Rules in Defiance

by Nichole Severn

  And Waylynn holding on to the evidence in her father’s murder investigation all these years was possibly one of the biggest betrayals he’d ever experienced. “Forget about the stash of cash and your passport. Why do you have the gun, Waylynn?”

  Her mouth fell open. Ocean-blue eyes snapped to the weapon. “You have to understand, I was fifteen. I was scared. I hid the gun thinking it would all go away. I knew it was wrong, but I thought if the police never found the murder weapon, they’d forget the whole thing.”

  The world fell out from under him. All this time, she’d kept evidence out of police custody, and a flood of fury burned through him. She’d spent the last four days trying to convince him she’d become the monster she’d feared, but he hadn’t listened to any of it. Not her. Not the woman whose smile turned his entire day around. Not the woman who’d held her own in their private country competition. Not the woman he’d fallen in love with over the past ninety-six hours. He’d been wrong. Elliot pointed one finger at her, the weapon tight in his hand. “You lied to me.”

  “No. I never lied to you.” She moved forward, but he countered her advance. Her expression fell as she slowed a few feet from him. “I just didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

  “Then tell me the truth now.” Whom the hell had he been protecting? Whom had he taken a bullet for back at the crash site? All this time she’d played the victim, manipulating him to believe her innocence. Had he been staring at—making love to—a murderer instead? Bile pushed into his throat. He’d done a lot of bad stuff in his life, but he’d drawn the line at murder. And Waylynn... “Did you kill your father?”

  She picked at her chipped nails, her throat working to swallow. Her shoulder rose on a deep inhale and she dropped her hands to her sides, her mind made up by the sternness in her expression. “I can’t tell you that. Because if I do, you won’t see me as a friend anymore...as a partner. I need you to trust me.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?” He turned his back to her, the gun still in his hand. How had he not seen it before? He’d read the police report of that night. Police hadn’t been able to recover the murder weapon and he’d chalked it up to human error. Evidence went missing all the time in high-profile cases like Nathan Hargraves’s. In reality, the truth crushed the air from his lungs. “I just found a gun from a fifteen-year-old murder in your bag. Any trust you earned with me is gone.”

  “Please.” She reached out for him, but suddenly thought better of it. “Elliot, I wish I could—”

  “Could what?” Twisting around, he struggled to contain the rage exploding through him. “Take it all back? Tell me the truth from the beginning? I put my life on the line, took a bullet and nearly died in a fire for you. Because I believed you were innocent.” Pain set up residence behind his sternum. She’d played him, manipulated him. Used him. Just as his parents and the Iraqi guards had with their head games and steel bars. “You’re just as guilty as the bastard targeting you, aren’t you? You killed your father and hid the evidence to avoid prosecution. I guess you were right before, Waylynn. You are a monster.”

  He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, but the damage had already been done. No matter how much his instincts protested that statement, she’d killed a man in cold blood and kept the evidence hidden.

  And he couldn’t love her.

  Waylynn blinked as though shock had punched her straight in the stomach and shot her hand out toward the counter for balance. Swiping her tongue across her bottom lip, she nodded, but refused to look at him. Shame. Guilt. Reality closed in on her features, and his gut clenched. In an instant, the grief had passed, control crossing her expression as she nailed him with her cold gaze. “What about the lies you’ve told, Elliot? What about the people you’ve hurt or the money you’ve stolen?” She pulled the storage device from his laptop and held it up. “What about the fact you swore to me you’ve never investigated my background, but have my father’s police report on this thumb drive?”

  “You’re comparing my job protecting you to homicide?” He shouldn’t have lied about the investigation into her past, but he’d told her the truth. There was no file on her. He hadn’t started gathering information to use against her like he had the others. He hadn’t had any intention of ever blackmailing her down the line. He’d requested the report from Vincent to make sure what was happening now wasn’t tied to her past. That was his job. The second they’d tied Genism to Alexis’s murder, he’d pulled the file into the trash. Only he hadn’t realized there was a copy left on the thumb drive. Elliot set the gun on the counter, leaving it wrapped in the old T-shirt—the one spotted with blood—to preserve any fingerprints it might’ve held on to over the last fifteen years. It took every ounce of energy not to sink to the floor as his heart tore itself to pieces. “I’m only going to ask you one more time and I want an answer. Did you kill Nathan Hargraves?”

