Chapter Twelve
“Lettie!” Her name tore from his mouth.
Right before the pain seared through his shoulder.
Rome’s entire body swung to one side from the momentum as her scream filled the crop of trees she’d led them to. Greens, reds, browns and patches of blues all blurred in his vision as he tried to get his bearings, but a heavy layer of black was moving in against his will.
Oxygen crushed from his chest, but the burning agony spreading through his upper body only intensified.
The son of a bitch had shot him. With a freaking arrow.
A tendril of breeze caught on the bright green fletching as Rome hit the ground knees first, seemingly driving the twenty-inch carbon bolt deeper.
Though he knew that was impossible. While it felt like any movement from his surroundings increased the damage to his shoulder, he clamped a hand around the wound that shifted the field point into muscle and tendon.
“Rome. Get up. You have to get up.” Long fingers scrambled to help him stay upright.
Lettie was saying his name. Over and over.
But he couldn’t seem to hold onto much of anything, let alone control his legs.
His gut clenched with the lace of panic in her voice.
She’d spent years locking him out from witnessing any kind of emotional reaction from her, just as her parents had taught her, but all that work seemed to disintegrate at the sight of the blood leaching between his fingers.
Slices of sky cut through the wavering trees overhead.
When had he lain down? Movement registered from his left.
Behind her. Closing in. He and Lettie had spent the past twenty-four hours hunting the predator they knew while being hunted themselves.
He should’ve realized it sooner. Should’ve known there was a chance whoever had torn up that hiker wouldn’t appreciate them taking his feral black bear cover out of the equation.
Rome grabbed for Lettie’s hand to pry its hold off his shirt as she struggled to lift him to his feet.
Another wave of agony tore through his shoulder.
Up. He had to get up. “Run, damn it. Run.”
He’d hold off the man getting closer as long as he could.
He’d give her a chance to escape. No matter the cost. Because she didn’t deserve this.
This—the violence, the hunt—wasn’t her world.
She was happy studying data points and developing methods for her studies and figuring out what made an ecosystem that shouldn’t exist in the middle of the desert work.
This was his world. Where survival went to the strongest, the fastest, the most knowledgeable.
He’d spent his entire life developing his instincts to come out on top—two of those years solely on his own in woods much like this after his uncle’s death and no one to care for him—and he had no intention of losing.
Or losing Lettie again.
Her breathing came in short, shallow pants. Those brilliant eyes wide as she processed his order. Lettie shook her head, unaware of the threat within reach, blond hair clinging to her jaw and neck. “I can’t leave you.”
“Run!” Hauling her over his upper body with his good arm, he managed to get her out of the way as the killer lunged.
Unbearable weight slammed into Rome’s midsection and jostled the bolt stuck in the muscle of his shoulder, pinning his rifle beneath him.
His scream scared the surrounding wildlife into silence and scattered the few remaining birds that hadn’t settled down for winter.
All he could do was try to roll out from beneath the killer in an attempt to stop the bastard from getting his hands on Lettie, but his gear and rifle made the shift in his weight impossible.
He clamped down on the man’s shoulder and brought his knee up, landing a strike to the center of the killer’s chest. Air hissed through the black ski mask, but it wasn’t enough.
Rome’s fingers ached as he fisted a handful of jacket with his uninjured hand and pulled the killer away as Lettie scrambled to her feet.
From his position pinned to the forest floor, he only managed to get a general sense of her backing away as Rome fought to give her a chance. “Go!”
A fist slammed into his jaw. Lighting erupted behind his eyes followed by a quick burn of tears, but he couldn’t let it shock him long. “You think you’re saving her, Ranger Foster? I’ve waited years for you to get out of my way. You’re not going to stop me now. Arlette is mine.”
His? Did this asshole know Lettie personally?
Had she started seeing someone else during the divorce proceedings?
He didn’t have time to think about that.
He just had to buy her enough time to find a place to hide.
Someplace he could track her to later. A chance to get help.
Rome tried to catch his breath, but adrenaline was doing its job to intensify every pound of his heart in his chest. “Then you should already know she hates that name.”
He threw everything he had into slamming his fist into the attacker’s face. The crack of bone vibrated through his hand and up into his elbow. The killer rocked off to one side, but the momentum wasn’t enough to dislodge the attacker completely.
His rifle. He just had to get to his rifle. But the man practically sitting on his chest packed a hell of a punch.
A deep laugh pooled dread at the base of Rome’s spine.
The ski mask split over the man’s mouth, flashing rows of straight white teeth, as he lowered toward Rome’s ear.
Pressure built in his chest and shoulder as the killer grabbed for the bolt and twisted the shaft.
“I know more than you can imagine about Lettie. All the little things you stopped appreciating when you left her with those divorce papers and never looked back.”
Sweat built at the back of Rome’s neck as he put the last dregs of energy into not screaming.
His vision darkened around the edges a second time, cutting him off from one of his most valuable senses out here in the wilderness.
But it wasn’t the only one he’d been taught to rely on.
