I observe numbly as he plucks the knife from my fist, folding the blade that I struggled so hard to open back into the handle before slipping it into his pocket. He grabs the backpack with the money in it, slings a strap over his shoulder, then scoops me up off the floor.
He takes a big step to the side, avoiding Skunk’s outstretched hand as the man makes a feeble attempt to grab him. His moans have grown weaker. There’s now more blood outside of his body than in. By the time we reach the door, the man will be dead.
It could have been me. Almost was. Most likely would have been, if not for Jake. All my doubts and worries are temporarily silenced, buried under relief.
I lean my head against Jake’s shoulder and close my eyes while he carries me away. Try my best to stay conscious, not wanting to miss a second of the feeling of his arms around me, the heat of the sun on my face as we step outside, the tenderness he uses as he places me everso gently in the passenger seat of his truck and straps me in.
I’m grateful and relieved—and overwhelmed with questions.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice hitches over the words. “I’ll cut you loose as soon as we put some distance between us and this place.”
I nod my understanding. I want to ask how he found me, but I already know. I just can’t comprehend what it means yet.
The seat beneath me is soft, the air is cool, the hum of the tires rolling across the asphalt soothing, like a lullaby. I want nothing more than to sleep right now. Instead, I study the man beside me.
His suit is rumpled. Dark circles ring his eyes. He clearly hasn’t shaved in days. His gaze stays in constant motion, darting between the road in front of us to the mirrors and back. Finally, the vehicle slows, bumping onto the shoulder.
“I think we’re good. I haven’t seen another car in ten minutes,” he says, though he’s still staring behind us. He swallows hard, then turns to face me. His expression buckles. “This is all my fault, Cassie. I never should have left.”
Jake reaches out, gingerly running his palm across my cheek, his fingertips pushing my hair behind my ear. He hisses, making a face.
“You need a doctor.”
“No.” The word rasps out from my parched throat.
“Cassie—”
I shake my head and croak, “Water.”
He fumbles for a mostly full bottle in the cupholder. Uncaps it and holds it to my lips. I try to drink too fast, making myself choke and sputter. Setting the bottledown, he uses his thumb to wipe my chin dry.
A sudden wave of self-consciousness strikes me as I realize what I must look like. Filthy, bruised, covered in blood and probably my own vomit as well. Despite that, he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss against my forehead. Then he opens the glove box.
Pulling out a multitool, he extracts a knife much larger and sharper than the one I’d been trying to use to free myself and makes short work of the rope that binds me. He passes me the water, watching closely as I grasp it in both hands, forcing myself to take tiny sips.
“We have to get moving again. Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”
I nod. And though he gives me a worried look as he pulls back onto the road, he doesn’t argue, which is a blessing. Because odds are, Icoulduse some medical attention, but judging from the way he’s acting, we can’t risk it.
This is more than him just being nervous because he killed a man.
He’s spooked, his eyes already back to scanning our surroundings like he’s being hunted. I suspect that might be true. And, if it is, that whoever’s after him is after me as well.
CHAPTER 26
It’s too still. Too quiet. Something’s wrong. I jerk awake, hands balling into fists as I struggle upright in the seat.
“It’s okay.” Jake stretches his arm around me, drawing me to him. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
But am I?
Though we’re still in his truck, we’re no longer moving. And as I stare over his shoulder out the window, it’s not the view I expected to see. If he can feel the way my heart just kicked into overdrive, he doesn’t let on.
“Where are we?” I ask, pulling away.
The words come out much easier than they had before. My voice sounds more like my own. Though I’m nowhere near recovered, my body feels a bit stronger, my senses sharper, my brain less addled.
“Why aren’t we home?”
