CHAPTER 8
Frankie
I smear marshmallow Fluff over a slice of low-carb whole-wheat bread, aware of how ridiculous the combination is. I chose the bread for its health benefits. I chose the Fluff because I was having a panic attack in the Walmart aisle and thought I was grabbing a jar of natural peanut butter.
But there’s one thing I’m proud of myself for.
I just hiked down the hill to where I hid the Toyota and brought back the handgun and ammo, along with a treasure trove of other crap I found—a lighter, two packets of crackers, and several plastic utensil and napkin sleeves from fast food runs.
I left the body glitter, wig, and thongs where they were.
I have no idea what lengths Niko will go to in his effort to hunt me down, or what tools are at his disposal. Drones wouldn’t be out of the question. Or planes. He’s so rich he could hire his own Ninja squad to find me if he wanted to.
But holy hell I hope he didn’t put a tracker on my SUV—or anything else of mine. But in truth, I have no idea.
I slather on a second coat of Fluff and bite into my delicious lunch.
“Mrraaaoow,” Pussy tells me.
“What?” I ask her, my mouth full. “Don’t judge. It’s not like I can make a nice quinoa and kale pilaf up here, you know.”
What I’m not proud of, however, is that I wore MacLaine’s boots and coat to complete my hike.
What did he say to me? Don’t be stupid? I hate to admit it, but he’s right.
It would’ve been stupid not to. Even though the hiking shoes are about a half size too small for my feet, they sure made the steep down-and-up trek more manageable.
And the coat—real shearling and suede—kept me toasty warm.
Sure, I love my white thigh-high PVC boots with five-inch heels. They give a super-sexy swagger to a spider spin on the pole. And on the floor, they accentuate the drama of a shoulder stand with a side split. But they’re sure as hell useless in the forest.
I glance over at Pussy, who’s staring at me with accusation because I’ve got her suited up inside the cabin. “What? I’m sorry, but I’m just being cautious.”
“Raaaoowr,” she says, her whiskers flicking.
She doesn’t like wearing her harness and leash indoors, but now I’m paranoid because of what MacLaine said about how bringing a pet here was a reckless thing to do.
Maybe this whole idea was a reckless mistake. But where else could I go? This is the only wilderness cabin I have the deed for! It’s the only middle-of-nowhere location I knew I could escape to!
And it’s the only place that has no connection whatsoever to my life, my work, or my past. After Dad died, I got out of Pine Haven, Oregon, and never looked back. Maybe it’s for the best that The Protectors don’t know what happened to me, where I moved to, or what I’m doing with my life.
But I have to admit that it’s almost amusing to imagine Niko’s men rolling up into Pine Haven, looking for a fight. I picture his Russian goons marching into town to interrogate members of Dad’s motorcycle club, insisting they tell them where the wayward daughter of the late Lou Lyles is hiding.
Almost amusing, anyway.
Truth is, I’m done with bloodshed, thank you very much.
I finish my Fluff. Pussy immediately jumps in my lap, harness and all. I stroke her coat. I know I’m going to have to go into town sooner or later for supplies. I need a lot more water. I need more food, and maybe even a vegetable or two.
A girl can’t live on Fluff alone.
I take a deep breath and decide it’s time. I really need to give a label to what’s poking at me, what’s at the core of my deep unease. Yes, Niko’s a very bad man. I get it. I’ve known this for a while now and have been trying to figure out a way to make a breakup seem like his idea.
Nothing was working. As soon as it looked like he might be growing tired of me, he yanked me back, holding onto me tighter than ever. I remained determined to find a way to do it.
This brings me right back to my deep unease—why did he insist that I not be late? Did he really want me to die in the ambush? Did he plan to pull the trigger himself? Slice me open with his own hand, maybe?
Or was his plan something else entirely?
I stop breathing. I cock my ear and hear the sound again. It’s an engine. Coming closer. Not overhead. On the ground. The vibration shakes the old wooden floor beneath me.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.
Could Niko have found me?
“Meeeew!”
“Shhhh,” I tell Pussy.
I grab the gun and double-check that it’s loaded. Pussy jumps from my lap and I race to the window, pressing my back to the wall to stay out of sight. I release the safety.
If Niko’s men have found me, surprise is my only advantage. I’ve got twelve bullets and one chance to come out fighting.
I dare to peer around the window frame.
What the hell?
An ATV on steroids is rocking back and forth as it lurches up the steep, rocky trail. The hot rancher is back—and instead of a horse, he’s riding a badass toy. Did he bring the cops? What the actual fuck is the man doing?
A big trailer drags behind the ATV. It’s piled with stuff.
MacLaine pulls up in front of the cabin. I engage the gun’s safety but keep it in my hand, then I grab Pussy’s leash. I open the door and stand in the threshold, puzzled. I watch him unload a series of items. Split firewood and kindling. Folded tarps. A lantern.
He doesn’t say a word.
“Hey bro,” I call out. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I watch him grab several cardboard boxes full of food, flashlights, batteries, blankets, sweaters, more jackets and coats, and water.
Then I point at what he’s holding in his arms. “Are you kidding me right now?”
He places the litter box and cat litter on the ground. Then, he sets down two canisters of bear spray alongside.
“I didn’t ask for this shit, and I don’t want it!” I yell. “Take it back!”
What am I saying?
Paul Bunyan is literally saving my life. I should shut up, but I’ve been told more than once that my mouth has a mind of its own. And something about this display of generosity and care really bothers me.
The hot rancher is kind. His concern for my well-being is adorable.
Unless he’s lulling me into a false sense of security so that I drop my guard just in time for him to sic the county sheriff on me.
“Keep your cat inside at all times,” he says, voice harsh. “Use the litter.”
I exit the doorway and take two steps toward him. I stare up at him and his eyes bore down into mine. This dude is huge. He must be over six-foot-five, and every inch of him is solid muscle. His size intimidates me.
Or is it the violet-blue of his eyes that’s got me off balance? Or those blond curls?
His gaze travels to my hair, then scans my face. The way he’s looking at me is not polite. He’s hungry.
And when he drops his gaze to my lips, he pauses there a second too long.
I feel it again—the energy arcing between us. I don’t know what to call it, because it’s new. A first. I never felt this before. And I was sure that there are no surprises left for me when it comes to men.
Oh, shit. Is he going to try to kiss me?
MacLaine’s jaw tightens. I see the tendons clench in his huge neck. He’s fighting himself. He wants to kiss me, but he’s holding back.
Good. Because a kiss from Mr. Hot Nevada is the last fucking thing I need.
“What part of ‘leave me alone’ don’t you understand?” I plan to scream this in his face, but it comes out as a whisper, a plea.
He needs to take his adorable kindness and get the fuck away from me. He has no idea how radioactive I am. Since I’m being a bitch for his own good, I decide to keep it going.
“What gives you the right to barge up here on my property and tell me what I can and can’t do?”
We freeze for a moment. Eyes locked. That tingling current courses through me still. My pulse pounds and my lungs seize up.
And then he just walks away. No warning. No retort. Not a single indication that our conversation has wrapped up.
I watch him return to the ATV and turn the ignition switch before he begins shouting at me over the engine noise. “I’ll be back tomorrow! You’ll either show me the deed at that time or I’ll have my lawyer brother file charges and have you thrown off our land!”
He turns the trailer around and drives down the rocky trail without another word, which is okay since the man’s said plenty. The problem is, I don’t understand what he’s telling me.
I look down at the wood and the generous amount of supplies.
The pile of stuff says, if you’re staying, you’re going to need all this crap to be comfortable.
His words say, get the fuck out.
Talk about mixed messages.