Chapter 51
NOAH
The cold morning air bites at my face, a sharp contrast to the blistering heat radiating from the small fire Kirk and I just got going.
I toss another piece of split pine into the flames, watching the sparks shoot up into the gray dawn.
Out of the corner of my eye, I track Kirk’s every movement.
He’s standing by the open door of his camper, flipping bacon in a cast-iron skillet on a portable camp stove.
He’s humming some old country song, completely oblivious to the fact that he has a wanted fugitive standing three feet away from his back.
Normally, I’d be a lot more suspicious of the way he just… took us in. However, he’s got this strange, soft look about him—like he’s na?ve, trusting, and well… an easy target.
I hate that for him.
My eyes drift from the back of Kirk’s neck to the keys hanging from the ignition of his truck, parked just a few yards away.
It would be so easy. It would take me exactly three seconds to knock him out, tie him up with the paracord I saw on a shelf inside, take his truck, his food, and whatever cash he has inside.
A truck would be warmer for Rue. A truck would blend in better than the Knucklehead.
My muscles tense, the survival instinct a drum in my head. Take it. He’s weak. Take what you need to keep her safe.
My head snaps back to the moment as the camper door creaks open, and Rue steps out.
She looks so damn small suddenly, bundled in her jacket, her hair a messy tangle from the wind and whatever fitful sleep she managed on Kirk’s little mattress. She has her bag gripped so tightly in her hand that her knuckles are white.
Her eyes meet mine, wide and hyper-vigilant, silently asking me if we’re safe.
I look back at Kirk, who turns around with a bright, easy smile, holding two tin plates loaded with eggs and bacon.
“Here we go,” Kirk says, offering the first plate to Rue. “Eat up, sweetheart. You look like a stiff breeze might blow you over. Got some coffee brewing, too.”
Rue hesitates for a fraction of a second before forcing a polite, tight smile. “Thank you, Kirk. This is really kind of you.” Her voice is flat, and suddenly, I’m not sure who I should be watching closer…
Kirk or Rue.
Dammit. We just need to make it through this.
I force the tension to bleed out of my shoulders, uncurling my fists.
I can’t rob him. I can’t make this any worse for us.
I’ve dragged Rue through enough blood, mud, and terror.
I’m not going to repay the first genuine act of kindness we’ve seen in weeks by leaving an innocent man bleeding in the dirt.
It would break something else inside of her, and I refuse to be the one to do it.
“Here ya go,” Kirk holds out another plate to me.
“Thanks, man,” I say, taking the second plate. I step closer to Rue, making sure my shoulder brushes against hers.
She peers up at me, and I hold her eyes for a second. I’m here. I’ve got you.
We sit on a couple of overturned logs near the fire. Rue barely touches her food, her eyes constantly darting to the road, to the tree line, back to Kirk.
Kirk pours himself a mug of coffee and settles into a folding chair across from us.
“So,” he starts, blowing steam off the rim of his cup. “Where are you two headed in such a hurry? Hell of a cold front moving in to be riding a motorcycle.”
“Phoenix,” I say smoothly, not missing a beat. I shove a forkful of eggs into my mouth, keeping my demeanor completely relaxed despite wishing I could groan with satisfaction. “My brother has a contracting business out there. Supposed to start a framing job for him on Monday.”
“Damn, Phoenix, huh? Long ride from here.” Kirk glances at the Harley. “Did you restore it? It’s got some killer mods on it, too.”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Took a few years. It usually runs like a dream, but we had some carburetor trouble back in New Mexico. Put us behind schedule. Had to ride through the night to make up for lost time.”
I hate how easy it is to lie.
“Well, you’re brave,” Kirk chuckles, looking at Rue. “Or crazy. Does he always drag you on these wild goose chases?”
Rue winces slightly, but she recovers fast. “Only when he promises me it’ll be an adventure,” she lies, her voice remarkably steady. She even manages a soft, convincing laugh. “But I think I'm ready for a real bed. I’m sorry we broke into your camper.”
“No big deal. Don’t blame you for it,” Kirk smiles warmly. “Lucky for you, you’re almost out of the mountains. Once you hit the valley, it’ll warm up considerably. Just take it easy on the highway.”
“Thank goodness,” Rue laughs, and the sound fills the campground.
He doesn’t press. He doesn’t ask for our names.
He just accepts the lie because he has no reason not to.
He’s just a nice guy making breakfast in the woods, completely unaware that he’s sitting across from a girl who’s murdered at least two people, and a man who would burn the world down to keep her breathing.
We finish the food quickly. I help Kirk clean the plates, using the water from his jug, while Rue hovers near the bike, her anxiety practically vibrating off of her. Every snap of a twig in the woods makes her head snap around.
We’ve been sitting still for too long.
I finally clear my throat. “We need to get moving,” I tell Kirk, handing him the last tin plate. “Thank you for the meal, and for letting us use the heat. We owe you.”
“Ah, don't worry about it,” Kirk says, waving me off. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out two foil-wrapped granola bars, pressing them into my hand. “Take these for the road. Keep your blood sugar up. You never know when you might need that.”
I stare at the foil wrappers in my hand for a second. It’s such a small, insignificant thing, but it hits me like a punch to the gut.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice a little rougher than I intended.
I walk over to the Harley, shoving the bars into my pocket. Rue is already waiting, her bag secured, her helmet in her hands. I swing a leg over the bike and kick the starter. The engine roars to life, shattering the quiet morning, heavy and loud.
Kirk stands by his camper, giving us a friendly wave.
Rue slides onto the seat behind me, wrapping her arms tight around my waist. She presses her face into my back, and I can feel the heavy, ragged sigh of relief leave her lungs.
I kick it into gear, raising a hand in a final salute to the old man, before twisting the throttle. The bike surges forward, leaving Kirk and the smell of woodsmoke behind us, tearing back onto the asphalt to face whatever the hell is waiting for us next.
Now, let’s just hope he doesn’t fucking snitch.