Page 40 of Saving Jennifer
Jennifer moved as quickly as she dared, counting steps to maintain direction. When lightning flashed, she glimpsed rocky terrain ahead—the ridge Noah had mentioned. She kept low, using fallen trees and boulders for cover, pausing periodically to listen for pursuit.
The crack of gunfire in the distance made her freeze. It came from the direction Noah had gone. Fear clutched at her heart, but she forced herself to keep moving. Noah could handle himself, he’d survived worse than this. She had to believe that—had to—or she’d lose hope.
The ridge proved treacherous, its rocky face slick with rainwater. Jennifer’s life in Paris hadn’t prepared her for this kind of terrain, but determination drove her forward, finding handholds and testing each placement before trusting her weight on it.
Halfway up, her foot slipped on a wet stone, sending her sliding several feet down the incline. She bit back a cry as sharp rocks tore at her palms. Hands clawing for purchase, she focused on stopping her descent, fingers digging into the grooves. The bottom of her shirt caught on a protruding rock, tearing and leaving a long scrape on her stomach. When she finally halted, pressed against a jutting boulder, she hauled in several shaky breaths, not allowing herself to look down.
That’s when she heard the distinct sound of voices from below.
“Fan out,” a voice commanded, harsh and accented. “The woman came this way.”
Jennifer flattened herself against the rock face, heart pounding so loudly she feared they would hear it. Lightning flashed again, and she risked a glance down. Three men in tactical gear were methodically searching the base of the ridge, their weapons ready.
She needed higher ground. Using the rhythm of the storm for cover, Jennifer resumed her slow climb, moving only during thunderclaps when the sound would mask any noise. Her arms trembled with exertion by the time she reached the top, managing to pull herself over the edge onto a relatively flat expanse. Exhaustion clawed at her, as she lay flat on her back, looking up at the night sky. No stars dotted the blackness, only the outline of thick dark clouds.
A moment’s relief was all she allowed herself before crawling toward a cluster of pines that offered better concealment. From this vantage point, she could see more of the valley below—including several figures converging on the spot where she’d heard gunfire earlier.
Noah. Please be safe.
Another sound caught her attention—the distinctive whir of helicopter blades cutting through the storm. Jennifer peered upward, spotting the dark shape hovering above the trees to the west. A search light blazed to life, sweeping across the forest floor.
Why wouldn’t they give up? Huffing out a deep breath, she stood and trudged forward, knowing she needed to keep moving or they’d make sure she disappeared into the night. The ranger station was her goal now—her best chance of finding safety and, hopefully, reuniting with Noah. Rising into a crouch, Jennifer oriented herself and moved deeper into the trees crowning the ridge.
The going was easier here, the ground more level, though fallen branches and undergrowth created their own obstacles. Jennifer settled into a rhythm, pushing her sodden hair from her face as she navigated through the darkness.
An hour passed, maybe more. Time seemed to slow until she couldn’t be sure how much had passed, yet she kept moving forward. The storm began to abate, the thunder growing more distant. Without its cover, Jennifer became increasingly cautious, pausing often to listen. The helicopter had disappeared, but that didn’t mean the search had ended.
A twig snapped behind her.
Jennifer whirled, searching for somewhere to hide, but it was too late. A beam of light caught her, blinding in its intensity.
“Don’t move,” a voice commanded—the same accented voice she’d heard at the ridge.
Slowly, Jennifer raised her hands, blinking against the light. As her vision adjusted, she made out the figure of a tall, lean man holding a pistol aimed squarely at her chest. His face was all hard planes and cold calculation, rain dripping down his face from his shaved head.
“Miss Baptiste.” His lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes. “Mr. Amir will be pleased to know we have found you safe and sound.”
“Jakob Skinner,” Jennifer replied, recognizing him from the dossier Noah had shown her. Former British special forces, now head of security for Kamir Amir—and a man known for his complete lack of moral boundaries when money was involved.
“My reputation precedes me,” Skinner looked momentarily impressed. “Though I’m afraid your companion won’t be joining us. My men are quite thorough.”
Ice formed in Jennifer’s veins. “If you’ve hurt him—”
“You’ll what?” Skinner’s laugh was unpleasant, eerily devoid of emotion. “Lecture me on interior decorating? Show me swatches of fabric? I think not.” He gestured with his weapon. “Walk. We have transport waiting.”
Jennifer considered her options. Running would be suicide. Attacking a trained operative likewise. Her best and only chance was compliance—for now. Noah had taught her that survival sometimes meant playing along until an opportunity presented itself.
If he was still alive, he would come for her. And if not…well, she’d find her own way out. She wasn’t the same woman who’d almost been kidnapped and had multiple attempts on her life. She’d learned and grown in so many ways in such a short time. If…if Noah was gone, then Gator would have Carpenter’s men looking for her. She simply needed to hold onto hope.
“How much?” she asked as she began walking in the direction Skinner indicated. “How much is Karim paying you?”
“More than you could offer,” Skinner replied, but something in his tone made Jennifer wonder.
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” She was bluffing, but she threw out the thought anyway. Who knows, maybe she could get Skinner thinking about a counteroffer. Too bad she was broke, especially since the Amirs had frozen all her assets.
Skinner prodded her forward. “Save your negotiations for someone who cares.”
They walked in silence, Jennifer cataloging every detail—the route, the terrain, Skinner’s movements. Noah had taught her information was power, and to never underestimate good intel. After twenty minutes, they emerged into a small clearing where two more men waited. Their expressions when they saw her were a mixture of relief and triumph.