He could smell the desperation on this predator.
Feel the tension in the man’s hands and the slew of hunting knives strategically placed along his belt and down the length of his legs.
And he could hear the unevenness of the killer’s breathing.
This was not a man in control. No. This was an animal who’d spotted his prey and lost any sense of logic in an attempt to get to her as fast and violently as possible.
To tear into her to fulfill some deadly craving.
“I know the sounds she makes when she sleeps.” The killer cocked his head to one side, slowly regaining his sense of awareness.
“I know how she takes her coffee first thing in the morning. How she squints at the computer screen when she’s frustrated with her work.
I know how often she likes to indulge in her favorite chocolate bar and watch her favorite movie in the privacy of her van.
” The man slowly draining the life from him pressed closer.
The field point dug deeper through his shoulder, nearly making it through to the other side.
“I know what her skin feels like when she’d tucked between her sheets at night, Ranger Foster, and how she keeps one leg out of her blankets when she gets too hot. ”
Stalker. The man behind the mask had been stalking his wife.
Getting closer to Lettie. Learning about her.
Potentially easing into her life as someone she knows.
Every muscle in his body shook with battle-ready tension as Rome memorized the few features he could see through the bastard’s mask.
He grabbed onto the killer’s collar, to hold him off from following Lettie a little longer. “Stay the hell away from my wife.”
That low laugh reverberated through Rome’s chest. “She’s not your wife anymore, though, is she? You gave her up, but I suppose I should be thanking you. If you hadn’t left, she wouldn’t have come to Zion. And I wouldn’t be able to show her all the ways I’m the better choice in providing for her.”
“You killed them.” His mouth dried. His body had stopped shaking. He’d been prepared for any number of injuries out here in the wild, taken down by wild boars and charging elk, but he’d never expected to die at the hands of a madman. “The hikers. You used the black bear to cover up your crimes.”
Reaching to the back of his waistband, the bastard pinning him in place extracted a curved, black claw between his index and middle finger.
A black bear claw six inches long and sharp as hell.
“And now I’m going to kill you. For her.
Believe me. It’s nothing personal. Survival of the fittest and all that. ”
Sensation drained from Rome’s face. Lettie. The bastard wanted Lettie. “Sure as hell feels personal.”
The killer pressed his weight into Rome’s chest, pinning him in place with the hand gripping the claw as the other went for the arrow still protruding from his shoulder.
Rome couldn’t stop the half groan, half scream tearing up the back of his throat as his nerves lit up and latched on to his attacker’s collar with his free hand as the tunnel closed in around his vision.
Any adrenaline that’d punched through his veins had drained. Only pain remained.
Digging the arrow deeper, the man on top of him met Rome’s gaze.
Rome’s entire body caught fire. He couldn’t keep his hold on reality as the pain amplified with every inhale. Warmth trickled beneath his clothing, over his chest and down his ribs. Blood. Too much blood. But worse, he couldn’t move his arm. Couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
“Now hold still. This next part is where things get really interesting.” The killer jabbed a knee into Rome’s chest before setting the tip of the black bear claw into the hole where the arrow had cut through his shoulder. “Wouldn’t want you to bleed out too fast, would we?”
He was going to die. Without telling Lettie he was sorry the way he’d left.
That it wasn’t all her fault. He was never going to have another argument over how late she should be drinking caffeine or not to go on a late-night walk alone without pepper spray.
He’d never get to see the look she got when she finally figured out a problem she was having or watch her surpass the colleagues who’d made it their mission to see she failed at every turn.
He wouldn’t get to tell her that the divorce was a mistake.
Another bolt of pain ripped into his senses and kept him in the moment as the bear claw dug into his wound. He couldn’t stop shaking, his hand barely able to keep hold on the killer above him. But he’d do whatever it took to give Lettie time to get away. To get help.
“Hey.” Lettie’s voice cut through the haze dragging Rome away from consciousness.
No. No, no, no. She hadn’t come back. And then she was standing over the killer’s shoulder, holding what looked like a branch half her size cocked above her shoulder.
She didn’t wait for him to turn around, swinging as hard as her small frame could manage.
Rome gasped a full lungful of air as the pressure against his chest disappeared, but he couldn’t sit up. Couldn’t get to her as the killer straightened. Rolling onto his side, all he could do was watch as she backed up a step, the branch hanging at her side. Eyes wide in outright terror.
“Oh, Dr. Larson. That wasn’t very nice. I’m going to have to punish you for that.” Facing off with Lettie, the killer moved in. Faster than Rome could track, the back of the bastard’s hand collided with Lettie’s face, and she hit the ground. Unconscious.
“Lettie.” Her name was nothing more than a plea and a prayer. Clawing at the crusted and broken leaves, Rome struggled to stay conscious as the attacker hauled her over one shoulder in a fireman hold.
“Don’t worry, Ranger Foster. I’ll take good care of her.” Scuffed boots took shape in front of his gaze. Just before one smashed into his face, and the world went black.