by Jacey Ward
“It’ll heal,” she insisted but to her chagrin, he rose to find a bandage for her hand.
“It’s fine! Come on!” she protested. “You can’t leave me to drink alone.”
He gave her a wary look and Kimberly’s heart began to thud dangerously.
He’s onto me. He’s suspicious.
Dizziness filled her and for a horrific moment, she thought she might pass out.
“I’ll be right back,” he replied softly. “You really don’t like people doing things for you, do you?”
Shaking his head, he turned away from her and she glanced at the door, gnawing on her lower lip.
You could just make a run for it, she told herself again, but she knew the idea was ridiculous. She wouldn’t get two feet and Roan would know she was onto him.
Just wait. You’re almost free.
Kimberly willed her heart to slow, sure that Roan would be able to hear it when he returned from the bathroom with a white first-aid kit in his huge hands.
Such a waste of a handsome man. Why did he have to be like this?
She almost snorted at her own question. Even if he wasn’t a danger to her, what future could they possibly have had together? She wasn’t even sure she knew his real name.
“Let me see your hand,” he said, opening the metal box and holding out his own palm.
“Seriously, it’s nothing,” she insisted but just as quickly, clamped her mouth together.
Let him do it! She thought, shoving aside the guilt forming like a knot in the pit of her stomach.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Kimber,” he said softly as he unfurled her hand and peered at the gash. His words filled her with a confusing warmth.
He’s a great actor. If being a predator doesn’t work out for him, he definitely has a career in the academy.
He pulled his eyes away to look at the cut, gently swabbing the area with alcohol but the slice continued to bleed. Kimberly fought with the urge to withdraw her hand, to push him away but she couldn’t, not if she wanted to get out of there alive.
“You got yourself pretty deep,” Roan commented, his brow furrowing. “Shit, you might need stitches.”
He ran his index finger over the cut and Kimberly closed her eyes.
Too late now.
“We might need to find you a hospital. I don’t have the proper tools here to stitch you…”
He inhaled then, his eyes widening.
“The proper tools…” he started again but his words were interjected by a hacking round of coughs as he struggled to breathe.
Kimberly ripped her hands away from him and shot to her feet, backing away as he stared at her, his hands extended.
“H-help!” he choked. “I-I c-can’t breathe—”
Roan’s face turned a disturbing shade of purple and Kimberly let out a moan. She smothered her horror with her hand and looked away as he tried to call after her with ragged, inaudible rasps.
Oh God! Oh God, what did I do?
But as she skirted around his outstretched arms, avoiding his imploring stare, she knew exactly what she’d done.
I did what I had to do. I killed Roan before he could kill me.
She wondered then, why she was so devastated by it all.
Chapter 6
He was both hot and cold, his body floating in a sea of pain as he stared at himself on the floor of the cabin, his hands still extended into nothingness.
Get up! Get the fuck up!
He heard his own inner voice, clearly through the buzzing which seemed to have filled his head entirely.
You can’t die here. Get. Up. Now!
From the ceiling he fell, back into his own body, his eyelids gritty, burning and unable to stay open.
He was dying. He knew it.
The hell I am.
From somewhere, he managed to muster a surge of air, filling his lungs with a modicum of breath and forced his eyes open.
Up. Get. Up.
Someone was guiding him, someone not himself and when he finally could pry his eyes open, he found himself staring up at his grandfather.
“Move!” Drake hissed. “You’re a Conway. Don’t just lay there.”
It took Roan several minutes to realize he was hallucinating the older man standing before him but he didn’t care. He clung to the image of his father’s father like a lifeline.
Drake was going to get him out of there…somehow.
“What did she do to me?” he heard himself gasp.
“She tried to kill you,” Drake replied, folding his arms over his chest and staring down at him with annoyance. “How many times have I told you not to trust outsiders? It was only a matter of time before this happened.”
“How?” Roan choked. “How did she do it?”
“Are you really going to wonder about that or are you going to save yourself?”
Roan blinked furiously, tears streaming down his face as he tried to inflate his lungs with air and understanding what was happening to him.
He was exhibiting all the symptoms of poisoning. He needed to get whatever he had in his system out before his organs began to shut down.
Rolling onto his side, he jammed his fingers down his throat and began to retch, throwing up everything he could onto the floor of the cabin.
“That won’t do it,” Drake told him. “You’re still in bad shape.”
Again, he vomited, over and over until he was wracked in a wave of shuddering breaths but at least he could breathe.
There was no time to waste.
Jumping to his feet, he fell sideways, landing against the fireplace. He screamed out in pain but the adrenaline was exactly what his body needed. Ignoring the burn on his hand and arm, he fumbled his way into the kitchenette and ran the tap, dunking his sweating head underneath to swallow as much as he could before again, throwing up.
He needed to get it all out.
After the third time of drinking and regurgitating, he realized his vision was starting to clear. Water poured over his angular face and he propped himself against the sink, heaving with relief.
