Page 7

FOUR

Cullen tried to keep hold of Kit’s elbow to prevent her from foundering in the debris.

They staggered up the slope with all the grace of two people in a bizarre three-legged race.

When she stumbled, he held her steady, the baby’s cries swallowed by the rain.

When he lost his footing, she grabbed the back of his jacket, which staved off a face plant.

He didn’t bother to keep track of the approaching car.

Big Guns, presumably, was winding his way closer every moment.

If they didn’t make it to his truck before company arrived, he’d have to hold them off somehow.

At the moment it required all his concentration to achieve the first part of the plan.

The sifting ash coated his face and stung his eyes, went up his nose.

He prayed the raincoat was enough to protect Tot’s lungs. His own were burning.

Kit fell forward over a concealed rock, and he barely caught her, almost falling himself.

She looked at him, her face luminous with a coating of silver dust. “How much farther?”

“Five minutes. Almost there.” It was likely closer to ten, but five sounded friendlier.

His mother had always told her three boys everything good would happen in that mythical five minutes.

He was a full-on preteen before he finally realized her trick.

They kept battling, hands clutched together.

He was wet and filthy, and Kit was having trouble yanking her legs from the mess when at long last he spotted the outline of his trusty old Dodge. Sweeter than a valentine.

“There she is.”

The sight lit a fire under both of them, and together they surged up the final steep section and crested the road.

“I’ll drive,” he said as he hustled to the passenger door. “You keep trying to get a signal on my phone.”

“But the baby,” she panted. “We left the car seat. How do I...”

He yanked the door open and practically lifted Kit inside, tossing the duffel bag at her feet. “Gonna have to make do. Buckle yourself in and hold on to her best you can.”

He hauled the seat belt as far as it would go and held it for her while she settled and snapped it into place. The windows were an absolute mess, and he swiped off a smattering of branches as he raced around to the driver’s seat.

“Thank you, God,” he breathed as the engine coughed to life.

He released the brake and eased onto the road.

The tires flung plumes of ash upward, which were again batted down by the rain.

Nothing in the rearview, not yet. He increased the pace.

Each foot of elevation they climbed made him hopeful they’d get a signal.

“Now?” He pointed to his phone. “Got anything? Are you checking?”

“Of course I’m checking,” she snapped.

Obviously not the time to micromanage. He applied his mind to plans while she continued to monitor the cell phone.

“There’s a turnoff to the highway in about a quarter mile. We’ll...”

The rest of the itinerary died on his lips as an SUV appeared around the bend behind them.

No headlights. He wouldn’t have even seen it coming if a sudden, faint thread of moonlight hadn’t burst through at that moment.

Stomach clenched, he accelerated. So did their pursuers.

Smothering an oath, he pressed the gas to the floor.

Sludge churned underneath them, spewing to either side.

The road was a minefield of potential obstacles, and he prayed they wouldn’t have a tire blowout. Kit grabbed the armrest, braced her legs, and clung to the squirming lump in her jacket. Tot wriggled and cried against Kit’s belly, undulating like the iconic scene from the Alien movie.

No matter how fast he pressed, the followers kept pace, inching closer.

He gritted his teeth, straining forward as if that would increase their speed. “Truck’s not fast enough.”

Kit’s eyes went wide. “Are they going to ...”

Cullen had only seconds to shoot out an arm and pin Kit in place as the car rammed them from behind.

The impact was violent, and even with his restraining forearm, Kit was thrown forward.

“Protect Tot’s head best you can!” he shouted, gas pedal to the floor.

He gained a few feet from the SUV, but the gap was already closing between his truck and the more agile vehicle.

His cop brain took notes. One assailant or two?

Minimum two, he decided, could be more in the rear seat, but he pushed that worrying fact to the back of his brain.

Reality check. They weren’t going to make it to the turnoff that led to his property.

Cold sweat speckled his brow. He risked a two-second stop and quickly grabbed the gun from under Kit’s seat, ignoring her stare.

Then he floored the gas again. If it came down to him against two or possibly more armed men, he didn’t give them stellar chances.

His teeth ground together, gritty from the ash in his mouth.