  “I think you already have the answer you want. I’m a monster, remember?” Anger hollowed her voice, but she’d had to have known this day would come. Ripping her overnight bag from his grasp, she tucked it under her arm and headed for the front door. Hand on the dead bolt, she slowed. “Are you going to turn the gun in to the police?”

  The bullet wound in his shoulder burned with renewed vigor. The last four days—aside from getting tasered, shot and nearly roasted to death—had been the best in his life. She’d given him a glimpse of real happiness. Given him a glimpse of the future. One where he didn’t have to worry about the debt hanging over his head, putting his life on the line every day for people he didn’t know, or looking over his shoulder the rest of his life for victims of his past. There was only her. And she was going to throw that all away. Blackhawk Security operatives protected those who couldn’t protect themselves, by any means necessary. They broke laws, avoided authorities, kept their clients alive at the cost of their own lives. They hunted murderers. They didn’t become them and they sure as hell didn’t protect them. “Yes.”

  She nodded but refused to look back at him. She wrenched the door open. “I trusted you, too, Elliot. Remember that when you realize the mistake you’ve made, but don’t you dare come looking for me. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  The cabin windows shook as she slammed the door behind her.

  He should go after her. They were in the middle of the woods, for crying out loud. Chances of her getting lost, running into Mabel and her calves or something far worse happening increased with every step she took outside the perimeter of the cabin. But he couldn’t force himself to move. He stretched the fingers of his uninjured hand, only now realizing he’d drawn blood with his nails. Pressure built in his head the longer he stared after her. He didn’t protect killers and that was exactly what she was. A cold-blooded killer.

  “Son of a bitch.” She shouldn’t be out there on her own. She’d betrayed him, manipulated him, but he didn’t want to find the woman dead in the morning. The sun had met the horizon, darkness was closing in. Elliot scooped his phone, the gun and keys from the countertop and hit the speed dial for Blackhawk’s forensics expert on his way to the front door. Two rings. Three. He exhaled hard as Vincent Kalani’s voice mail filled the line. “I promise to stop stealing your lunch from the office fridge if you call me back in the next two minutes. No promises after that.”

  He hung up. Falling snow melted against his exposed skin as he wrenched open the SUV’s driver’s side door and climbed behind the wheel. Tossing his phone into the passenger seat, he engaged the headlights. Hell, he hated the snow. Pulling a flashlight from the supplies stashed under the back seat, he scanned the clearing around the cabin. Nothing but thick trees stared back at him as his boots hit the ground and he headed deeper into the forest. The headlights helped, but not much. “Waylynn!”

  No answer.

  Footprints imprinted in the dirt at the bottom of the cabin steps. Hell if he knew the plan when he found her. Turn her over to his team at Bl
ackhawk Security? Drive her directly into Anchorage PD custody? He had to find her first. He’d worry about the plan later. Elliot brushed aside low-hanging branches, dry foliage and twigs crunching beneath his weight. He followed her shallow footprints. “Come on, Doc. Where are you?”

  She couldn’t have gotten that far on foot. Not in the dark. The road they’d driven up was the only clear path to the main highway, but sooner than he expected, her footprints disappeared. The ground was too dry here. Slowing, he held his breath to listen for any sign of movement, any sign she was close by. An owl hooted above him, kicking his nerves into high alert. “Waylynn!”

  Running a hand through his hair, he dislodged snowflakes and wiped his hand down his jeans. Tendrils of their conversation—of him finding the gun—played through his head on repeat. No. The only reason he’d come out here was to make sure she paid for what she’d done. Nothing more. Elliot swung the flashlight into the tree line on either side of the road. No sign of her. He exhaled hard, dropping the flashlight to his side. His senses adjusted slowly to the dark, but it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

  He was too late.

