“Yeah, I don’t want to leave the car on the side of the road for someone to report. Plus, I don’t know how far back the house is. None of the satellite photos of the area even showed a roof to judge the plot. It’s all fucking trees,” he grumbles and turns down the road.
There are a few old signs posted about it being private property, but we ignore those. Unfortunately for us, we can’t ignore the metal gate blocking the path about a quarter mile down the lane. Winger gets out and examines the lock. I see him reach inside his shirt as if he might pull out his gun and shoot the thing, but he stops short.
I roll down my window when he approaches my side of the car and crouches next to me. “What would it take to convince you to wait here while I go check out the house?”
“Nothing, I’m coming with you.” I push open my door, forcing him to jump back or risk getting hit.
“Damn it, Max,” he snarls as I slam the door. In one swift movement, he’s on me, pushing me up against the car, and an unwelcome memory assaults me. The guy in the parking lot did the exact same thing, only then I had a gun in my bra and was willing to kill him. I’m not willing to shoot Winger, and I don’t have a weapon.
“Give me a gun!” I demand, shoving at his chest.
At the same time, he says, “If I tell you to run, you better fucking listen. If you don’t, I will make good on that threat of locking you in my house.”
“Give me—” I start again because he talked over me, but he’s already stepping back and offering me the butt of a Glock 43X. It fits in my palm perfectly. “Is this mine?” I question, losing some of my steam.
“No, I found your CPL in your wallet and didn’t know which, if any, of your arsenal was registered to you.”
“Thanks,” I tell him with real gratitude.
“Thank me by getting back in the car.” He glares down at me with a stare that would intimidate many, but not me.
“No. Want me to go first?” I ask serenely while tucking the gun into the front of my jeans. The metal pinches a little, since I’m used to a holster, but I can deal.
He makes a sound that could be called a growl but turns away from me to walk around the metal gate. It’s not designed to keep people out, only cars, so it’s easy to get through.
We stay on the left track. The ground is rough, and I have a hard time imagining Ian bringing his Mercedes back here, which I voice to Winger. “Did he make any stops before coming here to change out cars?”
“It’s possible. We can check the GPS log later.” He seems focused on watching what’s ahead.
We must walk for a mile before the house comes into view. If the two-track didn’t lead right to it, we could have missed it, because it’s surrounded by the forest, but that’s not what’s shocking. The two cars parked in front throw me for a loop.
CHAPTER30
MAXINE
Winger pulls me back against his chest so fast, the only thing keeping the scream from erupting from my mouth is his hand, which is clamped over my lips tightly enough that I feel like I can’t breathe.
Air puffs in and out of my nose as he hauls me back into the tree line so we can’t be seen. His lips are at my ear, whispering, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I tug his hand away and glare over my shoulder. “Well you did. Could you stop manhandling me? First at the car, and now here. I don’t like it,” I whisper harshly.
“Fine,” he bites out, but his eyes say,I’ll do whatever the fuck I think I need to do when I need to do it.
“What are we doing?”
“We’re going back to the car until I can get more intel. Move your ass, Max.”
I start to walk back to the tracks, but he grabs my arm, then releases me quickly. “Stay in the trees until you get a little farther away.”
I huff but understand his reasoning. I have to watch every step. The ground is covered in pinecones, acorns, and roots so thick, I almost trip five times in the first thirty feet. When I look back over my shoulder to see how Winger is fairing, I realize I’m alone. I stop dead in my tracks and spin. I can still see the lane to my left, so I know I didn’t wander deeper into the forest. Does that mean he did?
“Crap,” I hiss and start picking my way back the way I came, searching for him the entire way.
Winger’s head pops out from behind a tree, and he snarls his lips at me, mouthing, “Go,” and pointing his finger in the opposite direction of him in case I didn’t get it.
I beckon him to come with me, but he shakes his head in frustration and starts walking, moving much quicker than I was able to. When he reaches me, he’s breathing heavily, so I feel him pant against my neck when he instructs, “Get your ass moving, Max. I’m right behind you. I just need to make sure you make it to the car before anyone tries to leave.”
“Come with me.” I grab his shirt.
