Did she really want to ride back into town, uncomfortably straddling the back of a motorcycle?
Not really, but it was the quickest (and safest) way, and the sooner she got back to her place, the sooner she could get out of town.
On the other hand, it would also mean that she’d have to hold on to Michael for the long ride, and that was harder to swallow. Not only would it be awkward, but every time she was around him, her common sense clocked out, and she couldn’t afford any more distractions.
Knowing him and his chivalrous tendencies, he probably wouldn’t be content to just drop her off and let her go. And then what would she do? Lie and say it was all cool? He’d see through that in a second.
“Bailey!”
Michael’s voice called out again, and her heartbeat kicked up a notch. She had to make a decision. Did she go back to Michael and risk another lack of judgment? Or make it a clean break now and run?
Chapter Eight
Michael paced back and forth along the small clearing, guilt eating at him like acid. Bailey still hadn’t returned. She needed some time, he understood that, but he needed to look into her eyes and see that she was physically unharmed. That she didn’t hate the sight of him. To hold her and apologize for losing control until she believed him.
It was too quiet. She’d been out of his sight for too long. He told himself that she was probably just sitting quietly, trying to pull herself together before she faced him again. Despite his rationalizations, worry rode him hard. His gut told him something wasn’t right.
“Bailey?” he called. “You okay?” No answer. Of course she’s not okay, you idiot. You made sure of that.
Concern outweighed the desire to give her some privacy, and he made his way over to where she’d disappeared. Bent branches and flattened scrub revealed the path she had taken down toward the water.
Be calm. She’s fine.
The hair prickling on the back of his neck suggested otherwise.
He made it down close to the boat launch, where two older men were just pushing away from shore.
“Excuse me, but have you seen a woman come through here lately?”
The man pushing the boat farther into the water stopped and regarded him for a long minute before he curled his lips, turned his head, and spit tobacco juice into the water. “Barefoot with brown hair?”
“Yeah.”
“Yep, we saw her. She asked how far it was to the main road.”
Michael’s heart froze. “The main road?”
Another look. Another spit. “Said she was camping with her boyfriend and went out for a walk, forgot which way she came, but knew it was close to the road.”
What?!
The older man narrowed his eyes. “You the boyfriend?”
Fuck yes, he was. He nodded. “How long?”
“Fifteen minutes, give or take.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
Michael ran across the lot and up the stone-filled access drive to the upper parking lot, then another half a mile or so up to the main road, but there was no sign of Bailey.
She was gone.
By the time he made it back to the boat launch, the two older men were nothing but a speck on the horizon as they motored out across the lake.
What the hell was he going to do now?
He found her footprints in the mud right beyond the trees, saw where she had kneeled to rinse herself off. He found the black silk camisole bunched up into a ball a few feet away, soaking wet and tossed against the base of a tree.
“Bailey,” he said into the empty space, “I’m sorry. Baby, I am so fucking sorry.”
He fought against the panic threatening to overtake him. There were lots of dangers in these mountains. Copperheads, rattlesnakes, coyotes, bears. Steep, sudden drop-offs and cliffs of shale that could slide out from beneath you without warning. Not to mention the hundreds of footpaths that threaded through the dense forest. Someone unfamiliar with the area could wander around for days and not find their way out. Michael shoved the horrible images out of his head and forced himself to think.
It had to be close to twenty miles to town, down unfamiliar mountainous terrain. She was barefoot and alone. Could she possibly hate him that much to risk it?
After making a thorough search of the area, Michael didn’t like the answer staring him right in the face. He was convinced of two things. One, that she was unhurt (relatively speaking of course, the harm he’d inflicted through his own brutality, notwithstanding), and two, that she had chosen to run away rather than face him. The first conclusion gave him some infinitesimally small measure of comfort and hope. The second left a gaping hole in his heart.
Michael rested his forehead against one of the ancient oaks along the shore. How was he going to fix this? He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her. Fuck his pride, he needed help with this one. Bailey obviously didn’t want anything to do with him right now, but it was just too goddamned dangerous for her to be wandering these mountains on her own. He slumped down against the trunk and whipped out his mobile, hitting the speed dial.
“Kyle? Yeah, I know what time it is... Yeah, I get it, man... No, I need your help, I really fucked up... Yeah, with Bailey... I’m up here at the lake... No, not the cabin, along the shore... Yeah, that’s right... Bailey’s run off, she’s really pissed and... No, on foot... I don’t know, maybe thirty minutes... Yeah, thanks, man.”
He disconnected, then hit the speed dial once again. “Stace? Yeah, it’s Michael... No, everything is not all right... yeah, I need Johnny ... yeah, thanks.” This conversation went similar to the previous one, but Johnny was more vocal in his responses than Kyle had been.
Funny, Michael thought, that of the two men he trusted most in this world the first one he called wasn’t his brother. Maybe that’s because he instinctively knew Kyle would have a better understanding of what he was going through. Kyle had screwed up catastrophically with Lina a year ago. Back then, Michael could not, for the life of him, understand how Kyle could be so unbelievably clueless when it came to the woman he loved. Now, he understood all too well. And he knew too, that like Kyle, the only way to fix it was to find Bailey and beg her forgiveness.
