PhD Protector

by Cindi Myers

  He slipped through the narrow line of trees and shrubs between the road and their trail with the stealth of a cat burglar. She followed, trying to place her steps where he had placed his, trusting that his instincts were better than hers when it came to moving through the wilderness. She collided with his back when he stopped suddenly, frozen like a deer in the headlights. “What is it?” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”

  “This is where we fell before,” he said. “The whole ledge collapsed, remember? There’s no way to cross.”

  The feeling of falling was fresh enough to make her heart pound. She turned away. “Then we have to go back,” she said. Not waiting for him to answer, she moved forward, her steps more sure now, covering familiar territory. Whoever had been shooting at them up on the ridge had held his fire for several minutes now. She prayed he wasn’t training a pair of binoculars—or a rifle scope—on them right this minute, preparing to fire the bullet that would end this whole crazy game Duane had forced them to play.

  Mark caught up with her. “Let me go first,” he said.

  “No, I’ve got this.” She walked faster. Relying on Mark to always take the lead had been a mistake. She had to force herself past this paralyzing fear.

  The first shots exploded above and behind them. Erin couldn’t hold back her scream, and terror propelled her forward. She ran blindly, branches lashing her face and arms, feet slipping on loose rock. She didn’t know if Mark followed, or even if their unseen pursuers fired more shots. Fear made her blind and deaf to anything but her own pounding heart and her need to get away.

  She had no idea how long she had been running when she tripped and landed hard on her knees, rocks tearing her jeans and bloodying her hands. Sobbing, she slumped in the dirt, braced for the bullets she was sure would come.

  Instead, strong arms embraced her, then lifted her and carried her deeper into the undergrowth. “Shh. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” He repeated the words over and over, a soothing mantra that eventually slowed her heart and beat back the wave of terror that had crowded out reason. When she was finally able to open her eyes and lift her head from his shoulder, she stared into eyes dark with concern. “What happened?” she asked.

  “You panicked. It could have happened to anyone.”

  She sniffed. “I know I panicked. I mean, what happened to the man who was shooting at us?”

  Mark shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe you outran his field of vision. Or he was too far away to clearly see what was happening. Or your guardian angel is working overtime.”

  “I’m sorry.” She tried to pull away, but he held her gently but firmly to him. “My stupidity could have killed us both.”

  “You weren’t stupid,” he said. “You were scared. I know the difference.”

  “I don’t know what came over me.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “You should have run while you had the chance.”

  “I’m not going to leave you.” He shook her gently. “I know a little bit about post-traumatic stress,” he said. “I think that’s what you’re suffering from.”

  “What are you talking about? I never fought in a war.”

  “But you did. You’ve been at war for years with Duane and your own conscience. That’s bound to take a toll.”

  She rested her forehead against Mark’s and closed her eyes once more. “I’m just so tired of being afraid all the time.”

  “I understand. I really do.”

  She believed he did. He had endured his own hell of wondering and waiting for the other shoe to drop, not knowing when Duane would tire of his games and decide to kill him, or his daughter. Of all the people in this world, Mark knew a little of what she had been through. For whatever reason, his newfound freedom had given him courage, while hers had allowed all the feelings she had been avoiding for too long to overwhelm her. But knowing he understood gave her strength, too.

  “Maybe the worst is over,” she said.

  “Even if it’s not, we’ll get through this,” he said. “Together.”

  As her shaking subsided and the panic receded, a new wave of unsettling sensations stole over her. Heat from his body warmed her. The brush of his muscular arm sent a tremor through her. The desire to be away from this place and this situation faded, replaced by a different longing that was just as fierce—to be even closer to him. His arms tightened around her and she met his gaze once more. Her heart felt too big for her chest as she recognized the same wanting in his eyes.

  His gaze shifted to her mouth, and she lifted her chin, angling toward him. If he didn’t kiss her right now she wouldn’t be able to stand it. She slid one hand up to cup the back of his head, threading her fingers into his thick dark hair and urging him toward her.

  He let out a sound that was half sigh, half groan, and covered her lips with his. The last bit of frost melted from her bones as he skillfully teased her mouth, the silk of his tongue and the roughness of his beard setting every nerve ending humming. She trailed her hand along his jaw, reveling in the masculine feel of his unshaved face. How had she ever mistaken him for a passive, even weak, academic? The man in the lab coat had merely been a disguise for his true role of rugged outdoorsman.

  They broke apart at last, both panting and dazed. “Lousy timing for this,” he said, his voice rough. He glanced at the woods around them and the reality of the situation crashed over her once more. She moved out of his embrace and wrapped her arms around herself, though his warmth still enveloped her. “Yeah. Lousy timing.” Running from killers wasn’t the best time to give in to her attraction to this man. How much of her feelings were due to fear, and how much were genuine?

  “You look cold,” he said. “Why don’t we build another fire and try to get warm?”

  “The smoke could attract the wrong kind of attention,” she said.

  “We won’t stay long,” he said. “Just long enough to thaw the worst of the chill.” He flexed his fingers. “I can’t feel my hands anymore.”

