Chapter 15 #2
He smirks. “No. I was just thinking how, in this light, you look far less intimidating.”
I don’t know why, but a laugh escapes my lips. “Don’t let it fool you.” I stand and brush the dirt off my pants.
He’s on his feet a moment later. “Oh, I know better than to do that.”
A shifting of the light has me scanning the tree line behind Owen. I swear I sense movement.
Owen follows my gaze. “Probably an animal,” he comments, but there’s a quiver in his voice that makes me believe he might not trust his own words.
Perhaps I’m overthinking, but I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. And those inklings are usually correct. They’ve saved my ass more than a few times in my line of work.
“Let’s go, so I can buy you breakfast,” Owen says, turning to lead the way down the trail that meanders along the cliffs and into the forest.
“Always so concerned with my eating habits,” I mumble behind him, ignoring the movement and noise for now but keeping myself on high alert.
He chuckles. “Can’t have you losing any of that muscle, or I’ll soon be able to beat you in a fight.”
I snort. “Unlikely.”
A twig snaps behind us, and I’m instantly turning. Owen halts and does the same.
I scan the area again. My adrenaline releases in my veins, making me more alert.
“Like I said. It’s probably an animal,” Owen whispers.
Animals don’t follow people. They’re afraid of them. And animals don’t step on twigs and break them. They don’t weigh enough and are certainly not stupid enough to give themselves away to potential prey or predators.
Only humans do that.
Fuck.
I turn to Owen and surprise him by stepping into him, pressing my body against his. Rising on my toes, I put my mouth against his ear. The movement appears intimate to any onlookers—innocent and unaware.
“That’s not an animal or other hikers. Don’t move, and don’t act surprised.
We’re being followed,” I whisper, and despite the danger we find ourselves in, I can’t help but notice the warmth of his hands as they press into my hips, or the movement of his chest as it moves up and down against mine.
Both find a similar cadence, perfectly in sync.
His body stiffens, the only indication he understands. He doesn’t contradict me either, which makes me believe he knew being followed was a possibility.
I suddenly don’t care if he finds out what I am. All I want is to get him out of here. Make sure he’s safe.
“I’m going to take your hand and pretend we’re having an intimate moment. Then we’re going to head back to the parking lot. Slowly. We need to stay out in the open and not let them suspect we know they’re there.”
The last person who followed Owen was only looking for information, not trying to harm him, so I’m secretly hoping this time is the same, even though every alarm bell is going off in my mind.
He dips his head until his lips brush against my ear. “Lead the way, Miss Riley.” His voice is low and deep and shows no sign of fear. Suddenly, I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be, considering the situation we find ourselves in.
I grab his hand. It dwarfs mine. His heat sinks into me, and my cold fingers suddenly turn warm.
I try to ignore the ever-increasing adrenaline running through my veins, causing my heart to pick up its pace, knowing it’s not only due to the current threat we face. Instead, I turn us back up the trail, toward the parking lot. My senses are on high alert, listening and watching for any movement.
He’s so close that I can feel the heat of him. I can hear his ragged breath, and the sound makes me think of other ways he might sound like that.
I shake my head, willing the inconvenient and inappropriate thoughts to vanish.
We walk quickly but not fast enough that anyone would suspect we know we’re being followed. Turning, we follow the trail away from the coast, and I almost allow myself to believe that I was only being paranoid when a gunshot sounds behind us.
I want to freeze in terror, feeling the phantom pain of the gunshot in my shoulder, but my brain instantly shifts its attention to Owen. All I care about is getting him somewhere safe. I twist both of us and push him to the ground. When a second gunshot sounds, I fall on top of him.
I’m instantly up again, pulling him along with me. “Get to the trees,” I growl, shoving him ahead of me.
“I thought you said—” he begins, and I can hear the panic in his voice.
“That was before I knew they had guns,” I shout as we both sprint for the trees to the left of us.
Thank god Owen is fit and quick on his feet. He keeps pace with me as we crash into the underbrush and barrel through the forest, our steps loud over the dry leaves and fallen branches. Discretion is no longer needed—only survival.
Another gunshot sounds behind us and ricochets off a tree ahead. Owen halts, and I crash into his back. He stares at the bullet hole in the tree, almost as if he’s about to go into a state of shock.
