Third, what if the police wanted to ask more questions about Gwen’s shooting? Would they think Abbie had skipped out or would they think she’d left against her will?
Fourth, fifth, sixth… her mother was dying, dying, dying.
She kicked a loose rock that disappeared in a snowdrift. A beautiful but desolate landscape she could better appreciate with a down coat. She might have hunted for one before leaving if the sun hadn’t been shining outside and she hadn’t been worried over getting caught sneaking around downstairs. If she’d gone to that trouble she’d have left by the front door instead of climbing down a knotted-sheet rope like a teen on a hormone adventure.
No alarm went off when she opened her bedroom window on the second floor. Landing in a pile of snow had been fortunate, except for ending up with wet jeans.
And if she didn’t get out from under these evergreens and back into the sun she was going to turn into a Popsicle.
Suck it up and keep moving before Hunter found her missing.
He wouldn’t be happy, but that was his fault.
When she arrived at his cabin last night, she’d asked when she could get back to her mother. Hunter’s blunt “Not any time soon” had severed her last patient nerve. But, not to go off half-cocked, as her dad would have warned, she’d asked what he intended to do with her. He’d answered, “Depends on how much information you give me.”
She kept coming back to one thing.
He was a trained operative of some sort. He could have been lying to her about everything last night and manipulating her by pretending not to hand her over to WITSEC. She had little information left to trade, so the minute Hunter figured that out, what would he do with her?
He couldn’t let her just walk away after what she’d seen.
Her best bet was to locate the Jeep. Soon.
Pushing a branch out of the way, she dodged the clump of snow that smacked the ground, then she carefully moved forward, stepping on dirt patches and testing snow-covered areas for a hard bottom or ice before she put her weight on her foot.
If Hunter had been reasonable she wouldn’t be out here freezing her bottom off.
She wanted to be angry with him for everything that had happened and blame him for the crazy guy in her apartment, but that guy had called her Abigail. He’d said she did a good job and admitted shooting Gwen, so was he thanking her for getting Gwen outside? That might have been coincidental if he hadn’t known her name. He hadn’t known Hunter by name, though.
She couldn’t figure it all out and Hunter wasn’t sharing a thing. She still couldn’t reconcile this man with the one she’d met six years ago.
He’d looked different back then, but the animal attraction she’d felt for the hairy version of Hunter had been the same as what hit her last night at the Wentworth party. Her first impression of Hunter back then had been rugged and earthy with thick coffee-brown hair to his shoulders, clean but unkempt. He’d reminded her of men she’d grown up around in flannel shirts, brogan boots, and work gloves softened by hard labor.
And God help her, she sort of remembered asking—not begging—him to take her home with him years back. A pathetic memory she’d like to erase. He’d been exactly what she’d gone hunting for when she strutted into the bar looking for a man. Sweet, attentive, sexy in a scruffy way, and so very human. But the somber green eyes hadn’t changed.
She should have realized at the Wentworth party why she recognized Hunter’s eyes.
He’d seemed so free of cares that night long ago.
She couldn’t reconcile today’s suave Hunter with the hairy guy who hadn’t appeared capable of affording a decent hotel.
He’d said very little about himself back then, only that he’d just finished a job she’d assumed was some type of manual labor—hah!—given his beefed-up size and that he wouldn’t be staying a second night in Chicago.
One night. No ties. Perfect.
She’d thought.
She hadn’t been quite so thrilled with her rash decision the next morning when she woke up in a hotel room hungover and lying next to a bohemian wearing Brad Pitt’s naked body from Troy.
Based on waking up in her bra and panties with no indication of any physical activity, she had passed out on him.
She’d slinked from the bed and shimmied into the hooker-red slut dress that had looked sexy hanging in a store twelve hours before when she bought it during a moment of shopping rage. After pulling herself together, she’d tried to sneak out but made the mistake of taking one last look at all that buff body.
He’d been watching her the whole time, not saying a word.
They’d stared at each other silently for a while until he asked in a sleep-rusty voice, “Need money for a cab?”
She’d shaken her head, her iron-straightened hair swishing against her arms.
When he hadn’t said anything else, like “What’s your last name or phone number?” she’d backed out of the bedroom and fled the hotel, mortified to her curly roots.
She’d never gone home with a stranger before… or after.
Would Hunter believe her if she told him that?
Why did she care?
Because he’d surprised her last night when she’d been close to panic in the dark. He’d soothed her when he could have ordered her around. He hadn’t handed her over to a bunch of strangers. Somewhere hidden inside that emotionally isolated operative was a man capable of tenderness even if he kept it well hidden.
She remembered being kissed, but alcohol had wiped out one amazing memory if he’d kissed her like that six years ago.
Inside that lethal package was a Hunter she wished she’d met under different circumstances.
And, yes, as long as she was out here alone with her thoughts, she’d admit one more truth. She’d like another shot at getting her hands on all that naked male for one night.
But if he’d been interested in her that way, he’d have taken advantage of what she’d offered six years ago.
