He put a hand on his gun as he stood there. “I’m not asking again.”

The weapon. That was the answer. Distract him, then shoot him. She’d vowed never to hold a gun with the thought of hurting a person again. She went along with the firing practice, knowing it would be a skill she never used. Now she wasn’t so sure.

She got out of the car and wrapped her oversized jacket around her. Her footsteps slipped on the iced-over path. She stepped into the more wooded area to keep from falling.

Evan’s steps mirrored hers. The crunch of their footsteps echoed through the woods. Snow made a distinctive sound as it hit the ground. If they’d been deeper into winter without the warm spell, the packed mud would be frozen and this area of Whitaker would be a wasteland.

They marched, ducking under bent branches and climbing over fallen limbs. With each step she calculated the risk if she grabbed his gun. The amount of damage and blood if she could get off a shot. The time it would take her to crawl to safety if the whole thing backfired and she got shot.

Then she thought about Connor. His smile. Watching him work in the kitchen. All those articles about the workaholic. The way he touched her when he peeled her clothing off. So many sides that made up the complex, flawed, beautiful picture. If he was her last breath of happiness on the earth she could live with that.

Wordless, they walked over the rocky and uneven path. Broken pieces of concrete and ruins littered the trail. Some walls still stood and time had preserved a labyrinth of rooms from the innermost collection of the cells.

The small prison had held maritime prisoners, caught for committing all sorts of crimes. But sometime fifty or so years ago someone decided it was cruel and unusual to house people in the path of frigid winds at the end of a secluded island. Interesting she should end up here.

They made their way to the far side of the compound, around walls overgrown with ivy. At this end the water lapped against the slim shoreline. The waves rushed in and out, leaving approximately five feet of rocky beach exposed.

The temperature dropped another ten degrees here. The snow had stopped but the sky threatened to let loose again.

She looked out over the pale blue water. Watched the waves and whitecaps dance in the distance. There was no way to survive out there. Her only chance was to get off a shot.

More stalling. “The temperature—”

“Don’t fall in and you’ll be fine.” Evan looked around. “Where’s this boat?”

Her mind zipped to the shed and to the preserved rooms. Which one gave her more of a chance?

“Do you think you can put this off? I’ve waited three years for you to hone your skills. That’s enough.”