Lie by Night: An Out of Darkness novel (Entangled Ignite) (3 page)

To Emma’s horror, her stomach growled. Too on edge for a proper breakfast, she’d eaten only toast this morning. Based on the encroaching darkness, that was more than twelve hours ago.

The sun completed its descent, and a chill enveloped the island. The men settled in around the embers of their fire. She became increasingly grateful for Cole’s nearness, his warmth. Her eyes grew heavy despite her uncomfortable surroundings, despite the armed men lounging only yards away. Relaxing against him, she let go of her worries for just a minute.

Her lids drifted shut. The man next to her felt good.

Really good.

Her eyes flew open. What the hell was she thinking?

The last time she’d trusted him, he’d betrayed Jacob. And under no circumstances could she trust a man who’d so callously—so readily—betrayed her brother.

Chapter Three

Cole felt Emma relax. Her breathing slowed as she nestled next to him. Although they’d been close for hours, he was well aware that she’d held herself rigid most of that time.

He might not trust her, but he did admire her. She’d been a trouper, hiding out in this tiny cubby, clutching her ridiculous Mace as though her life depended on it.

As though it could fend off four men with MP7s, the compact and lightweight new generation of submachine guns. Someone with money was financing this operation.

Another hour passed before three of the men slept. The man assigned to guard the camp—luckily, the lazy guy with the flask—took another drink. He turned the container upside down. Empty. He grunted and lounged against his backpack.

Cole needed to stay and observe. After weeks of searching for remnants of Alistair Forrester’s drug network, he was finally closing in on answers. Somehow, Forrester managed to run his operation from the institution for the criminally insane where he’d landed after kidnapping Cole’s closest friends, Zach and Lizzie Weston. The man was crazy—crazy smart, crazy vengeful, and crazy evil. They should have killed him when they had the chance.

The old man had nearly destroyed the Weston family. Zach now dedicated significant resources from his firm, Weston Security, to finding and destroying the remains of Forrester’s drug operation.
After all,
Zach said when he entrusted Cole with the search,
the bastard is my uncle, and it’s up to family to clean up his mess
. Though Cole wasn’t a Weston by blood, he was well and truly adopted—not only by friendship, but as a part of the Weston Security team.

He’d searched the warehouse and then staked it out for three long, boring days, before deciding to blow it to hell. Now, the men around the campfire had information he needed. But the woman who slept peacefully beside him? Unfortunately, his honor demanded he see her to safety first.

Minutes passed, marked only by the jungle’s night sounds. An owl hooted and small prey rustled in the undergrowth as the wilderness came to life. The flask dropped from the guard’s hand. His head jerked once…twice…a third time until, at last, he slept.

About damn time.

Cole turned toward Emma. Even with his uncanny night vision, she appeared more shadow than substance in the dark hideout. At his movement, her eyes flew open. The irises caught a sliver of the dying fire’s glow.

“Time to go.” He mouthed the words with a breath of sound. Her eyes widened. She nodded.

He glanced at the sleeping men. This was their best chance. It would be so much easier without his unexpected guest. He hesitated.

He was certain she wasn’t involved with these men. Almost certain. Despite their instant attraction, he hadn’t known her long enough or well enough to be sure she wasn’t simply an amazing actress. When dealing with Forrester, one had to be very careful whom to trust.

If she wasn’t part of Forrester’s team, he needed to protect her.

Decision made, Cole quietly removed the brush entrance to their hiding place, placing it aside, along with his doubts. With minimal room to maneuver, he crawled out, taking care not to injure Emma as he levered his body over hers. He made little noise, and yet every scrape across the earth seemed to resound in the night. When his shoulders and arms were free, he pulled his Sig Sauer from its holster, never stopping his forward movement. Once clear of the thicket, he crouched low, angled so he could see both their hideout and the snoring men.

Emma’s dark head appeared at the entrance, silky tresses slipping from the confines of her hat. Keeping the gun pointed toward the men, he waved her out with his free hand. She slithered into the open. Not as quiet as he’d been, but not bad. As she cleared the entrance, he saw that the backpack tagged along behind, her foot hooked through the shoulder loop. Despite their circumstances, he grinned. She stood quickly, turned to pick up the bag, and was ready to go. He replaced the brush cover to conceal their hiding place.

Cole reached to take the backpack. Behind them, a man coughed. He spun, gun raised. The men slept on.

Leaving the bag with Emma, he turned east and moved swiftly toward a concealed path opposite the one on which Emma had arrived. He glanced back to ensure Emma followed close behind, then jogged toward an unbroken part of the tree line.

