Page 7 of Deep Within Me

Liz rocked in her seat as though she didn’t want to hear it.

Zeke continued toward Carreon’s stronghold, not knowing what he’d find. Not knowing what else his visions might protect them from or lead them into.

Chapter Two

The last place Liz wanted to be tonight was back at Carreon’s estate, the mansion hidden and all too secluded within miles of unforgiving desert. She recalled the damp smell of the tropical plants in his foyer, the scent of citrusy furniture polish, the sterile air in his safe room. His fingers around her throat, the intolerable pressure as his thumbs dug into her hyoid bone.

Instinctively, she drew in her shoulders at the remembered and terrifying sensation of her lungs burning. How her body had ached with the need for air. Unrestrained fury had flared in Carreon’s icy eyes. Blood dripped from his earlobe. She’d ripped his silver earring from it as she’d fought him.

Insane with rage that she’d come to stop him from harming anyone else—especially because it meant she was finally prepared to murder him—he’d pressed tighter.

Suppressing a shudder at the awful memories, Liz focused on the murky terrain surrounding them. How many more of Carreon’s men were out here tonight? Had he already sent backups to his stronghold? How could Zeke hope to fight all of them off by himself?

Knowing he couldn’t, Liz turned in her seat and reached into the back.

Zeke glanced at her. “What are you doing?”

“Papa, hand me that weapon.” She gestured to the one she wanted, a mean-looking sucker with a barrel as long as her arm.

Zeke spoke sharply. “No.”

Her father concurred, pushing her hand back.

Liz spoke through her teeth. “Give it to me.”

“Why?” Zeke asked.

“To fight with you.”To protect you.

Both men wore expressions that said they considered the notion beyond foolish.

Zeke hardly needed a woman, a pediatrician no less, looking out for him. He was a large man, six-three, his body in superb physical condition, his features those of his Comanche ancestors, rugged and masculine, his hair worn long like a warrior from some distant past. Moonlight skimmed his straight black hair, his broad shoulders, and chest, emphasizing those hard slabs of coppery flesh.

Liz didn’t doubt the impressiveness of his physique and strength. However, they wouldn’t mean shit against gunfire

Above his left nipple—smooth and cocoa-colored—were three scars the size of pinpoints. Barely visible.

Prior to her having healed him, they’d been perfect circles, each the circumference of a bullet, and seemed to yawn open to show the rounds’ paths as they tore into his body and barely missed his heart. He’d been close to death when she’d first seen him. However, serenity, not fear, flooded his expression. He’d resisted her healing power, not wanting to come back, eager to be with his daughter Gabrielle again.

No matter Liz’s ability or her father’s to reanimate, she knew a part of Zeke was still on the other side with his child, always would be. He was too careless with his safety, too worried about others, never himself.

If she lost him forever, his body too destroyed for her to heal or as a last resort to reanimate…

Liz couldn’t finish the horrible thought. She tried to reason. “You can’t possibly fight all of Carreon’s men by yourself. If I’m armed—”

“That would be the worst thing possible. Listen to me,” he said, interrupting her again. “You’ve never fired a weapon before. You could end up shooting me and your father.” Hechecked his side-view and rearview mirrors. “There’s no reason to even discuss this. No one’s following us.”

“Maybe not here,” she argued. “But Carreon might have already sent more men to his stronghold. Even though he’s too much of a coward to fight for it himself, he’s not about to give up as much as an inch of his territory.”

Zeke accelerated. The Jeep bounced over the rugged terrain. “They’d never get there before we do. It’s only a few miles away.”

He couldn’t be serious. Carreon’s men were everywhere, hiding like vermin. Surely, Zeke knew that…and most likely didn’t care. Liz’s concern for him intensified. “What if you’re wrong?”

“You’re not getting a gun.”

“But—”

“A few minutes ago, you fell asleep or passed out. You do that while you’re firing an assault rifle that’s fully automatic and we might all be dead before your finger slips from the trigger.”

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