"I didn't set this up," he told her for the four thousandth time. "If I did, there would have been backup. Believe me."
"I'm done believing you. I believed you twice—and you know that old saying? 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.' I'm making up a third part to that saying. Fool me three times, just shoot me now."
Harry laughed. It was the wrong thing to do.
"You think this is funny? We're probably going to die, and you think this is funny?" She was furious. "You said I'd be safe here, and I trusted you. I did more than trust you, I slept with you, over and over again! Oh, God, the whole time you were probably laughing and—"
"Allie, you gotta believe me—I didn't set this up. George did. George knew about that letter I got from the lawyers. He probably figured out there were court records with Shaun and Em's names and address on it. And this snafu stinks of Nicole Fenster, too. But I swear to you, I didn't know. There's no way in hell I would've set you up. And I didn't mean to sleep with you. I mean, it wasn't something I planned and…"
Yeah, and that wasn't exactly helping. Making it sound as if the lovemaking they'd shared had been some kind of an accident, like Whoops, golly, how'd my penis get in there?
There probably wasn't anything he could say to make her believe him. But he wanted her to. They were probably going to die, and he didn't want her to die hating him.
As they crested the top of the mountain, Harry saw a flash of blue below them.
A river.
There was a river down there.
Maybe, just maybe, Allie at least wouldn't have to die.
"Can you swim?" Harry asked her.
"What? Why?"
"Damnit, Al, just answer the fucking question."
She flinched, and he felt a surge of remorse. He'd meant to clean up his language, but he'd never gotten around to it. He probably wouldn't get a chance to now.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Allie, I'm so sorry about all of this. I honestly thought we were safe here. I told you, I wouldn't risk my kids' lives that way. And I wouldn't risk your life either. Because I…"
She was looking at him, and he could see that familiar flicker of hope in her eyes. Hope that he'd say the words that were sticking in his throat. Despite everything she'd said, she wanted to believe him. And he knew that all he had to do was say it.
"I wouldn't set you up that way," he said again, squeezing the words out, hoping the verbal running start would give him the necessary momentum, "because I'm in love with you."
Harry loved her.
Harry loved her.
Allie nodded, looking back the way they'd come, back down the mountain, to where Ivo and his men were bound to appear any minute.
"Yeah, I know," Harry said, taking her hand and pulling her with him down the other side of the mountain. "My timing needs a little work. But I just thought there wouldn't be—"
"No." She refused to let him continue. "We're not going to die. Don't you dare give up on me, Harry. We're going to make it. We have to. Because I love you, too."
He pulled her close and kissed her, sweetly but far too briefly. "I'm sorry," he said again, "but we've got to keep moving."
Allie nodded. She wanted to cling to him, to kiss him deeply, to feel his arms around her. But that was going to have to wait. Still, this was better than fighting. Much better. God help her, she believed him.
As Harry glanced back at her, she saw he had tears in his eyes. "You know, I hate to sound like a doomsayer, but sometimes love's not enough, Al. I wish it was all we needed, but—"
"We can do this." Her voice trembled with the power of her hope.
"Yeah." Harry took a deep breath. "Maybe we can." He released her hand and took the map from his pocket, unfolding it, still moving down the hill. "So can you swim?"
"Yes," she told him. "I can swim. It's not pretty, but I stay afloat."
"We've got a new option." He slowed as he pointed to a thin blue line on the map and then down the mountain. "We head for this little river. See it on the map? It's nothing major, but it'll go all the way into Hardy if you take it heading east. And if you walk in the water, there'll be no trail for them to follow. Swim if you have to. When you get to Hardy, go straight to the police."
"Wait. You keep saying you as if I'm doing this alone. Aren't you going to come with me?"
"I'll go farther west, up into those mountains, leaving a trail for these bozos to follow."
"But… they'll kill you if they find you!"
