Then it hit her. This was like her recurring nightmares. The ones where she was being chased. She’d hide, and they’d find her, but she’d get away and hide again. She’d learned in college that they were normal stress dreams, that a lot of people had them, and they were very different from the ones that had been based on memory and experience.
How ironic.
A loud rustle at the top of the hill startled her into stillness. Pat had followed her. He must have recovered his senses and gone stealth again, because she hadn’t heard him after she went over the ridge. She could almost feel his laser gaze on her back and fought the urge to press closer to the ground. It was movement that would give her away, not location.
Elation seeped away as Pat stood up there, surveying the woods. Gone went the clear thinking and easy breathing. Her spine tingled between her shoulder blades, and she was certain the knife was going to plunge into it any second. She struggled not to pant, squeezing her eyes tightly closed, listening so hard all she could hear was a loud, internal ringing.
Cool it, Zoe. You have the knife, you moron. The ringing faded a little. Her palm throbbed and fingers ached where they clutched the knife so hard it shook. But she relaxed them too much and the blade scraped on rock.
Pat heard it. She could tell.
And she had no fucking idea what to do next.
Chapter Twenty
Through everything that had happened over the last few days, Kell would have said he’d hit “worst nightmare” several times. He’d have been wrong.
Nothing came close to watching that madman drag Zoe into the woods at knife point. Or the look in her eyes, a sorrowful goodbye that turned the similar look when he left her at the airport into an obvious lie.
He yelled to Grant as he lurched after Zoe, ducking around one of Neely’s team and pushing off into a run and then wham. An arm bar slammed into his collarbone and knocked him onto his back. One of Rhomney’s stupid fucking followers stood over him, laughing. Kell couldn’t even wheeze, the lack of air making the rest of him weak. Another moron joined the first, and Kell flailed at their feet and fists, as effective as grass waving in a breeze.
Then his lungs unlocked and he sucked in hard, coughing, and managed to curl into a protective ball. Once his head cleared, he could tell the blows were half-hearted. One of them kept glancing around, as if putting on a show and wanting to make sure they were—or weren’t—being watched.
He grabbed a raised foot near his head and pushed, knocking the kicker off balance. That gave him enough space to allow him to struggle back to his feet.
“Not fully committed to the cause, huh?” He glared at them, upper body heaving. He raised clenched fists and balanced on the balls of his feet. “I’m not letting him take her. Try to stop me.”
“Fuck that!” Grant appeared holding some kind of assault rifle. Kell’s opponents muttered and backed up a few steps, right into a cop with a handful of zip ties. “Are you an idiot, or what?”
“He took Zoe,” Kell growled. It gave him some satisfaction to see panic flash across Grant’s granite face. “He dragged her into the woods. He cut her. I’m going after her.”
“Hold on.” Grant surveyed the clearing. “We can’t go alone.”
“I’m going! The longer we wait, the further he gets! It’s still dark, and if we don’t pick up the trail—”
Grant glowered at him. “I know how it works. But if you go charging after her, he’ll just kill her. Look what we did to his plans.” He waved a hand at the table. “We have to be smart about this.”
Kell clenched his fists, barely feeling the slice in his palm, and stared hard at the trees Zoe had slipped between a couple of minutes ago. Grant was right, dammit, and he did have experience with this shit. But God, Zoe. He couldn’t stop the images of gushing blood and empty eyes, couldn’t stop hearing her screams while Rhomney tortured her. And he knew they were nothing compared to reality if Rhomney did start carving her up. What if he had a vehicle somewhere on the other side of the woods? Kell had no idea where they were or what was around them, but he bet Rhomney did.
“What’s the plan, then?” he ground out.
“We need help.”
But even though the chaos was contained, everyone seemed to have their hands full. Trying to mobilize the FBI or gather Grant’s scattered team would take too long. They had to get on their trail now.
“We can’t wait,” he told Grant, who finally nodded.
“All right. Let’s go.”