…

As Emma kept pace with Cole, her heart pounded in her chest, the sound echoing through her head, drowning out the sounds of the forest night. She settled the heavy backpack on her shoulders as she scrambled to keep up. Where was he headed?

When they reached the edge of the clearing, he pulled a large branch back to reveal a narrow entrance into the jungle. He waved her ahead of him. She slipped inside, waiting as he followed and then pulled the makeshift cover down to disguise their escape route. Before it dropped, she could see rope in the moonlight. The branch had been rigged to create camouflage for this claustrophobically narrow path.

Again, she wondered what Cole was doing here. The man owed her some answers, and as soon as they were safe, he would damn well explain himself.

Cole brushed past Emma, holding her shoulders to keep her from tumbling back into the undergrowth. In the dim light that penetrated the jungle, she discerned the barest hint of a path. She shifted the heavy backpack and followed him, aware that he held branches out of her way so she could pass unimpeded.

They traveled upward along a narrow trail for what felt like a long time before it intersected a footpath. When he paused, she looked back. She could see the faint glow from the fire. They hadn’t travelled as far as she’d thought. She swallowed. The fire burned more brightly, indicating that someone was awake and tending it.

“Give me the backpack.” Cole spoke in a whisper,

“I’m fine.” What was in the backpack anyway? Something important, or he wouldn’t want it. Visions of weapons and satellite devices flitted through her mind. Things she might need. Already her shoulders ached. But she wasn’t admitting that to Cole.

“We’re going to run.” He reached for the backpack again. “A long way.”

Emma shrugged out of the straps. She was stubborn. Not stupid.

He turned.

“Wait!” She hissed.

He whipped back around, a scowl on his face.

She opened her mouth, then shut it. Oh hell—she opened it again and whispered, “We’ve been hiding for hours.”

When she stopped, his frown deepened. His hand tapped against his leg.

“We’ve…been…hiding…out…for…hours.” Was the man dense? “I have to pee.” She spat the last words.

The Neanderthal grinned. “Good idea. Be quick.”

She stood there, confusion painting a frown on her brow.

He gestured broadly. “These are the facilities. You have one minute.” He turned his back.

Mortified, she looked for a place to step off the path. Visions of lizards and other creatures danced before her.

She peed in the trail, thankful for the tissue in her pocket. Behind her, the sound of Cole relieving himself reached her ears. Hmphhh. She zipped her jeans. Somehow she’d imagined her brother’s clandestine life as being a bit more glamorous. She missed her lovely job at the university, with its clean bathrooms and poor quality toilet paper.

“Let’s go.” Cole set off at a quick pace. Emma hustled to catch up. They’d been running for only a minute when she faltered.

Her sense of direction had always been uncanny. They were headed the wrong way.

“Cole.” Her urgent whisper went unheeded. “Cole!” Louder this time, and still he jogged on.

She reached out to grab the backpack and jerked. The backpack pulled toward her and then yanked her forward as the slack caught. He continued without slowing pace—as though she were no more bother than a gnat. She hissed his name and scrambled to grab hold again. Again her fierce tug failed to stop him, but this time when she jerked forward, she tripped and flailed headfirst into him. Her arms tangled in his legs, and they both crashed into the brush lining the trail. The sound of breaking branches joined her cry of surprise, a cry cut short when she hit the ground hard.

Stunned, she sprawled in the dirt, staring at him.

“Shit.” Cole hopped up. He checked his gun and cocked his head¸ concentration evident on his face.

Emma heard nothing but her own heavy breathing.

“What do you want?!” He glared at her while he adjusted the backpack.

“What? I…” She struggled to think, all the while praying they were far enough away that the men hadn’t heard them. Sound carried on the night air.

“Come on, we need to move.” He turned to leave.

“No, wait.” She rushed her words. This was not the way she needed to go. “We’re going the wrong way.”

“The wrong…” He ran his hand through his hair. “No…”

“No, my boat. It’s that way.” She pointed in the opposite direction, back the way they’d come.

He leaned so close she could feel his breath on her face as he hissed, “Back that way are four men with guns. Men who probably woke up when we went tumbling into the brush like a couple of elephants.” He tapped his fingers against his leg.

She poked him in the chest. “I know there are men back there.” It took all of her self-control to keep her voice low. “We can circle around and get back to the boat. You can come with us.”

“Us?” Even in the moonlight, she could see Cole’s face grow red. “There’s someone here with you? Of all the…”

“Yes, a man. A nice, old man who used to be the groundskeeper here gave me a ride.” Emma straightened her shoulders. She didn’t have to put up with his insults.

