assassin didn’t want his identity known, he wouldn’t seek the caretaker out to hurt him, but there was no way to know for sure. Diego headed toward the stairs. “Let’s see what we can find.” He brushed past her. Their arms touched briefly, and he felt a surge of electricity through his shoulder and into his stomach. They locked eyes for a moment before he headed down the stairs to find something—anything—that might help them survive.
* * *
As she rummaged through cupboards on the main floor, the sound of Diego’s footsteps echoing through the lighthouse was unsettling. He clearly had the skills to keep both of them alive. She was starting to believe she could trust him in that arena, but what he said about her being pretty only opened old wounds. She’d caught the smolder in his eyes as she’d stepped past him on the stairs. That look only led to heartbreak and pain.
She searched several cupboards. Though run-down, the lighthouse wasn’t overly dusty, implying that it had gone unused for only a short time. She found some brochures inviting corporations to bring employees to the island for outings, including a meal served by the lighthouse. Maybe the owner of the resort had let this part of the resort go due to a lack of funds.
She located a can pushed toward the back of a bottom cupboard.
“Find anything?” Diego’s voice boomed behind her.
She startled, disconcerted that she hadn’t heard his approaching footsteps. After glancing at it, she held the can up. “Pears.”
“That’s good. There’s some liquid in them that will keep us hydrated.” Diego had what was either a poncho or a Navajo rug flung around his shoulders.
She laughed. “That’s a really good fashion statement for you.”
He snorted, amused. “Hey, it’s warm and dry.”
She took a closer look. It was clearly a rug that he had torn a hole in to make it into a poncho.
“I’ll look good for the fashion shoot later, don’t you think?” he said. He struck a pose.
The levity of the moment lifted her spirits. Despite everything, he managed to see humor in something.
“I have a lighter. Let’s build a fire out on the shore,” he said.
She gathered together some paper and an old chair to build the fire and followed him outside. Diego broke up the chair and started the fire. Both of them stood close to it, soaking in the heat and drying out.
He reached for the can of pears. “Give me that. I can open it with my pocketknife.”
She studied him as he focused his attention on opening the can. Diego’s dark hair was still slicked back from having been so wet. His high cheekbones and strong jawline made him a good-looking man.
She turned her head slightly. The sweater she wore smelled like him, a combination of wood smoke and upturned earth. She sat down close to the fire.
Diego sat down beside her and tilted the can toward her. “Drink first.”
Her stomach growled when the sweet aroma of the pears hit her nose. Embarrassed, she placed a hand over her belly as she drank down some of the liquid from the can.
Diego offered her his charming smile. “Me, too. It’s been a while since I had any food.”
She liked the way his comment defused her embarrassment. It showed a certain sensitivity she wasn’t used to. He took a drink from the can and then handed it back to her.
She scooped up one of the pears with her plastic spoon. Her mouth watered when the fruit touched her lips. She handed the can back to him. By the time they finished the last pear, she felt a little stronger though still not full.
She noticed then that he was still shivering. “Why don’t you try to get warmed up? Over by me away from the smoke,” she said. “I’m not doing too bad. Thanks to your sweater.”
He scooted toward her to get closer to the fire. She jerked away when his shoulder touched hers. The response on her part had been almost involuntary.
Again, his steady smile conveyed that he was okay with her overreactions to his touch. She studied his profile. Under different circumstances, it would be so easy to relax around him.
After a few minutes, he jumped to his feet. “We can’t stay out here long. We need to keep watch.” He tilted his head toward the charcoal sky. “Looks like we might have some rain coming.”
Just when they’d got dried out. They had no rain gear or even coats. The prospect of fighting hypothermia again—and the assassin at the same time—didn’t sound like a good idea.
“Why don’t you head up there and keep a lookout. I’ll put the fire out.” He jogged toward the shore, where he found a piece of wood to use as a shovel and scooped up some sand.
She made her way up the spiral staircase to where she had a panoramic view of the island. The rain began pouring out of the sky just as she heard Diego traipsing up the stairs. He was so tall he filled most of the doorway.
She stared out at the downpour. “I’m not going out in that. I guess we stay here for now.” They were somewhat protected here at least. The thought of having to go back and be used for target practice made her chest tight. But staying in one place would make it easier for their attacker to find them. “Do you think it’s just a matter of time before he comes for us?”
“I can’t lie to you. He’s looking for us. I’m sure of it,” he said.
The thought made her shiver involuntarily.
He stepped a little closer to her, staring out at the forest and ocean. He was at least eight inches taller than she. His gaze fell back down to her neck.
The collar of her pajama top had covered the scars, but the sweater did not. She drew a protective hand up to her neck. “It was a car accident.” That was all he needed to know.
He didn’t answer right away, as though he were debating what to say. “I have scars, too.” He lifted his shirt. He pointed to a mound of round white scar tissue. “Bullet when I was twenty.” He turned to the side and stretched the collar of his T-shirt, pointing at the upper half of his pectoral muscle. “Knife wound when I was twelve.”
She gasped as suspicions bubbled to the surface. “What kind of life have you lived?”
“I came up through the gangs in West Seattle. Turned my life back over to God after my mother died from a bullet that was meant for a gang member.” The slight waver in his voice hinted at deep sorrow. “That’s the life I’ve led.”
She saw in his unwavering gaze that he was telling the truth. She turned away and stared out at the rolling waves for a long moment, absorbing the gravity of what he’d told her. “You’ve been through a lot,” she said. His willingness to be so open almost made her want to share more about the car accident.
“I serve a man with deeper scars than my own,” he said.
“Jesus, you mean.” The name felt foreign on her tongue.
When she pivoted to face Diego, there was a weightiness to his gaze as he
