Unintended Target (Unintended Series Book 1) (5 page)

“Habit of yours?” he said, nodding at the necklace.

She looked down, almost as if surprised to find herself holding the pendant, and pulled it away from her neck to see it better. “Apparently. I catch myself hanging onto it a lot. Subconsciously sentimental, I guess. Tate sent it to me for my birthday last year. When he stopped calling—I was so mad I shoved it in a drawer. Refused to wear it. But for the funeral . . . I haven’t been able to bring myself to take it off since.” She pulled it out from her neck, turning over the front side with its intricate, latticework-like etching, to reveal an inscription on the back.

“Always?” Jack asked, squinting to make out the words in the candlelight.

Chloe nodded. “He used to say he’d always be there for me.”

“Whatever happened, he must have really loved you,” he said gently, leaning back into the chair.

“I would’ve rather had phone calls than the necklace.”

Jack nodded, and she turned to face the water, trying, without succeeding, to stop tears from forming in the corners of her eyes. The moment hung over the table, the sound of waves lapping against the pier accompanied by the clinking of glasses from the bar and nearby tables. Jack watched her intently, silently, as she pulled windblown strands of sun-highlighted hair from her face. Chloe waited for the awkwardness to set in, but instead the air between them remained comfortable, almost strangely . . . familiar. They let it be until, as if some green light somewhere had flashed, he said something charming that made her laugh gently, and conversation slowly began to flow again. And so they sat on the moonlit pier, neither one in a hurry to leave, drinking their coffees long into the dark Caribbean night.

* * * * *

Fifty yards away, on the edge of a long pier perpendicular to the terrace, he refocused his binoculars. He could barely make out their figures now, huddled over the candlelight. The last of the daylight had vanished an hour ago, making surveillance all the more difficult. Equally frustrating was the fact that he couldn’t hear a word they were saying. He considered moving closer, but decided against it, fearing a nosy passerby might give him away.

He had followed her to the restaurant on his rented moped, indistinct among the hundreds like it on the island. Dressed in khaki shorts and a golf shirt, he easily passed for a tourist scanning the night horizon for ships. So far, no one had taken an interest in him. And so far he had learned nothing of interest. But knowing Korrigan would expect a full report, he remained alert.

Finally they stood up from their table and turned to leave. He followed them with the binoculars until losing sight of them in the interior dining room. Then he walked briskly off the pier to a spot with a clear view of the building’s entrance. They exited almost immediately, then walked through the parking lot towards her car. He leaned against the side of the building, trying to look like he was waiting for someone, and watched.

* * * * *

“This is me,” Chloe said, leading Jack to her rented convertible, a somewhat worn Volkswagen Cabriolet. They stopped beside the driver’s door. “I guess I should head home. It’s getting late.”

Jack looked past her towards the ground. “I don’t think so.”

Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Jack nodded towards the ground. Turning around, Chloe saw that her left front tire was completely flat. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she exclaimed in frustration.

“Just pop the trunk,” he told her, moving towards the car’s rear, “and I’ll put your spare on.”

“I hate for you to have to do that, Jack.”

“It’s really not a problem.”

“Are you sure?”

“Chloe,” he said looking determinedly at her, “I’m sure. Now pop the trunk.”

She did and walked over to where he stood behind the car.

“Um, Chloe?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s no spare in here.”

“What?”

“There’s no spare,” he repeated, holding up the mat on the trunk floor to reveal an empty hole where the spare should have been.

Chloe sighed. “I guess I’ll just call a tow.”

“Don’t do that, it’s a waste of money. Look, I’ll take you home and tomorrow we’ll go get a tire, come back and change it.”

It was a little too convenient. “I don’t know, Jack . . . ”

“Look, if you’re worried about me, don’t be. I promise to be the good little Methodist boy my mother raised me to be.” He put his hands in his pockets. “These will stay right here. Promise. Nothing funny. Just a nice guy trying to give a girl in trouble a ride home. That’s all.”

Chloe squinted, judging his intentions.

“I mean it. Right here,” he said, jiggling his hands in his pockets.

She laughed out loud. “Okay, okay. You win.”

* * * * *

He watched as they moved away from her car and got into the Jeep. Throwing caution aside, he bolted across the open parking lot, reaching his moped just as they pulled onto the main road.

EIGHT

As they motored down the stretch of coastal highway that led to her cottage, Chloe sank into the leather seat and listened to the engine’s steady growl. The wind whipped through her hair relentlessly, forcing her to hold it ponytail-like at the side of her neck. She gazed upward into the clear night sky and a fat, glowing moon. To her left was the ocean, its rolling waves tumbling onto the shore rising up in a choral roar, and Jack, silhouetted against the passing scenery.

During the last three hours her heavy heart had seemed to grow measurably lighter, and frankly, she just didn’t get it. She didn’t know this man. Aside from being privy to a few facts about his life, Jack was a complete stranger. But for some reason he had snapped her out of her funk like nothing else had been able to. Izzie would say she was compensating. That it wasn’t really this
particular
man, it was just that he was someone new and different. That she had conjured the connection out of sheer loneliness.
Maybe I’m just latching onto the first person to come along,
she thought.

