Page 26 of Guarded from Havoc

Maybe I’m being too optimistic, pinning my hopes on escaping by water. But what’s the alternative? Allowing myself to think about dying here? Wandering the island until we inevitably run into a trap we can’t see? Ending up with a spear through my heart or some other equally horrible death?

If it were just me out here, hope would be harder to come by. I’m not trained to notice traps or defend myself bare-handed against someone twice my size. But with Erik here…

Hemakes me hope. Despite the danger around us, he makes me feel safe.

Or as safe as we can be, considering.

“The closer we get to the water, the slower we’ll need to move,” Erik says, his voice a rumbly murmur near my ear. “I’m fully expecting to find more traps. Possibly more trip wires or mines?—”

I can’t help a little meep of fear from escaping. “Mines?”

Erik grimaces. “Unfortunately, yes. We have to consider it.”

My fingers tighten instinctively around his. “How do we avoid mines? Aren’t they kind of… hidden underground? So we can’t see them?”

“I’ll look for more trip wires. Areas of the ground that look like they might have been tampered with.” He pauses. “Minesare something I spent a lot of time searching for. Back when I was Special Forces. And I’m hoping if there are mines, whoever buried them isn’t experienced with it. So they’d be more likely to leave little clues behind.”

Or they could be a pro and we walk blindly over a mine, ending up blown into pieces.

Shut up, I tell my inner pessimist.Negative thinking won’t help. I need to be supportive instead of coming up with reasons why we might fail.

And despite Erik’s veneer of confidence, I can see a flicker of worry in his eyes, as well.

Worry for himself?

Or worry for me? Because, even though we barely know each other, he hasn’t hesitated to put himself in danger to protect me.

Although it feels like I’ve known Erik for a lot longer than I have. Longer than the brief meeting while we were hiking and our conversation at his cabin. Longer than the time we’ve spent together here.

How longhavewe been walking through the woods? Ten minutes? An hour? More? Long enough for this team Erik keeps mentioning to get here?

And how are they going to find us? He said he works for a security company, so it’s possible he has some sort of tracker on him. The ring he’s glanced at more than once? Or something implanted under his skin? I haven’t wanted to ask, not out here, just in case someonecanoverhear us.

“I know this is scary,” Erik continues, his voice gentling. His thumb strokes across the back of my hand, the tiny movement reassuring. “And I won’t lie to you by saying I can promise our safety. Not with one hundred percent certainty. But. I can promise you two things.”

“What?”

His eyes go solemn. Earnest. The warm honey shade deepens to a dark amber. “I know explosives, Tate. I’m an expert in them. And. I promise I will do everything in my power to get you home safely.”

No, I don’t know Erik well. Not in the traditional sense, at least.

But I believe him.

I trust him.

With a little nod, I reply, “I believe you. And whatever you need me to do, I will.”

The hard lines and angles of his face soften for a moment. Emotion flickers in his gaze. Then he squeezes my hand and gives me a tiny smile. “We’ll get out of here, Tate. And then I’m taking you up on those sandwiches. That’s another promise.”

I return his smile with a quick one of my own, surprising myself by how real it feels. “Deal. Sandwiches. And maybe some cookies, too.”

Erik doesn’t answer right away; his attention returning to the trees as we creep steadily forward. Enough time goes by that I think that’s the end of it. Until he murmurs, “Definitely cookies. Peanut butter chocolate chip, if possible.”

My stomach comes to life, giving an unhappy rumble. Though food hasn’t crossed my mind since I woke up—avoiding death-traps is an effective appetite killer, apparently—the mention of peanut butter and chocolate is enough to get it going again.

And I let myself imagine, just for a moment, a future where Erik and I have a meal together. Where we can talk and laugh and eat sandwiches and cookies and everything is normal again.

“I could make peanut butter chocolate chip cookies,” I reply. “Maybe even fudge dipped, if you like.”

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