  The prospect of warmth won out over her fear of discovery. “All right. A fire would be good.”

  He patted her shoulder. “You find some kindling and I’ll get some bigger wood.”

  Keeping Mark within sight, she searched the ground for the dried twigs and pinecones they had used to build their fire earlier. Beneath the overhang of a leaning juniper she spotted a pile of shredded bark—perhaps a nest made by some kind of animal. In any case, the dry material would be the perfect fire starter.

  She ducked under the branches and began to gather up the bark, folding up the hem of her shirt to form a carrying pouch. Nearby she could hear Mark walking around, getting the other fire materials ready. “I’ve found some great stuff here,” she said. “We can get the fire going quick.”

  “There’s not going to be any fire,” said a deep voice behind her, and a beefy hand closed over her arm.

  Chapter Eight

  A woman’s scream rose above the staccato report of gunfire, freezing Mark in his tracks. He dropped the armful of wood he had gathered and looked over his shoulder in the direction of the sound. Erin struggled with Cantrell beneath the branches of a leaning juniper, looking small and fragile in the big man’s grasp. Mark turned to go to her, but bullets thudded into the trunk of a pine tree inches from his face, splinters and the sharp scent of pitch filling the air. He jolted forward, animal instinct driving him to flee as more gunfire erupted around him, so close he heard the whistle of bullets past his ears.

  He ran until his lungs burned and pain stabbed his side. The gunfire had long since ceased, but he still imagined someone pursuing him. Ducking behind a many-branched juniper, he bent at the waist, hands on his knees, fighting for breath. His ragged breathing competed with the sigh of wind in the branches overhead as the only sounds in this part of the woods. If anyone still pursued him, they did so stealthily.


  The memory of Erin struggling with Cantrell taunted him. Why hadn’t he stayed and fought for her? He still had the rifle. If he had stopped and studied the situation more closely he might have found a way to help her, instead of fleeing like a coward.

  Maybe a trained soldier wouldn’t have run from someone firing at them, but he was only a scientist. The thought did nothing to assuage his guilt. Now that he was safe, he knew he had to go back. He wouldn’t leave Erin alone to suffer whatever punishment those thugs dealt out.

  Cantrell and the others wouldn’t expect him to return. They thought of him as weak and passive. He had done exactly what they had expected of him: he had run away. They would believe themselves safe now, since he posed no threat.

  He hefted the rifle and checked that there was a bullet in the chamber, ready to fire. He wished he had an extra magazine. The one he had was oversize, capable of holding thirty bullets, only two of which were missing. In a firefight he wouldn’t last long, but if he had to fire off only a couple of rounds...

  He didn’t have to ask himself if he could kill another human being. To protect Erin, he would do what he had to. After all, Cantrell and the other guards wouldn’t think twice about killing him. They had told him so many times.

  He moved east, toward where he believed the road must be. After fifteen minutes of bushwhacking through thick undergrowth he reached the narrow track, where dirt and rocks showed through the snow. Then he headed back the way he had run. Cantrell and his companion must have parked on this road before pursuing Erin and Mark into the woods. They wouldn’t expect him to be waiting for them when they returned to their vehicle.

  He spotted the Hummer much sooner than he had expected, parked in the middle of the road like a hulking black beast. There was scarcely room on the cliff side to open the passenger door, while the driver had less than a foot of roadway to maneuver on before a steep drop-off. Mark paused fifty feet away, hiding in the underbrush along the side of the road, watching the Hummer, but in five minutes of waiting he saw no signs of life around it.

  He approached cautiously, rifle at the ready. He tried the driver’s door and found it unlocked, but the guards had taken the key with them and he saw nothing of interest on the seats or floorboards. He shut the door gently and turned his attention to the front left tire. Kneeling beside it, he fished the nail scissors from his pocket. They were old-fashioned and sturdy, the blades dull from use but coming together in a needle-sharp point. He grasped the handles and drove the point into the tire, using all his force and burying it all the way to the looped handles.

  At first he feared the scissors weren’t long enough to do any real damage, but then he heard the satisfying hiss of air escaping and the tire began to deflate.

  He moved to the other front tire, intending to work his way around to all four tires, but a high-pitched keening stayed his hand. He jerked his head up in time to see movement in the undergrowth on the other side of the car. Scuttling like a crab, he retreated down the road and into the trees, positioning himself so that he was well concealed, but still had a clear view of the parked vehicle. Within seconds he caught a glint of auburn hair, and then Erin stumbled forward, Cantrell close behind her. The other guard—the young kid who had started packing the lab supplies at the cabin, flanked them on the left.

  “Help! Someone help me!” Erin screamed.

  Cantrell’s slap snapped her head back and left a red imprint against her pale cheek. “Shut up!” he ordered. “Nobody can hear you out here anyway.” He dragged her toward the car.

  “What are you going to do with me?” she asked, her voice strained.

  “Not what I’d like to do, that’s for sure,” Cantrell said.

  The younger guard moved past them toward the vehicle. “We got a problem,” he called back over his shoulder as he neared the Hummer.