An hour later, Kell was ready to howl. Grant was sure he had the trail, but they moved way too slowly for Kell’s sanity. He got the logic—don’t provoke Pat into acting, wait until they had an advantage—but the passing minutes throbbed like a heartbeat, surging blood through knife wounds onto the ground. Zoe’s wounds, Zoe’s blood. Zoe’s death. He couldn’t take it anymore.
“Neely.”
Grant stuck his fist in the air, tight and fast. Kell froze. His hearing sharpened as he focused, and he heard tiny rustles. The kind you’d attribute to animals, except slightly more rhythmic. Footsteps.
He strained to see through the early dawn light and the second-story trees that waved in a light breeze. Grant slowly pointed toward the left, and Kell twisted his head to look. Brown, boxy, bigger than trees—it was a shack of some sort. Dark inside, he saw when he tilted right and glimpsed a gaping doorway.
Now everything was still. Grant eased to their right, uphill. Kell followed but kept his distance. He knew the high ground was an advantage, but it also made them a bigger target. Let the merc take point, draw fire or whatever. If Rhomney was out here alone, and he engaged Grant, that would leave Kell free to rescue Zoe.
Not that he cared who rescued her, just that she was safe. Please let her be safe.
Then suddenly Grant was running along the top of the ridge, full out, and Kell’s heart decided to leap up and choke him. He dashed up the hill and paused. About a hundred feet down the ridge, Grant charged fast enough that his silence was eerie. Kell couldn’t see past him, didn’t know what he was running toward. Rhomney? Zoe? Both? A body? He picked up his pace to follow, braced for some kind of impact. Physical or emotional, he didn’t know what to expect, but it was obviously coming.
Then it did, but not at him.
Grant suddenly dodged left, and Kell saw something snap up off the ground, flinging dried leaves everywhere. Grant’s speed and the slope of the hill made his left foot skid, but it didn’t save him from the spike that hit his shoulder. Kell bit back a yell and ran harder, trying to scan the ground and trees for other booby traps. Grant had already run this way, so at least the ground on this side was clear.
Kell dropped to his knees next to Grant, not knowing what to do first. Grant blinked, so he was conscious. Kell needed to know if there were other imminent threats. He peered through the camouflaged, spiked, hinged, trellis-like thing that had flown up and now stood still, bristling lethally. He could see a light-colored splotch against the tree trunks and squinted to make out a man standing at the top of the hill, looking down the right-hand slope, away from them. Rhomney?
Kell turned to Grant, keeping half his awareness on the other guy to make sure he didn’t come closer. Grant’s black jacket was wet with blood, the hand he held to his shoulder covered with it.
“Leave it,” Grant ground out when Kell tried to peel back the cloth. “It didn’t go all the way in. That’s Rhomney down there, and I think Zoe is down the hill.”
“Shit. Is he armed?”
“Probably. He didn’t see me until I sprung the fucking trap. Saw the trigger too late.” He lay back and glared at the sky. “You need to get down that hill and circle around below Zoe without Rhomney seeing you. Look for wires and odd shapes in case he has other shit out here. The way he was moving, though, I think this might be it. You only need one to slow down pursuit, because they don’t know there’s only one. Fucking bastard.” He grunted and pressed harder on the wound.
“Okay. Then what?”<
br />
“Then wait and watch.”
Kell didn’t like that. It meant Grant wasn’t going to lie here and let Kell dispatch Rhomney and rescue Zoe, then drag him out of the woods to medical care. “You can’t—” he started, knowing it was fruitless.
“I can,” Grant growled. “Go.” He hauled himself up to sit, then rocked to his feet, blocking Kell’s view of Rhomney and therefore, hopefully, Rhomney’s of him. Kell cursed silently and backed up, low to the ground, until he reached a row of brush that zigzagged down the hill. He slid behind that and flattened himself to the ground, where a gap between branches gave him a clear view. His heart sank.
It was Rhomney standing down the ridge. He didn’t have the knife he’d held to Kell’s throat, but that wasn’t good news. He’d replaced it with a mechanical crossbow, the kind that fired small but still deadly darts. Where the hell did he get that? He was aiming it down the hill, toward a boulder that covered his target—Zoe.
