Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
“How can we be sure this isn’t about us?” Russ questioned as he paced the bedroom. “We’re supposed to get all dressed up and go to this celebration tonight, not knowing if that fire was meant for us.”
“It wasn’t.” Hillary said confidently. “If they’d found us, we’d be dead.”
“You saw that cop looking at me, right?” Russ shot her a knowing look.
“He recognized me, or at least thought he did. My face is likely plastered on the news or something. And if they dig deeper...” He let the sentence trail off, the implications hanging heavy between them.
Hillary sighed, leaning against the dresser, her gaze steady. “We’ll deal with it if it escalates. You’re probably running on adrenaline from the fire and everything feels worse than it is.”
Russ wasn’t so sure. “I really don’t want to get back on the road. This place works. It’s remote. No one expects us to be here. We have everything we need. I want it to last.” He moved in closer and took her hand. “I finally feel like I can breathe. Like you and I can...”
“That fire wasn’t for us, Russ. It was a message for Claire. And if we want to help her—and help ourselves in the process—we need to see this through. Keeping Claire safe might mean we can stay here longer.”
“I know you want to get home to your sister,” Russ said gently as he turned her toward him and pulled her in close. “Staying here with me isn’t that enticing.”
Hillary didn’t answer him with words. Instead, she stepped closer, cupping his face in her hands and pulling him down to meet her in a kiss. Her lips were soft, but there was an intensity in the way she kissed him, a quiet determination that seemed to chase away all his doubts. The scent of smoke still lingered on him, mingling with the clean, sharp smell of the soap, and it made the moment feel raw, real. Like everything they’d been through was etched into this touch.
Russ felt a thousand instincts flare up, caution screaming at him to slow down, to think this through. They were living on borrowed time, in a borrowed identity, and there was a weight that came with this connection—a danger he wasn’t sure either of them could afford. He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his breathing unsteady.
“Hillary...” he began, his voice hoarse from the smoke as he struggled to find the right words. “This is a dangerous game we’re playing, and I’m not just talking about the people who want me dead. There’s no way this can end well for us.”
She laughed softly, her fingers still tracing along his jaw. “I’m not focused on the ending, Russ. I want to see the next few pages.” Her voice was warm, resolute, as though she was making a promise to herself as much as to him.
Russ looked into her eyes, searching for any hesitation, any trace of fear, but found only that quiet, fierce confidence he’d come to admire. He was tired of running, tired of being alone in his own skin. Maybe this moment—this embrace, this kiss—was exactly what they both needed to hold on to, if only for a little while.
With a sigh of surrender, he drew her close again, his fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her deeply, letting himself sink into the feeling, into her. The future, with all its uncertainty and shadows, could wait.