Page 17

Jaxson

The swamp pressed thick and suffocating around us, and although I hadn't spotted the bastards who had chased Tory since we raced away from the creek I’d pulled her from, the swamp had taken over as the new enemy.

Crocs, spiders, sinkholes, endless mud. This hellhole was a damn buffet of hazards.

Every splash and rustle had us scanning the growing shadows like we were in a warzone, expecting threats from all sides.

“How much farther?” Tory said behind me.

I glanced at her over my shoulder. She was a few paces behind, yet barely visible. “I don’t know. I thought we would’ve seen glimpses of the ocean by now.”

She swatted an insect away from her ear. “I can’t even smell the ocean yet. Can you?”

I shook my head. “I can’t smell anything but mud.”

She huffed. “Yeah, I’d kill for a shower.”

“Same.” Sweat trickled down my back as we pushed through a patch of undergrowth that was as wiry as steel wool.

I yanked out my phone, but the screen still showed "No Service.

" Once we hit open beach, the signal should come back .

. . hopefully. Whitney would want to know Tory was alive, assuming he wasn't too deep in his evidence collection to check his messages.

God knew that man could tunnel-vision himself right through a hurricane when he was working a scene.

Mud clung to my bare feet, dragging me down with every step.

Even Onyx’s powerful legs struggled against the suction of the muck.

Every movement was a battle, vines snared us from below while the ones cobwebbing the trees overhead tried to strangle us.

The whole place felt like one giant torture chamber.

We moved in single file: Onyx up front, me in the middle, Tory in the rear.

Smart tactical choice, I told myself. Onyx could scout ahead while I kept Tory safe behind me.

The fact that I couldn't see those long legs of hers helped my concentration.

Except the image of her walking ahead earlier was already burned into my brain, and a distraction I couldn't afford.

My job was keeping us alive, not thinking about how nicely her wet clothes clung to her body.

To her credit, Tory was holding her own.

Every time she slipped on a mossy root or sank too deep into the mud, she caught herself, somehow staying upright.

I couldn’t figure out how she managed it.

After a plane crash and being hunted by a bunch of trigger-happy assholes, most people would be curled up in a ball by now. But not Tory.

Onyx stopped, nose low to the ground, ears twitching like radar dishes.

I froze, scanning the shadows around us.

The swamp had plenty of sounds: croaks, chirps, rustling leaves, and every time something splashed into a puddle, Tory just about launched out of her skin.

That crocodile attack she’d witnessed would likely haunt her forever.

The sun slid toward the horizon, draining the last scraps of daylight and bathing the swamp in shadows. Visibility was dropping fast.

"It's getting dark," I said, breaking the uneasy silence between us. “This was not how I pictured spending my Sunday.”

"Me neither." Tory's voice carried an edge of exhaustion. "Funny, when I woke up this morning, 'trek through a swamp' wasn't on my to-do list."

I chuckled. "You had better plans?"

She barked out a laugh that held no humor.

"Oh yeah. Wild night of binge-watching Australian Survivor with my cats. We’ve been stockpiling episodes." Her breath caught. "Ironic, right? Now I'm living it. "

"Better be one hell of a reward at the end of this challenge."

"Maybe we should start looking for immunity idols." She shot me a sidelong glance, and we laughed.

But our laughter died as reality pressed in with the darkness. This wasn't a game show in the Outback. No producers to call cut, no medical team standing by. Just us, the swamp, and whatever was hunting us through it.

“So, what about you?” she said. “Have any grand plans for tonight?”

I hesitated. I hadn’t had plans . . . until we found that fresh grave.

I wanted to tell her, but my brothers and I had agreed that we couldn’t tell anyone about that body at Angelsong.

But Tory wasn’t just anyone. And she didn’t seem like someone who’d get caught up in the criminal shitshow that had been plaguing Rosebud and Risky Shores for years.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice tinged with irritation. “You don’t have to tell me.”

I groaned. “It’s not that.”

The air was thick and humid enough to chew, and the mosquitoes buzzed in a maddening chorus around my head.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s a safety issue.”

“Safety?” She arched a brow. “Yours or mine?”

“Both.”

“Cryptic.” Her tone could’ve cut glass. She stomped a twig into splinters. “You know what I can’t figure out, Jaxson?”

“Why those guys were shooting at you?” I suggested.

"Oh, I know exactly why." Something lethal crept into her voice, and I turned to face her.

