by Amie Stuart
The cabin was empty. I lunged upright and dashed outside. More gunfire filled the velvety dark night as Will grabbed me, yanking me behind the porch.
“I need to see where it’s coming from.” It needed no explanation, and stay here didn’t have to be said.
I would have stayed put, too, if Scamp hadn’t followed Will.
“Scamp,” I hissed into the gloom, struggling to adjust my eyes. All I could do was track the jingle of his collar. “Scamp,” I called, louder, repeatedly, but he was gone. I slipped off the porch and cut through the trees after him. After nearly twisting my ankle as I stepped into a slightly washed out area, I grabbed onto a tree and caught my breath. Fear that someone might shoot Scamp in their quest to kill Will kept my feet moving.
When I broke through the trees, I skidded to a halt, using Will’s back as a wall to stop myself.
I sagged against him, almost giddy with relief as a group of men took turns aiming at a row of beer cans—not all of them empty—and laughingly fired an assortment of firearms. “Well I guess that answers that,” I muttered.
“What are you doing here?” Will didn’t bother turning around, just tossed the words over his shoulder.
“I was worried about you.” We both knew that was a lie, but he didn’t bother correcting me. He didn’t need anyone worrying about him.
The yard was lit by a bonfire, and filled with men and women, most of them dressed casually. From the lake, came the distinct sound of a woman’s screams, splashes and laughter. How we missed their arrival, I didn't know.
“Go back.” Will turned and none-too-gently shoved me toward the trees when a woman’s voice stopped us.
“Y’all friends of Lisa and Kevin’s?”
Will shoved me toward the trees again. “No.”
“Stayin’ ‘round here?”
“Yeah—”
“We heard the shots,” I added, maneuvering around Will to check her out. She was young, fit and tanned with a perky smile on her expressive face. Her hair was caught up in a ponytail; she wore cutoffs, flip-flops and a bikini top, and she sure didn’t look old enough to be holding that beer in her hand. But hey, I hung out with a professional hitman. Who was I to say?
“That was just some of the guys having fun.”
Will nodded, though I wasn’t sure he was totally convinced, and draped a protective arm around my waist. “We need to get going.”
“Y’all on your honeymoon or something?” She gave us a conspiratorial smile. Her left hand was bare, but I’d bet beers to bullets she was well-versed in what happened on a honeymoon.
“Yes.” He dragged me backward a few steps on feet numb from shock.
Married? No way in hell would a person with half a brain believe we were married. He was...he was...and I was...I looked up at him, trying to read his expression in the dimly lit yard. He refused to look at me.
“But we’re really sick of each other’s company. You know how it is.” I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Beside me, he grew quiet and, if possible, stiffer. What the hell did he expect?
If there was one thing I’d learned from my days on the road...if we stayed, socialized and drank a beer, they’d forget about us by morning. If we ran off, they’d probably be talking about us for days. “We could use a break.”
“Well, come on over and get a beer.” She grabbed my hand, dragging me from Will’s embrace. “I’m Katie.”
Will cleared his throat. I turned and rolled my eyes at him. How dumb do I look? “I’m Deanna.”
Kate got us both beers, and then introduced Will to a few of the guys before dragging me off to chairs strategically placed near the stairs. They led up to a deck that seemed to circle the entire doublewide trailer. An assortment of women, all around Katie’s age, sat or stood around talking and drinking beer.
I had to give credit where it was due. Will knew how to blend in. He talked and laughed, sipped his beer and occasionally threw me a smoldering look that had Katie nudging me and laughing as well.
“You’re gonna get it when you get home, girl.”
She had no idea. Will was probably going to beat me. Or at the least, think about it.
A couple of the other women laughed. I had to admit that, from here, I guess Will did look like any other guy. Except older. Today he’d dressed in faded jeans and a T-shirt (that was now a sadly wilted shadow of its former sharply creased self) and battered Nikes, and his hair was still mussed from his earlier nap. Even the way he laughed at something one of the other men said seemed normal. I fell, right then and there, I fell into a fantasy where Will and I really were on our honeymoon, married, normal.
And not hunted.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Will hated being out in the open, hated the noise, hated the rowdy crowd that prevented him from keeping an eye on things. He hated feeling so vulnerable. But it was a relief not to be alone with Sabrina anymore.
She also made him feel vulnerable but in a different way. Her accusatory glances had been replaced with curious ones. He’d never in all his thirty-something years had anyone ask the questions she’d asked. People either didn’t know what he did or accepted his job at face value, and respected his profession enough to leave it alone. His reputation usually spoke for itself—but then, she didn’t know that. She kept staring at him, the questions she kept asking...hell, the questions he’d asked her. He had no business digging into her past. Just like he had no business reading her journals.
Will raised his beer bottle to Sabrina.
“So what brings you to Hawthorne Lake?” The question pulled Will’s attention back to his present company.
“Honeymoon.”
“You could have picked someplace nicer,” another guy said with a laugh.
“But not as cheap,” a third guy said, and a couple of them snickered.
Will hadn’t bothered memorizing names, though he probably should have. He’d scanned all the faces, though, and they all seemed like locals. No outsiders—except for him and Sabrina. He glanced her way again, convinced he needed to keep an eye on her.
