Kay David - Not Without Cause

“No!” She twisted away and reached for her shoe, slipping the knife from the sole and hiding it in her waistband. “I have a plan—it’s already in place. A fight’s going to break out and then—”

He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Screw your plan! This is it! We’re leaving now!”

Without waiting, he gripped her arm again, then pulled her toward the doorway, her blouse half-on, her skirt still up around her waist. She yanked the garment down, then managed to bend over and snag her shoes. She got one on, then hopped a step and slipped on the other.

They were swallowed by the crowd the second they stepped outside. If Haden hadn’t had the hold on her hand that he did, they would have been torn apart. Thrusting and shoving, screaming and yelling, the inmates were throwing punches and going wild, some already climbing up the fence behind the guard shack.

“This way!” Haden yelled at her and pointed over the prisoners who swirled around them. “The gate’s on the south side of the complex—”

“No! Not that way!” She turned in a different direction. “We have to go this way! Over here!”

He couldn’t hear her, or if he did, he ignored her. Using his battered body as a shield, he headed the way he’d indicated, dragging her behind him. Meredith tried to restrain him but her efforts were useless. The crowd was gaining momentum and now they were adding pressure from behind. Even if they’d wanted to, changing course became impossible.

They were almost to the fence when someone shrieked to Meredith’s right. She jerked her head toward the sound and caught a glance of the woman who’d been sitting by her on the bus, her hand outstretched to Meredith’s, her eyes two wells of terror. Meredith cried out and stopped, but Haden kept going and their linked hands were torn apart. The prostitute went down, her body falling under the inmates’ boots as they surged toward the gate. Screaming, hands flailing, Meredith battled the wave of men to get back to the woman, but she didn’t have a chance. She’d planned for a simple prison break, not a riot, now she couldn’t help herself, much less anyone else.

She had to regain control and focus. She had a job to do.

A second later, a blow from behind knocked Meredith’s breath from her chest. She stumbled and fell to one knee. The mob swelled and she pitched forward, but a hand reached out and heaved her up, saving her from sharing the other woman’s fate. She looked up to see Haden’s face. Then she was on her feet, and they were fighting through the crowd once more.

They made it to the fence a few minutes after that. Haden pushed her ahead of him and held the crowd back with his body, his hands stretched above her head where he gripped the rusty metal link. She gulped for air as he yelled something. She couldn’t hear him and shook her head. Then he tilted his head and she understood. The guard who’d searched her was to their right. Standing before the gate, he was swinging his sap wildly but losing ground with every strike, the number of the now-crazed inmates too many to combat.

They were almost to the gate when Meredith pulled her knife from the waistband of her skirt. She had to act now; she had no other choice.

A second later, they were by the prison guard’s side. Taller than the man by a good six inches, Haden ducked closer as the guard’s arm swung back. When he brought the sap down again, Haden grabbed the man’s hand and twisted it backward, lifting it up at the very same time.

His whole left side was exposed. All Meredith had to do was take one step and thrust her knife.

A second later that’s exactly what she did.

But it wasn’t the guard she aimed for.

HADEN JUMPED and the knife missed him by an inch.

His startled eyes locked with Meredith’s in the millisecond that followed and he read his fate in those dark-brown depths. Before he could react, an inmate came from behind and got between them, the fence finally falling down as the crowd pushed past the gate the guard had been trying to protect.

Haden dashed for the jungle without a backward look.

MEREDITH SHOT from the pack of stumbling inmates like a racehorse given its head but by the time she reached the clearing’s edge, Haden had vanished. She plunged into the darkness anyway, a thousand scenarios flashing inside her head as to what would happen next. Her chances of finding him were good—he was already weak so he wouldn’t get far—but she chastised herself regardless, the problem one that she shouldn’t even have had to face.

What the hell had happened back there? How on earth could she have missed? Once her knife was out of its sheath, she never failed to hit her target. Never.

As she ran, she listed her excuses: the guard’s movement had thrown her off, Haden had known she would try, the stars weren’t lined up properly… In the end, she decided with disgust it didn’t matter why she hadn’t hit him. She’d botched things and that was all that counted.

She plunged deeper and deeper into the undergrowth until she pulled herself up short, her breath coming in quick bursts of frustration. This wasn’t the way to get the job done. She was panicking and panic never got you anywhere. She had to pull herself together and come up with a plan. Bending over, she drew several deep breaths and tried to calm herself, but her brain wouldn’t cooperate. She kept remembering one frightening image after another—the guard’s horrified gaze merging with the terrified prostitute’s eyes, her wide stare morphing into Haden’s when he’d seen the knife in her hand.

Meredith bit back a curse and shook her head. What the hell had she been thinking? Why hadn’t she handled the situation in the casita when she’d realized who he was? If she’d been prepared, she would have ditched the strategy she’d worked out and used the riot to her advantage, figuring out later how to escape and what to do with the body. She continued to berate herself but the truth didn’t change. She’d screwed up. Big time.

Because she’d already decided he was dead.

Since the moment she’d walked into Haden’s house, she’d assumed that was the case. There had been too much blood. Too much gore. She’d expected the man in the prison to be Brad Prescott. She remembered her feelings at seeing Haden’s bloody home and everything clicked; she’d been counting on him being dead, she realized with a start.

Cursing out loud, she straightened and thought of her father, the sound of his voice echoing in the back of her mind. Calm down. Clear your brain. Concentrate!

Wiping her forehead, she blinked and listened to the imaginary advice. This wasn’t the time or the place to figure out where she’d gone wrong. She needed to concentrate on what was in front of her and that’s what she forced herself to do. After a second, her brain seemed to agree and settle down. Her task was really quite simple.

She had to find Haden.

Then she had to kill him.

Her senses on high alert, her body tense and ready, she headed into the brush, prepared to do just that.

HADEN SAT on a rotting log, the strength abandoning his legs as quickly as it’d come. He’d used every bit of energy he’d had to get this far but he hadn’t gotten far enough. He could almost feel Meredith’s hot breath behind him. She was good and she was fast. As soon as she recovered from the shock of missing him, she’d be right on his ass.

Shaky and queasy, Haden assessed his situation. Trying to escape was pointless; Meredith would never give up until she had him. The only reason he’d run was to give himself enough time to figure out how to handle her. If he could keep her off balance long enough, he might be able to understand what was happening before she managed to get that shank between his ribs.