by Fleur Smith
Not satisfied that the small fire would be enough to clear all evidence of my presence from the car, I repeated the process at each door. I had no idea how long it would take to catch, or how long the car would take to burn.
I’ve got to be extra careful and do what I can to stay safe.
Once the interior had filled with smoke and the crackling of fire, I backed away from the car. I headed for the cover of the conifers and oaks that hugged the edge of the road before stretching into the distance. Initially, I’d planned on disappearing immediately, but a morbid curiosity overtook me. When I set fire to the police car, I’d seen the chance to escape and taken it—sprinting away without even the smallest backward glance. I was too concerned that the police would turn themselves from their panic and come charging after me. Now, there was no one else around, at least not in the immediate vicinity.
It can’t hurt to watch for a while.
After a minute, very little had happened besides the car filling with smoke. Then something more, the flames climbed higher to leap at the windows and engulf the lining on the roof. If the car hadn’t belonged to the Rain, I might have regretted the fire. It was though, so the sight of the destruction was vindication for the things they’d done to me.
The noise of the flames inside the car roared louder, and the metal groaned and creaked. A moment later, the roof twisted and warped until it sagged into the flame. I backed away from the fire, checking behind me every few steps to ensure I didn’t accidentally trip over any fallen branches. The vehicle buckled and bent with the intensity of the heat.
Moments later, there was a series of bangs and pops that sent me skittering backward faster than before as the tires burst and the car dropped to the ground with a crash. Before I’d even recovered my senses, a louder boom rocked the night and sent a plume of thick almost purple smoke into the air.
I decided the exploding fuel tank was my cue to leave. Even if no one had been around before I’d set the fire, I was certain that the flames and noise would draw some attention before long.
Turning away from the wreck, I wrapped my arms around myself. Now that my curiosity was satisfied, the demonstration of the damage that I was capable of causing left a chill in my body and a weight on my conscience. It was a sharp reminder of what I’d done to Louise—and of what it had cost me. I crept forward into the dense forest, drawing my bandaged arm closer to my body to ensure it didn’t accidentally bump any passing branches.
While I retreated into the darkness, I thought about everything that had happened that morning. Although the wound on my arm was hurting less than before—and I’d at least had treatment for it—the one in my heart festered more than ever. Seeing the anger on Clay’s face as he leveled the gun at me had enlarged wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal. The agony in my chest had overtaken the one in my arm. I now knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that Clay was tracking me. Just the thought caused my heart to stutter and ache. The image of his face as I’d driven away assaulted my mind and made me long for another chance—a chance I didn’t deserve and would never get.
I dragged my finger along the gold chain that hung around my neck before pressing my lips against the pendant that hung from it. It was a link to the past. To a time when he’d been able to look beyond what I was. To when we’d been happy.
A time before I’d taken the life of his sister.
As much as it hurt to look at the symbol of the past, the chain was a reminder that at some point, he’d cared enough about me to want me to have a piece of him with me at all times. Even if he’d now buried those emotions under a desperate need for revenge, the memory of the love we’d once had was something of a comfort to me as I headed into the darkness of the forest and a life of unknowns.
CHAPTER FIVE
CLAY’S FACE WAS directly in front of me—crystal-clear and absolutely perfect.
His almost black eyes shone as brightly as the smile on his lips. His hair tipped forward, mahogany brown where the light caught hold of it.
He was close enough that I could see every individual strand of stubble that littered his jaw. Without hesitation, I reached out and brushed my fingers along the soft growth. Trailing my hands back against the grain, the hair scratched and tickled my fingertips. I giggled at the sensation and repeated the motion with my palm.
“You’re not supposed to laugh when I’m doing this,” he growled playfully in response.
Strong arms rested on either side of me, pressing the pillow hard into the bed with the weight of his body. He surrounded me with perfection on all sides. He pushed forward in time with his words, sending spikes of pleasure shooting through me.
My chin tipped back as desire and bliss surged through me in equal measure. A muscular chest pressed firmly against mine, the masculine hardness of his muscles forcing the feminine softness of my body to yield to him.
His heartbeats echoed mine—a metronome perfectly timed to keep our rhythm synchronized. Soft grunts fell from his lips as our hips clashed to the beat of our hearts.
Just a little more.
The world didn’t exist outside of the movement of his body against mine and the warmth of his breath against my cheek. A near-silent gasp rushed from me as his body surged forward again. My stomach clenched, and my body shook as he drew me closer to that perfect precipice.
A little harder.
One of his hands moved, trailing over my hair, and then his fingers lightly stroked along the side of my face. Lips pressed against my cheek, and sensual words tumbled off his tongue; whispered declarations that matched the movement of his body. His mouth joined mine and continued his affirmations without the need for words. I responded in kind, relinquishing all of my thoughts and emotions to him for as long as our wondrous union lasted.
Right there.
My body was alight with sensation. Every part of me aligned perfectly with every part of him. Skin pressed tightly against skin, each inch awakened with passion and spoiled with sensation. A new urgency struck us, sending our hearts racing in time as our bodies battled to keep pace with our need.