"Maybe, but they won't kill you, and that's my priority right now." He skidded again on the dried leaves. "Christ, going down is nearly as tough as going up." He pocketed the map and took her hand again. "Look, Al, if I don't leave another trail, they'll assume we followed the river. This way at least you get a chance to get away."
She worked hard to keep her voice calm and in control. "Yes, but it's me they're after. You're the one who should follow the river."
Harry's feet slipped out beneath him, and he nearly pulled Allie down the mountain with him before he caught himself. "Sorry, that's not an option."
She threw calm and control out the window. How could they possibly be discussing this? "Well, I say it is."
"There's no way I'm going to let you die for me," he told her. "Christ."
"Oh, and what? I'm supposed to just let you die for me? Forget it, Harry. We do it together, or we don't do it at all."
Harry slipped again, and this time they both went down. He held on to Alessandra, trying to protect her from the branches slapping past them and the bruising rocks that littered the forest floor as they skidded down the steep mountainside. He grabbed at a thin tree, but it was dead—it uprooted, spraying them with dirt instead of stopping them.
He caught another tree, a bigger tree, directly in the ribs, and through the haze of pain managed to throw his free arm around it. Jesus, his ribs again. Same rib. Of course. It had just started to feel better. But then he remembered. Allie loved him. The pain was inconsequential.
"You all right?" he asked Allie. Her hair was in his eyes, her arms tight around his neck.
She gasped, he struggled to sit up and…
"Oh, shit."
Another three feet, and they would have gone over the side of a cliff. Harry held on to both the tree and Allie as he looked over the edge.
Sheer rock went down about forty feet to the river that sparkled directly below. It was not some little narrow river you'd only get your feet wet walking across. The thin blue line on the map had been deceptive. It was wide and deep and running much too fast, with white water as far as the eye could see.
It was the kind of river you could drown in. The kind where the water could wash over your head and pull you under…
Allie tugged at his arm. "Come on," she said. "We've got to find another way down."
It was amazing, really. It was crazy, but Harry loved her even more for it. She could look at the river and still have hope. She didn't see it as the end of the line, the end of their options—the way he did.
She didn't see it for what he knew it to be—the end of their lives.
George sat on the sofa, his head in the palms of his hands.
Kim knew she had no choice. She had to tell him. He had to know that what happened to his partner and Alessandra Lamont wasn't entirely his fault. It was mostly her fault.
The irony was incredible. She had been prepared to tell George about Michael Trotta's demands, but she hadn't because she'd believed he still loved Nicole. She'd been jealous—bottom line—and she'd betrayed him.
She sat down next to him, but he didn't look up.
"I have to tell you about something I've done," she said quietly. "It's something I'm ashamed of."
He still didn't look up. It was better that way. It would be hard enough telling him without having to look into his eyes.
"I overheard your conversation with Nicki," she said. "The one where you told her how to find your partner."
He lifted his head
, and she was the one who now gazed down at the floor. "I gave Trotta that information," she told him. "He told me if I didn't tell him everything I overheard, he'd make me wish I was dead. I know I should have gone to you and asked for help, but… I didn't. I was too afraid, and too jealous. I thought you were seeing Nicole again and…"
Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she finally found the nerve to look up at him, hoping to see compassion and understanding in his eyes.
Instead she saw nothing. No emotion, no light, no warmth, no nothing.
"I know," he said. "I knew all along that you were working for Trotta. Why do you think I let you move in here?"
Kim was speechless. He… knew?
George smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. "Surprise, babe. Here, all this time, you thought you were using me, but in fact, I was using you. That phone call you overheard? That was a setup. We were feeding that information to Trotta, through you. I knew you were home, and I knew why you wanted a donut so goddamn badly. You did just what I expected you to do. I hope he paid you well."
He knew…
"Pack your things and get out," George told her flatly. "You better take whatever money you made from Trotta and leave town. Disappear. I should cuff you and bring you in. And if I see you again, I'll do just that." He stood up. "I'm giving you five minutes, and then I'm getting the handcuffs."
She couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that this was happening. "But… I love you. And you love me. I know you love me."
"Yeah," George said, slipping his crutches under his arms and walking out of the room. "Ain't life a bitch?"
"Now what?" Allie asked.
Harry shook his head. He couldn't believe they'd gotten this far.
They'd worked their way down to a narrow ledge about twenty feet above the rushing water, and there was, without a doubt, nowhere left to go.
"We'll have to go back," he told her. "Try a different route."
This hope thing was contagious, and far more pleasant than the alternative, which was lying down and waiting for Ivo and his buddies to put bullets in their brains.
With a little hope, he could pretend that he and Allie actually had a future. A little more hope, and he could see his days and nights filled with her warmth and beauty. And love. God, she loved him. How could he not hope to live happily ever after for longer than the forty minutes he'd originally estimated Ivo would take to catch up with them?
With hope, he could pretend it was just a matter of time before they could return to Hardy. He'd move into Marge's house with Em and Shaun, and he'd let his relationship with Allie grow. They'd take their time, and maybe in a year or so, when Allie was ready, they'd get married.
God, he hoped she'd want to marry him. He hoped he would spend the rest of his life with her at his side.
The truth was, if they did survive, they'd have to leave town. Trotta knew about Hardy, so they'd have to hide again, someplace new. Shaun and Emily would be angry—Marge probably would be, too. It would be harder than ever to regain their trust. And as for Allie… She'd already told him—no question—that she didn't want to marry him.
Still, he could hope.
But then it happened. A gunshot. A bullet plowed into the ledge.
Harry pulled Allie back against the cliff, shielding her from flying bits of rock. A piece hit his leg and it stung. But the sting was nothing compared to the sharp pain he felt as all his hope was deflated.
There was no way out. He'd failed her. They were temporarily shielded by the cliff that jutted out above them, and he had enough ammunition to temporarily hold off anyone climbing down onto their ledge, but it was only a matter of time before Ivo sent a sharpshooter to the mountain on the other side of the river. From there, a man with a high-powered rifle would be able to pick Harry and Allie off like targets in a shooting gallery.
There was no hope. They were dead. Still, he pulled out his gun and fired a warning shot down the narrow path that led to their ledge.
"I guess we can't go back," Allie said, almost matter-of-factly. "So we'll have to go forward."
Forward? There was no forward.
She must've seen the skepticism in his eyes because she kissed him. "We can jump into the river."
"Into that river? No sane human being would jump into that river." He fired again.
"That's the point. They won't follow us. Certainly not by jumping from up where they are."
"We'll drown."
"No, we won't," she countered. "Not necessarily. I'm a good enough swimmer. I'll stay with you."
"No," Harry said. "Nuh-uh, no way."
"At least we'll have a chance. If we stay here, we will be shot." She kissed him again. "I know it scares you, and you're right, we might die. But I'll take might die over will die, any day. At least if we jump, there's hope."
Hope.
At least there was hope.
True, it was completely insane hope. An impossible long-shot hope.
They jump off this cliff into that river, and maybe, just maybe, they'd survive.
As Harry gazed down into Allie's eyes, he could see that crazy hope. And as long as he was going to buy into it, he might as well go big. "Marry me."
She looked at him as if he'd spoken in Chinese.
"I'll jump with you," he told her, "if you'll marry me."
Allie laughed, covering her mouth with one hand, as if they weren't standing at the edge of an impossible situation, as if she truly thought there was a chance of them someday standing in a church and exchanging vows.
Ivo had stopped shooting at them, probably saving his ammunition. Harry knew it was only a matter of time now before he sent one of his men across the river. And then there'd be no way for him to shield Allie, nowhere for them to hide. No hope.
"You really want that?" she asked.
"Yes," he told her, and damned if that hope didn't lodge in his chest and make him feel like it truly were possible.
