Defending His Hope, page 2
The day is losing its battle against the darkness, and the storm isn’t helping. Flurries started an hour ago. Another thirty minutes, and I’ll be over the pass. Or trapped in a blizzard.
My heart skips a beat—or three—when the passenger-side wheels leave the road.
I should slow down, but I have no idea how close Simon’s men are. For ten hours, I’ve pushed the Lexus as fast as I dared, only stopping twice for gas. And to pee. Simon won’t report the car stolen, but he’ll track it—and me. Will he send Brix? And Matteo? And Tommy? Or call any one of the dozens of cops he has on his payroll?
It doesn’t matter. Whoever he sends will make me wish I were dead.
I spare a glance at the dashboard. The temperature’s dropped twenty degrees in the past hour. It might be spring on the calendar, but Washington State hasn’t gotten the message yet.
My left arm throbs where Brix sunk his blade deep into my bicep. The strip of the gas station t-shirt helped stop the bleeding, but it still burns with every beat of my heart.
If only my thigh felt the same. It’s mostly numb, and that can’t be a good thing.
Lights flash in front of me, and I squint through the snow.
Hazardous Conditions Ahead.
Road Closed.
Exit Now.
“Shit.”
No highway patrol cars, so I veer off the highway onto a mountain road. I hope the navigation system on the SUV is right about it rejoining I-90 in two miles. It’s a huge risk and the road is bumpy as hell, but I don’t have a choice. I’m still in the middle of nowhere, and if I stop, I die.
An hour of white-knuckling the steering wheel and I’m back on the interstate, but the weather’s even worse now. Sleet hits the windshield in staccato bursts, making it difficult to see, and giant storm clouds rise to the heavens.
Accelerating out of a turn, I clench my jaw, my muscles screaming with how tightly I’m wound. How much longer until they find me?
Once I get to Seattle, I can dump the car and disappear. But until then...
Just keep driving. As fast as you can.
The back end of the SUV fishtails. “Shiiiiitt.”
I manage to get the car under control seconds before bright lights flash behind me.
Oh, God. The road’s closed. There shouldn’t be anyone else out here.
I floor it, but the lights only get brighter. A plink hits the back window, and it turns into a spiderweb of cracked glass.
With a hole in it.
Oh, God. It’s Brix. And he’s shooting at me.
And then there’s a loud pop. One of the rear tires wobbles. The SUV starts to spin.
Panic chokes me, and no matter how I turn the steering wheel, I can’t get it under control. More sharp plinks to the side of the car. My left arm explodes in fresh agony. Blood splatters my cheek. Cold air whistles through a round hole in the driver’s side window.
Before I can freak the fuck out about getting shot, the bottom drops out from under me, and I’m flying. Rolling. The world turns into a slow-motion video. Branches hit on all sides. White clumps of snow fly off the trees. The airbag deploys with a whoosh, hitting me square in the face.
I can’t see. With my good arm, I bat at the deflating nylon. Still rolling. Sliding. It’s so loud. Then almost…silent.
When the SUV stops, it’s so sudden, my entire body jerks against the seatbelt. I’m…sideways. Lying against the door, the window above me shattered. The vehicle is rocking back and forth. Like some fucked-up teeter-totter.
The pain in my arm is almost overwhelming. Blood soaks into my sweater, so much it trails down my neck. Part of the windshield is caved in, and the airbag drapes over the steering wheel. Droplets of icy water pelt my cheek as the wind tears through the car.
I can’t move. The seatbelt won’t unlock. Everything hurts. I’m so dizzy, and the lights on the dashboard start to flicker. Where are Simon’s men? Above me? Back on the highway? Can they see me down here? Do they know I’m still alive? If they do, I won’t stay that way for long.
A wet tendril of hair falls over my eyes as I turn my head, and I struggle to brush it away. Even the smallest movements feel like I’m underwater, or wearing a shirt that weighs fifty pounds.
Stop the bleeding. Or you die.
But I can’t. I can’t move. Above me, a single beam of light sweeps back and forth. I think I hear voices, but they’re so far away, I can’t make out what they’re saying.
Can they get to me? Even see me down here?
A shower of rocks hits the side of the car, and another window shatters. Those aren’t rocks. They’re bullets. I choke back a hoarse yelp, desperate to escape, but I can’t.
I’m going to die. In the middle of nowhere, cold, and alone, and Simon is going to get away with killing me. Along with so many more...
2
Wyatt
Murphy bounds up to me as I finish stacking another load of wood against the cellar wall. His desperate barks raise the hair on my arms and tighten my chest in an all too familiar way.
Fuck. I haven’t had a panic attack in months. Thought maybe I was over them—despite my former shrink warning me that wasn’t very likely.
Dropping to one knee, I wrap my arms around my dog and touch my forehead to his. The Belgian Malinois—a type of Shepherd and my best friend in this world—stills until I can breathe again. He knows me. Knows what I need. Knows how to stop an attack from consuming me for hours.
With a low whine, Murphy licks my neck, and the cold swipe of his tongue helps pull me back from the edge. “I’m okay, pal. Good boy.”
But he doesn’t relax. Just lets loose with another series of barks as he bounds between me and the cellar door. “What is it?”
He skids to a halt, closes his teeth around my shirt sleeve, and tugs.
