Page 9 of Prodigal Son

Days? She swallowed hard, the gulp stretching her throat painfully and causing her to wince. She coughed and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry, did you say days?”

“This is our third morning in the cave.” He took the cask, moving back into the shadows and lowering to the dirt floor.

She thought of Vito, her heart sick for how much her stupidity must have cost him in unnecessary worry. He probably had the police out looking for her, and God knew who else. “I need to find my phone and a charger—”

“Your phone is gone.”

“We have to backtrack. My phone is my life.”

“Quiet.”

She shut up and the silence stretched between them as he stared daggers at her, now back in the shadows.

Once again, she looked at his naked chest. This made no sense. While her memories were messy, she was certain she hadn’t dreamt shooting him. “Were you wearing Kevlar?”

“Kevlar?”

“A bulletproof vest.”

“No.”

But she shot him. His blood was still on his skin and in her hair. She looked around for her crossbow. What if the cops found it in the woods and it was cataloged as evidence? Her fingerprints were all over it but it was licensed to Vito. What if that made her brother a suspect for the murders in the woods? What if they already had him in jail? This was a mess. “We have to go back.”

“I said quiet,” he snapped, the lash of his voice stifling her words.

He shut his eyes as if in deep concentration. His brow furrowed, knitting his face into a frown.

Her brother could be in jail right now, being questioned for murder. She rubbed her filthy hands over her knotted hair and massaged her temples. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand fine.” Then under his breath he mumbled, “Stupid English female.”

“First of all, I’m not English or even American for that matter. I’m Portuguese. Second of all, I’m not stupid, you dumb jackass.”

His eyes set in a cruel, intolerant expression that spoke of his deep dislike for her. Civilization seemed a thousand miles below. She was alone with a man who looked hungry for revenge and fully blamed her for their current predicament. A man who outweighed her without an ounce of fat on his chiseled body and could probably snap her neck in one quick, military-Kung Fu-paid assassin move. Who was this guy?

“Look,” she said nervously, softening her tone. “You’re obviously all right. I’m sure I can find my way back—”

“Unteachable fool.”

She stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve wasted more time explaining that what is out there is dangerous, and you refuse to listen.”

“I’ve listened. I’m just not going to let what’s in those woods stop me from doing my job or finding my way home. I’m a reporter. I go where the story takes me.”

“The story,” he snarled, practically spitting the word into the air. “Those stories are human lives.”

Insulted that he would think her so callous as to not recognize the lives lost, she snapped, “I know! That’s why I’m doing my part and trying to catch whatever’s out there.”

“Your part? You’ve only made matters worse. You care nothing for the victims. I watched you intrude on that woman’s funeral while her children mourned the loss of their only remaining parent. You don’t even know their names.”

“Yes, I do. Their names are Dane and Cindy. Reporters like me help apprehend killers, so kids like them can find peace in the midst of their grief.”

He scoffed. “Cybil.”

“What?”

“The girl’s name is Cybil.”

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