Written in 63 minutes.

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Late June 2000

Jason stood at the terrace doors, keeping his eyes alert for any movement but it was getting hard to see anything further than a few feet in front of his face as the wind-whipped rain pelted against his face like tiny stings. The weather had been forecast as the back edge of a tropical storm, but this was nothing like he’d been through before. He had the sinking feeling that there’d been a shift in the storm’s path.

And with the increase in the storm’s power came to the danger of a storm surge. The house was set too close to the water to play around with that possibility. Jason glanced back at Elizabeth who had changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and was tying her sneakers.

“Jason, if it’s a storm and the power is down,” she said, “aren’t we better off just waiting it out here?” She stood, then began to  bundle her hair back from her face. “You have the gun and we know there’s something out there—”

Jason pulled the doors closed, locked them, looked over to the corner of the room where she kept her completed canvases. He squinted, wondering where the best place in the house would be to keep them safe from water damage. Elizabeth followed his eyes, and her eyes widened. “Jason, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I don’t know, I don’t—” There was no point in worrying her until he knew for sure. He kept the gun at his side, reached for her hand. “I have to get changed. Let’s go, and we’ll find a radio. Let’s find out what we’re dealing with.”

In his room, he changed into clean jeans and shirt while Elizabeth fumbled with the knobs on the radio, twisting until she found a station.

“…residents south of Crooked Island and Samana Cays will want to get to high ground. Tropical Storm Mariah has been upgraded to a category one hurricane with winds measuring 85 miles per hour. It’s storm path has shifted drastically, and it is now projected to hit the island of West Plana Cays head on, making landfall in the next thirty minutes. I repeat, residents of West Plana Cays need to get to high ground.”

Damn it, damn it. Jason exhaled slowly, dragged a hand down his face. It was possible that the road into the town was already washed out, but there was no way to know for sure. If they got there and it was washed out, there was no guarantee they could get back to the house.

And Dario Colon was still out there somewhere.

“Where’s the highest ground?” Elizabeth asked.

“The—the other side of the island. There’s—” Jason looked at her. “I don’t know that we could get there before the storm makes landfall. And this is just the outerbands right now—”  They could hear the rain pelting hard against the roof above them, the wind roaring, and the ocean waves crashing. “The house is well-built,” he told her, “but a storm surge—” He started for the door, then winced, pressing a hand to his side, and then he had to brace himself against the wall, his head spinning.

Elizabeth came to his side, stretched her arm around his waist. “Let’s sit down. Okay? Even if we wanted to leave, I don’t know where I’m going, and you’ve already pushed too hard today.”

He hated that she was right, but allowed her to steer him towards the bed. The adrenaline of the confrontation was draining away, and he just couldn’t drag Elizabeth out onto the island into a hurricane with the possibility he’d pass out and leave her stranded.

“We need to make the house safe. I need to clear it, and lock it down,” Jason told her. He took a deep breath. “We need to get the storm supplies and move them into one room. And—” he looked at her. “I need to teach you how to use this.” He held out the gun, and she looked down at him, then back at him.

“Okay. Let’s get started.”

—

Sonny came in from the cockpit, and shook his head when Luke looked at him. “No, Marco says there’s no sign of Dario, and they had to suspend looking for him. The island is expected to be hit directly and I can’t be the priority. The road up to the house was already washed out, so—”

“Christ. They’re stuck out there alone, with no communication, no power—” Luke paced the length of the plane. “How bad is the storm?”

“Category one. They think it’ll peak around 90 miles an hour, but it’s already deviated from its predicted storm path.” Sonny found a radio, switched it on low. It’s going to be over warm water. It picks up much more, they’ll upgrade it more—”

“How the hell did they get this storm so wrong?” Luke demanded.

“Mother Nature does whatever it wants, Luke. You know that.” Sonny found the right station, tuned in. “Look, I hate this. But Jason is with Elizabeth. You know he’d give his life before he let something happen to her—”

“Yeah, well he’s not exactly at one hundred percent, is he? So if you don’t mind, I’m gonna keep worrying.”

—

They cleared the bedrooms first, locking the windows and pulling down the storm shutters—not an easy job as Jason had to close them from inside the room. Elizabeth made sure her canvases were stored against the far wall, with their protective casing wrapped around them.

