“I am. I keep picturing him . . . I think it was something recent.”
Gage checked the mirror. No sign of a tail.
“Oh God, the video.”
He looked at her. He couldn’t see her expression in the darkness, but her voice was filled with alarm.
“Gage, he was in the video!”
“What video?”
“The one I told you about—at Blake’s place the night he died. The terrorist training video. Gage, what is this about?”
Gage glanced at her, then back at the road. He had no fucking idea, but it wasn’t good.
But how could she be sure it was the same man? She’d seen him from a distance. Maybe she was still rattled from the explosion. Maybe she’d hit her head.
The Explorer slowed abruptly and made a choking sound. Gage tapped the brake. He noticed the light glaring up at him from the dash.
“Shit, no way.” He pressed the accelerator, but they continued to lose speed. “It says we’re out of gas.”
“But we just filled up. I gave the attendant three twenties back in Provo. Didn’t you fill it?”
“Hell yeah, I filled it.”
The engine continued to sputter. Gage steered onto the shoulder and coasted to a stop. Alarm bells were going off in his head as he thrust it in park and cut the engine.
“Stay here.”
He grabbed his gun and listened intently for the sound of an approaching car before going around to check the fuel tank. Cold fury filled his chest as his flashlight beam illuminated scrapes on the paint. Someone had jimmied open the hatch.
He jerked open Kelsey’s door. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
He reached around her and grabbed everything he could—water bottles, map, the baseball cap he’d left on the floorboard. He checked the glove compartment for anything useful, but the only thing inside it was the rental agreement with his fake name on it. Gage grabbed it and stuffed it in his pocket.
He checked up and down the highway again.
“What is it?” she demanded.
“They siphoned our gas.”
“Who did?”
“Trent. Guy at the house probably called him after he noticed the break-in and told him to look for a vehicle on his way in.”
Gage shoved a water bottle in Kelsey’s hand. He pulled the keys from the ignition and stuffed them in his pocket.
“But why would he do that?”
“Who knows? Maybe to get us stranded on a deserted highway so he can roll up and hose us down with bullets.” He took her arm and pulled her away from the Explorer.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know, but we’re not just going to sit out here and wait for an attack.”
“But it’s pitch dark! We can’t see!”
“I do my best work in the dark. You should know that.”
“Gage, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He glanced back over his shoulder, looking for any sign of approaching traffic. No headlights in either direction. Maybe he was being paranoid.
Kelsey halted. “You hear that?”
Sure enough, the sound of tires on asphalt echoed across the landscape. The car was coming from the east, moving closer, and the lack of headlights told Gage that it was wasn’t friendly.
“Come on.” He broke into a jog, pulling Kelsey with him. “See that line of rocks in the distance?”
“I don’t see anything!”
“Hold on to me, then. And run like hell.”
• • •
Kelsey stumbled through the darkness, expecting at any moment to feel the sting of a bullet in her back. They’d been moving briskly for what seemed like hours, pushing deeper and deeper into the empty desert.
“Another quarter mile, we’ll take a break.” Gage’s voice was little more than a murmur beside her, but the familiar sound of it reassured her, even though they were out here running for their lives.
She couldn’t even see him, and yet he seemed to cut through the blackness with complete confidence. She knew he was accustomed to moving around at night. Maybe he even preferred it. SEALs were trained to move stealthily through the dark, using the shadows and the dead space to conceal themselves. They were trained to slip through forests and jungles and deserts in any light conditions without making a sound.
Kelsey, not so much. And with every crunch of rocks beneath her feet, she shuddered at the possibility that she’d just betrayed their location to a determined killer with an automatic rifle and a pair of night-vision goggles.
She touched Gage’s arm again and eased closer. So often, his cocky confidence had driven her crazy—he acted like he was bulletproof. But she needed that confidence right now. She needed that unstoppable determination that told her he was going to keep them both safe, no matter what, and they’d make it out of here alive.
Gage’s grip tightened, and a moment later the ground sloped down beneath her feet. They’d worked out a communication system: He gently squeezed her arm whenever the terrain was about to shift. She wasn’t sure how he knew—only that his silent warnings had kept her from falling on her face at least a dozen times.
She glanced up at the sky, where a sliver of moon did almost nothing to help them.
Or maybe it was helping. If the moon had been full tonight, they might have been riddled with bullets back at the house.
Gage slowed his pace and then halted beside a boulder she hadn’t even noticed. He took something out of his pocket and looked at it.
“What’s that?” she whispered.
“Compass.”
His voice was normal and her shoulders drooped with relief. For the first time in hours, he wasn’t worried that anyone was close enough to hear.
“Are they still behind us?” she asked.
“We lost him.”
“Him?”
“It was only one. We shook him loose in the first half mile.”
A wave of relief crashed over her. Her knees wanted to give way. She reached out until her hand encountered the cool hardness of the boulder and then she sank onto it.
He sat down beside her. “How’s the chin?” His warm fingers cupped the side of her face.
