Page 19 of Point of Contact

Courtney shot a glare over her shoulder in Reed’s general direction. "Stop following me."

It was a testament to how exhausted she was. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. She'd been in survival mode for almost twenty-four hours and was wearing down. Desperate for help from Alaskan Security for weeks, she’d called every day, hoping they would finally whisk her away from the threat she knew hung over her head. Because, while there was no denying she benefited from her father's position, she most definitely suffered for it as well.

Especially since it seemed like his reign over Miami’s more questionable imports was about to be over as two groups fought for power. One led by an aging perv and the other led by a man she might have tried to get her hands on a time or two. Right up until he fell in love with some chick from out of town and became all obsessed with her.

Which was fine. She wasn't actually that interested in him anyway. Her attempt to catch his eye was more about self-preservation than anything. A way to save her own skin as her father's empire began to crumble.

She ducked under the remnants of a footbridge, frustration mounting as she tried to figure out what in the hell she was going to do next. She’d done everything she could think of to avoid this situation. She'd moved out of the city, hoping distance would make people forget she existed. She’d laid low, hidden in her house for nearly a year hoping to fade away without notice.

And now here she was. Hiking through the dark in nothing but a T-shirt and borrowed boots, telling the only man who could save her to stop following her.

She was a fucking idiot.

A heavy thud echoed behind her, coming right as a passing car hit its brakes, tires screeching at the sudden stop before it began backing up.

"Shit." She crouched down, glancing back to tell Reed to do the same, but he was already flat to the dirt. So, she did the same thing, pancaking her body against the same dirt and debris she’d just knocked out of her hair, crossing her fingers she had more time.

Time to apologize for being such a bitch. Time to find her way back onto Reed’s sliver of a good side.

Time to figure out how to survive.

The car slowly coasted past, a beam of light dancing across the space around them as whoever was on the roadway searched the overgrowth for whatever they were looking for. Hopefully it wasn't her.

After what felt like an eternity, the light disappeared and the car switched directions again, creeping forward through the darkness before finally disappearing from sight.

Courtney let out a breath, closing her eyes and letting her forehead drop to the stinking ground. That was close. Another lucky break. But luck was a finite resource. One she would no doubt run out of soon. At some point, luck would no longer be on her side. And she planned to get out of Florida before that happened. Whatever it took, she would do.

No matter how much it pissed Reed off.

It seemed like he had some sort of a hang up when it came to stealing, which was crazy considering his chosen profession, but whatever. She was happy to do the dirty work to save her skin.

"Listen." Courtney worked up into a sitting position, not even bothering to attempt to wipe away everything stuck to her skin and tangled in her hair this time. "I'm not trying to be a bitch. I'm just really stressed out."

Reed didn't budge. Didn't acknowledge her apology.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She crawled toward him. "I'm trying to tell you I'm sorry. You don't have to be such a fucking dick all the time." She reached his side, stopping short at his unmoving form. "Reed?"

Nothing.

Oh fuck.

She grabbed his shoulder, shoving it hard, but he was surprisingly heavy, the dead weight of his body shockingly difficult to move. "No, no, no, no."

He couldn't be dead. If he was dead, then she was completely alone. Abandoned by literally everyone.

Courtney managed to get him on his back and ran her hands over his chest, looking for some sign of what happened. Why he was—

She swallowed hard, refusing to consider the worst.

Unconscious. Reed had to be just unconscious. She couldn't handle the alternative.

Courtney dropped her ear to his chest, pressing it against his sternum as she listened. All the air rushed from her lungs as his heart beat under her, steady and strong. It was a relief, but one more bit of the limited luck she would surely use up soon.

That meant she needed to start making her own luck.

She went back to investigating. His chest seemed fine, stomach intact, legs and arms perfectly perfect. As she felt around, even in this fucked-up situation, there was no denying the effort Reed put into maintaining his form. Every inch of him was solid and strong. Firm with hard-earned muscle that she would appreciate more if she wasn't so worried he was going to die on her.

Her fingers brushed over the skin of his neck, looking for something to explain what was wrong, but it was fine too. As was his jaw, nose, and mouth. But then she reached his forehead, and a patch of sticky warmth made her stomach turn.

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