Chapter Six
H unched low over the handlebars, Becca aimed the scooter at the only path that led out from the heavy thicket of trees.
Unfortunately, it also aimed her toward the ledge where Rio was moving fast above her. She had to make it past the choke point where the trees closed off one side and Rio’s ledge bracketed the other. After that, the forest opened to flat dirt. She had to get by him, past the point where he might stop her. She knew one thing: if she failed at this escape attempt, he’d never give her another. She could do it. She must.
If he caught her, who knew what he might do?
Desperately, Becca gave the engine all the gas she could while still keeping the handlebars straight. The ground was uneven, rife with gopher holes, tree branches, underbrush, and snow. She bounced on the seat.
Above her, Rio ran a parallel course along the ice-covered ledge.
At last the ground evened out, and nearly to the choke point, she sped up.
That was the moment Rio flung himself off the ledge.
Like an NFL tackle, his big body slammed into both her and the Vespa. Man, machine, and Becca flew yards across the ground. Like a spinning top, she skittered over snow, dirt, branches, and rocks. She crashed to a hard stop wedged against the trunk of a gnarled oak. The wind was knocked from her lungs. She lay stunned.
Drawing her knees to her chest, she wheezed, and at last drew in air. Pain lanced through her wounded leg, and shrieked from a dozen bruises. Covered in mud, leaves, and snow, she felt a new cold leach into her very bones.
Rio recovered before she did. He got up, dusted off snow, and righted the Vespa. He thrust it into some deep undergrowth. Then he turned to her.
Still on her side, she couldn’t help it. She cringed.
He said nothing. His face grim, he merely walked to her, pulled her up, and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of stones.
Becca groaned. She kicked her legs, got one free and tried to drive her foot into his groin. He captured her legs and held them to his body. On his back, she pounded her fists to no avail. His thick coat protected him.
Back at the cabin, he took her inside, bolted the door, and threw her on the bed without regard. She bounced on her hands and butt. Dread flowed through her. What would he do now? She only knew that no matter how futile, she would fight him.
With sharp movements, he took off his coat, pulled off his gloves, hung up his field glasses. His features appeared carved from the mountainside. Facing her, he set his hands on his hips. “Got a death wish?”
“What?”
“Do you want to die?” He wasn’t shouting, but the intensity in his voice sounded like it.
“Of course not. I just want to get away from you.”
His lips firmed and went flat. “You’re safer here with me. Out there, you’re like red meat to that big cat stalking you.” He shook out his snow-dampened hair, and glowered at her. “Worse, to the cartel, you’re a million bucks sitting on a scooter.”
“How do I know I’m safer with you?” Despite her fear, she flared at him. Still on the mattress, she got up onto hands and knees. She shook with cold and adrenalin. “I don’t know you. You won’t tell me anything. You said you’d make more money off me from those men than whoever’s paying you.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Frowning, he said, “I would, but I’m not going to do that.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve got some integrity. It’s not my style.”
“How do I know that?”
“I’ll show you.” On a low growl, Rio hunted around the small room until his glance fell on the cold fireplace. On the small mantle, which held an old tin coffee percolator and two chipped ceramic mugs, he pushed aside a box of matches and a rusted screwdriver to find a piece of soapstone. Dropping to the wooden floorboards on one knee, in angry movements he quickly sketched out the mountain, their cabin, the nearby roads. “See this? Here is where we are.” He tapped the cabin.
“So?”
He made the mark of an “X” to the south of their position. Then, he drew another to the north, then more surrounding them. “These are the squads of cartel men, looking for you. Right now. Saw them with the field glasses. Out there, you wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes. You were about to drive right into them.”
Her mouth fell open. Her gaze dropped.
“Yeah,” he said, sounding disgusted. “I just hope they didn’t hear the Vespa’s engine.” He looked pained.
“Well, how could I know they were so close?”
“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “that they were out there. I said I’d protect you.” He grimaced as though she were a complete idiot. “God, lady, you never listen.”
“Well ... how do I know you’ll protect me?” Her voice fell to a whisper.
In exasperation, he flung the soapstone aside, got to his feet and gave her his back. He turned his head to the side, and she saw only his profile. His hands hung loose at his sides. Beneath his shirt, the muscles in his back shifted. “Have I hurt you?”
“Well ... no.”
“Did I get you away from men, to whom, despite the ransom, it might not matter whether you live or die?”
“I—I suppose.”
“Have I fed you, brought you your precious coffee, warmed you up?”
“You ... you did.”
He swung around, his chest rising. “Then why did you run?”
She didn’t know what to say. All at once her reasons didn’t sound as logical as they once seemed. She felt small. “I—I just want to live, to go home. Back to my normal life.” The ordeal had thoroughly tired her out. Between the cold, her sickness, and all her new bruises, she only wanted to get warm again, to lie down.
He was right. He’d treated her well, kept her safe.
“You have to trust me,” Rio insisted. “This is what I do. It’s all I do.” He looked away.
That one small movement roused her, sharpened her attention. “All you do? What does that mean?”
His expression made no change. “Means I don’t have hobbies.”
She eyed him narrowly. “Not a big social life?”
As though finished with the subject, he shrugged. Moving to the cooler, he knelt down and busied himself rummaging around inside.
Becca got the sense he was uncomfortable. It was the first sign of unease she’d seen in him, a crack in his carefully constructed, detached persona. She sat back on her haunches. So, Mr. Cool wasn’t the robot he wanted her to believe. She guessed it was worse than that. He had a dearth of human contacts, little family, few friends.
Thinking of her own busy life, her deep friendships, her family, her social agenda, she wondered at his isolation.
“You’re not married, are you?” she asked, already sure of the answer.
Over his shoulder, he glanced back at her. Hesitating, something in him seemed to change, to lighten. The tension eased. “Naw. No time. Besides, no woman would put up with me. I’m an adrenalin junky. I live for excitement. Wherever the action is, I’ve gotta be there.” Shocking her, his mouth turned up in a half smile, revealing straight white teeth and, surprisingly, a dimple.
Becca caught her breath.
Suddenly, she realized that with his attractive face and strong body he could have easily become a high fashion male model. Or an actor. The camera would love this man.
Despite all she’d been through, she could no longer deny one compelling fact: he was extremely attractive. Becca wasn’t sure if she even liked him. So far, he hadn’t been all that charming.
None of that changed one element; he was damned good-looking.
And at least he wasn’t going to kill her.