There’s a battered old two-seater sofa at the end of the bed, facing the fireplace. Its cushions sag like it was dragged from someone’s curb after a lifetime of loyal use. I close my eyes and try to be grateful.
Catfish got us out. Got me away from whatever horror show the FBI was planning. If it was a successful FBI raid, then my guess is Dorian Chase could have been behind it.
And if Dorian Chase was involved, I have a sense that I’d be headed to an “off-record” meeting that no one comes back from. There’s no way on this earth I would go anywhere with him.
And maybe that’s the kernel of truth I cling to.
I’d rather be here in this cabin, with its lack of amenities, than in an interrogation room at a field office before being shipped off to wherever he’d take me.
“You doing okay?” Catfish asks as he kicks his boots against the door frame, before stepping inside with the large pot.
Snowflakes sit in his hair, his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are watering a little from the wind. His fingers look pink with cold.
“I’m fine. But you must be freezing. Come stand by the fire a second to warm up a little.”
He does as I say, placing the large pot he just carried on the floor, and I reach for him, tugging him closer to the warmth.
I crack the door to the fireplace open a little so more heat can envelop him; then I wrap my arms around his waist and press my forehead to his chest. He’s solid under my hands, grounded in a way I envy.
“It’s no palace, but I hope it’ll be enough for tonight,” he says, brushing his lips against my hair as his hands rub circles on my back. “We can move on tomorrow if it’s miserable.”
Tears sting the back of my throat, the same dizzying feeling of being utterly closed in overwhelms me.
A loud crack splits the silence in two, and I flinch like a gun’s gone off.
“Hey,” Catfish says quickly, steadying me. “It’s just a tree branch or ice in the river. Nothing out there.”
His thoughts match my own exactly, and yet…I grip onto his biceps. “Do you have any protection? Guns? Anything?”
Catfish nods. “Multiple. There are three hidden in the truck alone. And I have two on me.”
“Will it be enough?” My voice breaks before I can catch it.
He hesitates, then places a hand on the nape of my neck. “It’ll definitely be enough tonight. No one knows where we went, the snow is covering our tracks, and unless you’ve ridden this way before, you wouldn’t even know there’s a trail to the river. Technically, we’re still on Atom’s land. So, we’ll be safe. Be brave, sweetheart.”
I don’t feel brave, but his words loosen something sharp in my chest.
“Your truck,” I say suddenly. “You drove us here, which means your truck GPS might still have logged the route. Some vehicles sync to satellites automatically, even when it looks like they are off.”
“Shit,” he mutters. He tugs his coat tighter. “I’ll go drive it out, park it a mile or two away, then walk it back in.”
“Or we could just use the short-range jammer I brought to block GPS signals. I’m going to have to…going to have to…going…”
Breath comes hard. My words splinter, as do my thoughts. The pressure is back on my chest. My ribs can’t expand far enough to take a breath.
I feel like I’m suffocating.
Catfish says something I don’t hear as my brain trips a fuse. Static roars in my ears.
I know I need to breathe, but it’s like trying to remember a language I don’t speak.
“Wren?” Catfish’s voice is low but firm. “Look at me.”
I try, but my vision blurs. The edges of everything shimmer like a heat mirage.
His hands envelop mine, big steady palms enclose my shaking fingers. “Hey, Wren. You’re safe.”
There’s that word again.
