I hear scuffling on the other side.
“I’m here to help you,” I say.
More scuffling but no response. I pull the bolt back and ease open the door. We don’t have much time, but I must be careful—whoever is in there will be traumatized, and getting them to trust me is vital.
The pale light from the single bulb casts my shadow into the cell, long and wide and dark.
A figure presses against the far wall, black hair a tangled mess, eyes bright and wide with terror. “Stay back!” She holds out a bloody palm to warn me off. Her English is accented with a Texas twang. It really is George’s sister, Elsa!
“I won’t hurt you,” I promise, putting my palms in front of me.
She shakes her head, nostrils flaring. “Stay back!” her voice is high with fear and desperation. She has no weapons.
I could do whatever I wanted with her.
Taking a deep breath, I force my hands to relax, to lay limp at my sides. “I am a friend of your brother, George.”
Recognition flickers in her gaze. Her dirty tank top is stained with soot and smeared with rust-colored bloodstains. Elsa holds up a pair of tattered jean shorts with a white-knuckled fist. She’s lost weight.
“George sent you?” Her voice breaks a little, but she takes in a deep breath.
“Yes.”
She looks around the filthy room—there are seven bare mattresses. “They took the rest.” Her voice catches, and a tear breaks free from her red-rimmed eye, leaving a glistening trail as it slides down her soot-stained cheek. “What happened to them?”
“I don’t know.” She looks back up at me, her pale brown eyes almost yellow in the dim light. Under all the dirt and blood, she’s quite beautiful. So young. I hold my hand out to her. “Come, we must hurry.”
She steps closer and winces. Her feet are bare and bloodied. The forest will shred them. “Get on my back,” I say. “I’ll carry you.”
Her expression softens—the offer has won her over. She moves quickly now, and I hunch forward so that she can climb onto me. Her small hands grasp my shoulders. They are icy cold but grip with the strength of desperation. Her thighs hold my waist and her calves bounce against my thighs as I move back through the door.
Turning off the light switch, I step into the forest, closing the door behind us but not bothering to lock it.
Her grip tightens as we enter the night, her whole body shaking when a cool wind blows across us, carrying the sounds of dogs and our pursuers. I don’t bother trying to comfort her. We may be about to die.
I take off running, moving deeper into the forest. Branches claw at me and the extra weight of the girl slows my steps, but I forge on.
I hunch forward and run faster, my legs burning, my heart hammering. The girl whimpers and holds tighter. We have to make it. We just have to.
The trees tower above us, the darkness pitch black except for the lights of those hunting us bobbing like fireflies in the distance. My lungs burn, and my legs ache as I run, dodging branches as they come into focus. I fail to avoid half of them and they rip at my clothing, slicing my skin, snatching at me—almost as if they are trying to slow us down.
The girl on my back is thin, and I can feel her bones against me. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and her thighs continue to grip my waist. She is exhausted and beaten but has not given up.
There is a farm on the far side of the woods, and I am hoping to find horses or some form of transportation. A pickup truck with the keys in the ignition.
Dogs bay behind us, their voices cutting through the forest soundscape—alien and dangerous. They have our scent. Her blood must be in the air, the welts and scabs and stink of her a thick and pungent trail.
My body is coated in sweat. I'm running for my life and for hers. I cannot give up. A root catches my foot, and I stumble forward, my hands reaching into the darkness for purchase. The girl lets out a whimper and her grip on me tightens. My palm smacks into a tree, and I use it to steady myself, then push myself off it, my pace quickened by the rev of an engine behind us.
The pale green of a field under moonlight twinkles through the trees. My already hammering heart beats even faster at the sight…the anticipation of escape.
The revving engine is growing closer. There are quads in the woods. Faster than me, but not as agile in the thick trees. But once we reach that open field...
At the tree line, I pause, looking out into the waving blades of wheat. The farmhouse, squat with a thatched roof and stone walls, is dark. The barn, twice its size, hunkers behind it.
