Page 140 of End Game

The merc glanced down at his hand covering the wound, blood seeping between his fingers and draining onto the forest floor. Ash watched as realization dawned on his enemy.

“Did the two women in the guesthouse make it out?” Ash asked, knowing the other man would take the answer to his grave.

The merc staggered back, caught himself against the nearest tree. Slid down, landing on his ass with a hard thud. His head wobbled on his spine, as if it were suddenly too heavy. He let it fall back against the rough bark, his eyes closing.

“Hellcat,” the merc muttered. The bloody hand covering the wound lifted, and one thick finger pointed into the woods, in the opposite direction Ash had been heading.

He could think of only one person who could earn that moniker in such a short period of time.

Kayla.

The merc’s eyes closed and his hand fell to his side.

Ash stared at the hired killer, suspecting him of sending him into an ambush. But something in the man’s tone when he’d said hellcat sounded almost respectful. Reluctant, but respectful.

“I feel your pain, man,” Ash whispered, then went hunting for a hellcat.

75

Jillian helped camouflage Kayla beneath boughs of pine and oak they’d taken from dozens of young saplings vying for a foothold on the crowded ridge. She allowed her mother this futile action, knowing she wouldn’t leave Kayla’s side without some assurance of her safety.

The repetitive work had allowed Kayla time to digest her mother’s earth-shattering revelation. If she’d had her phone, she would’ve researched survivability rates, effective treatments, patient testimonials, anything to better understand the disease. And why Jillian had been ready to let Elsie poison her.

A new thought whirled to the surface. Was this the reason why Vicky hadn’t wanted her to say anything about their meeting to Jillian? Because she knew her friend had enough stress on her plate already?

Sounded like Vicky’s M.O.

Jillian dropped to all fours, and her dirt-covered hand reached inside the small den for Kayla’s. “It’ll take me ten minutes to reach the Rickerts’ residence, five minutes to explain the situation and make the call?—”

“I understand, Mama.” Through a small gap in the leaves, she peered at her mother’s weary countenance and experienced a surge of raw guilt. “It could be awhile before help arrives.”

To her surprise, there had been no sign of Marco’s pursuit. He must have figured that two unconscious women had no chance of fleeing a burning building and took the opportunity to conduct a perimeter check.

That’ll teach him to never underestimate a woman again. Especially a mother.

“I love you, Kayla,” Jillian said. “Be still.”

“Love you, too.”

Seconds later, she was alone.

Please forgive me.

Kayla gave her body another ten minutes to fight the drug before slapping the leafy branches away. Using the large, downed tree she’d been snuggled against, she leveraged herself into a standing position, taking a few seconds to brush off and shake out her loose clothing to rid herself of any four-, six-, or eight-legged passengers, while testing her legs.

Choosing a different direction than her mother’s, she took one shaky step after another, using branches, shrubs, and trunks to help maintain her balance, until she had full control over her muscles again.

I’m coming, Ash.

Kayla followed her mental map of the most likely path Ash’s captors would’ve taken him. She’d zeroed in on the small mountain meadow at the back of the Poehler property. Secluded, and far enough away from Sybil’s estate so as to not draw attention to her.

The big question was—did either of Ash’s guards know about it? Pushing away her doubts, Kayla set off in the direction of the meadow, pausing every twenty feet or so to listen. During her second stop, she heard the distinctive sound of cautious feet making their way toward her position.

Had Marco circled around in the opposite direction to cut them off? Was that two sets of boots rustling the leaves?

Heart climbing the wall of her throat, she backtracked to her spot and repositioned the branches to make them as natural as possible, though she wished they were brown rather than green. An observant person would notice the ruse within seconds.

Hopefully, the darkness would mask the odd suppleness of the so-called fallen branches. It wasn’t unheard of for gusts of wind to rip limbs off trees and scatter them across the forest floor.

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