heading in the direction of Skeleton Cay. I looked east, standing on tiptoe, and caught sight of a small white sport-fishing boat skipping over the waves. Not a government visit, then. I tried to see who was on board, but the sun glinting off the water blinded me.

Perhaps they were just in the area to fish? Or poach? If that was the issue, we needed to lie low until they were gone. Alone, I might have been tempted to borrow their boat, but Cole would probably frown upon my methods.

I was about to jump off the roof and hop-skip-jog to the harbour when he started jumping around like a cricket on crack and yelling for help.

Fuck my damn life.

“Get down!” I shouted as loudly as I dared, and either he didn’t hear me or he thought he knew best, because he ran along what was left of the jetty, waving.

My gun was still on board the Crosswind . Cole had my knife. When we got back to the US, the first thing I’d be doing was sending him on a survival course. Not a “gut a fish, light a fire” survival course, a counterterrorism course. The kind that taught you how not to start a new career as a hostage.

Because that was surely what was about to happen.

There were six men on the boat, and at least one of them had a gun, something AK-47-ish slung across his back. Not a rescue party, then. Guns were controlled in San Gallicano, and nobody got a semi-automatic rifle without strict checks. There was only one range in the country where folks were allowed to shoot them.

Watch or go?

Watch or go?

I needed a picture of what was happening, but I was also a sitting duck up here, and there was a chance they’d seen me when I called out. If the men stuck together, I’d have a challenge on my hands, but if they split up…

The temptation to run down to the harbour was almost overwhelming, and that was why feelings were dangerous. Acting without thinking could be a death sentence.

If they shot Cole right away, I wouldn’t get there in time.

If they decided to bundle him onto the boat, I might make it, but it would still be six against one.

If they’d seen me, they’d most likely keep him as a bargaining chip until they’d caught both of us. They’d split up and search until they found me .

I almost grinned. See? When you thought things through, the answers were obvious.

“Hey!” I screamed at the top of my voice as the boat drew to a stop alongside Cole. “Help! Up here! We got shipwrecked!”

Two men jumped onto the jetty, and now Cole was backing away. He recognised the danger, and my heart lurched because this wasn’t his world; it was mine. Even from here, I could see the fear etched across his face when he turned to look at me.

“Run!” he yelled as one of the motherfuckers aimed a pistol at his head.

Oh, I planned to run, but not very far. The other four men scrambled out of the boat and jogged toward the path that led up the hill, clearly familiar with the island. Keeping low, I hurried to the fire escape. Hell, I needed to lose this cast, but I couldn’t cut the zip ties without a knife, and Cole had the knife.

When I hit the ground, I’d already considered my options. If the enemy knew the island well, if they knew the barracks building, they’d head around the back to the fire escape. If they weren’t familiar with the entrances and exits, they’d venture inside. When they didn’t find me, they’d try the forest that covered the north of the island. That was the obvious place for a panicked woman to run.

But I wouldn’t be there.

Instead, I schlepped down the twisting path toward the harbour, then slipped into the brush a hundred yards later. Just in time. Running footsteps approached, and I counted as they passed. One, Two, Three… Where was Four?

I heard wheezing. Oh. Somebody hadn’t been to the gym.

I waited. Wow, he really was in bad shape.

As he passed, I booted him in the jaw with my cast, and he dropped like a stone .

Boom.

I quickly dragged him off the trail and checked his pockets. No gun. How on earth did he expect me to cooperate? Cigarettes, matches, a broken phone, a few crumpled bills. No weapon at all. What did he even think he was doing here? I picked up a decent-sized rock and gave him a skull fracture to think about. He wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.

One down, five to go.

These men were obviously up to no good, but they were also clearly stupid. A smart gang of poachers or whatever would have tucked their guns into a locker, rocked up at the jetty, expressed sympathy, dropped the two castaways back to civilisation, and accepted the accolades that followed. Then they’d have gotten back to their criming.

But these idiots? Man, they’d made a big mistake.

So far, I didn’t know much about them—their background, their motives, their reason for being here were all a mystery—but I’d learned one thing. They had no clue how to move around quietly. Something that I’d become quite adept at, although even I couldn’t get far in this tangle of greenery.

