Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1)

by Cynthia Justlin

  They’d hiked away most of the day. And the damn room was empty.

  Grace turned circles in the middle of the room, pressing a fist to her mouth.

  “We must have the wrong room.” Desperation clogged her voice. Her eyes widened, fear and hope mingling in their cloudy green depths. “The owner said cabin three, right?” she asked. “This—this must not be the right cabin.”

  She rushed past him.

  “No, Grace.” He turned to grab her arm but she shook him off and ran onto the tiny porch.

  She traced the number beside the door.

  “Room three.” She blinked. “Room three.” Her face crumbled, tears spiking her bottom lashes. “But the owner said...”

  He fisted his hands at his side, itching to...do something. Smash the flimsy knotty pine wall. Shout in frustration. Comfort her.

  No way, not comfort her. What did he know about comfort?

  He took a quick inventory of the room’s offerings. A pair of bunk beds along one wall with a small dresser and what looked like a closet on opposite ends, a miniature kitchenette behind him, and a door off to his far right that had to lead to a bathroom.

  “He said Mark had paid for the week. Not that they were still here.”

  “No.” She straightened, her eyes lit with desperate fire. “He has to be here.”

  She dashed to the bathroom where she flung open the flimsy door. Her jaw worked and she shook her head until her eyes homed in on the bunk. She ran to it and tore off the ugly mustard blanket covering the bottom bed. Next, the crisp white sheets hit the floor. She gripped the mattress and flipped it, revealing the springs underneath.

  She cried out and raced to the dresser where she yanked on the doors and sent them crashing to the scarred wooden floor, one by one.

  His heart twisted. What was she doing to herself? She knew Ryker couldn’t be in the there. Damn it, the woman was going to have a breakdown if she didn’t—

  “Stop.”

  Her head jerked toward him at the sound of his rough command. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “Grace...” He held out his hands in a foolish, woefully inept attempt to console her. How could he do so effectively when he’d never been the recipient of such an act?

  She spun away from him and stumbled to the closet. Her fingers curled around the handle, she froze and drew a shuddering breath.

  Oh, hell, she wasn’t just looking for her son. She was looking for his body.

  “Grace, let me—”

  She shook her head and before he could reach her, yanked the door open. A cry strangled past her lips.

  He leapt the remaining distance and pushed her aside. Not the kid. God, not the kid.

  He dragged his gaze to the bottom of the closet.

  On the floor sat a bright red backpack, a whale key fob threaded through the zipper. Grace reached for it, her movements mechanical and stiff. She crushed the pack to her chest, her fingers digging into the coarse canvas. “Ryker’s.”

  He looked away, unable to bear the sheer heartbreak on her face. He’d told her not to get her hopes up. Told her despite the odds, they may not find Ryker today.

  But she’d been so certain, so damned determined. They’d wasted the day, coming up tired and empty-handed. Back at square one.

  And Grace...

  His eyes drifted to her, his stomach clenched, unwanted protectiveness welling inside him. He tried to force the tightness aside, but it grew and grew, forming a lump in his throat.

  She buried her face in the front of the backpack, sobs wracking her body.

  He touched her arm, running his thumb along it in an effort to soothe her shaking. “I’m sorry, Grace.”

  “I was so sure...” She lifted her head, green eyes drenched with bewilderment locking on him. “Where could he be?”

  Her knees buckled. He caught her around the shoulders and cushioned her drop to the floor.

  His chin brushed the top of her head. “We’ll find him.”

  The fervency in his voice surprised him. Even more so, the conviction that sprung in his heart.

  “We’ll get him back.” He gathered her in his arms. “Safe and sound.”

  She clutched the front of his shirt, burying her face at his shoulder. Hot tears leaked through the fabric. He stroked her back, feeling the bulk of the backpack crushed between them shift with his movements.

  He rocked her side to side, remembering as a kid the way he’d once seen his neighbors locked in such an embrace after a devastating loss. Soothing. Consoling.

