"You don't have a home anymore, Sloane." If I didn't know better, I'd say he cares about me, but it's terrifying.
I've always wanted a strong, dominant man to lean into because dammit, being a woman alone in a big city sucks sometimes. But Dane Strouse? Falling for a killer wasn't ever in my list of ideas for my future, and I don't intend to start now, but fuck if I can't help myself. Running back to the city isn't just asserting my independence. It's most certainly pointing a loaded weapon right at the target on Dane's chest, and I can't do that.
"I don't want to die here," I whine, and he huffs out a sigh as he pushes me closer to the truck. "I don't want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere, waiting for some psychopath to decide it's my turn. I want my life back."
He opens the passenger door and nods toward the seat. "Get in."
I stare up at his big blue eyes for a moment and watch the breath puff from his mouth in crystalized clouds. "Dane…"
"Just get in, alright? Please." It's the first time I think I've heard him say please, and it knots in my chest, drawing tears to my eyes.
I relent, letting my entire body release the coil because I'm not going to take off. He opens the door and I slide in, then he shuts it and I watch him rub his forehead as he rounds to his door.
Dane Strouse, for as much a killer he is, is also a man with a conscience, and no matter what my better judgment says about men like him, I know he's trying. I just don't like how long it's taking.
11
DANE
The truck rumbles up the mountain, putting distance between us and town, and I'm trying to keep my mouth shut. I know how this conversation will end but the anger is building, eating through the restraint I'm clinging to. I know how she feels and I know it can't be easy for some normie like her to hole up in an off-grid cabin with a man like me.
Sloane sits in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring out the window. She hasn't spoken since we left town or acknowledged the fact that we've been driving in circles for twenty minutes while I make sure no one's following us.
I don't want to be angry with her. I understand why she did it—the desperation to contact her friends, to let someone know she's alive. I've caught myself wanting things for her too. Wanting her safe, wanting her happy, wanting her in ways I know will only end badly for me. Three weeks of her in my cabin, in my bed, under my skin and I'm compromised, distracted—stupid.
But understanding doesn't erase the danger she's put us both in.
"You're going to have to talk to me eventually," she says, breaking the standoff between us.
"I'm aware."
"Then talk. Tell me what's got you so worked up."
I take the next turn harder than necessary and the tires protest on the pavement. "You called your friend. You compromised our location and gave whoever's tracking us another data point to work with."
"I told her I was fine, that's it, just that I'm safe and she should stop worrying." Her tone is defensive. "My best friend thought I was dead, Dane. She was on the news crying about me. I couldn't just?—"
"You could and you should have." I grip the wheel tighter, jaw clenched. "God, can't you see how foolish it was?"
Sloane sits there with her head hanging and shame scrawled all over her body while the knot of frustration continues to unravel. I just can't stop it.
"I'm a professional assassin who's killed more people than I can count…" I didn't think I'd have to explain this to her. She's a smart girl, just impulsive. "That'll go over great when they look me up. They'll really believe I'm innocent and just trying to protect you."
She flinches but doesn't back down. "There has to be something we can do besides hide in your cabin and wait for him to come for us."
"There is. And it involves you keeping your head down and your mouth shut until I figure out how to end this." I take another turn, this one onto a gravel road I don't need, adding moredistance and confusion to our route. "But you couldn't do that. You had to reach out, had to make contact, had to?—"
"I'm not your prisoner!" Her voice rises, anger matching mine. "I didn't ask to be drugged and dumped in your town. And I definitely didn't ask to be ignored after we had sex."
Her words sting and I almost bite back about her being wasted, but I was the sober one. I was the one who could’ve stopped all of that and just tucked her into bed to sleep it off. But I didn't. And I liked it. And I might have liked it so much that I hid from her to control my urges because I want it again.
But that doesn't change what happened today.
"Wade stopped me at the gun shop." If she's not going to listen to reason, then she has to know the truth. "Asked me who you really are."
She fidgets in her seat and crosses her arms more tightly, like she wants to be hostile and angry but doesn’t know how anymore. "What?" she asks and then clears her throat.
"Someone thinks you resemble the woman on the news. The missing nurse from New York." I keep my eyes on the road, can't bear to look at her, but at least my anger is starting to fade a little too. This afternoon has been a tense one and I've been taking it out on her. "Wade's suspicious. He doesn't buy the sister story, and if he starts digging and connects you to Sloane Grady…" I glance at her and say, "I don't think I have to tell you what it means if he finds out I've been harboring a missing person."