There was no way Kell was going to be able to come up on Zoe’s position without Rhomney seeing him. Not without going way out into the woods at the bottom of the hill. And even then, his movement would draw attention. In this area, the tree trunks were narrow and sparse, and even the shorter trees and underbrush were low.
“Hey, Pat!” Grant called, and Kell’s time was up. When Rhomney swung around to face Grant, Kell shoved himself down the hill, sliding as fast as he dared. Grant yelled nonsense about the FBI and the rest of his freelance team being on their way, covering the rustle and clatter of Kell’s descent. He almost cheered when he reached the bottom and barely stopped himself from sliding into a gully. A broken ankle would have been a disaster. But the dark groove in the earth, probably a seasonal wash now mostly dry, went in exactly the direction he needed to go.
In seconds he was in the gully. Heart pounding, he crab-walked as fast as he could along the bottom, trying to keep his head low and estimate how far he’d come. He could still hear Grant shouting. Fuck, what if Zoe decided to go up the hill to help him? He scuddled faster, wondering if he imagined a ping-swish-thunk that was the crossbow. Let him be aiming at Neely.
He didn’t want to overshoot Zoe’s position. He stopped, his back against the gully wall closest to the hill, and listened. He could make out Rhomney’s voice, almost directly above him but not facing this way. Probably. Grant still had his attention. Kell risked rising a tiny bit, tilting his head back to make only his eyes and the tip of his nose clear the edge. He couldn’t breathe at that angle, and spots danced in his vision for a second. But when they cleared, he saw Zoe hunkered behind a boulder, holding Rhomney’s wicked knife. Thank God. Now if he could just get her down here without catching Rhomney’s attention.
“Ssst.” She didn’t move. His right calf cramped, and when he shifted it, his head bobbed higher. The movement drew Zoe’s attention. Her eyes widened when she saw him, gratitude and relief flooding her expression. She made an abrupt move, halted immediately, but it was enough. Kell dropped flat on his back just as a crossbow arrow zipped past him and buried itself in the opposite bank.
“She’s not for you!” Rhomney shouted. He was so furious Kell could hear spittle, spraying from his lips and spattering the dry leaves. For a moment he lay paralyzed, listening. “She’s always been mine, Kellen Stone! Even when you loved her, lavished her with your riches, developed a life with her, she didn’t tell you about me! I’ve left an imprint on her psyche and her soul that you can’t even hope to match!”
The words were meant to burrow deep into Kell’s heart and ruin the rest of his life. They only pissed him off. He raised his head just a bit and spotted a big rock embedded in the dirt by his right foot. He kicked at it.
“You’ve got it backwards, Rhomney!” The rock shifted, but barely. He kept kicking. “I’ve given her the peace she needed to leave you behind! She never told me about you because you don’t matter!” He slammed the heel of his boot against the rock. It pulled almost completely out of the moist dirt, showering the leaves around it with little clumps. He dragged it up next to his hand and hefted it. Yeah, that would work. Or not. Rising up a little, he heaved the rock to his left and surged upright. The rock sailed further than he’d hoped, and yes! Rhomney tracked it. Even better, Zoe dashed across the twenty feet between them and in seconds was in the gully, in Kell’s arms.
“Oh, God, Zoe. Jesus Christ.” He clutched her to him, rolling to bury her under his body in case Rhomney fired again. But no arrows struck. “God, I was scared. Are you okay?”
She nodded and squirmed. “We’ve got to get out of here, Kell. And Grant—”
“I know. Come on.” He grabbed her hand and started them crawling back the way he’d come. She twisted her hand out of his, sending a different kind of fear panging through him, until he realized she still clutched the knife in her other hand.
“Leave it,” he told her.
“No.” She looked grim but picked up her pace.
Kell led her back to the point where he’d slid into the gully. “A little further,” he told Zoe. He glanced upward, but could see and hear nothing over the noise of their movement. After a couple dozen more feet, they crouched in the gully and listened. Silence.
“Grant.” Zoe’s whisper cracked, and Kell winced.