  And yet, so foreign. Awkward.

  She looked up into his face, her eyes a mask of confusion and need. He needed too. Needed to touch her.

  His fingers skimmed her jaw, brushing away the wetness he found there. He traced her cheekbones, her smooth skin gliding beneath the roughness of his own.

  “Keith...”

  She’d never once complained. Not about the heat. Not about the steep trail. She’d even put up with his deliberate silent treatment. Never giving up, never losing faith, she was infuriating and tough. He respected that. Admired her determination and desired...

  What?

  Her.

  His head snapped back. Damn.

  The thought dislodged from his brain and he couldn’t get rid of it. Blood roared through his veins. He wanted to taste her.

  Her lips parted, her cheeks flushed. “I don’t think...” Her voice wavered to a stop.

  He couldn’t kiss her. It was wrong. Inappropriate.

  But he needed to do it.

  He cupped her chin, tilting her face. “Don’t wimp out on me now.”

  He slid his hand across her jaw to cradle the back of her head and crushed his lips to hers. She tasted of sadness and salty tears, two things that pricked his conscience, but her soft, warm lips pushed him over the edge and made him forget all about his rigid principles. He deepened the kiss. With a flick of his tongue he coaxed her lips to part.

  She should stop him. Slap him. Do something to stop this madness. He’d do it himself...in a moment.

  Her tongue touched his, lighting a fire deep inside him. He pushed his hands through her hair, the silky strands sifting through his fingers as he angled her head back, devouring her mouth, exploring it with his tongue.

  What the hell was he doing?

  The thought ripped through him, his sense of right and wrong beating him over the head. He’d crossed the line. Comfort was one thing. Taking advantage of her distress an entirely different—and loathsome—matter. He nipped her bottom lip, allowing himself one last taste before pushing her away.

  Their ragged breaths mingled in the silence.

  She bent her head, hiding an intriguing glimpse of desire mixed with guilt and heartsickness. “Don’t do that again.” Her ragged voice was tempered with a confusing mix of steel, but it didn’t keep him from wanting to kiss her again…and again and again.

  No. He couldn’t let himself slip that way ever again. He had a job to do. His name, his career was on the line. What in the hell was he doing kissing Grace and forgetting, for even one moment, what he was here to do?

  “You looked like you needed it.” He knew he should apologize, but couldn’t summon the regret. She’d needed the solace, maybe not in the way he’d given it, but that’s the only kind he knew how to give.

  “I don’t need anything from you. Except to find Ryker.”

  “Fine by me.” Ryker’s backpack lay on the floor between them where it had fallen when they’d—yeah, he didn’t need a reminder of what they’d just done, lest he become tempted to do it again. He tipped his head to the pack. “Look inside it.”

  Grace reached out a shaky hand and scooped the backpack off the floor. The zipper groaned in the tense silence. He held his breath, hoping the odds were stacked in their favor and they’d luck out with a clue.

  She sighed, staring into the large compartment. “Wildlife magazines. God, Ryker loves those. A flashlight.” She shoo
k her head. “Nothing.”

  He exhaled. “Try the front.”

  She yanked the next zipper open and stuck her hand inside the smaller pouch. Her eyes shot to his. She withdrew a thin object and held it up. A credit card? He squinted. No, not a credit card.

  A cardkey.

  Tense excitement raced through him. They had a lead.

  “Recognize it?”

  She palmed the thin strip of plastic. “No.”

  “Any idea what it goes to?”

  “Never seen it before.”

  “It’s not Ryker’s?”

  “No. He doesn’t need a key for anything.”

  He shoved a hand through his hair. “Damn.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Whatever that key is for, it has to be important. Its gotta be Mark’s.”

  Finally, a solid lead. The key wasn’t the right type for a lockbox or a padlock. Not to mention the fact that it was too high tech to belong to something ordinary like a safety deposit box. Which meant it had to belong to an office or some other facility where Mark kept important files. Like research. Evidence.

  He leapt to his feet. “So we find what the key fits.”

