Kristen Simmons - Article 5

“You’re not coming with me?” I’d heard it in his voice. He was going to make sure I wasn’t followed, whatever the risk to himself. I felt a little light-headed.

His hands cupped my face, his thumbs grazing along my cheekbones. He was close; I could feel the air move before my mouth when he spoke.

“Stay out of sight. Follow the road to Lewisburg and find the carrier. There’s money in the bag, enough to pay him off. Make sure you don’t show him all of it until you get to the safe house.”

“I won’t….” I was frightened now. My hands had covered his and were squeezing his fingers. I couldn’t believe he was saying this. I could not imagine leaving him here in such danger.

“Be careful who you talk to; keep your head down. You know what to do. Just don’t trust anyone.” His words tumbled out so quickly they nearly connected.

“But what about you? I can’t leave you here!”

“Yes you can!” he insisted. “Ember, I’m sorry for screwing everything up. I never meant to hurt you. There’s so much more …”

And suddenly his lips were on mine. Warm and demanding. Angry and afraid. Filled with everything his words could not say.

He pushed me back but then pulled me in once again, deepening the kiss, thrusting his hands through my hair. My fists knotted in his shirt, torn between shoving him away and refusing his dismissal. My head was spinning.

He ended it too soon, kissing me once more on the temple. Then we were gently pulling open the door, tempering the urge to rip it back off its hinges. I couldn’t believe I was preparing to escape without him. He’d have no money, no supplies. Everything within me told me this was wrong.

He’ll follow, I told myself. If he can.

I crept into the hallway, Chase right behind me. I would have to pass the living room to get out through the back door. Patrick was likely back on the couch, maybe with a weapon, reading. Watching. The lights would be on, damn the generator. He would see everything.

I passed the basement door and wanted suddenly to kick it as hard as I could. Had she been the one to call this Billings? Or was it Patrick? Yes, probably him. He could have done it while Chase and I cleaned up for dinner. All this, after we’d saved their child.

Chase passed me, his thumb grazing over my lips once more in the darkness. His good-bye, I knew, and felt the touch shoot straight through my core.

He walked into the living room, and I heard Patrick scramble up suddenly.

“Don’t get up,” Chase said in a low voice. “I was just going to grab a glass of water if it’s all right.”

“Sure. Here, let me,” Patrick offered. I caught one more sight of Chase’s back as he disappeared into the kitchen, and I prayed that it would not be the last. I snuck through the foyer, back toward the laundry room, but paused once my feet hit the linoleum.

If I opened the door, they’d be able to hear it from the kitchen. Chase knew this. He wasn’t going to let Patrick follow me. What that would entail, I didn’t know.

I listened briefly to the sound of water in the sink and muffled conversation. Every nerve within me felt live and raw. I gripped the door handle until my knuckles went white and it rattled under my grasp. The next time I heard voices, they were coming from was the living room.

Why isn’t he running?

But I knew: He was giving me time. He hadn’t heard me open the back door yet. I cursed him under my breath.

I gathered every ounce of courage within me, and raced around the corner, entering the kitchen from the opposite side. The lights were on, blinding my eyes, but the room was empty. I went straight for the fridge, grabbing all the keys from the black ceramic bowl beside it, and returned to the back door.

I opened the door as quietly as I could and bolted outside on numb legs. The freezing air slapped against my face, stealing my breath. I ran for the only thing I thought might help.

The generator. Just outside the kitchen window. Maybe if I could turn off the lights I could give Chase a chance to get out.

I slammed on the brakes in front of the humming metal box, searching desperately through the darkness for the switch. I didn’t have time to get the flashlight out. Every second mattered now.

In my silence I heard another sound break through the night and froze. Footsteps. They were far off; I thought for a moment it might even be the cows in the field. My spine went rigid when I heard low human voices, when the footsteps drew closer.

It couldn’t be Patrick and Chase: They were inside, as were Mary Jane and Ronnie. This had to be Billings.

I listened as hard as I could, but the noise from the generator blocked me from picking anything up. There were definitely men arriving at the house, but how had they gotten here? I hadn’t heard a car approaching.

It didn’t matter. Chase was still inside.

I felt down the serrated metal sides of the power source in a panic. Something burned my hand, and I bit back a cry. Finally I found the switch, flipped the protective sheath back, and shut down the machine.

My ears rang in the sudden presence of silence. The kitchen window above me went black.

There was a great deal of commotion from the darkness inside, and with the fear taking over, I ran blindly. I stumbled over the rocks and raised patches of grass. The moonlight cast an ethereal silver glow over the pasture, and I felt the dull eyes of the cows in the field upon me.

I didn’t go to the woods. I ran toward the barn. I had the keys. I might be able to get the gun and then find Chase and… I couldn’t think any farther ahead than that. I was just pulling open the huge wooden door when I heard someone behind me.

No!

I spun toward the house but was unable to see in the darkness. Crouching into the shadows, I held my breath, knowing whoever had followed might not see me in the faint light if I didn’t move, but if I ran, they could track the sound.

The steps didn’t stop, and a great shadow blocked the moon. Then strong arms lifted me bodily from the ground and hauled me inside the barn. I opened my mouth to scream, and one large hand clamped down over it.

Chase.

I sobbed for joy when I realized it was him. He didn’t speak. He set me down once inside and ran to the back, looking for the rear exit. It was locked and chained. He kicked it, and the wood splintered. He kicked it again, and the chain fell to the ground. Too much noise!

“Keys!” I whisper-shouted, and revealed to him everything that I had stuffed into my denim pockets.

He searched through them briefly. I thought he was looking for the key to the gun cabinet, but he wasn’t. He let the remaining rings fall to the ground with a clatter and heaved me toward the motorcycle.

An instant later I was mounted behind him. He turned the key and squeezed the clutch with his left hand. The bike hummed softly, but did not yet growl like I knew it would.

I did not hesitate like I had a year ago. I slid close behind him, fit my knees into the backs of his, and wrapped my arms tightly around his body. I couldn’t hear anyone following yet.

“Keep your head down,” he ordered. “And hold on.”

I nodded, my cheek pressed hard into his back.

We pushed out the back door of the barn, which faced the woods. Chase steered right, walking the bike toward the far side of the darkened house. My heart thumped through my chest into Chase’s ribs. We were almost there. Almost to the driveway.

Finally, we could see down the gravel path curving toward the main road. Two cars were parked on the street, but both were empty. They’d left them there in order to surprise us.

A knife of fear punctured my lungs, and I could barely breathe. Not just cars. FBR cruisers.