Fuck. Karma was a bitch.
Michael sighed and slid the phone back into his pocket, then returned to the rock to wait for his brothers. True, Kyle was technically his brother-in-law, but he fit into the family so seamlessly that it was much easier to think of him as a brother.
He folded up the blood-stained blanket, careful that when complete, nothing was visible from the outside. Then he picked up the threaded cup, tossed out the remains of the cold coffee, and screwed it back on top of the steel Thermos. The mindless actions helped him focus, and gave his hands something to do while he waited.
The remains of the cinnamon roll ended up in the trees for some lucky woodland creature to find. With care, he placed it all in Bailey’s backpack, including the soft leather boots she’d left behind. He let a string of oaths cross his lips, most of which were in the old Irish tongue of his family. She was wandering around the mountains barefoot, which to his mind, was nothing less than an act of desperation meant to accomplish one thing: to get as far away from him as quickly as possible. He sighed again and sat down on the rock. This was going to be the longest fucking day of his life.
* * *
Bailey sat quietly, safely hidden among the dense foliage of the ancient oak. She’d doubled back for her knapsack, but she’d wasted too much time. Thankfully, she’d heard him before she saw him, and only just managed to get out of sight before he re-entered the clearing. With any luck, he’d just get on his bike and go; her arms were itching like crazy, making her think maybe she’d hit a patch of poison oak or ivy along the way.
Funny, she thought, how no one ever looked up.
What the hell is he waiting for?
Once he was gone, she’d wait a little while longer, then grab her pack and her shoes, slip out the way they came in, and follow the mai
n road toward town. If she was lucky she’d find a place to catch a few hours of sleep. Then she’d wait until nightfall, sneak into her apartment, and grab the escape kit she always kept handy and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Thankfully, she hadn’t acquired much, so she wouldn’t have to leave a lot behind. At least she’d learned that lesson well.
The sound of crunching gravel announced the arrival of someone else. Bailey watched from her perch as a black Land Rover pulled in beside Michael’s Harley. Two men exited the vehicle and approached Michael. Bailey recognized them as the same men she’d seen at Tommy’s the night before.
She heard the murmur of their voices, but couldn’t make out their words.
“How the fuck was I supposed to know?” Michael’s raised voice carried up to her. The blonde was poking his finger into Michael’s chest and Michael looked as if he was ready to kill him. The blonde guy must have said something else then because Michael lunged for him, and the other dark-haired guy – the one with the dark shades – grabbed Michael from behind, pinning his arms and pulling him away from the blonde.
Jeez, he had to be pretty strong to do that, Bailey thought. Michael was no lightweight.
Shades released Michael, and positioned himself between the other two men. He seemed the least hot-headed among them and was trying to get the situation back under control. A few minutes later, Shades patted Michael on the shoulder and said something that had Michael nodding. Goldilocks reached out for Michael’s hand and the two of them gave a brotherly chest-bump embrace, leading Bailey to assume that things were cool between them once again. They started walking toward their vehicles when Michael stopped, turned around, and grabbed her backpack.
Damn it!
It wasn’t bad enough she had to give up the man she loved, but her favorite backpack, too? And it held her good Thermos. Any thoughts of finishing off the coffee and rolls went right out the window. Her untraceable cell phone, hidden in an inside pocket, was now useless, as was the emergency syringe filled with insulin.
She looked toward the rising sun, trying to gauge the time. She’d be due for another dose in a few hours. Thankfully she’d remembered to inject herself right before they’d left for the lake.
Michael mounted his cycle, and with one last look around the clearing, kick-started the bike and took off. Shades slid into the black Rover but left the door open. He had a cell phone to his ear for a minute or two before she saw him slide it into his jacket. Goldilocks climbed in the passenger side, then they took off as well.
Bailey sat in the tree for a little while longer, just in case any of them happened back this way. When an hour passed with no returns, she skillfully descended and dropped the last ten feet into a crouch. Then she slowly began making her way out toward the main road and down the mountain, thankful for the density of the forest and the shadows it provided.
Chapter Nine
Michael knew that Bailey was running from him, and some logical part of his brain understood that. There was a much larger part of him, though, that needed to find her and protect her until she came to the same conclusion that he already had: that they were destined to be together.
His Harley was not the quietest machine in the world, and she would no doubt hear him approaching a mile away. It would be easy enough for her to avoid him, but that was okay. At least she would know that he was looking for her. He had to get points for trying, right?
He was expecting better results from Kyle and Johnny, however. Bailey wasn’t familiar with the Rover. Not that she would flag it down or anything, but at least she’d be less likely to hide from it, and they might have a better chance of spotting her. The Rover also had the added benefits of some excellent off-road capabilities should that become an issue.
The plan was that they would cruise the winding mountain roads until they either found her or until they received word that she made it safely back to town. Lina and Stacey were handling that end of things.
* * *
Several hours later, Bailey was seriously questioning the sanity of her plan. She was no stranger to the great outdoors, but hiking down an unfamiliar mountain in bare feet with nothing but the clothes on her back wasn’t looking all that brilliant at the moment. Still, all she had to do was flash a few images through her mind from this morning and she knew she would have made exactly the same decision again.