His eyes fell back on the fireplace and he stumbled back, careful not to touch the hearth as he dropped to his knees and grabbed for the bag of charcoal sitting there.
Without hesitation, he pulled out a piece and stuck it in his mouth, chomping on it until he was sure his teeth would break.
It was only then that he permitted himself to fall back against the stone of the fireplace and rest, knowing that the charcoal would soak up whatever it was that was in his system.
His rheumy eyes fell on the coffee table where the two glasses of scotch still sat.
The drinks. She poisoned the drinks…
But that didn’t make any sense. They had both been drinking from the same bottle all night.
His brow furrowed.
And I didn’t touch the one she just poured. How the fuck did she pull this off?
She must have had something on her but why would Kimberly have waited so long to do it? They’d been having a good night—or at least she’d done a damned good job of acting like it. Roan was sure she had been drunk.
That’s why I didn’t make a move on her. I was worried she was too fucked up.
She had gone to bed for fuck’s sake.
None of it made any sense and the more he tried to figure it out, the more his head swam with the effort.
Slowly, however, he could feel the charcoal doing its job and eventually, he felt strong enough to rise again and get another glass of water, this one to wash the chalky taste out of his mouth.
His gut rocked nervously, anticipating that he’d make himself retch again but blissfully, everything stayed down.
Suddenly, Roan realized his grandfather was gone too and he exhaled, looking around for his phone.
He silently prayed that she hadn’t found it and taken it. To his relief, Roan found the phone exactly where he’d left it after he’d hung up with Coy.
Was that only an hour ago? It feels like an e
ternity now.
With shaking hands, he flipped open the burner to call his cousin but his fingers froze.
What the hell are you going to tell him?
It was hard to figure out, especially when he had no idea what had transpired.
Coy looked up to him, admired him and as long as his younger cousin had been alive, he’d never known Roan to show an inch of weakness.
I can’t call him up now and tell him that I stupidly let this woman into my safehouse and she tried to kill me. He’ll never look at me the same way again.
No, that wasn’t an option. None of the other Conways could know about what had happened there and how he’d lost control of the situation.
She was playing you from the start but you were just too horny to notice it.
It was a hard pill to swallow. Roan had never allowed himself to be seduced so blindly by any woman but Kimberly had managed to manipulate him.
You let her. You walked an Oculus operative right into your house and it nearly killed you.
But that still didn’t fit. Why would an Oculus agent be breaking into the warehouse? Could she have somehow known he was going to be there?
There’s no way. That would indicate a leak inside our family and that’s less possible than the notion of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. She was there for another reason, one that had nothing to do with me. Killing me was a crime of opportunity.
He wasn’t going to figure any of it out there. He needed to get out of Cabin Ten and find his way somewhere safe, just in case Kimberly came back to finish him off—with reinforcements.
Blindly, he looked around, trying to remember where he had put his keys and wallet but try as he might, he couldn’t find anything.
The wallet she can have. Kevin Sawyer doesn’t exist. I hope she goes looking for him in New Jersey. But the keys…
He found the wallet and shoved it in his pocket but he still couldn’t locate the keys to the Range Rover anywhere. Roan was well aware what he was going to find when he made his way to the door and threw it open, his heart thudding dully in his chest.
Please tell me she didn’t do it. Please tell me she left the car…
But, as his luck was running lately, Suzy was gone.
For the third time in less than twelve hours, Roan made his way through the woods, the lodge on his mind. This journey, however, was far worse than anything he’d ever endured in a hike.
He had to stop several times to catch his breath, waves of dizziness slowing him down.
Dawn had broken and the sunlight was wearing on his already thin nerves.
It’s far too dangerous to be traveling by sunlight, he thought. If I survived this poisoning only to be captured by Oculus…
He shuddered at the thought but he couldn’t focus on the “what if” at the moment. He needed to get the hell out of the woods and find the backstabbing witch who had done this to him.
“Mr. Sawyer!” It was Wendy who greeted him this time, her wrinkled face contorted in shock. “Are you all right?”
He tried to force a nonchalant smile on his face but failed miserably.
“I’m afraid not, Wendy,” he said, somehow maintaining his even tone. “My wife and I had an argument last night and, well, shamefully, she left me stranded without a vehicle.”
Wendy blinked.
“I thought your car was out of commission.”
Goddamn it, Kimberly! He cursed furiously.
“I thought so too,” he replied but he leaned across the counter conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think she did something to it so that she could leave me stranded.”
Wendy’s eyes widened with pity.
“Oh how awful. Some women are just nasty business, aren’t they?”
You have no idea.
“I hate to be a pain but I was hoping that Joe might be able to run me into town so my brother could come get me.”
“Do you need a phone, honey? You can use ours.”
Roan ground his teeth together. He really hadn’t thought this through.
“Honestly,” he sighed. “I’m afraid that Janice might come back and she’s…volatile when she’s angry. I had hoped that this trip would be a little getaway for us to get our marriage back on track, but I think this was confirmation of what I’ve already known for a while.”
