Chapter 10 #2
Fear rippled through her body in frissons that had nothing to do with cold.
She wrapped her arms tighter around her middle, trying to stop shaking.
She needed to get away from here. She had to.
But her knees were banged up from earlier falls, and her ankle still throbbed from the twist she’d tried to ignore.
Darkness had closed in, and rain was beginning to fall—slow, fat drops at first, quickly picking up to a steady downfall. She had no phone and no sweater.
If she moved now, they’d hear her.
So she stayed.
Minutes stretched, too long, too tight, too loud. Their voices rose and fell, arguing details Aubrey couldn’t piece together through the wind. Then the argument stopped abruptly, as if someone had made a decision.
Rain increased, coming down in sheets. Water poured off the tin roof in rivulets.
Donovan and Rousseau stepped inside first. At the open doorway, Frost paused and looked out into the trees, scanning as though he could feel her watching.
For one terrible second, Aubrey was sure his gaze would lock on hers.
Instead, he shook his head like he’d dismissed a thought, then slammed the door shut.
A dim light from a small window spilled over the dilapidated porch, turning rain into silver needles.
This was her chance.
Aubrey crawled backward on hands and knees, slow and careful, dragging herself through wet leaves until she was beyond the reach of that thin window glow. Only then did she push up, every muscle trembling, and limp away, praying she was heading back the way she’d come.
She hadn’t gone twenty yards before her boot snagged on dense brush.
She lurched, nearly falling. Her hand shot out to catch a trunk, the bark scraping her palm. Lightning flashed and glinted off something pale in the bushes.
White fabric.
Her gaze dropped to a shirt, shoulders marked by dark epaulets.
The dead pilot.
Leaves clung to his uniform. The blood on his right shoulder had dried into a dark, brutal stain across his chest. His skin was gray. His eyes were open to nothing. One boot was unlaced, the leather tongue twisted where the ground had tugged it loose.
Aubrey’s breath stopped.
Her pulse didn’t.
A sound clawed up her throat—half gasp, half sob—but she swallowed it down, choking on panic. She scrambled backward, hands skidding over stone and bark, heart screaming at her to run.
Death is here.
And so was Donovan.
She didn’t scream. She didn’t waste breath.
She ran.
The undergrowth rustled behind her.
Aubrey veered off the faint footpath into a denser patch of trees. Footsteps pounded after her. Fast and heavy.
No. How?
Faster. She had to go faster.
She fought back tears and shoved through nettles that slapped her arms and tore at her leggings, stinging and drawing blood. The forest floor was a slick blanket of dead leaves. She slipped, regained balance, slipped again.
She glanced back once and saw two silhouettes cutting through rain, closing the distance.
Momentum carried her downhill, but the slope turned treacherous. Her boot caught on an exposed root. She went to her knees hard, and her ankle twisted at an ugly angle.
Pain detonated white behind her eyes.
She bit back a scream, teeth sinking into her lip. Tears burst free anyway as she shoved herself upright, but her injured ankle buckled. She fell onto her backside and slid, leaves and gravel carrying her down until she rolled to a stop.
She crawled, desperate, toward the faint outline of boulders, an outcropping that could hide her if she could wedge herself beneath it. She flattened her back against the uneven rock, pulling her knees in as tight as the pain allowed.
Now that she’d started praying, she couldn’t seem to stop.
Please. Please, God.
Aubrey finally inhaled, shallow at first, then deeper, shaking. The storm clouds had swallowed the light. Even if the day had been warm, the temperature would drop hard overnight.
She shivered, not sure if it was cold or shock.
Her ankle throbbed viciously. She probed it and winced. Swelling was already visible, tight and ugly.
She rested her head against the cool rock and closed her eyes.
Good grief. How am I going to get out of this?
Wind whipped her hair across her face. She brushed it back, arms crossing over her middle to conserve heat. Rain softened into scattered drops, a steady plop-plop on leaves. The forest held its breath.
Voices echoed from the opposite side of the clearing. Aubrey shrank tighter against the rock.
Think.
She couldn’t sit out here all night. But she couldn’t risk moving while Donovan was nearby either. Tears tracked down her cheeks. She swiped them away hard.
She prayed the information she’d overheard didn’t die with her.
Her stomach grumbled. She pressed a hand against it, then blinked, realizing she’d lost time—dozed off, maybe. The leaves shuffled above her head.
“I don’t know where she could’ve disappeared to,” a man muttered.
Aubrey’s heart seized.
Then another voice. Familiar. Rough. Close. She knew that voice.
Ethan.
Thank You, Lord.
“I’m here,” she rasped, voice barely more than breath. “Help me…please.”
“Did you hear that?” Ethan’s voice sharpened.
“Here,” Aubrey tried again, louder, raw. “Below you.”
Pebbles and leaves slid down. A flashlight beam swept the rock face. Ethan lay flat on his stomach above the outcropping, rainwater beading on his forehead, his expression taut with relief and fury braided together.
“Aubrey.” The word came out like a prayer and a reprimand at once. “Thank the Lord.” He vanished from view, and panic flared until his voice snapped over the radio. “Howard, we found her. She’s hurt.”
“Roger that,” Howard replied through static, barely audible from her spot. “Ambulance is staged and waiting.”
A moment later, Liam and Adam appeared behind Ethan, breathless and soaked. Aubrey’s lungs finally pulled in a full breath.
Ethan’s gaze assessed her from disheveled ponytail to muddy hands to torn leggings. She braced for the tongue-lashing.
Instead, he reached down and took her arm, helping her stand.
The moment her injured ankle took weight, she stumbled and fell into him. Ethan caught her automatically, arms going around her in an awkward, instinctive embrace. For one brief second, she was pressed against warmth and solid muscle and the faint, woodsy edge of his aftershave.
For one brief second, she forgot Donovan. Rousseau. That other scary guy, Frost.
The dead pilot.
The hug ended too soon. Ethan stepped back, hands still on her arms like he was making sure she stayed upright.
“Don’t ever scare us like that again,” he said, voice low but rough with leashed emotion.
A curl of warmth unfurled in Aubrey’s chest. He really did care, even if his delivery was always…Ethan.
Heat rushed to her face. Stiff and aching, she stared at her knees, at the gaping holes in the leggings, dried blood at the edges.
Liam broke the moment. “We need to move. Aubrey needs medical attention.”
Liam and Adam started up the hill. Aubrey remained rooted, her heart pounding.
“Coming?” Ethan held out his hand.
She swallowed hard. “Hang on. This is important.”
Ethan’s posture shifted instantly.
“I saw Finn Donovan,” she said, forcing the words past her throat. “He was with Rousseau. And there was another guy—they called him Frost. They were wearing Marshals jackets.”
Ethan’s lips thinned. “Are you sure?”
“I’m telling you, it was him.” Her voice shook. “And there was a pilot. Dead. They were arguing about what to do with him.”
“Where?” Ethan demanded.
“Back the way I came,” she said, pointing upslope. “I got turned around, but there’s an abandoned cabin up there. The pilot is under a bush nearby.”
Ethan’s gaze flicked toward the storm-darkened trees. “Okay. We need to get out of here. We can’t search for the cabin tonight. It’s too dangerous.”
She took one step and grimaced, pain knifing up her leg.
Ethan bent, fingers probing her ankle gently but firmly. She hissed, unable to hide it. “Yeah, that’s swollen bad.” He straightened. “Arm around my shoulder. Other arm around Liam’s. We’re getting you out.”
“Thank you,” Aubrey whispered, voice breaking. “If you hadn’t found me—”
Ethan didn’t let her finish. “We did,” he said, more promise than comfort. “And we’re not leaving you again.”