He drew a moan of delight from me with a twist of his hips. The sounds of pleasure that spilled from us were a symphony filling the otherwise still night air. His teeth brushed over my collarbone as he dropped his head down to busy his tongue and quiet his own noises.
Everything about the moment was perfect.
Breathless and desperate, I tilted my face back to watch him come undone above me. His lips lifted up into a brief smile as he caught me watching him until his own breathlessness caused him to pant with desperate need for oxygen.
I met the liquid pools of dark chocolate that swirled in his eyes, and all I saw was love. He shifted again, another perfect movement that caused us both to tilt our heads back with matching cries of desire. Pressing his body against mine, harder and harder still, it was as if he were trying to wrap himself in my embrace and fuse our hearts together permanently.
Radiating through his every movement, even the lightest touch, was desire and need.
And love.
Always love.
A SOB FELL from my lips as I was ripped from the cruelly pleasant dream by a terrible sound. I knew the noise should have been my first concern, but the images of Clay’s body entwined with my own lingered in my mind for a fraction and leeched my concentration away from everything around me.
Twelve months had passed since the day I’d driven away in the car I’d stolen from him. Since the reality of that dream had shattered, leaving me with nothing more than memories of our perfect months and the heart-shattering image of his hardened eyes as he watched me go. In that time, I’d committed credit card fraud, shoplifted, and stolen from innocent people. When it was necessary, I’d even used my fire for my own advantage. Although I hadn’t physically hurt anyone, I had a hard time convincing myself I hadn’t become the monster I’d tried so hard not to be. Clay would probably hate me for so many of the things I’d had to do.
As if he didn�
��t already hate me enough for the death of his sister, and of Nancy, the nurse I’d forced to help me escape from Detroit. Sorrow claimed me even as I thought her name and the death I’d somehow caused.
When Clay had caught up with me in Rolla, I hadn’t understood his comment about two deaths, yet Nancy’s death was now a weight on my conscience, at least as heavy as my father’s and Louise’s.
I’d learned of Nancy’s death about a month after I’d fled Clay in Rolla. I’d crept back into civilization to restock my supplies of food and clothing. Even though I knew it was a stupid move, I found my way to an Internet cafe and searched for details about Louise’s death. I was desperate to see Clay again, to have some fresh reminder of what we’d shared, even if it only caused me to miss him more than ever.
The details on the net had been sketchy at best, but there was information about the second death Clay had mentioned. Nancy’s death. The police—or possibly the Rain—had found her body in a hospital room the same day I’d forced my way out of the hospital. The woman in the picture was the one I’d forced to help me. I’d left her alive and well, but that didn’t stop my guilt over causing her any harm from increasing with the news of her death.
While I scrolled through every piece of information I could find about Nancy, I grew convinced that it was yet another senseless death that the Rain had framed me for, but there was no way I could ever prove it. I was a wanted fugitive, and the evidence against me was damning; especially when her death came hot on the heels of Louise’s—which I was responsible for. The worst part was that I couldn’t be sure whether Clay believed I was a double murderer or if he was somehow involved in pinning the crime on me. I didn’t know which was worse.
I was so lost in the dream and the bitter understanding that came from waking that it took me a few moments to remember what had yanked me from sleep—from my blissful but agony-inducing dreams. It took a moment to recall and identify the sound that had snatched me from slumber.
Breaking glass.
Once my mind had the chance to process the noise, all thoughts of happiness, and even sorrow rushed from me. The creeping feeling of a shadowed figure and hate-filled nearly-black eyes watching me in the darkness replaced the loving gaze from the dream. All thoughts of longing and desire disappeared as I peered carefully through the darkness that swallowed the room.
Has Clay found me again?
Already?
He was getting quicker each time. It was as if he knew my next move better than I did. I pulled myself from the bed in one swift, smooth movement, throwing off all vestiges of sleep to escape from the motel. By the time my feet hit the floor, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I spotted the new addition to the room. A rock, slightly bigger than my fist, sat near the window, almost daring me to investigate.
Glass littered the floor around it. Taking a risk, I crept closer to inspect what looked like writing on the side of the rock. Scrawled across the brown surface was the same symbol that Louise had spray-painted onto the wall of the Detroit apartment, the same symbol on the visor of the car I’d stolen from Clay—a crescent moon shape with an “M” inside. Panic raced through me at the sight. I didn’t know precisely what that symbol was, but it meant I needed to leave.
Immediately.
Keeping the horrid object in my sight the whole time, I backed toward the motel door and tried to remember all of the escape routes I’d memorized that would take me from the room and out onto the relative safety of the street.
A hand, covered with thick black gloves, smashed against the remnants of the window, sending glass fragments flying into the room. I raised my arm to protect my face as an involuntary scream ripped from me before I was able to clamp my mouth shut. In the quick glance I risked, I saw a figure clad all in black move through the now empty windowpane.