He said nothing.

She turned to head back. Strong fingers wrapped around her arm, drawing her to his chest.

“Listen up, lady. That boat is long gone by now. The old man would have made a run for it when the building blew. If he even hung around that long. The only place to land a boat that way,” he swept his arm in a wide arc, “is a nice wooden dock that our four friendly gunmen certainly saw when they arrived. Trust me. There is no boat. There are, however, four men who might be headed this way right now. It’s time to move!”

Emma swallowed hard. She nodded. When Cole remained still, she shoved him.

“Let’s go.”

A half grin flitted across his face. He turned and set a fast pace down the path.

She ran in his wake. One mile. What felt like another. Sweat beaded her brow despite the chill air. An occasional cry split the night, and she tried not to think about what dangers lurked in addition to the four men. Over the soft thud of their feet, she thought she heard the distant sound of surf.

They ran until her breathing became labored.

Cole stopped without warning. Emma nearly ran him down for a second time. He steadied her. They took slow steps forward. He pressed his index finger to his lips, and then took her hand as she fought to quiet her breathing. They stepped out of the forest, still tucked in the dark shadows beneath the trees. A pristine beach stretched before them. Moonlight gleamed on waves that caressed the shore with a soothing rhythm.

It would have been perfect except there was no damn boat.

Chapter Four

Cole scanned the beach, intensely aware of Emma as she drew in a shaky breath. Her fingers trembled in his hand, then clenched. Before she could start griping about the location of her boat, he whispered, “There’s a boat hidden behind that hill.”

The beach lay deserted, cast in shadow as clouds drifted in front of the moon, obscuring the scene. The ground stretched flat before them, rising steeply in the distance to form a dune.

His impatient partner stepped forward, but he restrained her with a simple squeeze of her hand. They remained in the shadows, hand in hand, until Emma suddenly tensed.

He nodded. At last, she’d heard it, too. They weren’t the only people on the beach.

A man rose from behind the dune, a machine gun slung over his shoulder. Cole squinted into the darkness. Although he couldn’t make out the man’s features, his build was different, more powerful. A fifth man.

The man spoke into his phone, using the speaker so that an agitated response drifted across the sand.

Cole shrugged the backpack off his shoulder. The man continued down the beach, his eyes darting from one location to another until he seemed satisfied he was alone. As he neared their end, he stopped and pulled a cigarette and lighter from his pocket. The snick of the lighter floated above the sounds of the gentle surf. The flame illuminated a black and red tattoo on his forearm.

Any move they made would have to be quick. The man stuffed the lighter back into his pocket and took a long drag, staring out at the sea. The phone at his belt squawked. He pushed a button and spoke rapidly, using the phone in walkie-talkie mode as he searched the shoreline with watchful eyes. He took one more deep drag on the cigarette before flicking it to the ground. Then, he turned and started back at a slow jog.

Cole cursed under his breath.

He leaned close to Emma again and whispered in her ear. “Stay here. Watch for my signal. Then run like hell to join me.”

She nodded.

He withdrew his gun as he crouched low and sprinted down the beach, gaining on the slower man with each step. The distance between them narrowed. Just before Cole reached him, the guard sensed his presence. He turned, pulling his gun off his shoulder at the same time.

Cole cursed his lack of a silencer and dived, hitting the man low, before he could raise and fire the submachine gun. The weapon flew from the man’s hands as Cole made contact, and they rolled across the sand. The other man was big, stronger than Cole, and meaner. Cole landed a solid punch as the phone squawked again.

He grappled for control of the device. They fell to the ground, wrestling in the sand, the transceiver left behind as they fought. The gunman flipped him over, gaining the upper hand as he pressed his arm against Cole’s windpipe. A switchblade appeared in his hand. The metal blade glistened in the night.

Cole grabbed the man’s wrist with both hands, bucking and twisting in an attempt to dislodge the arm that impeded his air supply. The struggle for air grew increasingly difficult. Cole feigned weakness and rolled his eyes back in his head, allowing the man to think he was defeated.

The gunman lightened the pressure on his throat. That was all the advantage Cole needed…

Unexpectedly, the gunman jerked and went limp. Cole’s chest heaved as he gasped for breath. He shoved the unconscious man aside and stared at Emma. She stood over them, backlit by moonlight, holding a stout limb, the backpack on her shoulders.

He pushed himself up. “I thought I told you to wait for my signal.” He pulled a zip tie from his pocket and bound the unconscious man’s hands, noting the sinister black and red snake tattoo coiled around the man’s powerful arm.

