Twenty-eight

The train station in Oban consisted of a single building with a ticket window, a small waiting room, and two platforms, one accessed by an underground walkway. Dean could tell something was wrong by the long line and commotion at the window. While waiting for Annie to finish up in the restroom, he asked the first person who walked by and learned the bad news.

“What’s wrong?” Annie asked after he’d told her they had a problem.

“There’s an issue with the signal lights. Apparently it isn’t uncommon. The train to Glasgow tonight has been canceled. We’ll have to catch the one first thing in the morning.”

“Oh,” she sighed with relief. “For a minute I thought they’d followed us.”

He didn’t think so. But the delay could give them time to catch up. There weren’t many ways off the island, and once they figured out they were no longer there . . .

“We’ll have to find someplace to spend the night,” he said. “The guy I talked to said there is plenty of accommodations in town.”

They’d walked about fifteen minutes away from the picturesque harbor town where the ferry had docked to get to the station and would have to retrace their steps. Oban was a good-sized town in the Highlands and a popular destination for tourists embarking on cruises around the islands. Under different circumstances he wouldn’t mind a night’s stay—it was the biggest town he’d been in for months—but he wanted this over with as soon as possible.

She’d fucking guessed that he was a SEAL. He couldn’t believe she’d figured it out. She was too curious and too smart for her own good. Or maybe, more accurately, for his own good. He couldn’t risk her seeing another one of those damned articles and putting two and two together. She’d gotten too close as it was.

He’d gotten too close. He had to put an end to this, and one more night wasn’t going to make it any easier.

“. . . one of the things I love—”

She couldn’t be falling in love with him. They’d known each other a week. Admittedly part of that week had been pretty intense, high-adrenaline, get-to-know-someone-fast bonding time, but they wouldn’t seem so perfect together when it was all over. Their differences would start to grate and eventually draw them apart.

She clearly had issues with the military—understandably—and he’d seen too much to have a very high tolerance for dewy-eyed idealists. Besides, he liked his guns. And hunting. For meat.

He could hear Donovan giving him shit about that for years. A vegetarian? An activist? A Democrat (aka “the Party of Santa Claus” as Dean referred to it) with Mr. Bootstraps and “everyone should keep their eyes on their own paper and not worry about what everyone else has”?

That should be all the discouragement Dean needed. So why was he pretty sure that he wouldn’t give a shit? That he could hear the endless razzing and not mind?

Because she was worth it. She was incredible. And even if a bleeding heart led her down the wrong path every now and then, he respected her passion and drive to change things. It was the other side of what he did.

Crap.

But it was all theoretical. Even if he wasn’t in hiding, a relationship with her would mean giving up the team. He wasn’t ready to do that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to do that.

With the station emptying quickly, Dean escorted her out of the building behind a couple who from their backpacks, poles, and boots he assumed must have been trekking on the islands. He wanted to stick with the crowd. He was pretty sure they hadn’t been followed, but he wasn’t about to relax his guard.

“I’m sorry,” she said after they’d been walking for a few minutes. “I know you’re furious with me, but I didn’t mean any harm.” When he didn’t say anything, she grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her. “Can you blame me for being curious? We are sleeping together, for God’s sake, and you’ve barely told me anything about you.” She stopped and even before he heard the emotion in her voice, he could see the tears in her eyes. “I don’t even know your name.”

Dean felt about as big as one of those annoying biting midges. He didn’t want to hurt her, and yet that was exactly what he was doing. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t tell her what she wanted to know.

But if she started crying, he didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do. Just seeing the glimmer of tears in her eyes was twisting him up inside something fierce. It was making his chest pound in an odd way, and making him antsy and uncomfortable—as if he were walking across hot coals. Hell, he’d rather walk across hot coals than see her cry.

He did the only thing he could do. He pulled her into his arms. “Aw, shit, Annie, I’m sorry. I know you don’t understand, but you’ll just have to trust me that I don’t have a choice. If I could tell you, I would.”

As he was wearing the backpack, she’d slid her arms around his waist. He still had the gun tucked in his jeans at the small of his back for safekeeping and easy access. Her cheek had been resting on his chest—which felt pretty damned amazing—but she tilted it back to look up at him. “If you told me, you’d have to kill me?”

He smiled, and lifted his hand to stroke a finger down her cheek. “Something like that.” But he quickly sobered. “But it’s serious, Annie. I know you are curious, but it’s dangerous—and not just to me. I’m asking you to stop. To put whatever it is you think you’ve learned aside and forget it.”

Forget me.

She knew what he was asking. “I’ll try, but I’m not sure I can.”

Unfortunately that made two of them.

She looked so gorgeous staring up at him with all those emotions he didn’t want to see in her eyes, he would have kissed her.

If he hadn’t sensed the movement behind him.

•   •   •

Without realizing it, Annie had stopped them in the perfect place for an ambush. It was a dark curve in the road where they couldn’t be seen from town or by their fellow passengers, who were now ahead of them. Were there any stragglers behind them? Dean would guess not or their attackers—he was assuming there was more than one—wouldn’t have made their move.

They must have been watching from the station and followed, waiting for an opportunity. Were they the source of the signal failure?

Shit.

Sensing the movement behind him, Dean reacted. As he couldn’t both reach for his gun and get Annie out of the way, he chose the latter. He pushed her away from him and spun, instinctively using his hand to knock aside the weapon that he was pretty sure had been coming toward the back of his head.