Talk about a washout in bed. The charming and funny “Samson” hadn’t jumped on what she’d offered, but the gun-toting, private-jet-flying, too-sexy-for-her-sanity Hunter sure as hell had kissed her.
She slapped a low-hanging pine branch out of her way. Melting snow sprinkled her head. When would this romantic hookup happen with everything she had on her plate, not to mention some lunatic who might be trying to kill her?
Oh, and she was currently heading away from Hunter, which would make any interlude a bit hard to orchestrate.
Besides, she had a higher priority than finding out what it would be like to peel Hunter down to that buff body again. Such as finding a way off this freezing-ass mountain.
Had to be a neighbor somewhere or hikers or a fire tower. Didn’t they have radios in fire towers? She hadn’t seen anything in the dark last night, but she was fairly certain this was the direction they’d come from after leaving the Jeep. The minute she found the truck, she was so gone. Her dad had taught her a lot about old trucks, like how to hot-wire the ignition.
Wind ruffled pine-needle fingers on branches behind her and cut through the layers of cotton shirts she wore. So damn cold.
She rubbed her hands and picked up her pace, squeezing through the next thicket of bushes, and picked her way six steps to the left before she could turn downhill again.
How far was she from the cabin now?
She took a step down. Something made a snap sound.
Loose sand and gravel fell away from beneath her foot. She jumped sideways to grab a swooping branch on a tree. The one-inch-thick limb bent with the strain and swatted her hands and face with pine needles.
Ground disintegrated under her backpedaling boot heels.
The branch creaked with strain, wood fibers separating.
“Don’t you dare break,” she worried aloud.
She flailed one hand for another branch just out of her reach and twisted her body. Her knee bounced against the ground. Pain shot up her leg. She snarled at the wort
hless piece of vegetation and lunged for the waving branch again.
And missed.
Blood pumped loud through her ears. She tried not to breathe hard for fear of disturbing her tenuous position, but hyperventilating required some amount of priming.
The wind cried her name.
She paused, listening, her heart thundering with hope.
Hunter might be pissed off, but he wouldn’t let her fall to her death. Screw it. She couldn’t help her mother if she ended up in a body cast… or worse.
Licking her dry lips, she opened her mouth to call out.
The limb snapped.
She took off down the hill like a bobsled.
Chapter Twenty
Abbie grabbed at anything to slow her down. She slid over snow, then hit rock and sand patches. The world barreled by at lightning speed. Momentum flipped her onto her back. All three shirts climbed up her body, letting the scrub-board-rough mountain scrape a streak of pain along one side of her back.
She spun sideways, then slammed into a snowbank… hiding a boulder. The world wobbled unevenly, trying to level out. She gasped cold breaths that burned her lungs and groaned, but damn, what a good sound. Meant she was alive.
She lay there, gulping for air.
Talk about a huge flaw in her escape plan. She took mental stock of her body and considered sitting up, but not just yet.
“Abbie!” a voice roared from way up above her.
She covered her eyes to look up against the glare of sunlight. Hunter charged down that incline like an enraged bull, almost as quickly as she had, but he wasn’t bodysurfing.
She took stock of the damage now that every raw nerve wanted to report in, screaming with pain. One patch on her side felt seared, but the layers of clothes had protected the rest of her skin. Her knee throbbed. She wiggled her feet, lifted her legs, and stretched her shoulders.
Hallelujah. Nothing broken.
Branches snapped above her. Boot heels pounded against rock-hard ground toward her. Interspersed with cursing.
Better get ready to face Hunter.
Using the hem of her shirt, she wiped her face, hands, and clothes. Blood seeped from the scratches on her palms and wrists, but not so badly.
She pushed up to a sitting position and tugged her shirts down, gritting her teeth when cloth touched that one abrasion on her back.
Hunter jumped the last six feet, landing in a skid close to her. “Did you break anything?” He sounded panicked, which sort of surprised her since he’d been so calm with the killer. He squatted down next to her and examined the tear in her stolen jeans, then gently touched her leg above and below the rip.
If he kept acting so concerned and careful with her, she’d lose her grip on her shaky control.
“I don’t think I broke anything. Help me up.” She meant for him to give her a hand, but he hooked his hands under her arms and lifted her to her feet. When she pushed his arms away to prove she could stand, she hissed at the ache in her knee.
“You hurt your knee,” he accused.
“No worse than getting knocked around in a pen full of sows,” she muttered.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Muscles along his neck flexed with each breath he shoved in and out.
She jutted her chin up at him, in no freakin’ mood to be criticized. Especially when she noticed he’d made it down the same incline without even getting his jeans dirty. “Don’t yell at me when I just survived a near-death experience.”
That might have been the wrong thing to say.
The brown chamois shirt practically vibrated with energy rippling off his body. He lifted his hands to touch her, then pulled back and crossed his arms. “I told you last night to stay in that bedroom until I came for you.”
She’d had enough of this. “I don’t give a damn about your orders. When will you get it through your thick skull that I have my own set of problems?”
His lips pressed tight, caging the fury riding his shoulders. “Do you realize you could have been killed?”