  She’d disappeared.

  * * *

  YOU ARE A MONSTER.

  Waylynn swiped at her face for the millionth time as she pushed through thick wilderness and dead leaves. Branches scraped at her skin, drawing blood, but she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t go back. Hadn’t she gone far enough to reach the main road?

  Exhaustion claimed her muscles as she’d practically run from the cabin—from him—but she hadn’t had any other choice. He was going to turn over the gun used to kill her father to the police. She locked her teeth against the truth. He was going to turn her over. Her side of the story wouldn’t matter. Not when it came to homicide. Even fifteen years later. The statute of limitations would never run out.

  She had money. Her passport was still valid. She could run. She’d stored the thumb drive with her research into her bag. There were plenty of labs around the country who’d be willing to take her on. She’d be cleared of Alexis’s murder. Officer Ramsey had all but indicated she was before Waylynn had left the scene of the fire at Genism.

  Instead, she slowed her pace as dead silence and blackness surrounded her. A short burst of laughter escaped up her throat. Whom was she kidding? Unless she changed her name—started a whole new life—Elliot would find her. That was his job. Hugging her bag closer, she leaned against a large tree for support. She struggled to catch her breath and checked over her shoulder. Only hints of sunlight reached this far into the forest. She’d stuck to the road leading to his cabin for a few hundred feet but trailed off as she’d heard him call her name. No. He didn’t get to come after her, didn’t get to apologize.

  He didn’t get to play the hero this time.

  “Come on, Hargraves. You’ve got to move.” Blinking back the haze of anger, she forced one foot in front of the other. She couldn’t stay out here all night. Snow had started falling again, temperatures dropping even in the middle of summer. Elliot had unloaded the tiny cabin close to the mountain range and if she got stuck out here for another hour, she’d freeze to death. And she just couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Frigid wind slammed into her, cutting through the light sweatshirt she’d brought with her. Straight down into bone, but she pushed on. Where was the damn highway? Her teeth chattered as a thousand different emotions bubbled inside her. Fury, confusion, hurt. A sharp ache expanded from behind her sternum. Or was it from the invisible knife he’d stabbed into her back? She’d protected herself—kept herself from opening up to anyone—for the past fifteen years, but Elliot Dunham had shoved her from one end of the emotional gauntlet to the other in seconds. Mere hours ago, she’d been wrapped in his arms, whispering promises, making plans. He’d made her believe they could be happy, that he didn’t care about the darkness ingrained in her genetic code.

  Then he’d destroyed it all. He’d confirmed the fear she’d carried with her since taking her very first blood test in Genism’s warrior gene trial, the trial based off her research.

  She’d let him in. And he’d betrayed her.

  How could she have been so stupid? A growl escaped from between her lips, embarrassment heating her from the inside, but it wasn’t enough to make a difference in her frozen fingers or numb toes. She shook her head and tried to bundle deeper into her sweatshirt. Maybe if she kept thinking of all the stupid decisions she’d made over the last four days—how she’d actually believed he could love her—she’d generate enough body heat to keep her alive out here.

  “Where is the damn road?” Waylynn slowed again, listening for any sign she was headed in the right direction. Elliot hadn’t driven more than twenty minutes off the main highway. She’d covered at least a mile on foot, what she could feel of her feet aching in the thin shoes offering no support. What exactly was her plan once she reached the road? Flag down a vehicle? Hitchhike to the meeting with her former lawyer at the marina? Chances of finding someone going straight there were slim. She deflated on the spot, knees weak, exhausted. And her heart... She rubbed at her chest as a fresh wave of tears burned in her eyes. Her heart was tired, damn it.

  White light moved over her, and she raised her hands to block the beams. The air rushed from her lungs. Headlights. The sound of tires on road grew louder, then softer within a beat of her pulse. Shoving to her feet, Waylynn ignored the pain and followed the retreating vehicle until her shoes hit solid ground. A burst of relieved laughter escaped her throat. She’d made it and another car was approaching.