He wondered what in the hell Sabrina was telling those women. They laughed and clinked beer bottles. Not that he didn’t trust her to be discreet, but what if they told conflicting stories? Luckily guys didn’t usually care how you met a woman—just that she was good in bed. He listened with half an ear as they discussed their plans for water skiing and more beer drinking tomorrow.
“You ski, Roy?”
“Used to...when I was younger.” He smiled serenely, thinking he had at least ten years on every guy here, and turned his attention back to Sabrina. What in the hell was she saying that had them laughing so hard?
And she was the loudest of them all. Not that it was a bad sound, but she was practically doubled over. It was almost embarrassing...and sort of cute.
She wiped at her eyes and gave him a little finger wave.
She stood out from the crowd, like she probably always did, in her wild skirt, her crazy hair, and dozens of bracelets. The snug white shirt she wore hugged her breasts as they jiggled with more laughter.
She glanced at him again and held his gaze, almost shyly before she turned away, sipping at her beer. He swallowed, hard, and glanced down when something jangled near his feet. Scamp.
“Your dog?” one guy asked. He was young and buff, and had spent a lot of time flexing his muscles for the women on the porch to admire. And drinking a lot of beer. He looked like he thought he owned the world. Will had news for him. He didn’t. Five minutes in the bushes and Will could prove it to him. Old man or no. And besides, by the time he was Will’s age, he’d probably be fat and sloppy from all that beer.
“He’s hers.”
Scamp glanced over at Sabrina then settled at Will’s feet, scratching behind his ear. Will sighed and shrugged at the younger man, and all of them laughed.
“Better than a cat.”
“Remember when Angie’s cat pissed on your best shirt?”
Then they were off a
gain, reminiscing about shit Will didn’t give a damn about. He scanned the trees, wondering how long they had, how long they’d be safe before they’d need to run again. They should probably leave soon but he wasn’t ready. Something was keeping him here. He glanced down at the dog at his feet.
Sabrina was keeping him here. Her presence here, with him, kept him from doing his own investigating—and hunting. If he wasn’t careful, his concern for her would get them both killed.
Mr. Young and Buff wandered up to the porch.
He grabbed another beer from the cooler and said something to the women. A few laughed, but Katie said something Will couldn’t quite catch. Whatever it was, the youngster didn’t like it.
Judging from the frown and the stiff set of her shoulders, Sabrina didn’t like what was going on either.
Will got no more than a step away when a voice stopped him. “I wouldn’t.”
It was Dewey or Dennie or something.
“Why not?”
“Katie and Tweeter always get into it.”
“You could almost set your watch by it,” someone else quipped, and they all laughed.
Up on the porch Sabrina set her beer down. Her shoulders were stiff. She scowled, said something to Tweeter and flipped her hair over her shoulder.
Tweeter responded, and placed his foot on the bottom step. Unwilling to wait and see how it all played out, Will moved. Katie pushed past Sabrina and positioned herself between them. Her body language didn’t speak, it screamed.
Hands on her hips, Katie proceeded to chew Tweeter out. “...the hell you think you are, but you don’t own me. Matter of fact, last time I checked you were screwing around with Tammie Lee. Stupid motherfucker.”
Will couldn’t see the younger man’s face, but didn’t need to. Tweeter’s stiff neck, clenched hands and bunched shoulder muscles said plenty. While the expression on Sabrina’s face was a cross between anger and fear—two emotions that could make people do crazy-strange things. Especially someone with Sabrina’s history. Will moved closer, ready to pull her out of whatever mess she was about to get herself into, but he wasn’t fast enough.
Tweeter yanked Katie down the last few steps. She lost her balance, and flew to the ground landing on her knees as Sabrina quickly followed, positioning herself between the couple.
Around them, no one else seemed disturbed by the fight. A few women had even backed away, possibly for a quieter place to continue their conversation. As far as Will knew, the guys were still behind him, semi-hidden by the shadows, still making their plans for tomorrow and watching the goings-on. You might be able to set your watch by Katie and Tweeter, but Sabrina didn’t know that.
“Don’t you dare touch her again.” Sabrina was right in the younger man’s face, her hands propped on her hips, her own face contorted with emotions Will never thought he’d see from her. Besides the fear and anger there was...something dark and personal. She’d always struck him as so mellow and even-tempered. Even the anger she’d directed at him had been very matter-of-fact. But this... this was something different, something powerful that Will couldn’t quite wrap his brain around.
“Deanna.”
She ignored him while Katie struggled to her feet. Up on the porch, a few women chuckled, more turned away, someone grabbed a fresh beer from the cooler and tossed the cap in the garbage as if what was happening around them was commonplace.
“It’s okay,” the younger girl said, brushing herself off.
“No, it’s not.”
“Deanna,” Will said again. He grabbed Sabrina by the upper arm. “Sweetheart. Lets go.”
“You go,” she ground out, her voice thick and shaky with emotion.
“We’re going.” He kept his voice low and easy as he pulled at her arm, but she didn’t budge. “Now.”