I tucked myself behind a sturdy tree trunk and listened. And listened. And listened. It didn’t take long for the next fool to come crashing toward me. Fortunately, he didn’t have a gun in his hand. Unfortunately, I went in for a kick at the same time as a spider dropped from the canopy above, and he ducked out of the way. Rather than connecting with his jaw as I intended, the blow from my cast glanced off his shoulder, and he stumbled forward.

No matter.

I’d trained for that the way I trained for everything.

With no hesitation, I leapt onto his back and wrapped my right arm around his throat, using my left to apply more pressure. Manual strangulation was a bitch. They never went down fast the way they did in the movies. Sometimes they yelled, sometimes they bit, sometimes they clawed you to pieces. Thankfully, this guy went for option three, and he had short nails.

I clung on with my arms but not my legs, using my full body weight to pull the makeshift noose tighter around his throat. After what seemed like forever, but in reality probably wasn’t long at all, he crumpled to the ground.

A quick search through his pockets brought better news than last time—he carried a knife. It was bigger than his dick, so like three inches long, but size didn’t matter when it came to slitting a man’s throat. Unless we were talking machetes. You could take a dude’s head right off with one of those. I wiped the blood off the blade on his pants and pocketed my new toy.

Two down, four to go. I hadn’t heard any noise from Cole, but nor had I heard a gunshot, so I had to take that as a good sign.

Another rustle, and I went after target number three. It was the guy with what I now saw was an AR-15. Quite a nice one. Whatever these shitbirds were up to, it obviously paid good money. But like his comrades, he was poorly trained, and the gun was slung over his back, the strap hanging crosswise across his body.

In a throwback to number two, I leapt on his back, grabbed the strap with both hands, and pulled it tight across his neck. Unfortunately, I caught him a little too much by surprise and he fell over backward, trapping me underneath him. I was fairly sure the butt of the rifle broke a rib.

Motherfucker.

But no pain, no gain, right?

Those three inches of steel slipped between his fourth and fifth ribs like a red-hot poker through butter. It wasn’t long before he began gargling blood, which trickled all over me.

Fabulous.

As if playing assassin in a bikini weren’t bad enough, now I was accessorising with haemoglobin.

But at least I had a gun, and the thirty-round magazine was still full. Nothing in the chamber. Sloppy. For completeness’ sake, I checked his pockets and found a ChapStick, a roll of mints, and a bunch of keys. Keys to what? Was one for the boat? The other three were smaller, and they didn’t look like house keys. Padlock keys?

The padlock on the sally port?

Was that why they’d come here? Did they have access to the prison? Why did they need access to the prison? I sincerely hoped I hadn’t killed a bunch of government officials.

No, government officials wouldn’t show up with an AR-15. They wouldn’t hold a gun on a man asking for help. They’d bring clipboards, checklists, and officious attitudes.

I stayed still for a moment. Breathed steadily. Took stock of the situation. There were three men left, at least one with Cole and potentially two in the wind. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure flit past a second-floor window inside the barracks, just for a second, and then he was gone. They were still searching. The big question: was Barracks Dude alone?

I stayed still and watched.

When there was no sign of a friend, I took a chance and ran across the courtyard, then slipped inside through the broken front door. There was only one staircase in the barracks, two half-flights with a landing in the middle. All I had to do was tuck myself into the nook beneath the lowest flight and wait for him to walk into my loving arms.

He did precisely that a minute later.

I’d been in two minds whether to shoot him. On the one hand, it was quick and easy, but on the other hand, if the men holding Cole heard a gunshot, would they assume I was dead?

And if they assumed I was dead, would they decide they had no use for Cole anymore?

In the end, my fourth victim made the decision for me. He jogged down the stairs, coming fast, and from the heaviness of the footsteps, he was a big man. I wasn’t going to risk my safety by making this more difficult than it had to be. Cole would be in trouble either way.

One shot was all it took. Number four flinched as he saw me emerge from the shadows, but it was too little, too late. I aimed for centre mass, then kept my finger poised above the trigger as he tumbled down the last few stairs and landed in a heap at the bottom.

Hurriedly, I tucked him out of sight, but there wasn’t much I could do about the blood trail. I’d have to dispatch the last two men PDQ.

Time to head for the harbour.