Chapter 49
“Where’s your phone?” Everett asked. “I must have dropped mine outside.”
Remi leaned into his neck as they walked away from the platform.
“It’s in the bedroom, but it doesn’t work.”
“Why not? Is that why you didn’t answer when I called you earlier?”
“Faroe created some kind of scrambler that blocks cell and satellite service from reaching us. He was proud of everything he’d done without us knowing it to isolate us from help.
” Remi waited for the memory of the trauma to wreck her, but she felt nothing.
Somewhere deep down, she knew Everett would save her this time.
It wouldn’t be like Jamaica. They had found each other again, and no evil force like Faroe could stop them from having the life they deserved. Together.
“This was all a part of his plan. I was too blind to see how he was setting me up from the very beginning,” Everett broke away from her and stalked over to Faroe.
He reached down and felt for a pulse, then grabbed the pistol from Faroe’s ankle holster and tucked it in his waistband.
“Bastard is still alive. We’ll need to find something to tie him up. ”
“Hey, none of this is your fault.” Remi reached for his hand and wrapped it in her own.
“I was the one who got Sebastian to hire him, to sign off on his ridiculous plans to tighten security up here in The Breaklands, thinking it would distract him from knowing what we were doing.” Everett pinched the bridge of his nose, then walked away from her.
He stared up at the severed linen, dangling from the ceiling.
“But that’s what he wanted. He needed us to choose this location for our next safehouse so he could?—”
“Stop that.” Remi walked over to him, stepping onto the platform so they were eye to eye. “Stop blaming yourself for the irrational actions of lunatics. Faroe was crazy. It is not your fault that he needed someone to blame for Yvette taking her life, and settled on you and Lois.”
“But with my experience and training, I should’ve been more skeptical. Been able to read him and see that he was deceiving all of us.”
“I think you were distracted and that stopped you from being at your best.” Remi stroked a hand down his face.
“You didn’t just help me when I thought I’d killed Bobby.
There was a lot more that you and I had to work through.
Then we found each other again, those old feelings and the new ones, too.
I wasn’t your typical case from being a special agent or some stranger you were investigating. ”
“Not at all.” Everett pushed her hair from her face. “You are my reason for living, Remington. And I hear you, I know what you’re saying is right. I hate that I almost didn’t make it back in time.”
“Almost doesn’t count. You saved me, Everett. Full stop. That’s all that matters. That’s all that I’ll remember from this day. When I needed you the most, more than I’ve ever needed anyone in my entire life, you came through for me. I will forever love you for that and so much more.”
“Even if this was the second time you were attacked because someone wanted to destroy me?” A hint of worry clouded his gray eyes.
“Even if I can’t promise this won’t happen again.
I’ve made a lot of enemies from my work in the DEA.
I can’t guarantee that others won’t discover my real identity and seek revenge, just like Faroe did.
As much as I want you in my life, Remington, it might be better if you weren’t. For your sake.”
“And it might be better if you shut the hell up with all of that nonsense.” Remi laughed. “Do you seriously think we can stay away from each other? We tried that before. The only reason it worked is because you thought I was in love with Bobby.”
“But I still couldn’t be far from you, even thinking that. I moved back to the island where you grew up. An island less than thirty minutes from the one you lived on. Being far from you felt wrong in so many ways.”
“Exactly.” Remi took a deep breath. “I’m not saying we put our heads in the sand and pretend like the risks don’t exist. You’re not the only reason I could be put in a dangerous situation. My father is Mr. Goodnight, for God’s sake. He has enemies, too.”
“I won’t let them hurt you,” Everett said, grabbing her hands in his.
“The only way you can stop them is by being with me. Not shutting me out of your life. Accepting that we are it for each other. Embracing our fate, Everett. I meant it when I said you’re stuck with me?—”
“Happily … stuck with you,” Everett said.
Their lips met in a kiss, full of all the love and gratitude of surviving Faroe’s vicious plans.
Remi gripped Everett’s shirt, pulling him closer as her lips devoured his.
His tongue slid between her parted lips, sliding against hers as she lost herself in him.
The most welcome reprieve from the chaos that had stalked them over the past few weeks.
Everett pulled away gently, peppering her face with soft kisses.
“Come on, we’re not out of the woods yet?—”
A loud shriek of metal gouging against metal sliced through the air.
Remi froze as Everett’s grip on her hands tightened.
Her gaze caught Faroe, lying on the floor near the couch behind Everett.
His face was a mask of cold triumph. Eyes glittered with the sickening satisfaction of a plan’s final act.
His hand trembled as his arm extended with rigid purpose, pointing a small black device toward the ceiling.
His thumb pressed against the raised button on its surface.
He didn’t look at her or Everett. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling above them.
She flicked her head backward to look at the spot he was fixated on.
The drywall buckled and gave way, sending dust raining down over them.
The ceiling split open, revealing the metal rig, with pulley wheels and tangled wires, attached to a massive steel frame that had operated the noose.
It teetered at the edge of the crumbling ceiling.
Remi realized too late that Faroe had never intended for her to die by the noose alone.
The rig and the metal frame tore free, plummeting toward her.
She tried to move, to shout, but Everett was already there, shoving her away.
The force of his push sent her tumbling off the platform.
She rolled and skidded across the floor before catching herself on her hands and knees.
She scrambled upright, her vision tunneled in on the impossible happening right in front of her.