There must at least be a plow horse in there.
The girl slides off my back, landing on her injured feet with a grunt of pain. Her hand grips my bicep, as if she is afraid to lose me. I turn to look at her and though her face is shadowed, I can see that her lower lip is pulled between her teeth.
"Will they catch us?" she asks in a whisper.
"No," I promise her. "We'll head to that barn. Stay low. We are most exposed here in the wheat, but if we stay low enough they shouldn't be able to see us." My whole body is tingling now that we are still.
An engine rumbles closer, and she trembles. "Come on." I take her hand in mine and tug gently, crouching down so that my head is beneath the fluttering tips of the grasses. She follows me, her size making it easier for her to hide.
We move quickly, our exhaustion not as deep as our fear. Her fingers twined with mine are delicate and thin. She is just a child. Anger bubbles in my chest. How could Petra do this? Even if she believes that Joyful Justice is wrong, how could she justify taking this innocent girl captive?
The barn looms up before us, the doors closed, but the soft sounds of animals make their way to us. We have to dash across an open lawn to reach it. We pause before making the break for it. Elsa squeezes my hand and I nod once, then sprint, pulling her behind me across the open space. Please let the darkness shield us from the eyes of our pursuers.
We reach the barn door and I push it aside, opening it only as far as we need to slip through. The scent of hay and animal musk fills my senses as we step into the dark warmth. I quickly close the door behind us.
Blinking, I wait for my eyes to adjust. The girl's hand stays locked in mine. Animal hooves shift in hay. A soft whinny of concern rises from a nearby stall.
The animals know that strangers have entered their home. But these are domesticated creatures. Their fear is not that of the hunted.
The girl leaves me, her footsteps silent as she moves down the aisle, whispering quietly. "Shh, it's okay. It's just us. We won't hurt you."
I can barely make out her form, a black shadow in the darkness. A horse's head leans over a stall, the white star on its forehead visible as it reaches for her palm. It sniffs her, breath loud in the quiet of the barn, then bends forward, allowing her to pet its long snout.
The horse is large, a draft breed gelding meant for labor in the field so it should be able to carry both of us. I feel along the walls, searching for a bridle, but find only a halter and rope.
It will have to do. I approach slowly and the horse whinnies, his eyes widening in fear.
The girl whispers to it calmly, reaching out and soothing it with her palm. I hand her the halter, and she slips it easily over the giant horse's head. Unlatching the stall, she leads him forward.
The horse’s tail is cropped short, and his back reaches to my shoulders.
I look around for a mounting block but there is none. There is no saddle. The girl stands on her tiptoes and grabs a fistful of mane. I lean down and boost her up. The horse whinnies and shakes his head but does not protest further.
The other side of the barn leads toward a dirt road that can take us into the village. There is more forest on the far side of the road and we could enter there and hide in its darkness but the dogs would find us…
I cross back to the door we came in through and peek out the narrow opening.
There are lights dancing at the edge of the forest.
We are out of time.
I hurry back to the horse and, taking it by the halter, lead it to the far door. Pushing it aside, I move us out into the night.
Cool air hits the drying sweat on my body, and a shiver runs through me, raising goosebumps. The girl whispers to the horse and it nickers, bobbing its head.
I look up at her, and it occurs to me that I should let her go. She and that giant horse could get away faster without me on its back, increasing the load. But she could never navigate her way out of the country.
She needs me.
I take a deep breath and look around, seeing a fenced pen for pigs. Leading the horse over, I climb onto the fence and then onto the horse's back, settling behind the girl. My arms around her waist, both gripping the mane tightly, we move forward. I can hear the engines of the quads as they zip across the field, and she urges the horse into a trot as we reach the dirt road.
They still can't see us, as we are shielded by the barn, but that won’t last long. “To the forest,” I whisper. She pulls at the makeshift reins, and the horse enters the trees, finding an animal path and breaking into an easy lope.
Can they see us? Or does the darkness hide us still?
