Owen doesn’t slow, and I brace myself around every corner, careful not to aggravate my injury.
Damn, he knows how to drive this thing.
“You have somewhere safe to go?” I ask, not quite sure why he hasn’t spoken but also not sure what to say to him, either.
“Yes.” His voice is deep and laced with a roughness that tells me he’s been expecting something like this to happen.
I don’t have it in me to say anything more, and he doesn’t elaborate on his answer. Instead, he races along the coast, eventually turning inland. He drives for another ten minutes, turning off the main road and onto a dirt one. Another few minutes, and he slows the car to a crawl.
“You should probably call the cops,” I rasp through the pain, even though I don’t want him to get them involved. But I don’t want to make an already-precarious situation worse. After this morning, if he doesn’t suspect that there’s more to me than meets the eye, then he’s a fool.
I know he’s not, though. I’ve seen my fair share of them, and he definitely isn’t. Which means I need to be prepared for the questions I know he’s going to ask, for the possibility that he will figure it out. That he will fire me and leave me with nothing.
He glances down at the blood-soaked T-shirt.
“We need to get you to a hospital.” It doesn’t surprise me that he ignores my plea to call the cops.
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It’s not deep.” When we both fall into silence again, I ask him with a little more force, “Owen, who’s trying to kill you? And why aren’t you calling the police?”
I still need to try to act like the innocent assistant, even if I did throw a blade into the leg of our pursuer and am not panicking as much as I should be if I were just your average civilian.
Owen takes a deep breath as we come to the end of the dirt road, and he shuts off the car. “I’m not sure who would be trying to kill me, but I have anidea. I’m not calling the cops because”—he runs a hand through his dark hair— “because I can’t have them poking around my company. I can’t lose the money. I can’t lose my charities.” His voice is so desperate that I want to reassure him, but I can’t.
“I understand,” I say instead.
“You do?” he asks, surprised.
I sigh. “I don’t want you to lose them either. Can we go inside so I can get cleaned up, and you can tell me everything? From the beginning. You owe me that much.”
It’s his turn to sigh as he nods and gets out. He comes around to open my door, helping me stand.
When I get to my feet, I sway a little and threaten to topple. Owen grabs me around the waist and steadies me.
“Low blood sugar and drop in adrenaline aren’t a good combo,” I mumble, allowing him to hold me up and walk me to the house.
I finally notice my surroundings. We’re in the middle of the woods. It’s dark under the canopy as the sun is still low in the sky. There’s a bark path that leads from the dirt road up to a tiny wood cabin. A large porch encircles the whole house, and a stone chimney is visible above the roofline.
“It’s my father's house. He doesn’t come here anymore. Not since my mom died,” Owen offers while he watches me take in my surroundings. He’s still holding tight to my hips, and I can’t help but sink further into him.
Instead of helping me walk, he sweeps me up in his arms like I weigh nothing. I let out a rush of air and tense.
“Felt like you might topple over. Figured this might be an easier way to get you inside,” he says as a way of explanation, but I’m not complaining. I’m too tired and overwhelmed.
He carries me into the house and sets me on a large brown leather couch by an old wooden fireplace covered in rustic stone.
Grabbing a blanket from a basket next to the couch, he covers me and pulls out some kindling and a lighter from another basket beside the fireplace. Before I know it, he has a fire roaring.
When he finally faces me, I can do nothing but blink up at him. We stare at each other for a moment, neither of us apparently knowing what to say. I can’t read his face, but his eyes feel sad. But there’s something else there, too—something I don’t want to think about.
His stare suddenly makes me too hot, and I throw off the blanket, making to stand and go clean myself up when he stops me with a hand on my shoulder.
“I know you’re tough, Miss Riley, and I also know you’ve been on your own for a long time. You can take care of yourself, but for once, please let me help you. I need to.” There is desperation in his voice, and my throat tightens while I swallow.
“The best part of this house is the tub,” he continues. “I’ll run a bath for you so you can clean yourself up. I have some clothes here. I’m the only one who uses this place.”
I suddenly want to know why he’s the only one. Whydoeshe come here at all? I want to know everything about him, and not because we almost died, and not because I’m supposed to find evidence that will lock him up for life.
I want to know. To knowhim. And I have no idea what to do with that.
