Page 28 of Lethal Illusion (Six Points Security #8)
Sloane stirred as the first slivers of dawn filtered through the tiny gaps of their shelter, and winced at the kink in her neck.
The earthy scent of Navarre’s leather jacket enveloped her, mingling with the heat of his body and the layers of clothing they wore, cocooning them in a comforting embrace against the frigid morning air.
Surprisingly, she’d slept fairly well, but that may have been due to exhaustion. The human body could only withstand so much physical and mental strain before it simply shut down. Even so, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have gotten peaceful rest if Navarre hadn’t made her feel safe.
She shifted slightly, tilting her head to peer up at him, and the seriousness in his expression set her nerves on edge.
So much for feeling safe.
Before she could ask what was wrong, Navarre silenced her with a press of his finger against her lips. She gave a quick nod to acknowledge the unspoken command, trying her best to ignore the tension coiling in her belly.
Navarre bent his head closer, the stubble along his jaw rough against her cheek as his lips brushed her ear.
“We’ve got company.” His voice was barely a whisper.
She could have sworn her heart stopped beating for a few agonizing seconds. Her gaze darted to the entrance of their shelter as the sound of crunching leaves reached her ears, confirming that they were no longer alone.
“I think it’s a bear,” he said.
Was that better or worse than it being the men who were after them?
She honestly didn’t know the answer. An icy chill snaked down her spine, freezing her in place.
Bears were huge, with sharp teeth, sharp claws, and really big appetites.
And although they ate a variety of plants, they wouldn’t think twice about eating meat if the opportunity presented itself.
“Shouldn’t it be hibernating?” Sloane whispered.
“How should I know? I’m not a zoologist. Maybe this one got the munchies and decided to leave its den early.”
Her fears ratcheted up a notch as the bear sniffed around the entrance of their shelter.
Clearly curious about their scent, it pawed at the fragile barrier.
The massive paw broke through the thatch, sending debris cascading down upon them, its razor-sharp claws coming within inches of Navarre’s head.
He reached for his pistol, and the metallic click of the safety being disengaged echoed in the small space.
Sloane’s eyes widened. “Are you going to kill it?”
Silly as it might sound, she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Maybe if he fired a warning shot, the noise would be enough to scare it away without actually hurting it.
Navarre slanted her a look. “That’s entirely up to the bear.”
Its paw broke through the barrier again, forcing Navarre to duck his head to avoid being clawed. He shifted position, took aim at the animal. But before he could fire, the paw retreated, and early morning light poured through the gaping hole.
More debris rained down on Navarre’s head, but he didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was still laser-focused on the animal, his index finger resting on the gun’s trigger.
She could see it now: black bear, brown snout. It was huge but seemed a little thin. It huffed out a breath, creating a cloud of white in the cold morning air. All the while, its dark eyes stared down at them as though it were trying to decide whether the potential meal was worth the hassle.
Please go away, please go away, she chanted in her head like a mantra.
Suddenly, its head swung up, its nose scenting the air. A deep, guttural sound reverberated in its throat. Then it looked to the east, let out a grunt, and took off into the brush.
Sloane’s breath came out in a whoosh. “Oh, thank—”
Navarre shushed her as he worked like a fiend to repair the damage to their shelter from the inside. “It left for a reason.”
Knowing their luck, he was probably right. Her stomach knotted at the thought. There weren’t many things in the forest that could scare off a bear. A cougar perhaps, or a pack of wolves.
She heard it then, over the thundering of her heart: the sound of approaching footsteps. Man or animal? She couldn’t say for sure. The footsteps drew closer as Navarre finished his repair job, and the addition of masculine voices kicked her adrenaline into overdrive.
“Christ, can we stop for a few minutes? My feet are fucking killing me,” a man with a New York accent grumbled.
“Yeah, man, I need a break. My blisters got blisters,” a nasally voice chimed in.
A third man made a derisive sound, his voice a thick Texas drawl. “Lazy assholes. All right, five minutes.”
They didn’t sound like hikers or nature enthusiasts. They sounded hard and mean, and it led her to believe they were the men who’d been hired to kidnap Sierra.
One of them sat on the trunk of the fallen tree, causing more debris to rain down on them, and it was all Sloane could do to contain her rising panic.
