The Doubted

by Shiloh Walker

  She took another few sips, drinking roughly half of it before she eased back onto the couch.

  “Tell me about the truck stop, Nyrene. What…how did you know they were there?”

  There was an odd, grim note in his voice.

  “Why? So you can yell at me again? I’m afraid I don’t have much of anything else you can search, either.” She opened her eyes to glare at him just as he shifted his attention toward her.

  His gaze dipped and she tensed.

  Ruddy, red color danced across his cheekbones before it faded. He opened his mouth, then closed it before shaking his head.

  Hoping that was the end of it, she tucked herself into the corner, making her body as small as she could. The exhaustion dropped down onto her.

  As she was drifting into sleep, she thought she felt somebody stroke her cheek, then something cool pressed against her face.

  He ate mechanically, not tasting the canned pasta. It didn’t do anything but fill the hole in his belly. Brooding, Dev focused on everything he’d found in her purse, looking for any one thing he could have missed, but there wasn’t anything.

  I don’t have much of anything else you can search.

  She’d had her fingers twisted in the neckline of her scrubs top, her knuckles bloodless from clutching so tightly. Scared, but that spark of temper showed.

  As her breathing deepened, then slowed, he closed his eyes. He was exhausted himself and needed even just a few hours of sleep, but too many questions flooded his mind.

  A shift of movement had him looking at her.

  She’d fallen asleep.

  He rose and carried his plate into the kitchen, along with hers. He’d eat it, too, although damn if he was hungry now. He didn’t plan on leaving behind any sign that he’d been here, not even in the trash, so he’d eat the lousy food.

  But first…

  He moved back to the couch and crouched down, studying the bruising. It had deepened to a vicious purple now, her eye swollen, while the color spilled halfway down her cheek. He’d been terrified when he saw that son of a bitch drive his fist into her face, even more so when Morehead had picked her up.

  His hands clenched involuntarily and he made himself relax. “Nyrene?”

  She didn’t stir.

  Softly, he traced the bruise on her face. She flinched when he pressed down gently on the bones around her eye, but even that didn’t wake her.

  He didn’t think anything had been broken, but she had to be hurting.

  Frowning, he peeled the edge of her vee-neck top away. There was another bruise, starting at her shoulder. From being thrown against the seat belt when that drunk had rear-ended her. He’d been in a wreck or two himself. She probably felt like her entire body had been battered and what was he doing but adding to her discomfort?

  He didn’t know what to do about it, though.

  She was tied into this and if he didn’t keep her with him, she’d be grabbed. The thought flooded him with rage.

  He twisted until he could pick up the icepack. It was already warming up, but it was better than nothing. The medical kit under the sink had a couple more and he’d take them along when they left. Carefully, he placed it against her cheek.

  His fingers itched and he gave in to the urge to brush the soft, unmarked skin of her lower jaw. Then, because he had to say it, he murmured, “I’m sorry, Nyrene.”

  Chapter Nine

  Nyrene woke to silence and pain.

  She ached all over and her mind was muzzy.

  She was also alone for the first time since she’d woken to find herself in the car with Bennett Deverall. Lying on her side, she studied the room through her lashes. There was no relief from the darkness in the cabin.

  It was still dark outside. She didn’t know how late, or early, it was, but the air had that odd, quiet feel that came in the hours just before dawn.

  Easing her body up, she looked around, although she couldn’t make out much of anything in the blackness.

  He wasn’t in there.

  She didn’t know how she knew, but she was positive he wasn’t in there.

  Slowly, she rose and made her way over to the window, looked out.

  Her entire life had gone to shit in the past few days. The car wreck, the headaches, seeing him again in the ER and all those crazy, surreal images.

  He’s not to blame for that, Nye. Maybe everything seems to be tied to him, but his life is just as fucked up as yours.

  Yeah.

  She’d give him that.

  But having him nearby seemed to be a health hazard, not to mention all the associated problems that were likely to come from this.

  He’d stolen numerous cars—was she considered to be party to that? Was she looking at jail time?

  I need to get away from him. Turn myself in. Her brain slid sideways at that thought, though, the idea of going to the cops in Clary flooding her with foreboding.

  Then I won’t go to Clary.

  There were other cops. Other people she could talk to, weren’t there? If there was corruption going on, there had to be somebody she could tell.

  She didn’t know. She couldn’t figure it out here when she was constantly on edge and waiting to see who would be the next person to point a gun at him.

  She fumbled around the room, searching for her things. She found her purse, but her computer wasn’t in there. Her gut wrenched at the thought of leaving without it. She’d told Bennett her life was on that piece of equipment and she hadn’t lied.

  But she wouldn’t die if she didn’t have her computer. Most of what she had could be restored. She backed up most of her work so it was waiting for her…if she was able to get out of this mess.

  I have to leave without it.

  No, she wouldn’t die without her computer, but she might die if she stayed here.

  She did one more slow circuit around the room, wishing she’d taken the time to learn the layout of the place last night. Other than her, the cabin was empty and she had two choices…go out the front door or a window.