In that case, she should definitely steer clear.
Definitely
. That kind of attachment couldn’t be healthy.
And,
she pointed out to herself,
it isn’t fair to start something I’m not prepared to finish. AND this has no potential beyond St. Gideon, anyway.
Talk about a doomed relationship.

Relationship? How had that word even entered her mind?
Now was the time for her to learn how to be strong on her own. Alone.

“You know,” Jack started, interrupting her internal dialogue, “I’ve got access to the catamarans at the resort. I don’t suppose you’d want to try one out tomorrow after we get your tire changed?”

He’s getting the wrong idea.
Chloe sighed. “I don’t know, Jack. I mean . . . well—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he offered quickly, “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to push.”

“Jack, I’d like to go. It’s just . . .” Seconds of silence added up as her common sense and her heart argued back and forth like an emotional see-saw. Finally a compromise surfaced.
Friendship. How dangerous could friendship be?
“It’s just that I can’t tomorrow. I really need to get some work done,” she fumbled. “If you’re free the next day, though—”

“Chloe, really. I don’t want to push you. Don’t feel like you have to.”

“I don’t. I want to. It sounds like fun.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “If you’re sure. But just so you know, there’s no pressure. Besides,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice, “it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been turned down. I’m pretty sure I’d survive.”

He grinned cheekily, disarming her completely. “I don’t know,” she drawled, unable to keep from adopting the same teasing tone. “You’ve never been turned down by me.”

His grin grew wider as he shot back, “Wonder what that says about you?”

A few minutes later, as they neared Chloe’s development, Jack cleared his throat cautiously. “Look, Chloe, I know you’re not sure about me.” He paused, but when she didn’t argue with him, kept going. “You’ve got a lot going on that I can’t even begin to understand. But this is weird for me too. The fact is, I’m not the kind of guy that asks perfect strangers out to dinner. But something made me do it this morning, and I can’t just dismiss that.” He paused to cross into the oncoming lane, zip past a slow car and shift back into his lane.

“I understand your situation. I know you feel like, now that Tate’s gone, you’re all alone in this world and that you’ve got to figure out what living like that looks like, but,” he hesitated, “the thing is, you’re not alone. Not unless you want to be. And I don’t think you’d have come tonight if you really just wanted to be alone. And that’s okay because we’re designed to need other people, you know? God didn’t make us to be islands unto ourselves.” He turned for a quick look at her. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Chloe shook her head. “No,” she lied.

“Look, I enjoyed tonight. I think maybe you did too. But I’m worried you’re going to get nervous or feel smothered or something, and disappear on me. So can I just say up front that I don’t want you to do that? I think you’re too lonely for your own good. I don’t think it’s a coincidence I stumbled onto you this morning.” He took a deep breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that—I’m not expecting anything from you. Except maybe,” he said, his gaze warm and sincere, “that dinner’s on you next time.”

Chloe sat frozen, with no idea of what to say to this kind of, well . . . honesty. Was it honesty?
Because either he’s the most skilled charmer I’ve ever met, or I’ve actually stumbled onto a guy who isn’t afraid to share his feelings. And on a first date no less.

When she didn’t say anything, he pushed ahead, “So, how ‘bout it?” he asked, staring at the black roadway ahead. “Think we can just be friends and leave the complicated stuff out of it for now?”

Friends. Friends would work.
She extended a hand towards him.

He slipped his right hand off the wheel and shook hers. “Good enough.”

And as Jack drove silently the rest of the short distance through Chloe’s development, she couldn’t help but wonder how she’d found herself here, with this person, feeling better than she had in a long time.

* * * * *

At the top of Chloe’s driveway, Jack turned off the engine and stepped out, heading to her side to open her door for her. But by the time he got there, she was already standing on the pavement, so instead he leaned casually against the Jeep, facing her.

“Thanks again for the dinner invitation,” she said.

“Thank
you
for not standing me up.”

Chloe shrugged playfully. “It’s the least I could do.”

“The very least,” he grinned.

“So tomorrow then, right? You’ll pick me up to go get that tire?”

“How about nine-thirty?”

“Sounds good,” she told him.

He nodded. “Okay then,” he said, spinning off the hood and sliding around the car in one fluid movement. “See you tomorrow.”

From the driver’s seat, he watched her enter the house and close the door. As he turned the key in the ignition, he hoped that he had put to rest any need she felt to run headlong in the opposite direction
and
that he really was as good a liar as everyone said he was.

* * * * *

Chloe closed the front door behind her and leaned heavily against it, realizing for the first time how tired she was. She reached for the light switch, when suddenly something rammed her in the chest, forcing all the breath out of her body. A second blow to the stomach sent her to her knees, gasping for air. She craned her head up for a look at her attacker, but all she could make out was a black figure hovering over her. He kicked her hard in the side and pulled back to kick again, but she rolled away, slamming her head into a table and sending the vase atop it crashing to the floor.

* * * * *

Jack’s Jeep had just crossed the end of Chloe’s driveway when he heard the shattering ceramic, followed by Chloe’s shrill scream. Jamming his foot down, he gunned it forward.