They have dogs, lights, and the speed of engines. But we have stealth, darkness, and the will to survive.
Chapter Thirteen
Sydney
Blue’s growl wakes me. I sit up in bed. The glass door is open, and the moon hangs big and bright—it’s probably around 2:00 a.m. The curtains sway in the warm breeze, dancing between the indoors and out.
Blue stands and walks to the door. I slip from under the blankets, following him in bare feet. The house is protected by security men, cameras, and alarms. No one can break in. There is no danger here.
But Blue is pointing out into the night, and when I follow his gaze, I see a dark, broad figure moving along the stone patio.
My heartbeat resounds in my ears as he gets closer, but no lightning strikes or thunder sounds disrupt my concentration. A smile parts my lips. Thank you, Dr. Munkin.
The sheer white curtains billow out in the breeze, making the broad man pause, his head turning toward me. “Sydney.”
His voice wraps around me, warm and yet cold—hot with anger, frozen in time.
“Mulberry?” It comes out a question, even though I know the answer.
He walks forward quickly, his movements sure and fast. The pale light hits him for just a moment as he steps in front of the open glass door so that I can see his jaw, coated in stubble, his nose, his lips, and for just a flash, the gold-green eyes of the man I love.
My throat closes and I stand motionless, desperate to embrace him, terrified of the cost.
“You coward,” he snarls, moving toward me in steady strides, his gait only slightly tilted by the prosthetic on his left leg. He grabs my shoulders and pulls me close so that his eyes—flashing with anger and passion—bore into me. “How could you just leave me?” I can’t reply, just stare at him. He shakes me. “Answer me, dammit.”
My voice unlocks on a wave of regret and pain. “I was broken, and I wanted you to be happy. Thought you could have, that you could…go back. I don’t know.” I force myself to hold his gaze. To not look away. To be brave. “I saw you kiss her, and you two looked like you were in love, and I thought maybe you could be free of me.” The last words come out a whisper.
His lip raises in a snarl. “You’re—” He cuts himself off, tightening his jaw.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes widen in surprise—I’m not known as a big apologizer. “I’m better now. I’ve gotten treatment. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. But then…I couldn’t ask you to remember me, Mulberry. You were better off without me.”
He barks a laugh, it’s bitter and pissed. “You know what happened to me yesterday?”
“Dan said you were doing well…”
“I remembered you.” Mulberry leans in closer, his breath brushing my nose. “I woke up next to my ex-wife, and I remembered why she and I broke up. And I remembered I was in love with you. I woke up, and my heart ripped out of my chest, and then I had to rip hers out, too. Because she let me back in. Sandy thought we were going to be together forever, again. No one told her. No one told me.” He stops talking, his eyes sobering, the anger melting away and deep sorrow filling his gaze, rimming his eyes in red and softening his grip on me.
“I’m no good for you,” I whisper, pain constricting my voice.
Mulberry lets go of me and takes a step back, turning to look out at the ocean. It’s calm now, the storm hovering at the horizon all day having finally blown out to sea, leaving the water still and black. The moon’s reflection is a broad white stripe down its center.
“I want back in,” Mulberry says, his back to me—he’s just a silhouette again, a shadow of a man.
I’m not sure what he means. “To Joyful Justice?” I ask. He gives a curt nod. His hair is longer, curling at the nape of his thick neck. That tiny difference tugs at me even more than his missing leg. I was there for that horror. But I missed his hair growing. I left him to heal alone. “I’m sorry,” I say again. The words leave me without permission, and I bite my lip to try to stem the flow of admissions. But I can’t. “I love you,” comes out, strong and loud. Like I mean it. Like I’m no longer afraid of it.
His shoulders tense. “Are you fucking him?”
I’m confused at first, but then realize he must mean Robert. It’s not an unreasonable supposition. I am living in his house, and we’ve become close in a strange, wonderful way. “No. We’re friends.”
“He’s in love with you.”