  He snagged his backpack off the floor and strode to the door.

  “Wait.”

  He stopped, impatience sparking to life, and turned back to where Grace still kneeled on the floor.

  She rose to her feet.

  “What about Ryker?” The key rested on her palm. He reached for it, but she snatched it back. “If we go on a wild goose chase over this key, my son may never be found.”

  He clenched his jaw. “The key may tell us where Ryker is.”

  She bristled, crossing her arms across her chest. “Or it might not. It may turn out to be nothing more than a hotel key Mark forget to return on his last business trip.”

  “Do you have any other bright ideas, then? If you do, speak up. I’m all ears.”

  Her hands fell to her sides, shoulders drooping. “No.”

  Hell. She’d already had her hopes crushed once today. He couldn’t blame her for worrying the key’s trail would turn out the same.

  He forced himself to soften his next words. “This is the best plan.”

  “Fine.” She stiffened her spine. “But I keep the key.” She shoved it deep inside her jeans pocket.

  “Fine. I wouldn’t have suggested otherwise.”

  She snorted. “Like you don’t have your own stake in this.”

  He stalked through the open cabin door. “I never said differently.”

  Her footsteps scuffed the rough red earth several paces behind him. “No, you didn’t. Which is why I can’t trust you not to run off to follow your own agenda.”

  He spun on his heel and stepped nose to nose with her. She couldn’t trust him? The very thought boiled his blood.

  “If following my own agenda would’ve been my main goal, I wouldn’t have waited for you at The Cheshire in the first place. I’d have escaped rehab and been gone. Didn’t I say we were in this together? You help me, I help you.”

  She crossed her arms. “And who gets to go first?”

  He glared at her, bitterness clawing at his throat. Just when he thought he’d found the only trustworthy woman on the planet...

  “I gave you my word. We’ll find Ryker.”

  She blinked her big, worried eyes at him. “You’re right. I’m...sorry.” Her fingers touched the back of his hand in a fleeting caress, sending an electrical tingle up his arm.

  An unfamiliar sensation dropped in the pit of his stomach: lust mixed with tenderness and a good dose of wary caution thrown in for good measure.

  “Yeah. Okay. Let’s move out.”

  He lifted his eyes to the sky and choked back a curse. The sun burned low. Too low. It had already started its dip back down to earth. They’d never make it to the top before dark.

  Which meant another night spent in close proximity with Grace, another night keeping his thoughts—and hands—away from her.

  “We’re not going anywhere tonight, are we?” Grace’s voice was little more than a tremulous whisper, but he caught the hint of dread as it echoed across the vast desert.

  It matched his own.

  Chapter Six

  The low-wattage light inside the cabin added intimacy to the already tense atmosphere. Grace couldn’t stand it. After returning to the office to pay for the night’s stay, she’d eaten dinner with Keith in strained silence at the dining hall, then they’d returned to the cabin to pace, to breathe the same thick, musty air, and dance around any sort of meaningful conversation.

  She stopped short of the bed, the muscles in her neck fisting into a tight knot. Keith passed on her right and stopped at the miniature kitchenette where he poured water from the tap into a tall glass. She couldn’t look away as he touched it to his lips, tipped his head, and downed the contents in three long swallows. Those firm lips had been on hers just hours ago. They’d teased, and caressed, and comforted. She’d hated every minute of it, even as she’d eaten it up, her body had screamed for more.

  He lowered the glass a fraction and his eyes clashed with hers over the rim. It was foolish to stare into them. Even more foolish to read beyond the cynicism that stayed on the surface. But, oh, Lord, when he looked at her like she was that glass of water he’d just greedily consumed, she wanted to be back in his arms, his lips on hers, his hands caressing her skin.

  He set the glass on the counter. The clink on Formica was unable to drown out the blood thundering in her ears as he took two purposeful steps in her direction.

  The rushing in her ears clashed to a crescendo and she stopped breathing altogether.

  Ryker.