* * * * *

Dazed, Chloe shook her head back and forth, trying to clear the fog, but it only made her head hurt more. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a fist raised above her, ready to strike. She clawed at it, catching her hand in what must’ve been a jacket pocket, followed by the sound of ripping and jangling as something dropped to the floor. Her attacker roared and she cringed, throwing her arm up over her head and turning her face protectively towards the floor. She caught a shadowy glimpse of something familiar, but out of place, lying near her head just before squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of the impending blow.

The front door flew open, slamming into the wall with an almighty thud as Jack burst through it. Suddenly Chloe was no longer beneath her attacker, and she scooted over to the wall as Jack and the intruder smashed around her living room. With a tremendous roar they fell backwards, crashing down onto the glass coffee table, pulverizing it into a million pieces.

Mustering herself, Chloe hobbled to the coat closet. Jack yelled out in pain as a shard of glass from the decimated table slashed into his thigh. Undeterred, he rolled over on top of the intruder and pounded him with his fists. Despite Jack’s barrage, the intruder managed to swing his right arm around, slamming it into the left side of Jack’s head. The blow sent Jack sprawling across the floor. The intruder rose to his feet and swung a leg back to kick, when Jack swept his other leg out from under him, flipping him onto the floor with a heavy thud. Jack scanned the room, but there was nothing useful within reach. As the intruder got up, Jack readied to charge again, then froze. The intruder had a gun in his outstretched hand.

A loud crack echoed through the room, and the intruder dropped like deadweight to the floor. Jack looked up to see Chloe standing behind the intruder, wielding a massive golf driver. Jack quickly scrambled over and snatched the man’s gun away. Stepping back, he aimed it at the intruder and prodded him with his foot. There was no movement. Jack reached for the intruder’s wrist.

“He’s alive,” Jack said, dropping the hand and turning to look at Chloe. “But I think he’ll be out for a while.” Jack spotted the light switch on the wall and flipped it on. The man at their feet was dressed all in black. A ski mask covered his face. Jack quickly patted him down for weapons, but found nothing. Then he pulled off the mask.

“You know him?” he asked Chloe.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she shook her head, no.

“Come on,” Jack said, moving to her. “You got knocked around pretty good. I think you’d better sit down.” All Chloe could manage was a nod. Putting his arm around her to steady her, he walked her into the kitchen and sat her in a chair. “Where’s your phone?”

“Over there on the wall,” she replied weakly, nodding towards it.

Jack quickly strode over and dialed the operator. Chloe sat silently in the chair, while Jack asked for emergency services and moved to the doorway leading to the front room. He watched the unconscious intruder intently as he stayed on the line. Within half a minute he was off. “They’re on their way,” he announced walking back to her. “They’re sending an ambulance, too.”

Chloe lifted her eyes to meet his. “He jumped me as soon as I walked in. I think I surprised him. I didn’t even see him,” she said, her voice trembling and anxious. She looked down at the weapon in Jack’s waistband. “He had a gun, Jack. If you hadn’t been here . . .”

Jack knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his. “Hey, I
was
here. And it’s over now. You’re okay. Besides, you did a pretty good job taking care of yourself. Of the both of us for that matter.” He walked back to the doorway, eyeing the intruder again, still out cold. He turned back to Chloe. “It’s a good thing you had that driver,” he said, nodding towards the front room and delivering a small smile.

“It’s not mine. Somebody left a few odd clubs in the closet.”

“Do you have any duct tape—anything I can tie him up with?”

He could tell from her twisted expression that it hurt her just to think. “No . . . I don’t know. There might be some in that drawer by the sink.”

Jack rummaged through the drawer. “Nothing,” he said, letting the drawer roll shut. “He’s bleeding a lot,” he said, moving to stand where he could watch both the intruder and Chloe. “I hope they get here soon, or else—”

At the sight of Chloe’s whitened complexion, Jack cut himself off. “Chloe, you don’t look so good—”

“Jack, I’m fine. Really. You’re the one who looks hurt,” she said, gesturing towards a large, bloody gash on his shirtsleeve.

“Nah. Just a scrape or tw—Chloe?” he asked in concern, as her eyes glazed over and she tilted to one side. “Chloe!” he shouted, diving for her as she slumped out of the chair onto the floor.

Jack pulled her onto his lap and nervously checked for a pulse. “Thank God,” he muttered when he found it, and tried to adjust her into a less awkward position. When he removed his hand from behind her head, it was covered in bright red. Fear filled his eyes as, turning her gently, he found a two-inch wound on her scalp that had turned much of the back of her head into a matted, bloody mess.

He held her, whispering to her to wake, to stay, until finally, sirens screamed up Chloe’s driveway. “In the kitchen!” Jack yelled as he heard the front door open.

Two uniformed officers strode into the room, followed moments later by a medic.

“She’s hurt,” Jack told them, as the medic moved to Chloe’s side and began working. “What about him?” Jack asked, tilting his head towards the front room.

“Who?” asked a burly, dark-skinned officer.