Page 43 of A Shot in the Dark
“What do you think you should do with me?”
He pulls over again and demonstrates quite thoroughly. Our fucking is thorough, fast—almost nothing like
Deep down we both know time is running out for us.
And we both know there is nothing either of us is equipped or able to do about it—regardless of what Boots keeps in the second duffel bag in the trunk.
I know it.
Hehasto know it.
Hours fly by on our way back north. He’s homing in on the county I mentioned needing to reach. “That’s fine,” he suggests, though I’m not sure he believes it. “It’s at least not where I was supposed to drop you.”
No one follows us. Boots continues taking precautions, performing evasive maneuvers like they’re second nature, to make sure.
Evasive maneuvers are second nature to Boots.
Regardless of how many times I ask, he still gives me no name, no other significant identifying details. He had a truck, a dog named Spot, messed around with the rodeo, served in special forces, works for an agency that may or may not want us both dead now, drives amazingly well but fucks even better, canhandle a gun decently but my clit unerringly, gave up seven days to protect me when no one else would…
…and he has a strict code he’s always adhered to.
A code that he’s breaking forme.
That’s the thing I wish I didn’t know about Boots.
That’s the thing I need to fix.
“So, I know the county, how about the city or town?”
“Greenbriar.”
His head tilts. “Greenbriar, huh?”
“Yes.”
“What’s Greenbriar to you?”
Red flag.
I attempt evasive maneuvers, thinking that, in a twisted way, it would make him proud. “I know someone there.”
A heaviness builds in the air between us.
“You… know someone there.”
“Yes.”
“That’s all you’re giving me?”
“Yes.” I slide a glance in his direction. “Unless you give me your name.”
The exhale that rushes out of him comes straight from the deepest part of his heart. “Princess. Ican’t.”
“Okay then.” This is only temporary. And it needs to remain that way.
Another hour on the road and I break the silence I encouraged. “My fever’s completely gone.”
He reaches out and strokes the back of his hand down my face, going slowly from my forehead to my chin like he’s done so many times before. “Good girl,” he rumbles as I nuzzle his wrist. “You might be right.” His next words are strained: “And my mark?”
