Page 87 of Lost Truth
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Where had Collins and Nolan gone?
Cady swept the marina area with her binoculars. Only movement she found were the waves slapping at the shore and large storm clouds threatening rain crawling across dark skies.
She’d seen Collins descend the steps from the upper level, but then lost sight of him. Nolan had disappeared on the dock about twenty-five minutes ago, and she hadn’t seen him since.
Had they encountered each other? She saw zero evidence of the pair struggling on the dock or on the boat. There was simply no sign of anyone.
Twenty-five minutes. Twenty-five long minutes. Alone with only her imagination filled with terrible outcomes. And as a reporter, she could conjure up far more horrible situations than the average person.
She’d remained in the place with no help in sight. The operator had warned it could take some time before help arrived because so many deputies had been dispatched to an emergency. Of course! They had to be helping rescue the people Collins had thrown overboard and were stationed onshore to arrest the gunmen. Or maybe it was a serious car accident.
Either way, it didn’t matter. Not really. No one was coming anytime soon.
She checked her watch. Time to bail. She lowered her binoculars for just a second to scoot behind the steering wheel but quickly rested her arms on it again to watch the marina.
Was Nolan really in trouble?
She scanned wide. Still no sign of either man, and she didn’t even know if Nolan needed help. He surely was smarter than Collins and could take care of himself.
So why was her gut so tied up in a knot? It wasn’t like she’d personally experienced any danger or Nolan had come under fire or anything like that. Seriously, if she was so freaked out here, how would she ever take an assignment in a war zone, where real conflict unfolded around her? Maybe she couldn’t do it. She’d never given the danger aspect any real thought.
She’d glossed over the nitty-gritty to think of the stories she would turn in. Perhaps to the recognition she would get for stellar writing. Maybe a Pulitzer Prize. All the wrong reasons to go to a war zone. Her emphasis should be on reporting people’s terrible struggles. To show the human cost of war. She certainly would need to have a long think about her motives.
A knock sounded on her window. She jumped. Nolan?
She spun. Gasped.
Stared at the gun pressed against the window. A big black gun.
Collins’ gun.
He’d slicked back his dripping wet hair, and his drenched clothing stuck to his stout frame. He hadn’t come down the dock. He’d jumped into the water to swim ashore. Not something she was expecting. Nolan hadn’t likely expected it either as he’d gone down the dock.
“Unlock the door,” Collins shouted.
She shook her head in defiance.
“Open or don’t open. No skin off my nose.” He dropped his finger to the trigger. “I’m taking this vehicle with or without your help.”
She jerked away from him. The terror in his eyes as he pinned his gaze to her, and his antsy movements said he meant business.
She didn’t want to die, but if she opened the door, would he kill her anyway?
She had no choice. Sitting here doing nothing would surely end in her death.
Please don’t let me die today.
She held the binoculars in her right hand in case she could use them as a weapon and clicked the door lock with her free hand.
He stepped to the side and jerked the door open, the barrel of his handgun continuously aimed at her.
“Get out,” he said.
Fear froze her muscles, and she couldn’t move.
“Fine. We’ll do it my way.” He reached in with his free hand, as if he were going to grab her and pull her out.