If you win , it ’s gonna be the hardest thing you’ve ever done in the entirety of your miserable lives , he promised their pursuers. Was it the money they were after? Then they could have it. But not the baby. And not Kit.

Ahead was a fire trail that split the meadow neatly.

No way he could get his truck up there. Rock and a hard place, a cliff on the other side and killers behind.

The ash coated his tongue with bitterness.

Their only advantage was he knew the trail, hence he was able to navigate easier over the dips and hollows.

It allowed him to increase the distance between them.

A sudden offshoot to the road helped as well, a short hairpin turn tucked behind the shrubs that brought them back onto the main route in short order but forced the SUV behind them to slow to a crawl.

Kit was trembling now, from cold or fear or both.

His tricks would not work for long. He would have to make a stand.

As he fought the wheel, he spelled it out.

“I’m gonna stop and jump out, leave the engine running.

Give me a few seconds, then you drive as fast as you can, take the first turn you come to, and follow the road straight up.

Where it loops around the mountain, that’s where my cabin is.

Door’s unlocked. Bolt yourself inside. Hide there. Call for help if you can.”

“What? Why?”

Because we’re circling the drain with no escape in sight. Not a great option, her and the baby alone, but he could not come up with anything better. He clutched his gun. “Only chance we got is if I can get to them before they come for us.”

“Cullen, there is zero chance that’s going to work.”

It was the first time she’d said his name. Why did it sound nice, rolling off her tongue, even if she was disagreeing with him? Better than when his brothers or bowling buddies said it.

“Hey, if it goes fine, I’ll meet you up there.” He winked. “You done real good with Tot so far, Kit Garrido. Honest. You’re going to handle this now. Turnoff’s hard to spot so look lively. Ready?”

“No.” She snatched at his jacket sleeve. “You can’t go off and get murdered and leave me. Do you hear? That’s not fair, and I won’t stand for it.”

He almost laughed at the schoolmarm tone she’d drummed up, which must have been an effort since she was simultaneously trembling with cold and patting the squirming bundle in her jacket.

“I’m open to suggestions, but they’re going to be on us again in a hot minute.”

“I need to think.” She chewed her thumbnail. “We could ...” Her mouth opened in a round O of surprise as she looked past his shoulder. “Who’s that?”

A dirt bike careened down the fire trail. Cullen risked turning on his headlights for a better look. The rider was wearing street clothes, caked in debris from his helmet to his sneakers. He was skinny with a fringe of hair trailing down his back.

Cullen flicked the lights off again and kept moving, squinting, gun in hand.

“Who in the Sam Hill ...” They needed another pursuer like a hole in the head.

Likely he was a wing man to the people in the SUV.

The bike flew onto the main road in a slurry of debris, like some snippet from an action movie. Guy or gal was a skilled biker.

His nerves twanged. They were good and truly sandwiched. The only avenue available was to mow the biker down with the truck. He’d thought it was a solid plan until the guy pulled a gun from his pocket.

“Down,” he shouted to Kit.

He gunned the engine, moving the truck forward while trying to keep his head out of bullet range.

The shot came, and several more. Answering fire from the SUV.

The dirt bike swerved off the road and vanished back up the fire trail in a swirl of ash.

What had just happened? Why weren’t they dead?

He squinted in the rearview mirror while Kit craned to see behind them.

“The SUV is stopped. Why?” she whispered.

Since the air was thick and swirling, he rolled down the window and cautiously stuck his head out to get a closer look.

A puff of wind stirred the debris cloud on the road, clearing so he could snag one precious glimpse that sent him into deeper confusion.

“Tires. Evel Knievel shot out one of their tires.”

“How do you know his name?”

He did a double take. “I don’t. Haven’t you heard of Evel Knievel?”

“No.”

He sighed. Figured.

She craned to peer into the darkness. “So was he a good guy or bad guy?”

“Question of the hour.” He rolled forward once more, trying to work it out in his head. Who was the newcomer and why had he enabled their escape? “You sure seem to have a lot of people interested in you.”

“Not me. The baby or her mom.”

“And that’s your whole deal? You’re a trucker, nothing else?”

“What else would there be?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.” Maybe. “Never met a woman trucker before.”

“There’s a first for everything.”