Chapter 21
Charlotte was dizzy, each step through the knee-deep snow an agonizing effort.
Her breath came in harsh gasps, white puffs disappearing into the storm.
Her thoughts were a whirlwind—Cowboy was missing, Sarkisyan was a dangerous liar, and her grandmother was alone in the house with him.
And don’t even get her started on her very late period.
“Keep moving!” Champion’s voice cut through the howling wind. His flashlight beam wavered as he surged ahead, Austin close on his heels. Charlotte pushed herself to keep up, her legs trembling from exertion and fear.
Suddenly, Austin skidded to a halt, his flashlight catching on something ahead—a dark shape half-buried in the snow. “Hold up!” he shouted, crouching down to investigate.
Charlotte’s heart leaped into her throat as she recognized the figure. “Oh, my God. Leo!” She dropped to her knees beside Cowboy, frantically brushing snow from his face. His skin was pale, his lips tinged blue, and his breathing shallow.
“He’s alive,” Austin said, his voice tight with relief. “Barely.”
“Help me,” Champion said, already moving to lift Cowboy’s limp form. Together, they hoisted him up, draping his arms over their shoulders.
Charlotte stayed close, her flashlight illuminating the uneven ground as they struggled back toward the house. Her fingers hovered near Cowboy’s, desperate to touch him. “You’re going to be okay,” she murmured, though her voice cracked with uncertainty.
The house loomed ahead, its dark windows and silent walls a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Champion kicked open the door, and they stumbled in, the sudden warmth making Charlotte’s skin prickle.
Grams was nowhere to be seen. An overturned teacup lay on the floor beside the sofa, the dark stain of its contents spreading across the rug.
Austin and Champion laid Cowboy on the couch before the fire, and Charlotte grabbed a blanket, wrapping it tightly around him. “Come on, Leo,” she murmured, brushing the snow and ice from his hair. “Stay with me.”
“Charlotte… oh, thank God you’re here.” Grams came up short as she entered the room. “What happened to Cowboy?”
It was Austin who answered. “We found him outside in the snow. He’s been beaten pretty badly. Where’s Sarkisyan?”
Grams seemed to collapse, landing in a chair. “He’s gone, but he’s coming back.” Her lips trembled, and tears welled in her eyes. “How did you know?”
“A little bird in the basement of the lighthouse told us,” said Charlotte.
“It’s his men that did this to Cowboy,” Grams insisted. “It has to be.”
Charlotte was beside herself with frustration. “Grams, why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t know what to do. Sarkisyan arrived just before you and Cowboy showed up out of the blue.
He found out we were the ones smuggling refugees out of his camps and across the Canadian border.
” She shrugged, tears spilling over onto her cheeks.
“He said he was going to make an example of us, that our deaths would keep others in line. Then you arrived. He tied Tom up in the basement and said if I didn’t pretend that he was Tom, he’d have no choice but to kill both of you, along with the two of us.
He would do it, too. I’ve seen what that man is capable of. ”
“Tom was the one who knocked over the pickle jars,” said Charlotte, as understanding dawned. “There was no broken pipe.”
“Is he still down there?” asked Champion.
Grams nodded. “Sarkisyan padlocked the door. I tried to get in with a paperclip and he caught me. He made me drink that awful tea so I wouldn’t try again.”
As if on cue, Austin and Champion headed for the hallway. “It’s off the kitchen,” Charlotte said, knowing exactly where they were going. She rested her hand on her grandmother’s cheek. “They’ll get Tom out.” A heavy rhythmic pounding was followed by the squeak of a metal hinge.
“Oh thank goodness,” said Grams, her hands coming up to cover her face as she wept.
But Charlotte was bothered. Her gaze went to Cowboy, laying still, beaten and bruised.
Then she took in Grams’s teacup and the stain where the heavily drugged tea had poured out onto the rug.
Sarkisyan had gone to so much trouble to keep them in place and control the narrative.
Yet he was gone. The storm continued to rage on. The bridges surely remained closed.
So where the hell was he? More important, what the actual fuck was he doing out there?
“What about the refugees?” asked Grams, her trembling hands speaking to her state of mind, if not for that very real medical condition Charlotte had been worried about earlier. “What if he hurts them? They have a baby. An infant! And he might be there right now.”
“He’s not after the refugees,” said Charlotte.
At the doorway stood a bald man with a gray beard. “Loretta!” Grams stood up and went to him, the couple engaging in a long and emotional embrace.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Grams whispered, her voice breaking.
Tom leaned into her touch, his own tears shining in his eyes. “You’ll never lose me,” he said, his voice raw but full of emotion. “I’ll always come back, I promise.”
But Charlotte hadn’t moved from where she sat, and barely gave Tom and Grams any mind.
Sarkisyan wasn’t after the refugees. They were small potatoes to his overall operation.
While she didn’t doubt he’d come here to make an example of Grams and Tom, his intentions had changed when he got here.
She was sure of it. That much was set in stone the moment she and Leo knocked on the front door.
There had to be more to it. Something she wasn’t seeing, not unlike the secret passageway beneath the lighthouse, used to store refugees and bomb making chemicals.
Bomb-fucking-making chemicals.