Yeah, she was running away. But it was what she was best at.
Less than twenty yards away, the Rover cruised by again. That thing had crossed her path at least half a dozen times, and of those, two had been damn close. She must be losing her touch; she was too distracted, unfocused, not thinking clearly, her mind conspiring against her.
Her heart was in on it, too. Each time she thought about never seeing Michael again, it ached.
Suck it up, cupcake.
Annoyed with herself, she pulled yet more leaves from her hair from the last time she dove behind that huge mass of mountain laurel. Her skin itched from all the scratches she’d acquired, and the red rash she suspected was poison ivy had now morphed into ugly, fluid-filled bumps. Her feet were cut and bleeding.
To make matters worse, she was tired and hungry and ached all over. She had no food, no water, and nothing in the way of supplies. If she didn’t get something in her system soon, she was going to crash and her emergency insulin was in the backpack Michael had taken. Normally she wouldn’t need her next dose until nightfall, but that was assuming she’d had enough sleep and a steady supply of food to keep her system stable.
A quick glance skyward revealed the sun directly overhead, streaming in laser-like beams through the foliage. That meant there was about eight hours of daylight remaining, and she was quickly revising her plan to remain in these godforsaken woods until nightfall.
She needed another option.
Her salvation came in the form of a sleek black Jaguar driving fast up the narrow, curvy mountain road. The hard, pounding sounds of rock music blasted through the open windows at full volume, echoing in the stillness and broadcasting its approach well in advance.
Bailey got a quick peek at the driver as the car wove in and out of sight below her current location: Young, female. Perfect.
Bailey moved closer to the road. The Rover was out of sight; by her calculations it wouldn’t be making another loop around for at least fifteen minutes. As if she had nothing better in the world to do, she strolled along the side of the road, turning when the bass grew louder, and held out her thumb in a classic hitchhiker pose.
The Jag slowed. Bailey allowed it to pull beside her, though she stayed ready to make a run for it if necessary.
Through the open passenger window, Bailey saw two women. The driver was a young woman with golden blonde hair and a pair of dark shades. The woman closest to her was also young, with cherry-brown hair and unusual, silvery gray eyes. Both wore loose-fitting casual clothes and looked like two friends off for a day up at the lake.
The driver turned down the volume and leaned over. “You need a ride, hon?”
Bailey shook her head. The Jag was heading up the mountain toward where she’d come from, not down towards the town. “Do you have a cell phone I could use? “
“I do, but it won’t do you any good. Battery’s dead. I can never remember to charge the stupid thing.”
Bailey nodded, wondering when, and if, she’d get a break anytime soon. It was almost as if some unseen force didn’t want her to succeed.
The driver tapped a nail against the steering column as if considering something. “My cabin’s not too far away. We’re headed there now for a little girl time. It’s got a landline you could use.”
Bailey considered this. A private cabin would afford exactly what she needed, which at this point included a civilized bathroom with actual toilet paper, and a working phone.
“Are you in some kind of trouble or something?” The woman in the passenger seat studied her closely. She looked past Bailey as if she half expected to see someone running after her wit
h a shotgun. Not seeing anything, she peered down at Bailey’s bare feet, one eyebrow cocking in the process.
“Not the kind you’re thinking,” Bailey said with a look that defied them to think otherwise.
After a couple of awkward moments, the driver’s face grinned with a knowing look. “Ah, Stace, I think she’s all right. Bet she’s got man trouble. Rat bastards, all of ‘em. Hop on in, hon, we’ve got your back.”
There was something extremely likable about the driver; Bailey sensed a kindred spirit. The other one was probably okay, too, just cautious. Bailey certainly couldn’t fault her for that. Nor could she reasonably expect a better opportunity to come along anytime soon. Trusting her instincts, Bailey nodded, and was rewarded with an even bigger grin and the snick of the back door unlocking.
“Hope you like Nickelback,” the driver said, reaching for the volume control.
“And aren’t prone to motion sickness,” muttered the passenger with a wry smile.
In another second the volume was turned back up and the Jag shot forward like a rocket.
Oh yeah, Bailey thought with a smile. She liked these two.
Nevertheless, she could not afford to get sloppy. She shrank as far as possible into the back seat and held her breath as the Jag wound its way back up the mountain and continued past the turn-off Michael had taken to the lake. Only then did she allow herself to relax slightly. After all, Michael (and anyone else looking for her) would expect her to head toward town, not in the other direction.
The “cabin” turned out to be more like a swanky resort. Beautiful wood, floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive-looking furnishings. Bailey hesitated at the door, afraid to enter with the state she was in.
“Come on in,” the driver said airily. “Believe me, this place has seen a lot worse. You should see what my brothers do up here. By the way, my name’s Lina.”
“And I’m Stacey,” said the one with the cherry-brown hair. She walked with the aid of two canes strapped to her forearms. Bailey flushed when Stacey caught her eyeing them.
Michael (Connelly Cousins #3) Page 9
