Page 31 of Defended By the SEAL
Her gaze fell to the window, her worry for Cowboy intensifying as the storm raged on. She pictured him out there, trudging through the snow and ice to the lighthouse, his face set with determination. No matter what happened between them, she knew without a doubt that he loved her. Her free hand slipped to her abdomen as questions swirled in her mind.
She hoped Cowboy would find answers and come back with some clue about what was happening on this island, some insight into Tom’s mysterious intentions. And, just as much, she hoped he’d come back safely. She squeezed her grandmother’s hand, whispering promises of the future—promises she desperately hoped she’d be able to keep.
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The wind whipped against Cowboy’s face as he trudged through the snow, each step sinking him knee-deep into the swirling drifts and layers of ice that blanketed the island. His coat wasn’t much help against the biting chill that found its way into every opening, whipping his body heat away from his skin.
The snow fell so thickly it was impossible to see beyond a few feet, the world around him dissolving into a wall of white as he pressed on, teeth chattering.
He was alone.
Hell, he hadn’t been alone on a mission in years, and he hated the way it felt. He thought of the HERO Force guys on their way there right now, and wished like hell they would get here soon. They’d make light of the cold, razz him about turning soft, and keep things upbeat no matter how dark it got.
Right about now, he’d even welcome Razorback’s gruff orders, just to feel a familiar presence at his back. He could almost hear Deke muttering about the cold, Booger cracking a joke to take the edge off. But tonight, he hadnothing but the howl of the storm pressing him forward, step by grueling step, toward the lighthouse.
The structure loomed ahead, a tall, shadowy shape against the blinding snow, and his gut tightened at the sight of it. Charlotte had seen something up there, she’d been sure of it, and he didn’t doubt her. Whatever it was, he was going to find out.
He moved closer, his thoughts circling back to the story she’d told him about the ghostly flame, a light that seemed to flicker like fire, just visible from the house. The way she’d described it had sent a chill down his spine, a spindly thread of unease that he’d brushed off as nothing. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure.
As he approached the lighthouse, he saw a faint glimmer in the murky darkness and froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Was it the light Charlotte had seen? It flickered, casting an orange glow that seemed to dance just out of reach. For a moment, he thought it was a trick of the light, some reflection off the ice-coated rocks, but the glimmer held, its movement too deliberate to be an illusion.
“Jesus,” he whispered to himself, picking up his pace, heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to get this over with, make sure everything was fine so he could get back to Charlotte and Grams, reassure them it was all just a trick of the light. But the glimmer beckoned, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he’d seen it up close and been able to dismiss its mystery.
The base of the lighthouse loomed above him, its stone walls blackened and weathered with age in the beam of his flashlight. He pulled the heavy door open with a creak, snow blowing in behind him as he stumbled inside.
His breath came in quick gasps, clouds of it visible in thefrigid air as he slammed the door against the wind, the howl of the storm muffled to a low roar beyond the stone walls.
The lighthouse was colder inside than he’d expected, a deep, damp chill that sank into his bones. The air was thick with a strange, acrid tang, an odor he couldn’t quite place but which made his skin crawl. The floor was covered in a thin layer of frost, the stones slick and treacherous beneath his boots.
There was no sign of footsteps, which meant he was alone—or at least he hoped so. He started forward. His flashlight cut a narrow beam through the darkness, its light reflecting off the frosty walls as he scanned the narrow hallway.
The spiral staircase Charlotte told him about stood just ahead, a narrow, winding passage of metal steps that twisted into the shadows above. He shone his flashlight up the stairs, but the beam barely reached the top, the upper floors lost in darkness.
“Great,” he said quietly. “Nobody here but a couple of ghosts.” Taking a deep breath, he started up, the metal creaking beneath his weight as he climbed, each step echoing in the silence. The smell grew stronger as he ascended, and seemed to cling to the walls, making him wrinkle his nose in distaste.
“Not exactly the Ritz,” he muttered, shaking off a shiver as he reached the first landing. The narrow room there was empty, its windows frosted over and the floor littered with debris. An exterior doorway was built into the stone wall, and he presumed it led to the gallery where Charlotte’s cousin had clung for dear life. His flashlight flickered, and he smacked it against his palm, the beam steadying as he moved on, climbing higher into the tower.
He was nearly to the top when he heard afaint, skittering sound like the scratching of claws on metal. He stopped moving, his hand tightening on the flashlight as he held his breath, listening. The noise stopped, replaced by an eerie silence that pressed into him, thick and suffocating.
He exhaled slowly, shaking his head and telling himself it was just the wind, the sound of the storm outside rattling an exterior piece of the old building. But as he took another step, the sound returned, louder this time, a series of rapid, frantic scratches that seemed to echo all around him.
“What the hell…?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the thudding of his heart. He shone his flashlight down the staircase, half-expecting to see something slithering up the steps behind him, but the stairs were empty, the shadows thick and impenetrable.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to keep going, one hand on the railing as he climbed, each step feeling heavier, the air thicker the higher he went.
Finally he was at the top, the narrow platform just beneath the lantern room. He reached for the door, his arm hitting something unseen in the tight, dark space and forcing the flashlight from his hand. It hit the landing with the punctuated clank of metal on metal before it started to roll.
“No!” he snapped, desperately trying to catch the flashlight. It crested the edge of the metal landing and tumbled end over end, all the way to the lighthouse floor. It hit the bottom with the distinctive shattering sounds of electronic components exploding into tiny pieces, the interior of the lighthouse now an inky black, the howling of the wind outside seemingly louder for the darkness. “Son of a bitch.”
He weighed his options. He was so close to completing his sweep of the area that he saw no reason to quit and retreat now. Pushing open the door to the lantern room, hestepped into that final space. In the dim light coming in the window, he could just make out the old lantern mechanism and smell its gears long since rusted with age.
The distinctive sound of footsteps on the metal staircase behind him had him whirling around and holding his breath. Could it be Charlotte? Tom? Someone else? The silence seemed to press in on him, thick and suffocating, the only sound the faint creak of the floor beneath his feet.
“Enough of this,” he muttered, moving quickly. He needed to get out of here, to get back to Charlotte, to warn her about whatever the hell was going on in this place. He rounded a corner and coughed, a warning to whoever was out there that they’d better retreat. But just as his fingers clenched the freezing metal railing, he felt a sharp, blinding pain explode at the back of his skull, his vision going dark as he staggered backward and fell onto the steps beneath him.
The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed his awareness was the light of a flickering flame, its luminescence fading into nothing as he slipped into unconsciousness.
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