“How’d you know about that?”
“Noticed it in the car.” He shuffled around for a moment, then folded something damp into her palm. “Antiseptic. I’d give you a hand, but you know better than I do where it hurts.”
Kelsey dabbed the cool cloth against her chin.
“You need any of this?”
“I’m good.”
She used the remaining moisture to wipe the scraped heels of her hands. Her jeans had protected her knees at least, but that wasn’t saying much. Every part of her body either stung or ached, and now that she was no longer moving, her thighs had begun to quiver from fatigue.
“How long have we been out here?” she asked.
Gage consulted his watch, and the faint green glow gave her her first glimpse of his face since they’d fled the Explorer.
“Three hours, twenty minutes.”
She absorbed the number, a little dazed. “How far is that?”
“Fourteen miles.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not in a straight line, though. We did some looping around at the beginning to cover our tracks.”
Kelsey glanced around at their surroundings. The ridge to one side of them was a dark line, but other than that, she couldn’t discern a single landmark.
“Shouldn’t we have hit a town by now? I thought the map showed the town of Spur about five miles away from where we started.”
“We’re northwest of there. And anyway, we’re heading to Copperville.”
“But that’s got to be another five miles.”
“More like seven. But it’s our best bet. We should be there by sunrise.”
She felt a twinge of frustration. Seven more miles in the pitch dark? She wasn’t sure she could do seven more minutes. Just the thought made her want to
collapse into a heap on the desert floor.
“Spur is too obvious,” Gage stated.
“Never go where the enemy expects you to be.”
“Exactly.”
“The only easy day was yesterday.”
He laughed softly in the darkness. “Where’d you hear that one?”
“Something Joe used to say.”
Kelsey closed her eyes and swallowed down all the whiny, self-pitying things she wanted to say. She hugged her arms around herself and tried to count her blessings. First and foremost, they were alive. Also, she had a skilled guide and a lightweight jacket to fight the chill. But she was hungrier than she’d ever been in her life and the thought of walking another seven miles seemed utterly impossible.
Gage sighed. “I’d trade my left nut for a slice of that pizza we ordered.”
Kelsey whimpered.
“How about a PowerBar?”
“Gage! You have food and you didn’t tell me?”
“It’s a little squished.” Paper crinkled as he tore open a package. “Here.”
“You first.”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“You were ready to castrate yourself for a slice of pizza.” She broke the bar in half and handed him what felt like the bigger chunk. She downed her share in two bites, then shook the water bottle. It sounded nearly empty. “We should probably save the rest of this.”
“Go ahead. I’ve got enough sweat in my socks to last us for days.”
His tone was joking, but she knew he wasn’t completely kidding. He’d been through some intensive survival training.
“Seriously, drink up.” He nudged her arm. “I’ve got another bottle in my pocket.”
“Where’d you get that?”
“While you were busy arguing with me, I cleaned out the car.”
She shared the last of the water with him and pushed off the rock. He seemed to understand that sitting around for very much longer was going to make it impossible for her to keep going. Her legs still felt noodly, but the food had already started to hit her bloodstream.
He took her arm again, and they resumed the trek.
“That stuff you collected from the dead guy. What’s that for?”
She was glad for something to think about besides sore muscles.
“The insect casings will help us determine PMI. And the dirt sample includes dried blood, which gives us DNA. Maybe he’s in a database somewhere.”
“PMI?”
“Postmortem interval. Time elapsed since death. Also, on my way through the kitchen I swiped a crumpled beer can. It might yield prints or biological material.”
Gage sighed.
“What?”
“You can take the girl out of the crime lab, but you can’t take the crime lab out of the girl.”
“It’s my job.”
“I’m aware of that. So, what are you going to do with that stuff?”
“Take it to someone at Delphi who can run the analysis for me.”
“Take it?”
“Or send it. Depends on how the rest of tonight goes. We could be dead by morning. And even if we’re not, what if we stagger into town and get arrested by the local sheriff?” Her stomach churned thinking about the degree of trouble they were in now.
“I’m thinking the body might be Charles Weber,” she said.
“I’m thinking that’s a strong possibility.”
She waited, sensing there was more on his mind.
“Blake’s plane trip last weekend,” he said. “You think it was a murder mission?”
She tensed at the prospect. “The timing doesn’t work. That body was in a more advanced stage of decomp.” She kept the rest to herself—that no matter what Gage thought of him, Blake wasn’t a murderer. Kelsey simply didn’t believe, deep down, that the man she’d known for years could do something like that.
And yet a week ago, she would have said the same thing about Trent Lohman. As long as she’d known him, he’d seemed like a model federal agent. And yet he was a murderer who consorted with terrorists. Kelsey never would have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.
She doubted anyone else would believe it, either. At least not without evidence. She patted the pocket of her jacket to make sure the items she’d collected at Weber’s were still there. And then there was the hair that had been recovered from Blake’s clothing at autopsy. Did it belong to Trent? His accomplice? One thing she knew for sure: It didn’t belong to Gage. If nothing else, its existence should raise doubts about the circumstantial evidence pointing to Gage as a suspect.