  She chose a window, the one facing the back of the property, and she swallowed as she stared into the dark maw of endless night. Then, as carefully as she could, she lifted the blinds. The window resisted and she was sweating by the time she had it open. She gave one last look around and then slid outside.

  The call of insects buzzing and the occasional night creature were the only sounds. She eased around the side of the small, square cabin, chancing a quick look at the front.

  The truck he’d stolen was there.

  She wished she had Bennett’s handy knack for hotwiring, but she didn’t. Wishes weren’t going to get her out of there, either, so she moved away from the cover of the house, sticking to the tree line. She darted a look at the truck. He wasn’t there. She shot a longer, harder look at the yard, such as it was, and he wasn’t there, either.

  Where was he?

  It doesn’t matter.

  She hurried to the edge of the yard and started through the cover the trees offered. Every step she took sounded painfully loud and she ended up going at a snail’s pace as she listened for any noise, searched for any movement that she might pick up in the darkness.

  How long had they been on the pocked and pitted gravel road that had led them here? She didn’t know. How long had she been walking? Eying the illuminated dial on her watch, she tried to figure it out. She had no idea.

  She gave it ten more minutes and then she started to move faster. She had to get away—

  An arm shot out and caught her, banded securely at her breasts, all but pinning her arms. A hand covered her mouth, stifling her scream.

  Panicked, Nyrene drove her foot down and had the satisfaction of hearing a pained, masculine grunt as she connected with her attacker’s foot. She tried to bite his hand, but his grip practically clamped her jaw shut.

  When her feet left the ground, she struggled harder. Swiping her nails across the forearm holding her, she tried to draw blood. A voice rasped in he
r ear, but she couldn’t understand it.

  Get away!

  Then, with a force that shocked her into silence, she was shoved up against a tree while a heavy male body pressed into hers. Some part of her recognized him even as he caught her wrists and pinned them overhead.

  “Damn it, be still,” Dev snarled. Fury and fear pulsed inside him.

  She’d been quiet, so quiet he’d barely heard her as he did another patrol through the darkness. Two hours of sleep hadn’t done much to take the edge off his exhaustion, but he’d gotten by on less, for longer, and he knew he couldn’t afford not to stay on alert.

  Nyrene still struggled, the movements frenzied, and he caught her chin, tried to force her head up so she could see him.

  “It’s me.”

  Her voice, when it came, was incredulous. “Is that supposed to help me calm down, you son of a bitch?”

  The comment threw him off guard, but only for a minute—what had he expected her to say? Oh, hey…I was just out here looking for you? Muffling a curse, he racked his brain, searching for something, anything he could say that would ease the tension in her body, the fear that all but bled from her.

  “What are you doing?” he asked softly.

  Nyrene was so taut, he thought she might snap. The silence hummed between them and then finally, she said, “I wanted to get out of here. Is that so hard to get? I’m terrified. You’ve got people shooting at you. Ever since you showed up in my life, everything around me has gone crazy…including me. You scared me to death when you showed up at my house. You think I’m involved with…hell, I don’t know you, but unless my book club or my critique group is more dangerous than I thought, then you are barking up the wrong tree. You’re stealing cars and…and…”

  She stuttered to a stop and he heard her swallow.

  Weary, he said, “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to…” Absently, he rubbed his thumb against the soft skin of one of her wrists. “Have I hurt you?”

  She didn’t answer and then she jerked her wrists. “This doesn’t exactly feel good.”

  He was a monstrous son of a bitch because his immediate response was…Yes, it does.

  She felt good. The lush curves of her body pillowing his, the scent of her hair and skin—honeysuckle and oranges—flooding his head. He could feel his body responding.

  He eased back, shifting his lower body away. “I’m going to let you go, but don’t take off. Please don’t make me have to run you down.”

  With a soft, broken sigh, she slumped. He couldn’t make out much of anything in the nonexistent light, save for the shape of her face, the curve of her cheek, but he didn’t have to see her to know he’d put that dread back in her eyes.

  “Why are you doing this?” she whispered. “Why can’t you just let me go?”

  Because you’re in as much danger as I am now. “Come on,” he said tersely. “We need to get inside.”

  When she didn’t immediately move, Dev clenched his jaw. If she fought, he’d have to scare her. Again. But she moved away from the tree. He could make out her form, just barely, and the slumped set of her shoulders, how she moved with her head bowed. It made him that much more disgusted with himself.

  “Look,” he said, keeping his voice low. He faltered for the words, but they never came. “Never mind.”

  They walked. She’d gone maybe an eighth of a mile—not very far, but in the dark, unfamiliar surroundings, she’d moved quickly enough. But, once out of the trees, walking on the sad excuse of a road, they moved much quicker.

  They were almost to the clearing where the cabin sat when he froze.

  A low noise came to him in the night. The faint hum of a motor on the road, probably almost half a mile away. The only reason he even pegged it as wrong was because he’d spent too many nights out here and he knew every sound—the way the wind could whisper or moan through the trees, and the music of the surrounding wildlife.