“When he flipped you over and held the knife to your throat, I thought that was the signal.” She sounded pleased with herself.

Cole grunted. “Let’s go.”

As they fled toward the boat, the unconscious guard’s phone squawked again, demanding response. The voices sounded winded—backup was on the way.

He and Emma ran up the dune. They skidded down the far side toward a sand bar. Not one, but two speedboats waited. The gunman’s larger, more powerful boat seemed to dwarf his small, sleek one.

He stopped to untie his rope from a wooden stake in the ground.

“Get in.” He scooped up a handful of sand as the rope dropped free.

…

Emma stood, mired in indecision. Which boat? And should she go with Cole or cut out on her own? She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the heavy backpack cutting into her shoulders. She’d leave him the other boat. She might not completely trust him, but she wasn’t going to leave him to the hoard of thugs.

However, she’d take the backpack.

Decision made, she tossed the pack into the boat Cole had just untied and took one step into the water only to find herself lifted aboard. Voices carried through the night. Not from the walkie-talkie.

She slid into the driver’s seat, flinging the backpack to the floor, and fumbled for a key. Nothing. She squinted in the weak light as she ran her hands over every surface near the dash. Still no key.

Cole boarded the second boat. He flipped the hatch to reveal the engine and poured the sand inside. She watched as he unscrewed a cap, dunked it into the ocean, and poured three capfuls of salt water into the gas tank. Then he shoved the fuel door shut and leapt from his boat to hers, causing the vessel to rock precariously.

She set her jaw. Apparently, they were fleeing together. Fine. She could have made it on her own, but, she reluctantly admitted, she was better off with him. Regardless of what tools the backpack contained, it wouldn’t help her navigate the ocean—her seafaring experience amounted to the occasional ferry ride in New York. She shifted to the boat’s passenger seat before Cole could muscle her out of the way.

He withdrew the key from his pocket and jammed it into the ignition. The engine turned, but didn’t catch.

“Come on, damn it!” He turned the key again, and when the engine roared to life, he threw the boat into reverse with enough speed to jerk Emma back in her seat and then propel her forward. Whiplash. Great. An excellent complement to the crick in her neck from lying in the dirt for hours.

“Hold on.” He spun the boat and headed into open water.

Looking toward shore, she watched as the tall guy from the campsite crested the dune, slid haphazardly down the hill, and stumbled toward the shore. He pulled his weapon from its holster and took aim. Water exploded to the side and behind the boat. She released a breath. They were out of range.

Cole banked hard right, setting a course back to the other side of the island and the relative safety of St. James.

The brothers, half-carrying the injured man between them, converged on the remaining boat. Even at their growing distance, she could see them weigh anchor. The engine turned over, and the men threw the boat into reverse, spinning to give chase. The boat leapt from the water.

Damn. It was clearly more powerful than their vessel. Emma jammed her hand into her pocket to clench her Mace.

The larger boat devoured the space between them, gaining by the yard. Automatic gunfire exploded from the deck. Bullets tore up the water behind them.

Then a horrible grinding noise rent the night. Even as the powerful engine died, the men’s boat raced forward, each yard gained a testament to Newton’s law of objects in motion. She and Cole sped away until the men became nothing more than a speck in the moonlight, their shouts and curses fading beneath the sound of the speedboat motor and churning sea.

Cole made a hard left as they rounded the island point, sending ocean spray flying, and they headed toward open water. Emma looked back, the dock where she’d landed hours earlier barely visible. The old man and his boat were gone—along with her beautiful bag. At least she’d kept everything critical—her passport and money, the Mace and microchip—on her person. She blinked back tears at the thought of her lost luggage, one more connection to Jacob wrenched from her grasp.

She slumped, the backpack held snug in her arms. They’d made it.

Closing her eyes, she pondered what to do next. She had multiple reasons not to trust the man who’d probably just saved her life. And his betrayal six months ago paled in comparison to her chief concern—that anyone involved with that island and that warehouse knew something about Jacob’s disappearance.

She observed his harsh profile by moonlight. In the hours since he’d knocked her off her feet, this was her first chance to examine him. Oh sure, she’d felt his powerful presence, been lulled by the steady beating of his heart, witnessed firsthand his physical strength, but this was the first time she’d really seen him since he’d shielded her from the explosion.

His short hair stood straight up in the strong breeze. His chiseled jaw was set in a firm line. The moon shone bright, illuminating signs of fatigue in the lines of his face. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she remembered those quite well. How they’d blazed brighter than the flames from the warehouse fire and turned a deeper blue than the tropical water. Stubble marked his jaw. She’d felt the roughness of his cheek as well when he whispered in her ear.

