Page 76 of The Pretender

“I’m fine.” Her teeth kept knocking together and she didn’t think it was from the cold. “Stunned me more than anything.”

Rain began to fall harder. No longer a mist, the drops pinged on the roof and uncovered patio chairs. Lightning flashed in the distance.

“We should get inside,” Damon said as he stood up.

Harris continued to sit with her. He cradled her on his lap, surrounding her with a bit of protection from the wind. “Can you walk?”

“We need to find everyone and...” She didn’t actually know what came next but gathering suspects felt right. Everyone needed to be questioned. There was the issue of alibis and whereabouts. Maybe they could find the dark clothes.

“No.” Harris offered the sharp response as he lifted them to their feet.

“What?” She leaned against his side. Her brain shouted for her to stand up straight and get it together, but she wanted to burrow in even deeper. Her arms shook as her fingernails dug into his shirt.

“We stay quiet about this,” Harris said.

“Uh, yeah.” Damon scoffed as he tucked his gun into the holster under his jacket. “About that... no fucking way.”

“Listen to me.” Harris kept his arm anchored around her shoulders. “This has been dragging on for fourteen months. Now, for some reason, the person who did this or hurt Tabitha or wants to hurt Gabby or did all of it—whatever this person’s crimes are—is running scared. He’s getting sloppy. Making moves that don’t make sense.”

“True,” Damon said. “It could just be a waiting game now.”

“Do you want me to be the target?” The words caught in her throat but she managed to force them out. It might be the right move, and she would do it if necessary, but she wasn’t a martyr.

The thought of being the latest Wright-family tragedy, of leaving this world without finding out who killed her sister, made all the muscles in Gabby’s lower half turn to jelly. There were times that the unfairness hit her harder than any body slam could. She grabbed on tighter to Harris.

“Of course not.” Harris frowned at her as his hand smoothed over her hair. “And you’re not going to be alone again.”

She knew he meant on the island. Her brain could ferret out the true meaning behind his words. But the thought of staying with him, of taking whatever they’d started here and trying to continue it somewhere else, had hope soaring in her chest. Knowing these were the kind of thoughts that could pummel her until she fell to a heap on the ground, she tried to tamp it down. No matter how hard she tried, that flicker of promise seeped through her defenses.

Damon swore under his breath. Stared at the ground and shifted his weight around as the rain started to come down heavier. Then he looked at Harris again. “So, what’s the plan?”

“We go at them one by one. Catch the right one off guard.”

The rain fell in sheets now. The sound of rushing water echoed around them. It drenched their clothes. Before they could say anything else, they ran around to the front of the guesthouse and stood under the small overhang.

“Which one?” Damon asked.

“The chokehold.” She lifted her head and looked from Harris to Damon.

She hated that the thought moved into her head. She’d been blamed so much and so often that she hated to push that burden onto someone else. But the move had been familiar.

Harris frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”

“The attacker put me in a chokehold.” She tried to ignore the anger vibrating through Harris and mirrored in the clench of his jaw.

Damon shook his head. “But he’s an old man.”

She wondered if Damon had been watching at all. “He’s fit and filled with fury.”

“I’m going to fucking kill him.” Harris pushed her hands away, tried to separate their bodies.

She didn’t let go for fear he’d go up to the main house, find Stephen and start punching... and maybe not stop. “Harris, no.”

“Listen to her.” Damon grabbed Harris’s arm. “That could be a coincidence. We follow your plan. You two rest and I’ll try to figure out where we start.”

“We can help.” She had to do something. Had to get control back.

Damon’s gaze moved over her body. The gaze wasn’t sexual. It was assessing. “No offense, but you’re a mess.”

---