She nodded. "I'd love to marry you." There were tears in her eyes as she smiled at him.
Harry kissed her hard. They could do this. They could do this. He holstered his gun, and breathing hard, he took her hand.
She smiled.
He nodded.
And together they jumped.
Chapter Twenty-two
Allie wrapped the blanket more tightly around her as she sat in the interview room in the Farthing FBI headquarters and stared at the wanted posters on the walls.
One of the faces looked familiar, but she couldn't remember where she'd seen the man before. He had short dark hair, dark eyes, and cheekbones to die for. Definitely of Hispanic heritage. Was he one of the men she'd seen with Ivo in Hardy?
Lord, that was just what she needed—the guilt and responsibility for bringing public enemy number four into a sleepy little town like Hardy, Colorado.
She shivered. She was cold, she was tired, she was hungry—and the flat eyes of America's Most Wanted gave her the creeps—but as Harry came back into the room and smiled at her, she was happier than she could ever remember being.
He looked about as bad as she felt. Completely bedraggled and half drowned. His clothes were wet and his sneakers squooshed when he walked.
He looked beautiful.
Another man intercepted him, pulling him aside and speaking quietly into his ear. Harry's smile faded.
Allie couldn't hear what Harry said, but she could read his lips. Shit.
Oh, Lord, what now?
"Ivo and his boys got away," Harry told her point-blank as he sat down beside her at the table. "A fuc—Excuse me. A frigging statewide manhunt, and we don't even turn up the car Ivo was driving." He took her hand. "This means it's not over. We don't have Trotta, and he's still after you."
He looked down at their intertwined fingers, and when he looked back up, his dark eyes were serious. "I need to ask you something," he said. "But before I ask you, I want you to know that no matter what your answer is, it doesn't have anything to do with you and me, and it's not going to chan
ge the way I feel about you. I just need you to answer it honestly, okay?"
Allie nodded.
"There's a lot of speculation about why Trotta hasn't given up on whacking you," he said, obviously choosing his words carefully. "We just got word from a New York informant that the price on your head is up to five million."
She couldn't believe it. "Five million? Dollars?"
Harry nodded. "This doesn't read as your everyday, average punishment kind of hit. There's something else happening here, and people are thinking that there must be some kind of personal connection between you and Michael Trotta. Some kind of intimate connection."
"No, Harry," Allie said, understanding what he was asking. "There's not. There wasn't. I didn't have any kind of personal relationship with him. I couldn't. I wouldn't. He was married. I was married."
He squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry I had to ask you that."
"It's a valid question. Why would he spend five million dollars to see me dead?"
Harry shook his head. "Is it possible Griffin had some information that he somehow passed on to you? But no, that wouldn't stand up in court, it'd be hearsay. Was there something you saw or heard, or some documents or tapes Griffin might've had—"
It hit her in a flash, and Allie stood up. "Enrique. Enrique something."
"Who?"
She pointed to the wanted posters, to the face of the Hispanic man. "That's where I've seen him before." Add a pencil-thin mustache, grow his hair to chin length. Yes. Yes, definitely. "In Michael Trotta's office. As I was leaving, he was trying to get away. He was handcuffed and bleeding. I think he'd been shot as well as beaten. His face was…" She shook her head. "He got blood on my blouse and pants. He told me his name was Enrique something. Montone? Montoy?"
Harry crossed to the wall, to the posters that overlapped each other there. "Enrique Montoya?" He took the flyer from the wall and handed it to Allie. "Are you telling me that Enrique Montoya was in Michael Trotta's office while you were there?"
Allie nodded, quickly skimming the printing on the flyer. One-hundred-thousand-dollar reward leading to the arrest and conviction of the person or persons responsible for the death of FBI Agent Enrique Montoya. Montoya disappeared mid-March in Florida and turned up dead several weeks later in New York. Autopsy reports place his date of death on…
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