  “What is it?” Cantrell asked, still holding tight to Erin.

  “Flat tire.” The younger guard gestured toward the sagging front end. “We must have driven over a nail or something.”

  “Then get busy and change it.”

  The young man shrugged, then slung the rifle over one shoulder and walked around to the back of the vehicle and opened the hatch. While he retrieved the jack, lug wrench and spare tire, Cantrell pushed Erin down onto a log. “Sit,” he ordered.

  She sat, and glared up at him. Her face was deathly pale, except for the bright red imprint of Cantrell’s hand. Mark studied the guard through the gun sight and wondered what his chances were of hitting the man from here. Then Cantrell moved to join his coworker at the rear of the Hummer. “We’ve got some rope back here somewhere,” he said. “I’m going to tie her up before she can cause any more trouble.” He glanced over at Erin again. “Don’t even think about trying to run away. I won’t hesitate to shoot you.” He patted the stock of the rifle he held. “And I’m a really good shot.”

  The younger man carried the spare tire and other items to the front of the car and began to work on the flat while Cantrell continued to rummage in the rear of the vehicle. Now, while neither was close to Erin, would be Mark’s best opportunity to surprise them without hurting her. With agonizing slowness, he crept closer, placing each foot with ultimate care in order to keep from making a sound.

  He was less than ten yards from Cantrell when the guard straightened. “Found it,” he said, holding up a coil of thin rope. “Now I’m going to deal with you.”

  He took a step toward Erin, but it was his last step. Mark fired and red bloomed in the man’s chest. He stumbled backward, clutching at the wound, then dropped to his knees and pitched over in the snow. Mark swiveled toward the other guard, who gripped his weapon and looked around wide-eyed. Mark’s shot caught him in the thigh, making him stagger. The young man dived off the road, into the ravine below.

  Erin jumped up and looked around. “Over here!” Mark shouted, and motioned to her. She spotted him and started walking toward him, then running. He took her arm and urged her forward, adrenaline lending strength to his movements.

  They ran wildly, not caring about the noise they made, crashing through the forest. They didn’t stop until they reached a small clearing, where the bright sunlight streaming down seemed almost disconcerting after the darkness of the woodland. Mark stopped on the other side of the clearing and looked back. The woods were completely still, giving no indication of pursuit.

  “Do you think they’ll come after us?” she asked, sagging against a tree beside him, chest heaving as she gasped for breath.

  “Not right away. I’m pretty sure the first guy I shot—Cantrell—is dead, and the other one is injured. The car is out of commission, at least until they change that tire. It will take a while for the young guy to regroup and get word to the others.”

  “They’ll keep looking,” she said.

  “Yes.” Mark turned to her. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know. I mean yes, I’m not hurt, and I’m still alive. That’s something.”

  He touched the mark on her face, which was beginning to fade. “When he hit you, I wanted to make him pay. I never thought of myself as a killer, but...”

  She grasped his wrist. “You’re not a killer. You did what you had to do to save us. You know either one of them would have killed both of us without even blinking.”

  “You’re right.” But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have nightmares about taking another life. “Come on.” He straightened. “We have to keep moving. We still have a long way to go before we’re safe.”

  “How far do you think?” she asked.

  He didn’t want to tell her they probably had many miles to go. She already looked to be on her last legs. “We’ll probably be there by tomorrow,” he said. “If we can keep paralleling the road.”

  “Tomorrow?” She seemed near tears.

  “We’ll find a safe place to spend the night,�
�� he said. Right now, even more than food, they needed rest and a break from the constant stress. Maybe they could find a cave, or an old mine shaft. Anything to get out of the wind and try to let their bodies recover a little.

  * * *

  ERIN TRUDGED ALONG behind Mark, all her efforts focused on putting one foot in front of the other. As they moved through the woods, they tried to keep the road in sight, since it was the only sure way down the mountain. Every few minutes a shudder ran through her and she looked back over her shoulder, expecting to see one of Duane’s men coming after her.

  Maybe Mark was right and she was suffering from a kind of PTSD. Maybe that even explained why her mother insisted on staying with Duane. Erin didn’t see how anyone could love a man who was so intent on destroying others. But what did she know about love? She had never been married, or even had a serious lover.

  “What first attracted you to your wife?” she asked Mark.

  He glanced at her, his surprise at the question evident. “What do you mean?”

  “What was it about her that made you want to be with her?” she asked. “Out of all the female students and women you worked with that you encountered every day, what made her the one you wanted for your wife?”

  “She was beautiful, and very different from me. And she pursued me.” He stepped over a fallen branch. “I never would have worked up the nerve to ask her out first.”

  “Was that important—that she be different from you?” Erin asked. “I always thought the things people had in common brought them together.”

  “I told you before—I’m not good at relationships. I’m too impatient with other people, too inward focused—selfish, really.”

  He hadn’t been impatient with her. And he had risked his life to turn back and save her, not the act of a selfish man. “You’re thoughtful and intelligent,” she said. “You don’t strike me as a man who acts rashly. That’s not the same as being selfish.”