Page 9 of Mercenary

“Where do you think?”

He points and my eyes follow the invisible line of his finger.

With a gasp, I lean forward. The truck sits high up on a bluff and provides the perfect view of the pale blue waters below. Waves roll against the shore and, further out, crest in gentle swells. He’s put the windows down and I can taste the salty air, feel the sunshine warm my cheeks. So bright, much more brilliant than the sunshine back home. I tilt my head up, craving more. “California?” I ask.

“San Diego. The university is up the hill, within walking distance.”

I remember the acceptance letter I’d moved off the refrigerator and tucked inside the pocket of my duffel bag. Then the events of last night plow over me like a killer wave. “What about Kylie?”

“Forget her and move on.”

“But . . .”

He turns, his expression fierce. “I didn’t drag you all the way to San Diego to have you end up dead.”

I flinch. “Why would anyone want to kill me?”

His gentle tapping of a finger on the steering wheel halts. “Guilt by association. You know too much.”

I wait for him to elaborate. He suddenly seems tense. Waiting on me to elaborate? Uncomfortable seconds pass until I laugh shallowly. “The joke’s on them.”

“I figured so.”

Again, the awkward silence. But I need something.

“What is going on? What did Kylie do?”

“Keep a low profile. Lose yourself in the masses on campus. I tucked cash inside your pink duffle bag. Stay alert.” He scowls, then murmurs to himself, “I’ve given you a chance.”

“I don’t understand any of this.”

“Do you want to die?” he snaps, then curses beneath his breath before asking me, “You’re too goddamn innocent. What do I have to do to make you see?”

I stare at him, assessing his words and the bite in his tone, watching the tiny tick in his jawline move like an imaginary drumbeat. He remembered my acceptance letter from our time together. He drove straight through the night and through four states, not including California, to bring me to college. He’s given me a chance and is helping me keep the promises I made to Mama and Kylie, and myself. My stranger wants me . . . safe.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He leans across the seat, taking me by the arms and tugging me in closer. For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to kiss me. A farewell kiss. Except he’s scowling. His hold on my arms disappears, and I watch in surprise as he brings a finger to my throat and lightly, ever so lightly, draws a path across my skin.

“I’d be so easy to cut across your pretty skin. So pale, like icing on a cupcake. So sweet.” His finger shifts off my throat, to caress my bottom lip.

Fear. Excitement. Lust. A trifecta of emotion coils up in a tight knot within my stomach. My eyes widen as I stare into his crystal green eyes, which seem to pierce deep into my soul.

“Get out before I change my mind.”

I reach for the afghan and the door handle at the same time. Sliding off the seat, I slam the door shut and retrieve my duffle bags from the truck bed.

“Forget Kylie. Forget Oklahoma. And above all else, forget you know me.”

Know him? The feel of his lips on mine, that’s all I know. I don’t even know his goddamn name.

The truck kicks up dirt as he backs out of the spot on the bluff. Leaving me standing there, alone. With three duffel bags.

With no one to care.

3

Madelyn