“No, that was just a practice run. I’m thinking about trying it again because it was so. Much. Fun!” she shouted, now shaking with anger. “What the hell do you think?”
His eyes had widened with each octave her voice jumped until he just shook his head. A vein pumped in his temple. He stood there all intimidating, which was a waste of time.
She was too damn hurt, tired, and spent to be intimidated.
“I never thought a pissed-off woman could be hot until I met you.” He blew out a stream of air and unfolded his arms to reach for her hands.
Hot? He thought she was hot when she was ticked off? Why did he have to say things that knocked the legs out from under her anger?
He took her hands in his and studied the scratches across her wrist. And a cut on her palm. That didn’t improve his mood one bit. He scowled. “Sure you didn’t break anything?”
“Yes. So don’t start in on me.” She would have added some heat to that order if not for the way he gingerly handled her damaged hands, carefully wiping off dirt and barely touching the cut that trickled blood.
“We’ll get you cleaned up back at the cabin.” He looked up, eyes searching the terrain.
“Aren’t you listening to me?”
“Tough to avoid.” He released her hands and fixed her with a green stare hard as malachite. “Did you really think you could escape?”
“I did escape,” she pointed out, sure that had to rub on his James Bond ego. “In case you forgot I’m in a bit of a time crunch. I mean, what’s going on? Am I a prisoner or what?”
His lips moved with unspoken words. He cupped a hand over his eyes, his fingers rubbing his temple for a second before he lowered his hand. “Where did you think you were going?”
She was out of patience. “Answer my questions first.”
Hunter took her in from head to toe and back with a wry frown. “The idea of gagging and hobbling you is tempting, but, no, you’re not technically a prisoner.”
“‘Technically’? What kind of crap is that?” She crossed her arms at her waist. “You kidnapped me. I thought you were some kind of law enforcement. Was that a scam? Who the hell are you?”
“I’m with a branch of law enforcement you’ve never heard of and I can’t disclose. I have not kidnapped you or taken you prisoner, but you’re connected to Gwen Wentworth’s shooting so technically you’re in protective custody.”
“I want my lawyer.” Shock from the scare had settled in to foster a serious chill she couldn’t hide when her teeth chattered.
“Do you even have a lawyer?” He shrugged out of his jacket. “Put this on.”
She opened her arms to put on the jacket, because warm beat cold any day. Her fingers didn’t appear. The bottom of the coat hit her midthigh. She looked up with a begrudging “Thanks,” then added, “I’m still not through discussing this.”
He zipped the front of her jacket, jerking the tab up with a quick flick that telegraphed his waning tolerance. “You’re not getting a lawyer and if you try another unauthorized attempt to leave here I will consider handcuffing you. You can’t get off this mountain without me. Where did you think you were going?”
No point in lying since she didn’t have any other answer. “To find the truck, then I was hoping to find a neighbor. I was going to tell them I got lost hiking and ask them to help me get to Chicago.”
His eyebrows dropped severely in what she saw as a prelude to lecture mode, so she added, “I wasn’t going to say anything about you or that you’d brought me to your cabin… against my will.”
She waited for him to say something, to give her any indication they were back on speaking terms. But no. He just stood there pulsating with unspent words. “I am not going to sit here doing nothing, Hunter. I’m tired of waiting for you… to…” She lost her thought when he leaned forward, cramping her space.
His voice dropped to a dangerous decibel. “Listen closely. The truck is so well hidden you’d nev
er find it. The nearest structure is a fire tower that isn’t manned. The first residence is twenty-six miles away through country that would test the best outdoorsman. You triggered a security device from the wrong side that could have caused you to break your reckless neck. And—” his voice had started to climb, reaching for a shout “—if by some unimaginable chance the next booby trap hadn’t stopped you, there’s a mountain lion den on this path. They’d have been thrilled at lunch showing up.”
She swallowed. Mountain lions?
What he’d said before that sank in. “You set booby traps out here? When I asked you where we were going last night you said you couldn’t tell me, that no one knows about this place. Not like you should have unexpected company.”
“It’s to prevent unwanted company, like the kind you had yesterday in your apartment.”
Point taken. She tried to push hair out of her eyes and only managed to swat a sleeve at her face.
“Lift your hands.” He rolled one sleeve until her fingertips stuck out.
“Aren’t booby traps illegal, or don’t you care?”
“The traps are meant to detain, not kill,” he muttered, and worked on the second sleeve. “But they were never tested for going downhill from the cabin.”
Her gaze fell to his worn jeans, where a banged-up silver karabiner hung from a belt loop. The thing looked professional quality but bent, which would render it useless, right?
Couldn’t someone with Hunter’s money buy a good one?
He took her hand, careful of the scratches, and waited until she looked up at him. “I’m trying to keep you safe. Don’t go outside the cabin without me. Got it?”
“Got it, but you should have told me this place was booby-trapped.”
“Now you know.” He turned, surveying the area as though choosing their direction. “I’ll take us back on an easier trail—”
“I don’t think so.” She planted her foot, unwilling to move another step until she got some answers.
Silent Truth Page 18
