It’s taking everything in me to not laugh my arse off, and I’m bright enough to know that would be a terrible mistake. “I think ya should go back to sleep,” I say finally, “mornin’ comes sooner than we like, here in the mountains.”
She’s still glaring at me, all squinty-eyed and suspicious like my Ma used to do when I was a teenager and out all night carousing with Michael. “Okay, goodnight.” Turning on her side with her back to me, she fusses with the blankets.
Pulling them up to her shoulders and tucking them in around her again, I murmur, “No bad dreams, lass.”
I’m almost asleep when I hear her whisper, “No bad dreams.”
As I warned, dawn came earlier than I liked, the aggressive rays of the sun making their way into our battered shelter. Groaning, I crack my neck one way and then the other as Sloan watches from her nest of blankets, amused.
“And here I thought you ate nothing but raw meat and slept on nettles,” she says. “The great Ethan MacTavish is susceptible to human frailty?”
“Dinna ya tell anyone.” I stand up, stretching. All the aches and pains of yesterday make themselves known, but I know how to block out the pain. Once, I had to rappel off a thirty-story building with a bullet in my leg after a job got complicated. I took out my target, but one of his guards got in a lucky shot. Our clan doctor had to dig the bullet out of my femur.
Building up the fire, I heat up the last of the fancy meals left from the jet. I’m not worried about keeping her fed, I’ve hunted in these mountains with my cousins for years. But the way out of here is rough and there’s a lot of climbing up and down, and she has broken ribs. She doesn’t complain, but she favors her right side, keeping her arm close as if to brace it.
Taking a stick, I draw in the dirt, creating triangles for mountain ranges. “Here’s where we are, and this…” The stick swirls down between two of the triangles, “is the river we’ll follow to get down to where we can reach my clan. They’re already out and searching, it’s certain. So, we may see their search drones or a fly-over.”
“What if…” she tucks her hands inside the long sleeves of my borrowed hoodie. “What if the people who tampered with the jet are looking for us, too?”
Tapping the stick on the ground, I find a smile for her. “Then we are clever, aye? We dinna come racing out, waving our arms until I know it’s clan.” She finds a smile for me, too.
“Okay, well then.” Standing up, she gathers up her hair, which is much longer than in the picture I’d seen with her file, gathering it up into a messy bun. “Let’s get started. What should I carry?”
“Right now? Nothing.” I’m tryin’ to spare her feelings because I get the sense she hates looking weak, but no fecking way am I letting a woman with broken ribs shoulder a backpack. “When I get tired later, it’ll be your turn to carry it all. In fact, I might need a piggyback ride.”
Laughing unwillingly, she flinches. “No making me laugh, you bampot.” She pauses, searching my face, “Is that right? Bampot?”
“If ya meant to call me an eejit and an arsehole, aye.”
Shoving down a surge of frustration, I stop. “We’ll take a break here.”
Sloan is red-faced and her pain is obvious. “No, I can keep going!”
We’ve taken a dozen breaks today and it’s going to take another couple of days to walk out. “I know lass. But if ya push too hard, those broken ribs can tear a lung. I want ya to make camp here while I catch us something for dinner, aye?”
Gazing up pointedly at the afternoon sun, she says, “We can go farther. I’ll wrap my ribs. I know you’re not supposed to because of pneumonia or something, but I’ll just do it when we’re walking.”
Damn, she’s stubborn.
We tear one of my t-shirts into strips and she lets me help her wrap her ribs. I know we’ve been through a plane crash - controlled landing - and a night in the wilderness, but she smells delicious, like warm peaches. I’m near to drooling and it’s not because of the rabbit cooking over the fire. I’ll feed her and we’ll keep hiking. Near as I can tell from the compass on my fancy fecking watch, we’re closer to civilization than I thought.
“We’ll get out of these mountains and get ya some proper medical care, aye?”
She stops chewing the meat I’d cut for her. “What happens then?”
Frowning, I shrug. “We get ya patched up.”
“Do you let me go then, kidnapper?” Grease is running down her arm from clutching the food. “Or do you send me to my piece of shit stepfather and certain death?”
Leaning closer, I pin her with my gaze. “What do ya have that the old bastard wants?”
“I don’t know,” she snaps, and she’s lying.
“I think ya know I will not let ya be hurt. But I canna help if I dinna know why ya ran. I told ya lass, if I don’t bring ya in, he’ll hire someone worse.”
“There’s someone worse than you?”
Laughing, I stand up, kicking dirt onto the fire. “Ya have no idea.”