“You’re a pig. You make me sick. There’s a special place in hell for pigs like you.” Her voice rose with every sentence until finally the people around them seemed to realize that something interesting was going on. Spit landed on the younger man’s shirt.
“It’s okay. Really.” The girl patted Sabrina’s back and nudged her toward Will with a nod. “We do this all the time.”
He had a feeling that sentiment wouldn’t give Sabrina any comfort. He yanked harder this time, willing to incur her wrath if it would get her moving. Scamp whined, and then barked and finally, Sabrina moved. Albeit slowly. She never took her eyes off Tweeter as Will led her into the trees.
“I should have killed him,” she muttered under her breath as the lights from the party faded. It was just them making their way in the dark. A couple hundred yards and they’d be back at the cabin.
He knew how she felt about killing, so her words surprised him. He chastised her anyway. “You should have stayed out of it.”
“Stayed out?!” She spun around to face him, her expression unreadable in the shadows but her anger loud and clear.
The woods around them fell silent, and from the party came the sound of Stevie Ray Vaughn and laughter.
“We can’t get involved, Sabrina.”
“You get involved all the time.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, goddamnit, I don’t. Why don’t you explain it to me?” Her voice broke as she huffed, struggling against tears Will sensed but couldn’t see.
He swung her around, grabbed her free arm and pulled her close, speaking softly in case anyone had followed them. “We can’t afford to be remembered, Sabrina. I may get involved, but people don’t remember me. People are going to remember you because you stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong.”
“He was going—”
“I don’t care.” He leaned in closer until he could smell the beer on her breath and the warm saltiness of her tears, and finally understood why she was so upset. This had something to do with her mother’s death. He gently squeezed her shoulders, silently willing her to relax, to understand. “All I care about is keeping you alive. And I can’t do that if people remember you. Us.” He loosened his grip ever so slightly, silently praying she’d understand the possible ramifications of her actions tonight.
“I’m...sorry.” She sniffed and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, then blew out a damp breath. She finally looked at him. “I—”
Will wasn’t listening, though. He was too busy focusing on her lips, on the warmth of her skin under his fingertips, on the tiny cocoon they seemed to have created out here in the middle of nowhere. He couldn’t take his eyes from her mouth.
The need to kiss her twisted his gut, hardened his cock, hypnotized him. Seduced him with a quickness he couldn’t fight as he leaned down and pressed his own mouth to the lush, damp fullness of hers. He slid his hands up to cup her face only to find himself momentarily distracted by the softness of the curls winding around his fingers, caressed his hands, tempting him, tantalizing him with images of Sabrina wearing nothing but her hair.
Finally, his hands connected with the downy soft skin of her face and she opened her mouth under his. Her body was pressed against the length of him, her tongue darted out to join his with an electrical jolt that had him pushing her away. He couldn’t do this.
He leaned against a tree, staring at her. Sabrina was off limits. Sabrina was very off limits. Never mind his abominable track record with women—sleeping with Sabrina was the lousiest idea he’d ever had.
Unfortunately, it’d be hours before his dick got the memo.
* * *
Today is the absolute best day of my life!
Will checked the date at the top of the entry. It read June 25. The year was blurred but he figured it couldn’t have been that many years ago.
Sabrina currently lay snoring softly in the bed while he sat in the van reading yet another journal with the help of a flashlight.
We’re in Reno and we’re getting married. I’ve never felt as close to anyone as I do Ronnie. But I’m scared. What if I end up like my mom? Ronnie says I’m nothing like her. That we won’t be like them.
He loves me too much. He says we can have kids, and as many dogs and cats as I want. He says we’ll live in Denver with his mom until he gets out of the Army. I haven’t met her, but he says she’ll love me. Sometimes I pinch myself. I’ve never felt so safe.
As much as he didn’t want to keep reading, Will couldn’t resist. It was like rubbernecking a car wreck—he couldn’t turn away despite the sick anxious twist of his stomach.
What was it that had driven Sabrina away from someone who’d loved her so much, who’d pledged to take care of her, adore her, cherish her? Someone who had obviously made her happy.
He turned pages, skimming through days and weeks of entries about Sabrina’s blissful happiness with Ronnie and his mom, who sounded as if she was June Cleaver’s clone. Or at least Carol Brady minus the six kids since apparently, Ronnie Hoffman was an only child and his momma’s pride and joy.
By the time Will reached the end of the journal, he was still wondering what had happened to Ronnie—and more importantly, his marriage to Sabrina. But the last few pages were blank. The few entries before that were filled with blissful, happy, inane chatter about getting ready for Ronnie to come home on leave from the military and the big family Thanksgiving they were planning.
He stared at the book in his hand, running his fingers down the blank page as if he could magically fill them, as if he could uncover some hidden code to make the words appear. But of course, nothing appeared. And whatever had happened to Ronnie had pushed Sabrina out on the road again.
Maybe he’d died.
That had to be it. He’d died and left Sabrina alone, and his mother, maybe she’d really hated Sabrina. Pretended to like her for Ronnie’s sake. Once Ronnie was dead—What in the name of all that was fucking holy was he doing?