Elizabeth Goddard - Running Target

He shook it off.

Man, he’d missed her. He’d missed her every time he left.

“Quinn.” Louder now. “You have to stop.”

Not yet. He’d keep pushing forward until he dropped. He could keep going forever to save her.

His muscles screamed. His lungs burned.

The past was chasing him down. He couldn’t run far enough or fast enough.

And now Bree was caught in the middle.

She struggled against his back, trying to scramble down. Maybe she’d been hurt and he was being a brute not listening to her pleas to stop. He slowed, sucked in air like he couldn’t get enough. Eased her off his back.

“Bree—” gasp, gasp “—are you—” gasp “—okay?”

He bent over his thighs. Just. Couldn’t. Get enough air...

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” she asked softly.

“No.” He peered through the monocular again for heat signatures. He saw none he’d attribute to humans. Only wildlife.

But that didn’t mean they weren’t closing in.

He waited until his breathing calmed. “Just trying to...get you...to safety.”

She pressed her palms against his cheeks. Close. Too close. “Thank you. I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for you. But don’t give yourself a heart attack on my account.”

He put his hand against hers on his cheek, then stepped back. He didn’t need her getting so close. “I’m not going to have a heart attack. Don’t worry. But getting you to safety is my responsibility now.”

“I don’t know how or why, but you rescued me. Those men are after me and now they’re after you, too. I’m sorry for that.”

“You’re wrong.”

It’s my fault. All my fault...

But now wasn’t the time to tell her.

A branch cracked. He stilled. Could be trees clacking in the light breeze.

Or someone closing in that he couldn’t see yet. If that was the case, then he’d rested too long.

Though he didn’t want to lean in close enough to feel her warmth, he did it anyway. “Time to go.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can go a hundred miles.” But he hoped he wouldn’t have to.

Without saying more, she climbed onto his back again. Trusting him? Nah. He had never given her a reason to trust him. In fact, if anything he’d proven to her that she couldn’t trust him.

At least with her heart.

Nor did he trust himself with her heart.

This night was turning into pure torture. She couldn’t do this anymore. After holding tight to Quinn’s back, locked in one position with no opportunity to shift or reposition, her body ached as if she’d been riding a horse for hours. She couldn’t see where they were going and feared at any moment a bullet would burrow into her back. She knew that Quinn tried to be careful, but small branches slapped her cheeks and arms from time to time. She kept her eyes closed to protect them, but there was nothing much she could do for the rest of her. And bugs—she had to have acquired a spider or beetle or two during their trek. Just the thought of creepy-crawlers had goose bumps rising on her flesh.

Of course, Quinn was going through far worse. So how did she explain that she needed to rest? Their lives were far more important than her need to ease her aches and pains.

Except she simply couldn’t hold on anymore.

As if reading her mind, Quinn slowed down, then stopped and nearly stumbled. He leaned over to allow her to slip off. She stepped on her ankle then fell. He caught her before she hit the ground and held her steady.

“Are you okay?”

“I forgot about my ankle. I’m good.” She reached for the nearest tree trunk to prop herself against. She could stand with something to lean on as long as she didn’t use her injured ankle. The pain had been forgotten, but the throbbing came back strong now. She stretched her back and arms, surprised at how stiff she was.

Then she took in their surroundings. She thought Quinn had stopped from sheer exhaustion, but now it appeared there was more to it. The trees were thick around them but in this spot, they had thinned out, allowing moonlight through in the moments when fast-moving clouds weren’t drifting by. Vines and ferns grew up and around what she thought might be a structure against the side of an incline. A ridge, maybe.

It was beautiful. Like some kind of fairyland. She must be beyond exhausted to be thinking like that now.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“It’s my home. At least, it has been for the last six months.”

“Oh.” Wow. “Isn’t this a wilderness area?” As a deputy who worked near national parks in the county, she understood that a wilderness area was federally owned land, meant to remain undeveloped without structures or improvements or habitation. Hmm.

“Don’t worry. We’re right on the edge of the wilderness, but this is private property—it’s a friend’s deer lease. He hunts here during deer hunting season. It’s about as far as you can get from civilization with a camper.”

Oh, now she saw it. A camper was hidden beneath the vines and greenery—well, silvery in the moonlight. “How did he get this camper up here? There aren’t even any roads.”

“None that you can easily see. That’s why I like it.” Quinn glanced through the woods. “Let’s take this conversation inside. Get fueled, hydrated and rested. I don’t know how long we have.”

Quinn assisted her forward, moving vines out of the way until she could make out an actual door. Then she recognized the camper as a small Casita travel trailer. He’d lived here for the last six months?

She definitely wanted to know why.

Inside the camper, he turned on a light, dimming it enough that it would be imperceptible from outside. Electricity and water would be an issue up here but obviously Quinn had that all figured out.

Something crawled over her arm. She yelped and slapped her arm free of the insect.

She glanced around the small space—were they any spiders or rodents?—and rubbed her tired arms. The place was much neater than she would have expected of a guy living alone.

He busied himself at the small kitchen. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“You were expecting the place to be trashed out.”

Yeah, well, she’d known him as a teenager. He was no different from her brother... Oh. She wished she hadn’t thought of Steve, because it brought that same image to mind—Quinn holding her dead brother, his friend. The utter remorse on his face. Tears surged in her eyes. And for the first time, she thought about Quinn’s expression as he carried Steve, the devastation he must have felt. Bree had only ever been concerned about Dad and Stevie, and her own loss. Somehow, that now seemed selfish of her.

She pushed the image far from her and tried to calm her nerves. Her muscles ached and she needed to rest—but like Quinn said, they didn’t know how long they had. If those men tracked them here, then they’d have to run again.

She wanted to believe that they’d stop looking, but a persistent sense of unease told her she wasn’t safe. Not yet. Bree couldn’t fathom what had happened on the river, or this night of running. Who would have thought they would try so hard to kill her?

Give it up already.

She was so exhausted, all she could think about was closing her eyes, and she hadn’t been the one trekking through the woods with the weight of another person on his back for half the night.

She eyed the small bed on the far side—where Quinn would sleep. She was fine with the sofa on this side. But wait. What was she thinking? She wasn’t going to stay long enough for that. Bree could sleep for a thousand years, but not until she was safe at home and Stevie was in her arms. And Dad knew that she was all right.