He connected with enough force to do some damage, but the guy was well trained. He grunted with pain but didn’t release the weapon—an HK USP Tactical with Swiss-made suppressor, from the looks of it.

Dean was ready with his next move before the attacker could bring the gun back around. He wasn’t going to mess around, not wanting to take any chances. He didn’t know how many or how skilled they were. It was kill or be killed. He went for a blow to the throat, targeting the trachea with the side of his forearm and swinging his leg around his ankle at the same time to knock him off balance.

There was a sickly crunch and gasp as the guy’s throat collapsed. He crumpled and started to fall back but had enough presence of mind while he was asphyxiating to swing the muzzle back around. Dean stomped on his gut and tried to knock the gun away again, but at the same time he sensed the second guy out of the corner of his eye to the right, taking aim.

Fuck, he wasn’t going to have time to do both. He went for the gun that was in his reach. He swore he could see down the barrel as he reached for the choking man’s hands and tried to point the muzzle in the direction of his compatriot.

He didn’t make it before the shot went off. It went wide of Dean, but not wide enough to come close to the second attacker.

The guy was going to shoot him.

Dean heard the muffled sound of a gun being fired, and in the split second of awareness, he steeled himself for impact.

It didn’t come.

Shit. The sound had come from behind him. He watched in disbelief as the second attacker who’d been standing about ten feet away fell—or dropped—backward as the bullet struck him right between the eyes.

Holy shit.

Dean turned slowly around, already guessing what he was going to see. Annie stood there frozen, still holding the gun in the firing position.

•   •   •

It had happened so fast. Annie didn’t know what had possessed her to grab the gun as “Dan” pushed her away. It was there tucked in the back of his jeans, and her hand just kind of clenched the grip on instinct, and as he pushed her back, the gun came with her.

Neither did she consciously think about shooting the second attacker. Dan was locked in battle with the first guy. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the second guy approaching with a raised arm and a gun on the end of it pointed in Dan’s direction. She didn’t think. She just lifted her hands and fired.

Instinct again. Although it was the first time she’d shot anything other than a piece of paper at a shooting range.

Oh God, she’d just killed someone.

Slowly awareness dawned, creeping over her in a mottled flush of shock. She couldn’t seem to move. She was still holding the gun; her finger was still pulling the trigger. She wanted to let it go, but she couldn’t release the death grip.

Dan came toward her and wrapped his hand around her wrist, forcing her arm down at the same time as he released the gun from her hand.

She looked at him wordlessly. What just happened?

She didn’t think she’d spoken aloud, but she couldn’t be sure. The noise in her head was too loud. “You just saved my life. You didn’t have any other choice. He would have killed me.” He shook his head in amazement. “Shit, how the hell did you learn to shoot like that? I thought you didn’t like guns.”

“I don’t. I hate them.”

He laughed. “You could have fooled me. You shoot like a pro.”

She frowned. “I haven’t touched a gun since my father died.”

“But he trained you?”

She nodded. He’d insisted she learn how to defend herself. He’d said she was a natural. She’d almost been able to hear the “if only you’d been a boy.”

“He did a hell of a job,” Dan said. “That was a perfect shot.”

She shook her head. It had been horrible. “I was aiming for his heart.”

“Well, that was a hell of a miss.” He paused, giving her a long look. “You look a little pale. You aren’t going to throw up or anything, are you? It’s all right if you need to. Lots of guys do their first time.”

She shook her head. She felt something. Numb, maybe? A little cold? But not ill. “I don’t think so.”

“Good. Give me a minute. I want to get rid of them in case someone is behind us.”

The path along the harbor that would take them back to the village had the sea on one side and a two-lane road, houses, and a hill on the other. The men had obviously been waiting in the shadows of one of the houses.

After quickly patting them down and pocketing the guy’s wallet and phone, Dan dragged the guy who had attacked him across the path and pushed him under the railing of the concrete walkway onto the rocks and beach below. He did the same with the man she’d shot, and Annie had to admit, she was glad when the prone body disappeared over the side where she didn’t have to look at it anymore.

“The tide will be coming in soon,” he said. “With luck they’ll wash out to sea.”

“Without luck?”

He shrugged, apparently not worried. “They won’t be seen until morning, and it will take them time to determine identities and time of death. We should be well on our way to Glasgow by then.”

“They were the same guys from the beach,” she said.

He nodded. “They must have come straight here, figuring we’d head to the closest major port.” He thought for a minute. “They either had someone watching at the airport or were able to tap in to the computers and realized we hadn’t flown. Have you seen either of them before today?”

She shook her head.

He took out the wallets and flipped to the identities. “Hans Richer from Germany and Jonas Meier from Switzerland. Mean anything to you?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. I assume they are aliases.” He pulled out the phones, which were cheap disposables, and started to toggle through the mailboxes. “No recent calls or texts on this. I’m sure they’ve been careful, but I’ll check the trash just to be sure.” He finished the first phone, and went on to the second. A moment later he swore, and his expression darkened.

“What’s wrong?”

“This one has a text. It was sent about fifteen minutes ago. He must not have had a chance to delete it.”

“What does it say?”

“Nothing. It was a picture.” He paused, and she could see the self-recrimination burning in his gaze. “Of me.”