Disregarding the fact that I was still in my yoga pants and tee, which doubled as pajamas, I turned and rushed for my bag, sliding it onto my back as I charged out of the room. With all of my might, I slammed the door closed behind me. I banged on the walls as I rushed along the hallway, hoping the other guests would investigate the noise and impede Clay for a precious few seconds. I hoped that small diversion might just give me a fighting chance to escape.
Behind me, the door to my room crashed open again, but I didn’t turn around. I used the sound as motivation to move faster, to push my legs harder. As desperately as I wanted to turn around for one more glimpse at my past love—to stop and surrender myself to him while begging for mercy—I couldn’t cope with seeing the hatred in his gaze or his weapon drawn at me again. Seeing those sights once was more than enough for one lifetime.
Thankful I’d taken a ground floor room at the back of the complex, I burst into the parking lot of the motel and sprinted toward the road. With my head down and my arms pumping in time with my racing legs, I poured all of my strength into my feet and just ran. It was the third time in six months that Clay had found me again—the second time that month. I had no idea what I was doing wrong, I was so confident I’d been following Dad’s teachings to the letter. If anything, I was overly careful. Apparently, it wasn’t enough. I needed to be even more cautious, perhaps avoiding civilization altogether. I’d only taken the option of a motel room because I’d needed a shower and just a few nights of proper sleep.
Maybe I need to travel further before I stop this time.
I wanted to leave the country, but unless I suddenly grew gills and learned how to swim across the open ocean, there was no escape for me. There were only a limited number of ways to leave America and even though there might have been places along the border where it was possible to slip from country to country unnoticed, I was too afraid to risk it. The thought of armed guards at border patrol sent shivers down my spine. It was so bad that I even avoided border towns where I could.
Worse still was the thought of flying or sailing. Between the camera feeds and armed security, stepping foot near an airport or cruise terminal was tantamount to suicide. And even if I could get past that, the idea of being stuck in the air in a flying tin box was enough to give me heart palpitations that were almost intense enough to rival the pain of the loss of the life I’d shared with Clay.
My fear immobilized me, trapping me within the borders of the States.
A few streets away from the motel, I had to stop. My lungs burned in protest, and I needed a moment to catch my breath. I dropped my bag onto the road and rested my palms against my knees. As always, the fear that coursed through me from the sudden waking made my hands burn in preparation for a fight, but I could never allow that to happen. Not again.
Regardless of his hatred for me, I still loved Clay. I couldn’t allow him to be hurt while hunting me. Despite the fact that he wanted me dead, I couldn’t help the memories surging through me. Images of how tender and loving he’d once been flooded my mind.
Shaking loose the thoughts and ready to move on, I lifted my head. When I did, the image presented in a house across the street stopped my heart.
Framed by an open curtain and highlighted by the light of a TV, a young couple sat side-by-side laughing and joking. Within seconds of seeing them, their features fell away. Instead, visions of the past danced in front of my eyes, as if I were watching a rerun of my favorite show.
Clay and I were on our small two-seater sofa, my legs resting across his lap as his fingertips stroked lazy paths across my skin. We had no TV to watch but endless conversations to be had and neighbors who provided us with regular entertainment. At that point, it was a fun guessing game about the man upstairs.
“How long tonight do you think?” Clay’s voice echoed to me from the past. He’d ask the question every night when the Casanova character in the apartment above us opened his door to his latest conquest.
“Fifteen minutes,” I guessed. The guy was a fast worker, sweet-talking the girls into the bedroom in almost no time. One of our pastimes was guessing how long it would take from the time the door closed until the symphony o
f sex started above us.
“That long?” Clay asked with a chuckle, as he ran his hand up along my inner thigh. “I give it six.”
“Do you think they’re genuine dates or hookers?” It was a discussion we’d had at least three times before.
He shrugged. “Does it matter? Either way, the man’s a bit of a stud. He’s at it nearly every night.”
My lips twitched. “There’s no nearly for us.”
“Yeah, but not everyone can be us.” As he spoke, he lifted my leg behind his shoulder and twisted his body so that he was pinning me into the sofa cushions. “Normal people need rest days.”
He pressed his lips to mine in a series of soft kisses.
“Are you sure you don’t need a rest day?” I teased.
In reply, he pushed his hips against mine and proved that rest was the last thing he needed. His lips caressed mine just as the moaning started above us. In unison, we looked over at the clock.
“I win,” Clay said before claiming my lips.
The memory clawed at my chest and tore open the wounds that were never going to heal. It was the reminder I’d needed of the reason I was running. By hunting me, he was putting his own life at risk, and I couldn’t let that happen. I wanted no more to hurt him than I wanted to hurt myself. But that didn’t mean he would be safe from me.
When Louise had forced my hand in Detroit, I’d discovered that the sunbird was unwilling to back down if we were directly threatened. She would take control to ensure our survival if she needed to. Clay had raised a gun at me once before, who knew what he’d do if I hung around long enough for him to do it again. I couldn’t risk him becoming the threat that forced the sunbird’s hand again. If he did, he might suffer the same fate Louise had.
Just the thought had me doubled over and gasping desperately for breath once more.