Kelsey trudged through the darkness. All of this felt so surreal—Blake’s death, Trent’s involvement, Gage’s presence next to her in the middle of the desert.
What, exactly, was this about? She kept trying to put the pieces together, but her brain didn’t seem to want to work tonight. Exhaustion was taking a toll.
So was Gage. For the past three hours he’d been touching her, guiding her through the darkness. What had started out as something purely helpful now felt charged with meaning. With every shift of his grip or brush of his body, she felt a jolt of sexual awareness. She knew he felt it, too.
Wind gusted around them, and she blinked dust from her eyes. She was beginning to get the shivers. It had to be at least fifty degrees out, but for some reason she couldn’t stop shaking.
She distracted herself by letting her mind wander to another place. She thought of her house back in San Marcos. She thought of her stocked pantry and her comfy sofa and the baskets of unwashed laundry that a few days ago had seemed like such a problem.
She thought of the unmarked car that was probably parked on her street right now, and the pair of agents inside it who were probably downing gallons of coffee to stay awake.
She was a fugitive now. So was Gage. They had the world’s top law-enforcement agency searching for them, not to mention a pair of heavily armed men.
Kelsey shuddered. Thinking about her quiet little house under surveillance made her sad, so she reached for another image.
Joe’s cabin. She didn’t focus on the flying bullets or shattered glass, but rather the cabin as she’d first known it, back when she was a kid. It had been a cozy, happy place, and she remembered sitting around the kitchen table with her parents as Joe lectured her on the basics of Texas Hold ’Em. Joe had been an accomplished poker player, and he’d taught Kelsey everything he knew—enough tricks, in fact, that she had whipped Gage’s butt the very first night they’d played together.
She hadn’t beaten him since, though, and looking back, she’d often wondered whether Gage had given the game away to put her in a good mood so he’d get lucky in other areas.
She hadn’t caved into temptation that night, but it hadn’t taken long. The chemistry had been there from the very beginning. In some ways, Gage was like an addiction. It had taken multiple lonely deployments followed by a gut-wrenching rejection to cure her of the habit.
“Let’s take a break,” he said, startling her out of her thoughts.
“I’m okay.”
“No you’re not—you’re shaking.” His hand slid around her waist and pulled her against him. His warmth seeped into her and she realized she was freezing.
“I don’t know why I’m so cold.”
He led her to a large boulder at the base of the ridge they’d been following. “There’s a wind. And you’re probably dehydrated, too. Here.” He handed her the flashlight. “Check the area.”
She thumbed on the switch and darted the narrow beam around. They were at the base of a low cliff, where a pile of large rocks formed a windbreak. The desert floor was hard and gravelly, which explained her sore feet. She moved the light around, looking for snakes or scorpions or whatever else might be lurking in the vicinity. Then she aimed the light at Gage, who was shrugging out of his loose-fitting shirt.
“Sit on that for a minute.”
Kelsey wanted to protest. She was pretty sure that if she stopped now she’d have a hard
time starting again, but her legs needed a rest. She lowered herself onto the soft fabric and leaned gratefully against the rock.
Gage handed her the water.
“Thanks.” She took a swig and passed it back.
He sat down beside her and pulled her onto his lap.
“Hey.”
“Get warm.” He moved his legs apart and settled her into the space between them. She resisted for all of three seconds and then the heat of him was too much. She leaned against the solid warmth of his chest and sighed.
“Drink some more.”
He passed her the bottle, and when she lifted it to her lips, he slid his arms around her waist.
She offered him the bottle, and he took a small gulp before passing it back.
“More,” he said. “You’re dehydrated.”
“We should save it.”
“Do you ever do anything without an argument?”
“Not if it means wringing water out of your socks in the morning.” She took a small sip and then screwed the lid back on. The warmth of his arms flowed into her, melting away the chills but also making her heart beat faster. He rested his palms on her knees.
“I’m proud of you.”
She turned to look at him, although she could barely see him in the darkness. “You’re proud of me?”
“You did good tonight.”
“I left the window open.”
“True, but you also found some valuable evidence.”
She turned around again and settled back against his chest. “We hope.”
“This trip was your idea. You brought us one step closer to figuring out who framed me for Blake’s murder.”
“That’s an interesting take on it, because I don’t feel like I’ve figured out anything. I’m more confused than ever.”
“It’s not that confusing. I’ve been thinking about it.” He settled his arms more snugly around her body, and she felt a niggle of suspicion that this whole conversation was an elaborate distraction. “It’s clear that this Weber—whether he’s the dead guy or the one we saw walking around—is mixed up in something illegal. Blake knew about it and somehow it got him killed. Trent Lohman knows about it, too.”
“The question is what is the something illegal?”
“That’s only part of the question,” he said. “The bigger question for you and me is, who can we trust enough to tell about all this without getting arrested?”
Scorched Page 15