Page 13 of Chasing the Fall

I start forward. “This is the place Shiloh was taken when she was abducted.” Bran releases a string of curses. “I want to look around, see if it’s been in use, that sort of thing.”

“I ought to turn you over my knee.”

It sounds as though he’s speaking through gritted teeth, and I search for something to alleviate the tension. “You into that sort of thing?”

An unwilling laugh huffs out behind me, and I smile in response, careful to hide it from Bran.

“I could be,” he returns.

“I always knew you were a freak.”

“You never know, you might be a freak, too. You’re trying hard enough to get your ass tanned.”

I decline to comment, instead pressing my cold hands against the flush that rises in my cheeks.

Moving up the stairs and onto the cabin’s covered porch, I glance around, taking in the covered furniture and miscellaneous gardening tools piled in a heap beside a grill. A couple of large concrete planters, filled with old dirt and remnants of straggling plants, flank the steps, along with a rusting ice chest. A torn, weathered strip of caution tape flutters from the doorframe. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while,” I murmur, reaching out to test the knob.

Pfft.

Something riffles my sleeve, sending a sear of pain through my bicep, and embeds itself in the wall in front of me.

“What the—”

“Down!”

Before I can process his shouted command, Bran flings himself at me, pushing me down to the porch and behind one of the planters. I start to lift my head, figure out what the hell ishappening, and his palm pushes it back down against the rough wood of the porch. “Stay fucking down!”

“What was that?” My voice comes out garbled from its position on the floor.

Bran’s reply is terse. “Someone’s shooting at us.”

Seven

Bran

I don’t like this.I don’t like it one fucking bit.

Why the fuck did she bring us here? It’s the perfect hideout for a killer on the loose, for someone who needs to stay under the radar. What did she think was going to happen if we came across him? Was she going to negotiate him into coming back with us and going to jail?

I stifle the rough words that want to spew forth and focus, instead, on keeping watch for trouble.

The hair on the back of my neck is standing at attention when Tallulah leads the way across the clearing and onto the porch that spans the width of the small cabin. It feels like there are eyes on us, hidden ones, which gives them the advantage. I scan the area, and the tree line in particular, praying that the feeling is just nerves and not instinct.

I know better, though. I step onto the porch behind Tallulah, careful to position my bulk in front of her.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while,” Tally murmurs, reaching out to test the knob.

Pfft.

The sound registers a breath after I see a phantom current riffle through the sleeve on her outstretched arm and embed itself in the wall. Apprehension rushes through me on its heels.

Bullet.

“What the—”

“Down!”

Tally’s expression is uncomprehending, and another bullet shatters fragments of the door jamb. I fling myself at her, taking her down to the porch behind one of the large concrete planters and a rusty freezer. My arms curl around her as we fall, taking the brunt of the impact and cushioning her between my body and the unforgiving wooden surface.

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