Page 116 of One More Chance

I scan the mud for something to throw to try to distract him. A rock protrudes from the ground in front of me, partially visible to anyone overlooking the ledge—if they happened to be looking in the right direction.

I stretch as far as I can, the movement slow so as not to attract attention, and start digging the rock out. The mud makes it easier to press my fingertips into the soft dirt. But it also makes it more difficult as mud slides back into the hole as I’m digging.

It takes several minutes before I pry the rock free. I swing my arm toward my head, flinging the rock into a bush. The leaves jostle from the impact, but it’s barely noticeable with the storm and the wind.

Rivulets form in the dirt where I’m hiding, the soil becoming more saturated with each passing second. I can’t stay in this hiding spot much longer.

I inch my way out of the space. No one attempts to shoot at me. For that, I’m grateful.

Free of the roots, I clamber to my feet. The cold wind and rain assault me.

I shiver uncontrollably. My muddy jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt are plastered to my body, doing nothing to keep me warm. My teeth are hit with the overwhelming need to chatter, accompanying the fast, staccato rhythm of my heartbeat.

I half climb, half pull myself up the slope, my sneakers failing to gain traction on the wet grass and leaves. I’m practically crawling by the time I make it to the top of the ridge.

I scan the area, searching for signs of where the man went. Nothing. Not even a tiny hint that he’s given up the pursuit, gone home to whatever pit he slithered from.

I move forward as I figure out which way to go, but then pause to reorient myself. I have no idea which direction I need to go to find the cabin.

A hand, large and rough, covers my mouth. Panic spears me, spreading its poison through my body. I freeze for a nanosecond; then a rush of adrenaline spurs me on.

I squirm and elbow my captor in the gut. His rock-hard gut. At his muffled grunt, a pinch of satisfaction eases in.

“Shh. It’s me,” Lucas’s voice grits out, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. He removes his hand from my mouth and turns me to face him.

Then his lips are on mine.

The kiss isn’t filled with passion or heat. It’s not enough to warm me up or stop my trembling. The kiss…God, the kiss…is filled with so many unspoken words.

Words of love and sorrow and hope and despair.

It’s enough to create a spark. A spark that will keep me going a little longer. Keep me going until we get home.

Lucas pulls away. He’s holding a gun I’ve never seen. He doesn’t own any.

“Where did you get the gun from?” I drop the volume of my voice. The last thing we need is for me to broadcast our location.

“From whoever the asshole is who parked their SUV outside your cabin. Troy and Kellan found a stash of weapons in the back. Do you know who it belongs to?”

“I didn’t think to ask him while he had his gun pointed at me. We have to find Jasper. The man kicked him out of the cabin before I managed to escape.”

“Jasper’s safe. He’s in my SUV. You injured?”

“I hurt my ankle, but it’s fine. Just a little stiff. Not bad enough to keep us from getting the hell out of here.”

“Any idea what the asshole chasing you wants?”

“I have no idea. He kept asking ‘where is it,’ but he didn’t specify what he was talking about. He shot at me when I escaped, so I’m guessing he’s willing to kill to get whatever he’s searching for.”

Lucas curses under his breath. “Okay, we’re getting out of here. I don’t need him coming back for us.”

He leads me through the forest, gun at the ready, his attention focused on the wet terrain and our surroundings. Our progress is slow due to my sore ankle and because we’re trying not to make a sound. The rain and wind have died down, making us faster, but now any noise we make is only that much more noticeable.

Lucas tugs me behind him. He aims his gun at the foliage. Then he’s shoving me to the ground. We hit the dirt as a shot rings out, Lucas landing on top of me. The impact knocks the air from my lungs.

“Are you gonna tell me where you’re hiding the files or are we doing this the hard way?” The man’s tone is the snarl of a rabid dog.

The snap of twigs underfoot warns me of his slow approach. I look up. He gestures with his gun for us to stand. We obey.

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