Page 35 of Fire Island (Fire Island #2)

Thirty-Three

EVIE

I sprint through the forest, brush snapping at my legs.

The knife tucked into the back of my jeans moves with every stride.

I pray to god I don’t lose it like I lost my belongings last time I was running hell-for-leather through these old trees.

Arms out in front of me, I smack the low-hanging branches and fronds out of my way. Every minute counts.

I truly believe that.

I half expected Cal to close in, thundering through the shrubs behind me. But in true Callum McCreary style, he’s respected my wishes, letting me fight my own battles. A gift I am sure is costing him the last of his sanity as I plunder through the wilderness toward uncertainty.

Toward his only child.

His son.

I will not let Reese pay the price for my cowardice.

That is not how this story is going to end.

In the next two hours, the last six years will be done with. I will have reclaimed my life. I brought this mess with me, and I intend on cleaning it up and taking out the trash.

Permanently.

I reach the waterhole before too long. Halfway. I take a small break, walking a tight circle like my heroines do mid-battle. Turning up breathless and exhausted is how you get dead. So a minute of rest is essential.

The burn in my lungs fades, and I take off again for the fishing hut.

The closer I get, the more I scan my surroundings.

I’m not naive enough to think they won’t have prepared for my arrival.

I slow my pace when I feel I’m getting close.

Picking my way through the undergrowth, I stay as quiet as I can.

I pull my shirt out at the back and cover the knife.

I need the element of surprise.

I need stealth.

I nee?—

A twig cracks underfoot.

I still.

I crouch and close my eyes, listening.

I’m about to push to my feet after hearing nothing when a chuckle echoes through the trees.

Glancing around, I walk, hunched over, trying to creep closer to the hut. Deciding to come around on them from the back to assess the situation, I take each step one at a time, making sure to stay as quiet as I can in the littered undergrowth.

I make the back of the hut without incident and lean up against the weathered wood, peering in through the grimy window. Three figures inside. Two move about like shadows while the third sits. I’m guessing that’s Reese tied to a chair.

Their voices are dulled through the wood, and I strain to hear.

“I’m nothing to her. Fuck, man, you have to believe me. You want someone she’ll actually come for, you should have nabbed the old man.”

The little fucker.

“He’ll never let her come, she’s his frigging pet. He ain’t going to swap her for me, so just let me go.”

He’s deflecting, disconnecting from the primary target... Smart boy.

Guy, I guess.

Reese is no more a boy than I’m a girl.

His ruse couldn’t be further from the truth. Cal will do anything to protect his family, and Reese is family. Whether he likes it or not.

“Shut it!” The larger of the men lashes out, kicking his chair.

Big guy.

Great.

The chair topples over, and Reese grunts as he meets the floor. If I could break him free of the chair, it would be two against two. Not this two-against-one situation I find myself in. Even numbers mean much better odds.

To do that, I’m going to need a distraction...

Something to draw them out of the hut for a few minutes.

Something like . . .

A decoy.

My gut flips with the idea that surfaces.

If they see me, get a fleeting glance, and make chase, I can circle back. Free Reese. Run like hell for the southern tip. And pray Em and Cal are waiting.

Simple, really, when you think about it.

It’s the execution that has my nerve up. Adrenaline flooding my veins.

“Maybe we dispose of you, anyway. If you’re really no use to us...” one of the men says.

Timothy.

His voice will be burned into my memory until the day I die.

Which hopefully won’t be today.

Fingers crossed.

“No! Please, I’ll do anything you wan?—”

I take off at a run for the east side of the cabin, making sure to give the hut a large enough berth so I’m not easily heard or seen. I find a half-shrouded position, half hidden by bushes, and haul in a lungful that stretches my chest.

“Hello?!”

Hand brushing over the small of my back, I double-check my knife is securely where I left it.

It is.

Timothy flies through the hut’s weathered door. His usual black sweats and T-shirt hang on his reedy frame. But it’s when the second man appears that my fear spikes. He’s much larger. Last time, I was half blind without my glasses. Now, wearing contacts, I see how muscular he is.

Shit.

They finally see me amongst the brush, and I take off toward the north...

. . . and they make chase.

Both of them.

I pump my arms, putting forest between us. I may be smaller, but I know the island better. And I’m more nimble.

And I have more to lose.