  As he stood there, it grew faintly louder.

  “In the trees,” he said, forcing the words out. “Now.”

  “But…”

  “Do it!” He caught her arm with his left hand, drawing the Glock M17 from his holster with his right. They moved into the trees, deeper and deeper until he trusted the cover. He could still see the gravel road. Just barely, but it was enough. With one eye on her and the other on the road, he waited.

  “What are—”

  “Quiet!”

  Not even thirty seconds later, he heard her startled inhalation of breath.

  She’d heard it now, too.

  “This is why I wanted to leave,” she muttered. “I knew something was wrong. You’re going to get me killed.”

  “No.” He hoped he wasn’t lying. “Now shut up.”

  The car stopped before it reached the clearing and that filled Dev with more trepidation. He hadn’t heard them leave the car, but they had—he just knew it. Fuck, they were quiet. Leaning in, he pressed his mouth to her ear. “Don’t make a sound, Nyrene. And don’t move.”

  Her only response was a single jerk of her head. It would have to be enough. He needed his hands free. Carefully, he eased away, ears straining as he listened to the night. The insects had gone quiet and the low murmur of the other night creatures had ceased.

  They were on their way in.

  He eased one foot forward, checking the ground before he shifted his weight, then another. His goal was the big cypress that lay between him and the road. He had just barely reached it when he saw them. One of them had a penlight out, just a thin sliver of illumination sweeping the ground.

  He counted three, watched as they passed, and listened.

  Nothing. But his gut told him that was all. He inched away from the tree. It seemed it took hours to cross a single foot and he was soaked with sweat, his muscles locked by the time he had reached the edge of the trees. There was probably a good ten yards between him and Nyrene, and barely twenty between him and the men who had crouched behind his truck.

  He held his Glock in a two-handed grip, watching as they fanned out. One went left. One went right. The other crept up the stairs.

  The low, frenzied curse came before he expected it.

  One of the men came running out from behind the house. “She’s not here.” It was grimly delivered, the words soft, just barely loud enough to carry to where Dev waited in the trees.

  Fury gnawed at him. They were looking for Nyrene. She’d lied to him.

  “What do you want to do?”

  It was the same speaker.

  He hadn’t moved an inch.

  Somebody else had, though. Dev felt somebody approaching as clearly as if the bastard had tugged some invisible wire.

  “Man, she ain’t here. The truck’s cold. They probably ditched it here and moved. Somehow, she’s staying ahead—”

  “Silence!” The word came out too close to Dev and it came in a low, controlled order. Not good…

  Dev forced himself to relax and then he moved out from behind the tree. His target was the shadow that was darker than the other. He aimed at the chest and pulled the trigger.

  He dove into a crouch, moving before he even waited to see if his target had gone down.

  “Shit!” It came in a low, sharp hiss and Dev eased out from behind the tree, peering into the night.

  There was another shadow now, closer, coming toward him at a sharp angle, but this one’s movements were slower, less certain. The man didn’t even pause by the body, just kept moving.

  Dev took aim, squeezed.

  The man moved at the exact same time.

  Baring his teeth, Dev went to move.

  And couldn’t.

  Something flung him up against the tree while a vise closed around his neck. He swung upward and encountered nothing.

  “Where is the girl?”

  The pressure on his throat eased. Dev’s mind whirled to process what was happening.

  Nobody was touching him. No thing was touching him.

  “Don’t make me a
sk again,” the man said, moving closer. The pressure around Dev’s throat intensified, as if in warning, and then it relaxed, yet again.

  “Fuck…” Dev managed to get that much out before he was slammed back up against the tree.

  A sharp, shrill scream filled the night air. For one moment, he had control of his body again and he jerked up the Glock as the second man rushed into the trees. He squeezed and felt the wet of blood gush over him as his attacker fell into him. Out of reaction, Dev caught the body and used it as a shield, backing away.

  “Pete!”

  It was the talker again.

  “Pete! Where are you?”

  Dev didn’t know if he should be grateful for the man’s idiocy or annoyed. The man stumbled right past him and Dev eased the body he held—Pete, he guessed—to the ground and then straightened. Faint, watery light was starting to filter in through the trees, the first glimpse of dawn.

  It wasn’t a lot of light, but Dev didn’t need much.

  He aimed—and this time, a scream filled the air as the man went down, blood gushing from his leg.

  Dev strode toward him.

  “Don’t touch him!”

  Nyrene’s panicked shout was filled with rage and other emotions he couldn’t decipher. When she came stumbling out of the dark, he caught her. “That son of a bitch is here to kill me. But sure, why not? I won’t touch him.” He stormed forward, his hands already itching.

  “Don’t!” Nyrene shoved in between them. “Don’t,” she said again, her voice panting. “He’s not here for you.”

  “Yeah. I got that memo.” Dev shoved past her and bent down, flipping the injured man over onto his stomach, ignoring the scream of pain. Pulling his cuffs from his belt, he slapped one on the man’s wrist. “He’s here for you. Don’t know where they’re taking you or who sent them but maybe it’s time—”