They were trapped in their shelter with no means of escape, and the last thing she wanted to think about was what would happen if they were discovered.
Navarre lay silent, his eyes cold and unblinking, his pistol aimed at the entrance to their lair, ready to use lethal force if the men became aware of their presence.
Without a doubt, he was willing to kill—willing to die—to protect her, and although that brought a measure of assurance, she prayed it didn’t come to that.
Three against one weren’t very good odds, even for a man with his skill set.
And if something happened to him, her odds of survival dropped considerably.
“How much longer are we going to look for that bitch?” the guy with the nasally voice asked. He sounded close, maybe a few feet away, leading Sloane to believe he was the one sitting on the fallen tree.
“As long as it takes.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” New York snapped. “We don’t have enough supplies for a prolonged search. As it is, we’re almost out of food. For all we know, she fell off a cliff. Her type isn’t known for roughing it.”
“If that’s the case, we drag her body back. Not as much money, but it’s better than nothing.”
“I bet she’s still with that asshole who fucked up Porter,” nasal guy said.
“All the more reason to find them.” Texas’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Put some bullets in that prick, grab the girl, deliver her to Winslow, and get paid. Simple.”
Sloane bristled with fear and indignation at the callousness of their conversation. They talked about murdering Navarre the same way normal people talked about a football game. And who the hell was Winslow? The name didn’t ring a bell. Maybe he was one of Dax Garvey’s minions.
“If it was that simple, we would have already found her.” New York sounded pissed.
“You told us this was going to be an easy job. Hit hard, hit fast, get the girl, and get away clean. Now we got two men dead, Porter’s leg is all fucked up, and no sign of the goddamn girl.
At the rate we’re going, it makes more sense to cut bait and limit our losses. ”
“You want to leave?” Texas’s voice cracked like a whip. “Then get the fuck out. The rendezvous point’s that way. Nobody’s making you stay, but if you leave, you don’t get shit.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Sloane held her breath, her heart in her throat, terrified that even the tiniest noise might lead to their demise.
The only thing keeping her sane was Navarre’s unwavering strength beside her, the pistol a deadly extension of his hand, his whole body primed to explode into violence at the drop of a hat.
“Fine, one more day,” New York finally said. “After that, I’m done.”
“Me too,” the other guy agreed.
More debris rained down on them when the man sitting on the fallen tree stood. A section of Navarre’s repair work collapsed, but thankfully nobody noticed.
Some of the tension loosened in Sloane’s muscles as she listened to the men’s fading footsteps, but she refused to completely relax until she was certain they were gone.
They stayed in the shelter, not moving, not speaking, for what felt like forever, the only sound the wild pounding of her pulse in her ears.
“Do you think they’re gone?” Sloane whispered when she didn’t think she could stand it a second longer.
Reaching up with one hand, Navarre widened the gap in the thatch that concealed their presence and peered outside. “I think so. Stay here while I check.”
It amazed her, how he managed to slide out of their shelter while barely disturbing any of the materials he’d used to construct it. Seconds passed, and she heard…nothing. No gunshots, or shouting, or sounds of a scuffle—nothing to give her an indication as to what was going on.
She waited. And waited. The minutes felt more like hours, and it took every last ounce of her willpower not to call out Navarre’s name.
She needed to know whether he was okay, needed to know whether the danger had passed.
If her nails weren’t so filthy, she would have already bitten them down to the quick.
At last, just as her patience had reached its end, she heard him say, “It’s clear, Sloane. You can come out.”
Navarre removed the remaining patch of their shelter, and she squinted at the sudden influx of light. Eager to get out, she gripped the hand he offered, and he hoisted her up as though she weighed nothing.
“Thanks.” Her leg muscles felt sore and stiff, no doubt the result of hiking all over creation yesterday. She brushed the dirt and debris off her body, knowing she wouldn’t truly feel clean until she took an hour-long shower, and maybe dipped her body in Purell. “Are you sure they’re gone?”
“Positive. The cocky bastards didn’t even bother to cover their tracks. I spotted them halfway down the ridge before I turned back.” Navarre stared down at her, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay? Your hands are shaking.”
“Am I?” She glanced down at her trembling hands, surprised she hadn’t noticed.
“Adrenaline rush.”