“Run!” Todd turned away from the man he’d just shot and rushed another guard who had stopped between cabins to take aim at him with his rifle.
Lindsey came to a halt at the edge of the forest, her entire body trembling.
Todd had saved her. Again.
Dammit, he might have kept his real agenda from her, but he’d protected her repeatedly, without fail. She couldn’t take off and leave him to the gang of men approaching from the other end of the compound. Heart racing, she ran to the side of the dead guard. At least, she was pretty sure he wasn’t alive. Prior to today, she’d never seen a dead person outside of news stories. This man’s eyes were wide open, his chest unmoving. She gagged, recalling the sight of Pete’s blood-soaked sweatshirt.
Head in the game, Garcia.
Right. She straightened and shoved aside all the confusion and fear and thoughts circling like a whirlpool in her brain. She could break down later.
Just pretend he’s sleeping. Taking a deep breath, she carefully pried the shiny silver gun from the guard’s hand and stood. To her left, Todd wrestled on the ground with the rifleman, and appeared to be winning.
She glanced at her new weapon. Did it have a safety? She didn’t see a little switch or whatever. Even if it had one, the man had just shot at her, so the safety must be off. Right?
God, she was in so far over her head.
Crouching behind a bush, she got down on one knee and used the other to steady her right hand. She lined up the sights on the chest of the blond man who was far out in front of the approaching pack. Was she even doing it correctly? More importantly, could she really shoot a man? Even a white supremacist who’d participated in her kidnapping and was dealing in drugs and who-knew-what-else?
But then Todd pushed to his feet alone, a rifle in one hand. The blond aimed his gun without slowing.
Her vision narrowed to her target.
She pressed the trigger.
Bang!
The gun kicked up, probably sending her shot into the trees, useless.Shit. Everything about shooting surprised her. The ease of pulling the trigger—she’d heard it was really hard—how loud it was up close, the smell.
Todd dropped to the ground. Had he been hit, or was he taking cover? The quad filled with gunfire, like something out of a movie. Except it didn’t get more real than bullets slamming into the snow around her. Her throat cinched tight and her limbs shook, even though she barely noticed the cold.
Was it better to move or stay put? What would the men expect? Probably for her to move. Or maybe to be paralyzed with fear.Dammit. She was more paralyzed with indecision than anything.
Motion to her left caught her eye and she swung the gun around.
Todd crouched about twenty feet away, a grimace on his face, a black gun gripped in his left hand, his wet clothes plastered to his body. The relief that washed over her caught her off guard.
The barrage of gunfire ceased, leaving her ears ringing and cottony in the sudden silence. Her stomach turned to stone. This couldn’t be good. She lowered her weapon, and Todd sidestepped closer, keeping his head low. “You okay?” he mouthed, his worried gaze skimming her from head to toe.
She nodded.
He leaned in close and she stiffened, slammed with a confusing mixture of regret, hurt, and desire. And the coppery scent of blood. “Do you trust me to get you out of here?” he asked in a whisper.
“Yes.” God help her, she did. On impulse, she squeezed his right arm.
He hissed and pulled back.
Red stained the palm of her glove. She gasped. “You’re bleeding,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
“It’s fine.”
Yeah, right.
Blood trickled from the cuff of his jacket, leaving a bright drop of crimson on the snow. Scowling, he used a handful of snow to wipe the entire sleeve clean, leaving a pink stain on the ground. Then, he tucked his gun into his pocket, removed the glove from his free hand, and covered it in snow. Finally, he stuffed the folded, ice-crusted glove inside the shoulder of his jacket, wincing as he zipped it closed.
Damn. No matter what, she couldn’t imagine a better companion right now.
He jerked his chin toward the trees and crawled along the thick line of bushes that provided concealment, if not protection, from the other men. Following his lead, she pocketed her gun and kept her head down, moving quickly. What little snow had found its way beneath the shrubs had already melted and, within seconds, the cold mud had soaked through her pants and gloves, turning her knees and fingers numb.