I sprint for the waterhole, ignoring the lancing heat consuming my lungs.

Legs flying over the earthy debris, my crashing echoes through the trees as the wind tangles my hair behind me. Time seems to slow a little. Before I know it, the waterhole comes into sight.

Glancing back, I see the trees moving. I slow to a halt.

They’re yelling.

They’re harried.

They’re right where I want them.

On quiet feet, I slip into the water. Careful not to make large ripples, I move slowly until I’m in up to my waist. I turn to face the forest, and when I hear them closing in, I sink.

Drawing in a long, deep breath, I submerge.

Hands moving like molasses through the dark liquid, I wrangle my hair around my neck.

I close my eyes, every inch of my body doused.

Their shouting, albeit muted, drifts over my watery hiding place. My lungs begin to shrink, the air turning to ash in between my ribs, so I count.

One Mississippi.

Completely still, I listen over my heartbeat, now thundering through my head.

Two Mississippi.

Their yelling fades, like it’s moving away.

Three Mississippi.

The ash ignites, and I wince, clenching my jaw to stave off the heat. To stop myself from moving.

Four Mississippi.

My heartbeat rattles my skull. My limbs tingle in the coolness, and I don’t dare move.

Five Mississippi . . .

I strain to hear above the water over my mutinous body. But between each heartbeat is now silence. The only sound I can make out is the waterfall behind me, filling its glittering pool endlessly.

Six Mississippi.

Feet pushing into the muddy ground beneath me, I rise.

The slow, precise movement takes a moment.

As water cascades from my body, I scan my surroundings with one hand behind my back, fingers brushing the handle of the blade.

I can make out the men shouting and crashing through the trees to the north.

I glide to the shoreline with steady movements.

Each step up the bank, water runs from my body and my soaked jeans. My T-shirt clings to my skin. My hair I twist and sweep to one side, letting it dangle over my chest.

Assessing the distance between us and their direction of travel, I glance back south.

My wet jeans are restrictive. Not like the second skin I need to be able to move freely and silently through the forest. Toeing my shoes off, I slip out of the jeans and lay them over a fallen tree. Making quick work of hacking back and forth, I cut them off to shorts.

Better.

I slip them back on and slide my shoes onto my feet. Tucking the knife back into my waistband at my back, I swiftly run through the trees. Thanks to my light feet and delicate placement, I make next to no noise as I close in on the hut.

I slow before entering the small, weathered structure. Reese lies on the floor, still tied to the rickety chair, his wrists straining at the ropes he’s bound with. I squat by him as he mutters something to himself. His eyes are closed, his jaw clenched, like he’s about to...

I touch his arm. “Reese, I’m here.”

His eyes fly open. Shock floods his face but then anger fills it just as fast.

“Fuck! No, you shouldn’t have come, Evie. God, what the hell?”

“I’m not going to let them hurt you. Or me. We’re getting out of here.”

I lean over and pluck the knife from my back. I cut the ropes on his wrists, and he scrambles to his feet.

“I don’t know where they went, but they’ll be back,” he says, his gaze darting around the cabin before settling on the doorway.

“I know. We need to get to the southern tip. Cal will be waiting, hopefully.”

“He let you come?” His face twists with disgust.

“He doesn’t let me do anything, Reese. I make my own decisions, and this is one of them. So don’t let me regret it.”

He waves a hand at the door. “After you, MacGyver.”

I huff a laugh, surprised he knows who that is. Didn’t take him for a MacGyver fan.

“Let’s go.” I slide the knife into my waistband and turn back for the door.

Mid-step toward the threshold, I catch a syllable. The low tone is one I recognize.

Fuck .

I hold a hand up.

Sure enough, they are crashing through the trees, closing in on the hut. We can’t go through the front door; we’ll end up right in front of them.

“Window,” I breathe.

Reese rushes the window, shoving it open. It takes a few hits to budge it.

“Go!” I hiss.

His brows lower as he shakes his head, wasting damn time. I all but shove him into the window and he clambers up and out of it in a tumble of long legs, landing with a thud.

Dammit .

I pull myself up the wall and drape my body over the sill. Reese stands, turning back as he reaches for me. The second his expression changes, I know I’m done for.

A rough hand closes around my thigh.

“Where do you think you’re going, Butterfly ?”