The falling mass of pulley wheels, tangled wires, and steel beams crashed down on Everett’s shoulder and back with a sickening thud.
He slammed into the platform, headfirst. His arms stretched toward her, frozen in the motion he’d used to save her. Again.
“Everett! No, no, no!” Remi screamed, scrambling toward him on her hands and knees.
His name fell from her lips in sobs over and over again.
She prayed he would answer, move, do something to show her that he was fine.
That he was still alive. When she reached him, he lay motionless and eerily still.
She pressed trembling fingers to his neck and held her breath.
She found a whisper of pulse, faint but there.
“Please wake up, Everett, come on. I didn’t die on you, so you better not die on me,” Remi said, gripping the edge of the steel frame. She grasped it with both hands, braced her feet, and pulled, fully expecting the impossible to happen, for the weight to budge, for love to make her Herculean.
But the heavy steel contraption didn’t move, not even a centimeter. She screamed again, this time with fury as much as fear. She hammered and pushed against the beam with her body, desperate to get it off Everett.
“Neither one of you is getting out of here alive.”
The menacing words sent ice through her veins.
She looked up and saw Faroe, his face slick with sweat and his eyes burning with hatred. Blood dripped down the side of his face, along his arm, and down to the machete gripped in his hand. He raised it slowly, resting the blade against his shoulder.
Remi looked down at Everett, motionless, then back at Faroe as he took a step toward them. He probably thought Everett was dead, and she was his last loose end to get his revenge. But she couldn’t let him kill her. Everett had saved her twice. Now it was time for her to save them both.
Her feet moved before she registered what her plan could be.
She bolted away from the platform, nearly losing her footing between the tangled wires and metal.
Her knees buckled, but she pressed harder, churning her legs as she sprinted for the back door.
No one knew the Breaklands jungle better than her.
She could lose Faroe in the trees and make her way out.
Get help from the Stingray guys and come back to rescue Everett. It was her only chance.
But Faroe was two steps ahead of her, anticipating her move. He cut across the space, blocking her escape with monstrous efficiency.
“Going somewhere?” he taunted, pointing the machete at her chest.
Her breath came out in whimpers. She kept her eyes on his hand, not the blade, and tried to remember everything Everett had told her to do if someone found her at the gatehouse.
His instructions had centered around her gaining access to the guns hidden in the cabinet.
The guns Faroe had already found and put out of reach.
There had to be something else she could use as a weapon.
Faroe caught her with a one-armed grab, his hand snaring her wrist. She twisted and jerked away from him with a strength that surprised her.
She backed away, step by trembling step.
Faroe matched her with a slow, measured cadence as if he were enjoying the hunt and savoring the thought of killing her.
“You do know you’re not getting out of here alive, don’t you?” He closed the distance between them.
She darted left, zigzagging across the living room.
She bumped into a side table, then grabbed the lamp resting on the surface.
It was ceramic and heavy. She hurled it toward Faroe’s face.
He ducked, laughing, and swatted it aside with one swing of the blade.
Shards exploded across the floor. She retreated further toward the dining nook.
She clutched the two brass candleholders and hurled them at Faroe, one after the other.
One narrowly missed his face, the other slammed into his arm, but did nothing to slow him down.
She stumbled backward, angling toward the hall, grabbing more things to throw at him.
A vase. A wooden tray. A glass, which he caught with his bare hand and crushed.
Blood oozed from his palm, but he didn’t seem to feel it.
“You’re running out of things to throw,” he mocked, then lunged toward her.
The machete slashed toward her. Remi yelped as the blade whistled inches from her face. The blade swung again from the other direction. Hot, searing pain flared against her head. She reached a hand to her ear and felt the wet sticky blood before she saw it on her fingers.
She spun around and sprinted down the hallway. Faroe’s boots thudded behind her, relentless. The scrape of the machete along the wall was like fingernails on a chalkboard as he advanced.
She made it to the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Her hands shook hard as she turned the lock. She dragged the chair from the corner and wedged it under the knob.
Rushing around the room, she inventoried the space for something else she could throw at him. But the objects were as useless as the ones she’d thrown at him in the living room. Her gaze darted at the window. It was too small to squeeze through.
“Think, Remi … think.” She was almost out of options.
A locked door wasn’t going to hold Faroe for long.
“Wrong move, Remi …” Faroe yelled through the door.
The slash of the machete hacking at the door echoed in the room.
Each blow sent a tremor through the walls.
The handle vibrated on her side of the door.
“I wanted to do this the easy way. Hanging would’ve been less messy, easier for your family and loved ones.
Now, they’ll find your body hacked to pieces. ”
She backed up, putting as much distance between her and the door until she bumped into the dresser.
The blade hacked and slashed at the door until the wood splintered, puncturing through the wood.
Faroe yanked the blade out, then kicked at the splintered hole in the door, breaking through.
His arm snaked inside, wrenching the chair from under the knob and throwing it to the floor.
Her time was up …
Where the hell had she put it?
The bedroom … it was on the dresser where she had laid it as she’d changed into the maxi dress.
Remi looked over her shoulder. Partially obscured under her e-reader, a bottle of moisturizer, her silk hair bonnet, and her pajama top was the familiar cold polymer. She laid her palm on the grip of the Glock, curling her fingers around it, and brought it up with both hands.
The door burst open.
She leveled the gun at the open space as Faroe charged inside, wild and grinning, machete high above his head.
Her first shot stopped him cold.
The second sent his body crumbling to the ground.