“He’ll be okay.” Though Kell had his doubts about the merc’s ability to come back from two should-be-fatal shots in a day. They hadn’t seen Rhomney shoot him with the crossbow, but why wouldn’t he? “Let’s just concentrate on getting up that hill. Then we’ll help him—”
She was gone before he finished his sentence.
“Dammit!” He scrambled up the hill after her as she scrambled behind the row of underbrush.
Grant was still standing.
Rhomney was no longer in sight.
The sun had risen high enough so the breeze cast dancing shadows, several of which Kell thought were attacking Zoe before he realized what they were.
He barreled after her. This chasing crap was getting old.
“Zoe, stop!” he risked calling, but she ignored him. Grant turned, and the sun glistened on his sleeve where the blood from his shoulder wound had saturated it. Kell knew once Zoe saw that, there’d be no stopping her.
What happened next had an inevitability that sank down to Kell’s heels.
His feet slid in wet, dead leaves as he tried to make it up the hill. Zoe was alone when she reached the top. She raced along for only a few steps, toward Grant, and skidded to a stop when Rhomney loomed up in front of her, out of nowhere Kell could see. She fell and scooted backwards on her butt. The knife she’d been holding tumbled down the hill, straight to Kell’s hand. He scooped it up and ran, hearing the echo of Grant’s shout in his ears, seeing the glint of sunlight on the mini-crossbow in Rhomney’s hand, the horrible finality in his grin as he aimed it at Zoe’s heart.
Kell was too far away. Grant was too far away. Zoe was helpless. Rhomney was going to kill her. There was only one thing Kell could do. He threw the knife, as hard as he could.
And missed.
He choked but kept his legs pumping, and thank God, because even though the knife didn’t hit anything, it startled Rhomney enough to raise the crossbow. Kell launched himself at the man, half aware of Zoe doing the same thing. He hit him high, she hit him low, and the three of them tumbled down the far side of the slope.
Leaves and sticks battered Kell’s face as they all hit the ground, bounced into the air, and hit again. He struggled to hang on to Pat and took a flailing hand in the chin. Three-toned grunts filled the air. His knee dug into something soft. Hopefully Rhomney’s gut and not Zoe’s.
They came to rest in a tangle at the base of a tree more than halfway down the hill. Before Kell could orient himself and know which body was whose, black boots pounded after them and a long arm dragged Rhomney upright before Grant plowed a fist into his jaw, knocking him out and about six feet across the forest floor.
“Zoe.” Kell twisted and helped her sit up. Blood glisten
ed at the corner of her mouth, and he cursed. “Where else are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Is he—?” She twisted until she saw Rhomney, and relaxed. “Thank you.” Her hands tightened on Kell’s forearms, fingers curling into his sleeves so he couldn’t have moved away if he tried. Something inside him loosened at the same time.
“Where the hell is everyone else?” Zoe asked Grant.
On cue, the cavalry arrived.
* * *
After hours of conferring with his team, being debriefed by the FBI and threatened with charges for interfering in a federal investigation, and being forced to go to the hospital to get his shoulder patched up, Grant dragged himself to the hotel Henricksen referred him to. The agent had intervened to keep him from being charged—at least for now—and kept him apprised of Zoe and Kell’s status. They’d both been treated on site for their minor wounds and questioned by a battery of agents and cops.
He’d just gotten out of the shower when he heard the knock on his door. He threw on a pair of fatigue pants and even buttoned them, but didn’t bother with anything else when he went to let Zoe in.
Surprised the hell out of him to see Stone at the threshold instead.
“Hey.” He looked into the empty hall and then turned away, rubbing a hand towel over his hair and listening to Stone coming in, closing the door, and following him into the room, which was much smaller than the suites they’d had in Utah. “How’s Zoe?”
“Fine. Generally speaking.” Stone stopped at the corner that closed off the bathroom area, folding his arms and leaning one shoulder against the wall. He eyed Grant’s injured shoulder. “You?”
Grant shrugged despite the wave of pain that created. “Showering’s a bitch. No major damage.” Generally speaking. He went across the room and dropped into a chair by the window, ignoring the towel clenched in his good hand.
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