She continued to stare, having no idea what in the world to do about him.

…

Cole kept his gaze on the horizon, periodically checking the compass to ensure they were headed toward James Island. Though he didn’t look her way, he remained acutely aware of Emma.

Hell, she’d been great. She’d remained quiet in the small hiding space. Kept pace on their trek to the boat. There’d been that moment when she’d flattened him, but no big deal; that stumble had only delayed them briefly. And she’d helped him when the steroid-devouring goon held a knife to his throat. Not that he couldn’t have freed himself.

It was becoming harder and harder to distrust her. And that made him even more wary, because Forrester’s skill at planting spies was second only to his business savvy in the illicit drug trade. He didn’t know why she’d been on the island, but he did believe she wasn’t part of the goon squad. You couldn’t fake the kind of fear and adrenaline he’d witnessed.

She was pissed about the warehouse, and if he’d heard her whispered
Jacob
correctly, it had something to do with her brother. He knew one thing for sure about her—she was fiercely loyal to her brother. As dedicated to Jacob as Jacob was to her.

At least that’s what he remembered.

He eased back on the throttle, minimizing the engine’s noise. They had about an hour until they reached their destination. He perused the surrounding area. Their pursuers’ boat was out of commission, but he hadn’t seen the fourth man from the warehouse, and there could be other boats.

Cole heard the sound of a zipper and turned to find Emma scrounging in the backpack. “Good idea.”

Her head jerked up. “I thought we might need more weapons. Might need to call for help.”

“Good thinking.” He nodded. This should be interesting.

She pulled an oversized water bottle out of the backpack and frowned at it. He snatched it from her fingers. “Thanks.”

Next, she withdrew a watertight package. She hastily removed the wrapping to reveal two pieces of wheat bread slathered with peanut butter and jelly. Clearly disappointed not to have discovered weapons or a phone, she started to toss the sandwich aside.

“Hey, that’s my dinner!” Cole lunged to pluck it from her fingers. He took a hearty bite and scanned the waters once more.

Alternating between watching the ocean and observing Emma, he grinned as items flew from the backpack. Another bottle of water. Another sandwich.

She frowned. “Homemade chocolate chip cookies?”

“Oh yeah, I can really use those!”

Emma stared in disbelief as he snatched the cookies from her lap. Then she dumped the backpack upside down. Empty. She blinked.

“That’s it? No weapon? No satellite phone? Just a…a picnic?!”

He shrugged, enjoying her company far more than was wise. “A guy gets hungry.” He took another large bite. “Once the adrenaline subsides, you’re going to realize you’re starving as well, and you’ll be begging for one of my sandwiches and some of my amazing cookies.” He uncapped the bottle and took a long swallow.

She crossed her arms and said nothing, her opinion apparent in her scowl.

As the miles raced by, Cole relaxed slightly. He glanced at Emma. She had to be hungry.

“Eat.” He picked up the discarded sandwich and tossed it in her lap. “We don’t know what’s waiting for us. You’re going to need your strength.”

With a reluctant glance at him, she unwrapped the sandwich and sank her teeth into the thick wheat bread. Leaning her head back against the seat rest, she closed her eyes and chewed.

“Thanks, it’s good.” She took another bite.

“Thank
you
. I’d be really hungry right now if you hadn’t brought the backpack.”

She tossed part of the wrapper at him, but the wind caught it, and it flew toward the back of the boat instead. She appeared too tired to care.

“Hey, that hurt.” His protest drew skeptical brown eyes his way.

She raised her brow. A reluctant smile crossed her lips. “Haven’t you ever heard it’s the thought that counts?”

He held out the bag of cookies. “Want one?”

Emma accepted a cookie and took a slow bite, savoring the flavor.

He swallowed. Without even trying, she was sexy as hell. “Amazing, right?

Emma nodded. “Delicious.”

He passed his water to her, and Emma frowned, her eyes darting toward the unopened bottle.

“Better to save that one.”

Emma’s quiet response drifted away on the wind.

He watched from the corner of his eye as Emma struggled to stay awake. She nestled deep into her captain’s chair, turning sideways to tuck her face into her arm. Her hair flew in the wind as she succumbed to exhaustion. Good. She’d need the rest.

She whimpered softly in her sleep, and he stroked her arm.

“It’s okay, we’re safe.” He was pretty certain that was true.

Although she didn’t cry out again, the frown that marred her brow never lessened, an indication that her sleep remained troubled.