That was it! The bottle that had broken and led them to the refugees.
The smell that lingered in the lighthouse basement was one she’d smelled before in Cowboy’s workshop.
As an explosives expert for the Navy SEALs and an eight-year-old boy at heart, he was known to dabble in a little recreational bomb making every now and then, if only for the sheer joy of blowing things up.
Pushing herself to a stand, she crossed and checked on Cowboy, who still appeared to be down for the count.
She rested her hand on his forehead. He was warm, which was a good sign.
She hadn’t lied when she’d told Sarkisyan she’d considered going to nursing school, though her math grades were at the top of her class.
Leaning down, she kissed Leo softly where her hand had just been, loving the scent of his skin and the peace that spread through her body when he was close to her.
She’d been drawn to nursing because she was a natural nurturer, but she’d chosen not to become a nurse because she wanted to learn how to shine for who she was, rather than for what she could do for others.
And she would never apologize for that to anyone.
“Grams, where do the tunnels under the lighthouse go?”
Tom had his arm around her, and Grams was positively glowing with happiness. “Across the west side of the property to the bay harbor on the other side of the island.”
“How far away is that?” she asked.
“Not far. Maybe half a mile. Why?”
“And how long have you been harboring refugees escaping from the PFP?”
“Years and years.” Grams looked at the ceiling. “Maybe fifteen, twenty. Ever since Tom asked us. Your grandfather and I agreed to help.”
“So it’s possible Sarkisyan found out about what you were doing long before now.”
Austin shifted his weight and crossed his arms over his massive chest, his eyes narrowing. “What are you suggesting?”
“There are bomb making chemicals in the room beneath the lighthouse. I think Sarkisyan is planning to blow it up when the governor’s here for the 200th anniversary.
” She watched as Tom and Grams’s matching expressions sobered.
“And if I had to guess, he’s planning on framing the two of you… for all of it.”
Tom and Grams exchanged horrified glances, their initial reunion glow quickly giving way to grim understanding.
“That bastard,” Tom muttered, his jaw tightening. He pulled Grams closer, his protective instincts as clear as his fury. “Loretta, if he’s planning what Charlotte thinks he is, this could destroy everything we’ve worked for.”
Grams’s face crumpled, her hands trembling. “We’ve helped so many people… Tom, what if he—what if Sarkisyan kills those poor souls just to prove a point?”
Tom shook his head, his gray beard glinting in the firelight. “We won’t let that happen.”
Charlotte’s heart ached watching them, two people who had risked so much, their lives built on quiet, steadfast courage. But there wasn’t time to dwell on emotions. Every second they stood there, Sarkisyan moved closer to his goal.
Tom took a deep breath. “If Sarkisyan’s been operating on this island, he’s probably using the tunnels.”
Grams turned to Charlotte, her voice thick with guilt.
“I never wanted you to know about any of this. Your grandfather and I only got involved because of Tom. He came to us after he left the PFP, swearing to make up for the harm Sarkisyan caused. We started small—helping people flee quietly—but when the camps grew worse, we couldn’t just stand by. ”
Tom’s eyes softened as he looked at Grams. “Loretta and your grandfather were the only ones who believed I could make things right. They risked everything to help me. And when your grandfather passed, she carried on without hesitation. She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known.”
Charlotte felt a lump rise in her throat but quickly swallowed it down. “Grams, you’re amazing. Both of you are. But if we don’t stop Sarkisyan, everything you’ve done could be used against you. This can easily be twisted so that you two look like the terrorists.”
Tom frowned. “There’s an old cache point we used years ago, further along the tunnel toward the bay. It hasn’t been touched in ages, but if he’s been watching us, he might know about it. That may be how he’s getting supplies into the lighthouse.”
“Let’s go,” Austin said, already heading for the door.
“No,” Charlotte said sharply. “We have to think this through. Sarkisyan doesn’t just act—he plans. He’s expecting us to figure out his setup, which means he has contingencies.”
Champion nodded. “She’s right. If we’re walking into a trap, we need to be ready for it.”
Charlotte’s gaze flicked to Cowboy, still unconscious but breathing more evenly now. She touched his hand briefly before stepping away. “I’m going with you.”
Tom shook his head. “It’s too dangerous—”
“Grams, I’ve already been in the thick of this mess, and I’m not backing out now. If Cowboy were conscious, he’d be helping. I couldn’t forgive myself if I sat on the sidelines.”
Tom studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Fine. But we stick together, and we’re in and out fast.”
Grams clutched Tom’s arm, her voice trembling. “Be careful.”
Champion, Austin, Tom, and Charlotte quickly geared up, gathering flashlights, weapons, and supplies, including food and water for the refugees. As much as they wanted to bring them into the warm house, they knew that to do so would be to put them in further danger.
The tension was thick as they prepared to hike back to the lighthouse in the storm and descend into the tunnels. Charlotte cast one last glance at Grams and Cowboy. “Take good care of my guy.”
“I will.”
“We’ll stop him, Grams. I promise.”
Grams nodded, but the worry in her eyes didn’t fade. “You come back safe. All of you.”
“We will.” Charlotte turned around, hoping she’d given Grams a look of confidence, and hoping even harder that they all would, in fact, come back safely.