  “Hey!” She stepped out a few feet into the road, swinging her arm overhead. The car arched away from her, didn’t stop. Two more cars passed, neither pulling over. She couldn’t miss the meeting with Blake Henson. Everything—finding Alexis’s murderer, avoiding a murder in the first-degree charge, getting her job back—depended on it. She should’ve stolen Elliot’s keys and taken the SUV, but she’d had to put as much distance between them as possible. Walking backward, Waylynn stuck out her thumb as another vehicle approached. “Please pull over. Please.”

  The car drove straight past her.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Really? Is there no such thing as human decency left in this city!” Dropping her hand, she kicked hard at a loose rock on the shoulder. Clouds turned violet, blue and orange as the sun continued its slow crawl across the horizon, barely making the road in front of her visible. Screeching tires filled her ears and she snapped her head up. The sleek black car had stopped in the middle of the road. Waited. For her? Exhaust and a hint of gasoline filled her lungs as she took a single step toward the vehicle. The hairs raised on the back of her neck, her scalp pulling tight in warning. That car was the only one that’d stopped, was her only shot of getting out of here and to her meeting, but no matter how hard she pushed for her feet to move, they wouldn’t obey.

  No. Something wasn’t right about this.

  Red taillights highlighted asphalt as the driver put the car in Reverse and her instincts kicked into a nervous overdrive. She twisted around, headed in the opposite direction. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she held her bag close to her ribs. She should’ve grabbed the gun before running into the woods. She scanned the road in front of her. Twigs. Small rocks. Nothing that could really be used to protect herself. Air froze in her lungs as the car reentered her peripheral vision driving backward down a seventy-mile-an-hour highway.

  The passenger side window slid down, the outline of the driver clear, but she refused to look up. Another car sped past, but she caught the driver’s question above the noise of tires and road. “Need a ride?”

  “No, thank you.” Waylynn pushed the pain in her feet to the back of her mind. She had to keep walking. Sweat beaded at her temple despite the dropping temperatures. “I’m fine.”

  Shoving the vehicle into Park, the driver hit the pavement, one arm draped over the roof. “Come on now,
Dr. Hargraves. Get in. At least let me get you to the meeting with your lawyer.”

  She stopped cold. Puffs of crystallized air formed in front of her lips, every muscle in her body strung tight. She raised her gaze, only the shadowy outline of the driver visible. Male. Tall. At least six feet. Wearing a baseball cap. No facial features she could make out. Nothing to suggest she’d met this man before. “How do you know my name?”

  How did he know about the meeting with her lawyer?

  “I know everything about you, Waylynn.” He slammed the door closed and rounded in front of the headlights. The falling snow, coupled with the fact he was too tall for the headlights to identify him, pooled dread at the base of her spine. But it was the gun in his hand that claimed most of her attention. “And the best thing you can do for yourself is get in the car.”

  Waylynn ditched her bag and ran like the devil. Broken branches and vines threatened to trip her as she headed for the trees. She wouldn’t look back. Wouldn’t see if the driver had followed her. Wouldn’t give up that easily. She was a survivor and she’d fight like hell to stay that way. Her lungs burned with shallow breaths, but she didn’t slow. Because the crunching sound of dead foliage and twigs behind her meant he’d come after her. Pain pulled at her, slowed her down. No. This wasn’t how she was going to die.

  Two gunshots exploded in her ears and she wrapped her hands around the back of her head in an attempt to protect herself from a bullet. Pain erupted through her left arm instead and she screamed as her nerve endings caught fire. She plowed into a tree shoulder-first as the initial shock took hold, momentum spinning her toward the shooter. Her flimsy shoe caught on a root climbing from the earth and she fell back. Dead leaves and dirt worked into her eyes and mouth as she rolled down the small incline. Waylynn shot her hand out to grab something—anything—to keep her from falling and latched on to a loose root.