Page 59 of Second Chance Serenity

I know He will.

“Any idea where we are?” I ask.

“Nope. Someone wants information on your brother, though.”

“I got that.”

“We can talk about it later. First, we need to get out of here.”

“I came from that way,” I point to the right.

“Then we’ll try this way.” He gestures to the left, so I bend and retrieve the wallet, letting the door close behind us and shoving the wallet and keys into Michael’s pocket. That way, if anyone sees the closed door, they’ll hopefully believe Michael is still chained inside.

We slip through another door and find ourselves standing in a large warehouse. Hundreds of crates fill the space, massive ones that are covered in cargo nets, as though they’re prepping them for transportation.

What in the world is Carter involved in?

Voices ahead have Michael and me ducking down behind one of the crates.

“Get me Asher,” a man demands. “He better have some answers from the woman. We’re running out of time. Pull everyone from their assigned locations, and get these crates loaded. It’s top priority.”

“On it,” someone replies.

Michael glances back at me, his worry plain on his face. It’s only a matter of time before they discover we’re gone. And then they’re going to rip this place apart looking for us. But at least they’re pulling everyone. That means the guards, too, right?

I continue walking toward the edge of the warehouse, scanning the drive as a suited man climbs into a black town car and drives away, the tires practically spitting up gravel as he does.

There’s no fence around the place.

No gate to try to leave through.

One thing is for sure. The humidity gives away the fact that we’re not in Boston anymore.

At least the field ahead is relatively open until it hits a line of thick trees.

We have to run—and we have to run fast.

Which, given Michael’s current state, is going to be impossible.

“You need to leave me,” he whispers.

“I’m not leaving you,” I snap. “Stop suggesting it because it’s not happening.” I lean him against the wall, tucking us both back behind a crate. I shove the gun into his hand and open the cell phone.

There’s no service. Of course there’s no service. I shove the phone inside the bodice of my tattered dress, then focus on what happens next.

“We don’t have time to wait for dark,” Michael says.

“I’m not leaving.” I turn toward him again, feeling beyond frustrated and terrified.

Michael reaches up with his good arm and cups my face, his thumb rubbing over my cheek. My gaze instinctively drops to his mouth.

To full lips I’ve tasted more times than I can count, lips I’m desperate to feel on mine again.

I swallow hard.

Now is not the time.

But his touch feels good.

---