“They were drug runners. I caught them dumping cargo and filmed them doing it. They shot my plane down and figured I’d die in the crash. When I didn’t, they chased me into the swamp to finish the job.” She paused to level her gaze at me.

"I'm glad I found you first." The words felt inadequate even as I said them.

“Yeah, about that. My plane crashed in criminal territory. This swamp is known for drug runners and people smugglers. Major criminals.” She spread her arms to the wild scenery around us, but her eyes narrowed on me. “And yet here you are, shirtless, acting weird, and keeping secrets from me.”

"I'm not keeping secrets, I—" I stopped myself, letting out a frustrated breath. "Look, it's getting dark. Just stay close, okay?"

I marched forward with Onyx trotting in front of me.

"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere." Her tone dripped with sarcasm, but there was an edge beneath it . . . frustration maybe or fear. Her footsteps squelched behind me in the muck.

The swamp's muggy air clung to my skin like a warning.

"Of all the places to crash . . . it had to be a croc-infested swamp," I said, attempting to lighten the mood.

"And yet," she called from behind me, "this is where you just happened to be when I crashed."

Onyx whined, pawing at something in the muck. I lightly slapped her butt, forcing her away from whatever dead thing had caught her attention.

"I wasn't here," I snapped.

Tory stumbled over a mossy tree root, and I reached back, gripping her arm to steady her. "I was nearby," I said.

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, you just happened to be nearby? Doing a bit of fishing in the swamp, were you? With your dog?"

Before I could answer, something splashed to our left. Onyx froze, pricking her ears forward. She let out a low growl, and her body tensed.

"I wasn't in this swamp," I said finally, my voice tight. Chatting with beautiful women who made my pulse jackhammer just by looking at them was not my strong suit.

Tory stumbled again, and as I helped her over a fallen log, her expression flashed with irritation at me fussing over her. She muttered something, but I ignored it, trying not to focus on how good she still looked. Even mud-splattered and ragged, Tory was stunning.

We reached a patch of sparse vegetation that allowed us to walk side by side. Onyx took the lead, her nose twitching at every shift in the wind while the open twilight sky bathed us in better visibility.

I wiped sweat from my forehead. The air hung thick as soup, pressing in until breathing felt like drinking .

Tory’s tight lips and rigid posture screamed how unimpressed she was with me.

Focus on the job , I told myself. Get her out alive. That's all that matters.

But my traitorous eyes kept drifting to her figure, all womanly curves which I preferred, refreshingly unlike the fashionable thinness many ladies pursued.

The silence stretched between us like a living thing, growing heavier with each squelching step.

Her quiet wasn't just quiet, it was weaponized silence, aimed straight at my conscience.

And damn if it wasn't working. The last thing I needed was her suspicion of me, especially when everything about her pulled at my curiosity like a magnet.

Finally, a whisper of breeze stirred the stillness, carrying with it the first hint of salvation. Salt. The ocean was close.

"You smell that?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"More mud?" she grumbled.

"No." I turned, unable to suppress a grin despite her attitude. "The ocean. We made it."

She scrunched her nose, a gesture so disarmingly cute it made my chest tight.

"Come on," I said, pushing forward. "Once we reach the shoreline, we'll find my Jeep and get out of here."

She picked up her pace. "Thank God. I can't wait for a long, hot shower."

My stomach clenched. Whitney would still be waiting at Angelsong to move that body.

I’d need to go there before taking Tory anywhere.

I’d made a promise to my brothers not to tell anyone about the body at Angelsong .

. . but that was before I’d found Tory. And now that I’d found her, I wasn’t letting her out of my sight until she was safe.

"What?" Tory's head snapped toward me, eyes sharp.

"What?"

"You look irritated."

I ran a hand through my hair. "Look, Tory, we need to make a detour before I take you anywhere."

She stopped dead, thrusting her hands onto her hips. "Listen, Jaxson. I've had one hell of a day, and I thought I was going to die several times. At this stage, I'm starting to wonder if I should trust you at all. So stop being fucking cryptic and tell me what's going on."

I nodded, throat tight.

Ahead, through the thinning trees, the wild vegetation ended, and the mangrove-infested shoreline began.

"Let's get out of this bush first," I said.

"Yeah, great stalling tactic." Her voice dripped venom.

"I'm not stalling. The light's almost gone. We need to find my Jeep while we can still see our hands in front of our faces."