Page 6 of Working for the Enemy

"What's wrong?" Kane's voice is instantly different. It’s no longer gruff, but sharp and dangerously low. He takes a heavy step closer, his body instinctively positioning itself between me and the open street. "Who’s that?"

I force my thumb to swipe the screen off, shoving the phone deep into my pocket. I take a shaky breath, close my eyes for a fraction of a second, and drag every ounce of horror down into the dark basement of my mind.

When I open my eyes, I plaster the smile back on. Bright. Bubbly. Fake.

"Nothing at all!" My voice is pitched a little too high, a little too sweet. "Just spam! Wrong number! Well, as lovely as this hostage negotiation for employment has been, Kane, I really must be going."

I turn on my heel, my legs trembling so hard I’m amazed I don’t fall flat on my face. I march away as fast as my feet can carry me, my head spinning, my lungs fighting for air.

When I reach the edge of the park, I can't help myself. I glance over my shoulder.

Kane is still standing by the bench. He hasn't moved an inch. He's staring after me, his massive shoulders tense, his dark blue eyes filled with an agonizing mixture of confusion, anger, and devastation. He looks completely lost.

A sharp tug pulls at my heart, lingering long after I turn the corner and leave him behind.

4

KANE

Ispent the entire night tearing myself apart.

I sat on the edge of my bed in the dark, staring at the floorboards, beating myself up for letting her walk away. I had her right there in front of me, and instead of giving her a reason to stay, I sounded like a maniac.

Why do you want me to work for you?

That was her question. A simple, normal question. And what was I supposed to say?

Because I can see the universe of pain in your eyes? Because I want to build a fence around you and keep you safe for the rest of your life? Because your fake smile is breaking my fucking heart, and I want to eliminate whatever threat forced you to run to my town?

Yeah. That would have gone over great. She would have run even faster.

The image of her face when that phone rang haunts me. One second she was teasing me, her dimples showing, her eyes bright with victory. The next, the color drained from her skin, leaving her looking like a ghost. From sunshine to a dark, starless sky in half a second flat.

I crank the wheel of my truck, turning onto Main Street as the morning sun barely clears the jagged mountain peaks. I’ve been driving around Forge Creek for an hour, looking for her beat-up sedan. I’m not letting her slip through my fingers again today.

As I pass the local diner, a flash of faded blue catches my eye in the back corner of the lot.

My heart slams into my ribs.

Her car is tucked behind the dumpster, out of sight from the street. I pull my truck in right beside it, killing the engine. Through the tinted rear glass, I can make out a shape stretched across the backseat.

I step out of the truck, my boots silent on the gravel, and look through the side window.

She’s asleep. Cuddled into a ball on the torn fabric of the backseat, wrapped in a thin blanket that isn't nearly warm enough for a mountain morning. Next to her is a case of cheap bottled water, a stack of food wrappers, and a single flat pillow.

She’s living in her car.

A wave of pure, scorching rage hits me so hard my vision spots with red. Not at her—never at her—but at myself for not realizing it sooner, and at whatever bastard forced her into this position. She’s been sleeping in an ancient car, defenseless, in the cold, while I’ve been sleeping in a warm cabin up on the ridge.

Before my brain can step in and calculate the tactical risk, my hands take over.

I grab the handle of the rear door. It’s unlocked, which only deepens my anger. I yank it open, reach into the backseat, slide one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, and scoop her out into the cool morning air.

"What the—!" Marlowe awakens with a violent start, her small hands instantly flailing. She gasps, kicking against my chest, her fingers clawing at my shoulders. "Get off me! Let me go!"

A soft, terrified whimper rips from her throat, and the sound hits me like a bullet.

Fuck.