I shake my head, even though Mulberry can’t see it. “I think he was in love with the idea of controlling me, but he’s changed.” Mulberry barks another one of those bitter laughs. “What?” I raise my brows. “You don’t think people can change?”
He turns quickly, so fast for a guy his size. The moon is bright behind him, keeping his features in shadow, but I can feel his eyes on me. Mulberry stands there, his shoulders rising and falling, the rasp of each breath loud in the quiet. Then slowly, as if moving through deep water, he walks toward me.
I stand my ground, lifting my chin slightly to keep my gaze on his face. It comes into focus as he reaches me. His eyes are hooded, dark. And when his left hand comes out and rests on my hip, I lean into him, melting into where I belong. His free hand comes up and cups my face, his fingers lacing into the hair at the base of my skull as his thumb runs along my jaw.
Slowly, so damn slowly, he lowers his lips to mine, and time stands still. There is nothing in the universe but us. There is nothing that matters but him. We are everything.
We fall into each other, into the past, the present, and the always. My back sinks into the mattress, his good knee pressing into it next to me, and his bad leg between mine. He hovers over me, his hands in my hair, holding my head like he never wants to let it go. Like I’m a dream. A hallucination.
And I grasp at his waist, my fingers running up his back, memorizing every detail of the muscle there, every curve and dip of his anatomy. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I’m making sounds; small noises and breathless pleas. He leaves my lips and I’m bereft, but he finds my chin, my neck, worshiping me.
Tears burn in my eyes, and I can’t find words. I guess I don’t need them, but there are so many left unsaid between us.
His lips meet mine again, and his tongue invades, dominating me. My leg comes up and wraps around his waist, the rough material of his jeans penetrating the thin layer of my pajamas. “I love you.” The words fly from my lips on gossamer wings—so delicate and fragile.
“Shut up,” he growls, taking my mouth again, not giving me a chance to respond. His fingers dive under my shirt, and he breaks the kiss to tear it over my head. I meet his anger with my own bold movements, pulling at his clothing, demanding equal access. He lets me take his shirt, exposing the hard flesh of him, the scarred, sacred expanse of his chest, rising and falling with desperate,
starving breaths.
I grab his face and pull him back to me, and his hands run up and down my sides, his calluses rough against the softness, the contrast sending a shiver of need and desperation zinging through me.
I want him so badly.
A hot tear escapes and is gone, lost in our movements. His hungry hands find my pants and cloth rips as he pulls at them. He growls at the sound, liking it, and ripping more. “You’re mine,” he claims, and I don’t deny it. Can’t deny it.
Bucking my hips and rolling, I force Mulberry onto his back, my thighs on either side of his waist, chest pressed against his. “Then fucking take me,” I challenge.
His eyes light, the green in them almost a neon glow. There is still anger there, a hard stone of it set among the crystals of yellow and dashes of blue. But desire and love flame around it, trying to burn that stone to ash.
Can we burn hot enough to destroy it and clear our path?
Lenox
The warm musk of the horse mixes with the fetid scent of the girl.
The cold, dark forest presses in on me but I take comfort in the animal’s long, sure, and fast stride. It knows where it is going.
Behind us lights glimmer, shaking in the darkness, spots of danger swaying in the night. The rumble of engines and the echoing bays of the hounds grow soft with distance, but the sounds continue as we wind our way through the darkness. They are not giving up. The ATVs can’t navigate this narrow path, but the dogs and men can.
My fingers hold the mane tightly, and my hips move with the swaying motion of the horse's gait. The girl in front of me is a small defense against the chill night wind. A shiver passes over me, and I grit my teeth against the cold.
Dawn is still hours away, and we should make it to the village long before that.
My mind traces over the maps I examined of the area. It seems we are on a path that will take us out to the main road and from there on to the village, probably a shortcut the farmer uses regularly, and so the horse knows it.
Betray the Lie (A Sydney Rye Mystery, #11) Page 11