  The single thought lanced through her heart and brought the rapid flutter to an abrupt halt. She covered her mouth with her hand and cried out, whirling away from Keith and coming up short at the foot of the bed.

  The bright red fabric of Ryker’s backpack seemed to bleed across the mustard yellow blanket.

  Grace snatched the pack from the bed and made a beeline for the door, Ryker’s belongings spilling across the floor from the open zippered compartment.

  It didn’t matter and she certainly wasn’t about to stop to pick them up. She needed to get out of here. Now. Needed to regain her focus and her sanity, because she must have well and truly lost it if she had that much difficulty keeping her hands off Keith.

  She pushed at the screen door with the palm of her hand, finding satisfaction in the squeak and slam that followed. Moonlight guided her down the trail to the edge of the creek that flowed into the Colorado River. She sat on one of the large boulders and hugged Ryker’s backpack to her chest.

  Oh, baby, what have I done?

  How could she have forgotten, even for one moment, about Ryker? Her throat tightened and she buried her face in her hands.

  She was despicable.

  She’d given into desire, taken comfort from the strength of Keith’s arms and the gentleness of his mouth. And worse, she wanted to do it a second time.

  And for what? What did it get her?

  She couldn’t feel this...this strange drowning sensation every time she looked at Keith. She didn’t like him. How could she want him when she didn’t trust him? Worse, how could she desire him when her son was somewhere in danger? Hurt, sick, with Mark, without Mark—she didn’t know and it was killing her.

  She curled her fingers into fists and gulped in the crisp night air, letting it fill her lungs.

  She wouldn’t fail Ryker. Not by giving up, not by losing hope, and certainly not by letting Keith’s kiss get under her skin. As far as she was concerned, it never happened. She had to turn that lie into reality.

  Tomorrow morning they’d trek back up the canyon. Tonight her focus needed to be on their direction once they reached the top. The cardkey had to be important for Mark to plant it in Ryker’s backpack.

  She tugged the rectangular piece of plastic out of her pocket and angled it to the sliver of moonl
ight that peeked above the canyon wall. The key could fit anywhere and looked like dozens of others she’d seen before. White, with bright blue shapes on the front, and the dark magnetic strip running the length of the back.

  She sighed. How many places used cardkeys in Arizona? In the world? Tears stung her eyes. Ryker couldn’t afford to have them rush out on a wild goose chase over this key.

  There had to be a better way.

  She flipped the key over and ran her thumb along the magnetic strip. The moonlight reflected against the strip and revealed a set of block letters in a silvery rainbow hologram.

  She held her breath and squinted.

  SecureStor.

  A storage unit? Like there weren’t thousands and thousands of those around. Still, it was a lead. She had to tell Keith. Maybe the name would mean something to him.

  Grace snatched the backpack off the ground where it had fallen earlier, whirled around and ran up the path, urgency, excitement, coursing through her veins. The cardkey slipped from her fingers and she bent to pick it off the dusty path. Her fingers grazed plastic, she scooped it up and started to straighten when a beam of blue light cut through the brush. Her skin prickled, goose bumps rising on her arms.

  Someone had followed them.

  Instinct had her throwing herself to the ground. She sucked in a breath and held it. With her face pressed to the earth, small pebbles poked at her cheek. A beam cut a swath through the darkness and swept across the night above her.

  Her heart pounded. Perspiration trickled down her wrist and loosened her grip on the key. She waited, chewing on her lower lip as dread pitted in her stomach with each passing second. The beam passed over her and dimmed in the distance. She pushed herself to her knees and chided her foolishness. It had probably just been some late night hiker.

  She shook her head and got to her feet, making the rest of the short trek to the cabin.

  At the front door, she collided with Keith. He grabbed her upper arms and steered her away from the front door.

  “I need to tell you—”

  “We have to get out of here.” His voice cut through her words, insistent and urgent.

  Her gaze flew to Keith’s tense face. His hard jaw, alert eyes, and brusque no nonsense stance shot her heart back to warp speed.