The house was empty, but Elizabeth couldn’t shake the jittery feeling. She told herself that Dario Colon had likely gone to higher ground — that it’d be suicide to hang around in this kind of water —

But she’d have thought it would be suicide to sneak inside Jason Morgan’s home and hide out, waiting for an opportunity to attack her, so they weren’t working with a man of sense to begin with.

When they reached the living area, Jason secured the front of the house, and set up the candles around the room. He winced, the shadows of the night keeping her from seeing just how much pain he had.

When the last battery operated light was switched on, Jason looked at her, and now she could see him a little more clearly. He held out his gun. “Let me show you how to use this—”

Elizabeth gingerly took the weapon, the cold metal heavy in her hand. He adjusted her grip, pointing out the trigger, the safety. Then he stood behind her, his arms coming forward to help her lift and aim the gun.

“Then you just pull the trigger,” Jason told her, his breath hot against her ear. “You keep shooting until whoever it is down and can’t get up or you’re out of bullets. There’s a kickback, so—”

“What does that mean? A kickback?” Elizabeth twisted slightly to look at him. “I don’t understand.

Jason hesitated. “It’s hard to explain — but when you pull the trigger, you  have to brace your weight or the force of it can push you down.”

“I don’t—I don’t want that to happen. I need to pull the trigger. Find out what it feels like.” She turned in his arms. “Because if I have to use this, that means you’re hurt or can’t do it. I need to make sure whoever is coming at us can’t get up. That’s what you said.”

Jason grimaced, looked past her. “Okay. Okay. Let’s go. Quick. The storm is only getting worse,” he muttered, but he took the gun from her and then took her hand, pulling her towards the terrace doors. He flipped back the storm shutter, then slid the terrace door aside.

The wind whipped in, the force of the rain nearly shoving them back, but Jason pulled her outside. He took her shoulders, made sure she was facing the water, gave her the gun, then stepped behind her.

He wrapped both his hands around her hands, helping her to lift the gun and aim against the force of the wind. “Now shoot,” he said, his voice close to her ear.

Elizabeth squeezed the trigger, jolting back and nearly pushing them both over. But then she pulled it again. And again, and by the fourth shot—she wasn’t moving at all.

“Good, good. Let’s go.” He took the gun from her, dragged her inside, and refastened the doors, shutting out the storm.

Water pooled around their feet, water dripping from their soaked clothing. Jason looked at her, then swallowed hard, swaying slightly.

“You need to sit down—” Elizabeth hurried to take the gun from him, and set it on the table. “Come on. I’ll get towels and dry clothing. I’m sorry, that was a stupid idea—”

“No, no you needed to know—” Jason grimaced, and she realized just how much willpower he’d been using to keep moving, because he stumbled slightly now. She moved him to the one of the chairs, helping him to sit down.

“I’ll get the towels—”

“Take the gun. Please.” Jason looked at her, drips of rain sliding from his hair down to his cheeks in thin rivulets. “I know we secured the house, but—”

“Okay.” It was easier to agree. He watched her check the safety like he’d told her and she hurried down the hallway.

It didn’t take more a few minutes to return with the dry clothes, and Elizabeth helped him to change, her guilt racketing up a few more notches when she saw that his wound was pink and angry. Inflamed, she realized. He might have healed superficially, but there was still internal damage that needed rest and light handling.

“Don’t—don’t worry—” Jason slid his finger beneath her chin, lifting her worried gaze up to his. “I’m okay. I just need to sit for a little while.”

“You’re not made of steel, Jason. This—I’m so sorry—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing,” he insisted. “Dario came after you because of what I did to him. If I had left it alone that day, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You were just trying to protect me and Emily—”

“I never even thought about her,” Jason said, and Elizabeth frowned. “I let you think that it was for her, for both of you. But it was just you. He put his hands on you, and I couldn’t let him get away with it. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “It’s not your fault—”

“Well, it’s not yours,” he insisted stubbornly. Elizabeth smiled faintly, brushing her fingers over his lips. She leaned in, kissed him briefly.

“We could argue about this all night. Let’s just call it even and get into some dry clothes. This is going to be a long night, and I am freezing.” She squeezed his hand as she rose to her feet. “We’re going to be all right. The house is secure. We’ve got food and batteries. We just have to hold on until morning.”

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