He painted a desolate look on his face and Wendy’s expression melted into one of deep compassion.
“I wouldn’t want matters to get out of hand if she comes back and she might come looking for me here. I’d rather just distance myself in case…”
Does that sound believable?
It was the best he could do on short notice.
“Oh dear,” Wendy murmured, shaking her head. “Of course Joe will take you, dear. Let me get him.”
The older woman hurried back into the lodge, leaving Roan to contemplate his next move. He’d have to take a bus from Cole’s Corners to Wenatchee and rent a car to get him home.
“Dang women, huh son?” Joe chuckled, appearing from the back door. “The pretty ones are always the worst and your wife is a looker all right.”
Roan didn’t need a reminder of how beautiful Kimberly was. He needed to focus on the anger and nothing else.
“Sorry to put you out again, Joe,” he sighed. “We were having such a good night. That scotch went down a little too well.”
“I thought you looked a little worse for wear…” Joe eyed him critically and for the first time, Roan realized what he must look like—gaunt, pale and covered in vomit.
“We probably overdid it,” he admitted, looking sheepish. His ire toward Kimberly was only mounting. He was humiliated but grateful that he’d never see Joe or his wife again.
Before I find a car, I better find somewhere to clean up.
“Do you need to stop by the cabin for your belongings?” Joe asked, noting that Roan had nothing with him.
Roan’s jaw tightened. Everything he’d brought with him was in the Range Rover.
“I’ll have my brother bring me back,” he said, even though he knew he would never again step foot back there.
Joe wrinkled his nose.
“You sure? Maybe change your shirt or something?”
“It’s fine, Joe,” Roan insisted, trying to keep the impatience from his voice. “Really, I just want to get going.”
To his relief, Joe didn’t push the issue and he led the way out of the lodge, toward his truck waiting in the small lot outside.
“I don’t know if you happened to catch any of that fuss last night,” Joe commented, likely more to change the subject than anything. “Helicopters flying around half the night.”
Roan tensed.
“I thought I heard something,” he replied vaguely. “What was it about?”
Joe grunted, putting the key into the ignition.
“Who knows? Ever since the government set up shop around here, there’s all kinds of odd activity happening.”
Roan’s eyebrow shot upward and he cast Joe a sidelong look.
“Government?” he echoed. “What, like NASA?”
“No idea,” Joe replied. “All I know is that they disrupt the good folks around here with all their nonsense. Came in last night just before you did, asking if there were any guests in the cabins.”
Roan was finding it hard to breathe again. Joe met his look and grinned as he steered the truck toward the roadway, leading to Route 207.
“I didn’t tell them you were here, Kevin, don’t worry.”
Roan didn’t trust the way the old man was looking at him but he smiled weakly.
“I can’t imagine I’d have anything to help them with anyway,” Roan offered. “Did they say what it was about?”
A bemused expression fell on Joe’s face.
“I didn’t ask,” he answered. “I figure if I was meant to know, I’d know.”
Roan swallowed the lump of worry forming in his throat but Joe didn’t say another thing on the subject.
“You sure you’ll be
all right in Cole’s Corners?” the old timer asked as they neared the hamlet. “I can take you to Leavenworth if you want.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
“I wouldn’t want you running into any trouble,” Joe said and his look was unmistakable.
He knows I’m not who I said, Roan realized. But he didn’t sell me out.
He wondered if Joe was going to ask for something to ensure his silence but the cabins’ owner only pulled up to the general store to let him out.
“Thanks, Joe,” Roan said, barely meeting his eye. “I owe you a couple now.”
“Nah,” Joe chuckled. “Unless you can do something about those bastards from the government hanging around.”
There was a meaningful note in his tone and Roan cleared his throat.
“I-I wouldn’t know anything about that, Joe.”
Joe snickered.
“I thought you might say that. Godspeed to you. Be careful…”
Roan met his eyes and Joe met his gaze innocently.
“With your missus, I mean.”
The old man leaned across the seats to pull the door closed before driving off with a wave and Roan stood, unsettled by the conversation. He wondered how much the old man had figured out but he shoved the concern aside.
Never mind Joe. He’s not a threat to you. He didn’t try to murder you after all.
He needed to find Kimberly…and make her pay.
Chapter 7
She ditched the Range Rover three blocks from Cleo’s and sprinted the rest of the way to her best friend’s apartment.
For six hours she’d driven, pausing only once between Washington and Montana to pee in a thick of bushes off the side of the interstate before starting again.
You killed a man. You killed a man and left him there alone.
The guilt bubbled in her gut endlessly, the shame threatening to spew from her throat in projectile strands of vomit.
You didn’t have a choice. He was going to kill you first.
But no matter how she tried to justify what she’d done, she could not stop tears from spilling down her face.
Fumbling with her own keys, she let herself into Cleo’s place, her hands trembling violently even still.
