Wife?
“Hmm,” the man’s eyes jump to me and then back to Noah. “That’s a hell of a bike you got out there. Tough ride out here though.”
“Yeah, we’re learning that the hard way,” Noah’s voice is clearer now. “I don’t think we’ll be doing it again.”
The guy laughs, his shoulders relaxing. “Want some coffee and breakfast before you go? I think I got some good shit. I’ll start a fire outside.”
I eye Noah, who looks like he’s on the verge of losing it, but then he surprises me.
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Cool. I’m Kirk.” The man nods, and then goes about rummaging through the cabinets, and what I realize is a fridge.
I stay seated at the edge of the mattress and slowly ease my hand out of the bag, watching the guy as he pulls out some sort of portable charger. He then fishes a phone out of his pocket, plugs it in, and then tosses both off to the side.
Noah lets out a sigh, and the guy,Kirk, turns to him.
“You guys like bacon and eggs?”
“Yeah,” Noah answers, his voice a little brighter. “You want some help with the fire?”
“Sure,” Kirk answers him, and then hands Noah the bacon and eggs, while he grabs the pan and utensils. I watch from a distance, and then the two of them disappear from the camper together.
My heart stays in my throat as I quickly gather our things and make sure we’re completely ready to go. Because, as nice as Kirk appears…
I don’t fucking trust him.
51
NOAH
The cold morningair bites at my face, a sharp contrast to the blistering heat radiating from the small fire Kirk and I just got going.
I toss another piece of split pine into the flames, watching the sparks shoot up into the gray dawn. Out of the corner of my eye, I track Kirk’s every movement. He’s standing by the open door of his camper, flipping bacon in a cast-iron skillet on a portable camp stove. He’s humming some old country song, completely oblivious to the fact that he has a wanted fugitive standing three feet away from his back.
Normally, I’d be a lot more suspicious of the way he just… took us in. However, he’s got this strange, soft look about him—like he’s naïve, trusting, and well… an easy target.
I hate that for him.
My eyes drift from the back of Kirk’s neck to the keys hanging from the ignition of his truck, parked just a few yards away. It would be so easy. It would take me exactly three seconds to knock him out, tie him up with the paracord I saw on a shelf inside, take his truck, his food, and whatever cash he has inside.A truck would be warmer for Rue. A truck would blend in better than the Knucklehead.
My muscles tense, the survival instinct a drum in my head.Take it. He’s weak. Take what you need to keep her safe.
My head snaps back to the moment as the camper door creaks open, and Rue steps out.
She looks so damn small suddenly, bundled in her jacket, her hair a messy tangle from the wind and whatever fitful sleep she managed on Kirk’s little mattress. She has her bag gripped so tightly in her hand that her knuckles are white.
Her eyes meet mine, wide and hyper-vigilant, silently asking me if we’re safe.
I look back at Kirk, who turns around with a bright, easy smile, holding two tin plates loaded with eggs and bacon.
“Here we go,” Kirk says, offering the first plate to Rue. “Eat up, sweetheart. You look like a stiff breeze might blow you over. Got some coffee brewing, too.”
Rue hesitates for a fraction of a second before forcing a polite, tight smile. “Thank you, Kirk. This is really kind of you.” Her voice is flat, and suddenly, I’m not sure who I should be watching closer…
Kirk or Rue.
Dammit. We just need to make it through this.