“Look at me,” I demand, knowing we only have a few seconds at most.
He does. I ignore the terror on his face and the fact that my instructions and my calmness in this situation might get me found out. At the very least, they might cause some suspicion. I decide it’s worth it. I decide he’s worth it.
“I will distract them, pull them in the opposite direction. You need to run for the car. I’ll be right behind you. Wait two minutes for me. No more. If I’m not there, go.”
“I can’t,” he stammers.
“You can and you will.” I push him away from me.
His face looks devastated, and I try my best to ignore it while turning away from him and sprinting in the opposite direction. I make as much noise as I can, drawing the gunman away from Owen. The plants grab at my clothes, tearing my skin under my leggings.
I may not have a gun, but I did strap a dagger to my thigh. I grab for it, not slowing. Counting the seconds, knowing I only have a minute before I need to head back toward the car, I use the numbers to steady myself.
The sound of another shot echoes behind me. It’s close. Whoever’s after Owen took the bait and followed me instead. I could sigh with relief if I didn’t have to run for my life.
Sweat pours down my chest. When I reach sixty seconds, I switch directions. I catch the movement of my pursuer as I do, and I clutch the dagger harder until steel cuts grooves into my skin.
Come on.
I urge them to make a mistake. To come out into the open for a split second so that I can bury a dagger in them.
A moment later, I spot their silhouette step out from behind a tree, and I whip my arm toward them, turning my body to get the most momentum and releasing the dagger.
I hear the gunshot at the exact moment the dagger leaves my hand. Falling to the ground, searing pain rips through the skin on my arm, but my dagger hits its target, and the person goes down with a grunt of pain.
I hit his leg.
Not waiting for him to pull the trigger again, I push up, my arm screaming in pain, and sprint as fast as my legs will carry me.
The branches grab at my hair and pull it from its ponytail. I ignore my arm. I ignore everything, focused only on my one objective: the seconds I have left to get back to the car in time.
When I break through the tree line and stumble on the pavement of the parking lot, I let out a strangled noise. The shadow of his form waits in the driver's seat.
He didn’t leave me.
When I get to the car, I yank open the door with my good arm and fall into the seat.
“Go!” I shout and slam the door shut. Owen doesn’t wait as he peels out of the parking lot, his foot already poised over the gas.
We both don’t say anything for a few moments, and I struggle to get my seatbelt fastened. He notices my arm and almost swerves off the road.
“Eyes on the road,” I growl, sitting up straighter so I can get a better look at my wound. The bullet only grazed the skin of my upper arm.
I reach down and grab the end of my T-shirt, tearing it. I wrap it around my arm and cinch it tight, wincing at the pain.
At least I won’t bleed all over his car.
Owen doesn’t slow, and I brace myself around every corner, careful not to aggravate my injury.
Damn, he knows how to drive this thing.
“You have somewhere safe to go?” I ask, not quite sure why he hasn’t spoken but also not sure what to say to him, either.
“Yes.” His voice is deep and laced with a roughness that tells me he’s been expecting something like this to happen.
I don’t have it in me to say anything more, and he doesn’t elaborate on his answer. Instead, he races along the coast, eventually turning inland. He drives for another ten minutes, turning off the main road and onto a dirt one. Another few minutes, and he slows the car to a crawl.
“You should probably call the cops,” I rasp through the pain, even though I don’t want him to get them involved. But I don’t want to make an already-precarious situation worse. After this morning, if he doesn’t suspect that there’s more to me than meets the eye, then he’s a fool.
I know he’s not, though. I’ve seen my fair share of them, and he definitely isn’t. Which means I need to be prepared for the questions I know he’s going to ask, for the possibility that he will figure it out. That he will fire me and leave me with nothing.
He glances down at the blood-soaked T-shirt.
“We need to get you to a hospital.” It doesn’t surprise me that he ignores my plea to call the cops.
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It’s not deep.” When we both fall into silence again, I ask him with a little more force, “Owen, who’s trying to kill you? And why aren’t you calling the police?”
I still need to try to act like the innocent assistant, even if I did throw a blade into the leg of our pursuer and am not panicking as much as I should be if I were just your average civilian.