“Okay, okay. I’ll follow you.” After he leads me out of the cellar and I latch the doors, he runs to the edge of the meadow west of the cabin, then back to me. “Hold on. We’re not going anywhere without our gear. Not today.”
The sun set a bit ago, and the temps are falling fast. It only takes me a minute to snag my heaviest flannel from the peg just inside the cabin door and shrug into it with a wince. This weather’s hell on my shoulder. But Murphy’s vest—complete with a small emergency kit—is a little more complicated. He stands perfectly still as I tighten the straps, but his whole body is practically vibrating.
It’s been months since he got excited about anything more than a family of rabbits searching for food, but whatever’s got him all worked up today? It’s serious.
“Hold up, Murph. Not taking any chances.” I haven’t seen another soul in almost two years—other than Old Man Parker at the General Store—but there are plenty of wild animals roaming this desolate area of the mountains, so I grab my field pack and sling my rifle over my shoulder before I lock the cabin door. It’d be just my luck we’d run smack into a bear.
Clouds, heavy and dark with snow, loom over the tall pines at the top of the cliff. A spring blizzard isn’t unheard of, but this time of year in the Cascades is usually nothing but wildflowers and snowmelt. This storm, however, is rumored to carry more than three feet of accumulation.
The only reason I care? In under an hour, it’s gonna start dumping, and I have no idea what Murphy’s all worked up about.
“Show me,” I say, giving Murphy permission to take off at a trot due west. Toward the storm.
Every five minutes or so, he stops and stares back at me. I’m not sure if he’s scanning me for signs I’m too tired to go on or making sure I’m still following. Or both. We’ve been to hell and back together, and outside of one or two men in Seattle, he’s the only other creature in this world I trust.
He yips and runs so far ahead, all I can do is follow his tracks. The snow starts falling, light flakes that hit my cheeks and melt instantly.
Shit. Where are you taking me, Murph?
Another mile and we’ll reach the highway. People. Cars. Noise. No one ever stops, though. Nothing here worth stopping for. Not according to any published map or GPS. When you want to disappear, it helps to have friends with unlimited technical resources at their disposal.
I come around a bend to find Murphy scrambling over the rocks, winding back and forth as he climbs. We’re halfway up the peak, and while this side of the mountain isn’t too dangerous, the other side is nothing but sheer rock with a large crevasse sinking three hundred feet straight down.
Dusk along with the snow bathes the world in an eerie, gray glow. And then I see it. Lights cutting through the trees.
Murphy starts barking like he’s just discovered the Holy Grail, and when I catch up to him, my jaw drops. A black SUV is pinned to the mountainside by a cedar tree. One that looks like it’s about five minutes—or an inch of snow—away from snapping and sending the vehicle plummeting into the rocky maw.
“Shit. Murphy, back.” As soon as I shout the order, the dog takes several bounding leaps behind me. “Hold.”
He sits up tall, and I set my rifle down next to him.
“It’s too dangerous for you, pal. Hold and wait.”
From this angle, I can’t see the driver. If they’re even still in there. Digging in my pack, I pull out a flashlight. Is that…blood dripping from the window? I creep closer. Yep. Crimson stains the newly fallen snow. Fresh, so whoever’s in there is still alive—or was very recently—and they haven’t been out here for long. Not in this cold.
Carefully, I pick and claw my way over the rocks until I’m above the SUV. The tree isn’t going to last much longer. Not with the way the wind is picking up.
A woman lies against the driver side window. Pale skin, sunken eyes, and a fine layer of snow dusting her dark red sweater.
“Can you hear me? Uh…ma’am?”
I think her lashes flutter, but I can’t be sure. “I’m gonna get you out of there. But whatever you do, don’t move.”
Shit. I don’t even know if she can move. Or if she’s still breathing.
Get your ass in gear, Wyatt. Or she’s a goner.
Going in through the window above her is suicide. Any more weight on the tree trunk and it’ll give up the ghost. But it’s the only option. Even if it tips the SUV like a see-saw.
I pull a long length of rope from my pack and toss it over a broken tree stump just above the vehicle. It’s a fresh break, probably from when the car fell, so the root system should be strong enough to hold me.
Without proper climbing equipment, this is going to be damn near impossible, but if I don’t try, she’ll die before I can get help. Either from hypothermia or when the tree snaps like a twig.
My gloves provide a good grip on the rope, and I lower myself hand-under-hand until my feet rest lightly on the door frame beneath her.
“Can you move, darlin’?” She doesn’t stir, and there’s way too much blood pooling on the cracked window for her to last much longer.
The seat belt’s stuck. Shit. Letting go of the rope isn’t an option. I’m a big guy. Six-foot-three, over two-fifty last time I got on a scale. So I wrap the rope around my left hand twice, and with my right, pull out my pocket knife.
I have to pry it open with my teeth, and sawing through the black nylon feels like it takes a century.
As soon as the belt gives way, the woman crumples forward with a tiny, weak cry. The SUV teeters. A loud crack reverberates through the air.
Her whimper turns into a hoarse scream. We’re fucked. The tree won’t last more than another few seconds.
“Focus, darlin’. I’m gonna get you out of here, but we have to hurry.”
She blinks up at me, shock freezing her mouth in a small O. Crap. Another branch gives way. The SUV starts to tip forward.
“Can you tie this rope under your arms?” I ask, offering her the loose end. “As tight as possible.”
She nods, but when she tries to shift, pain creases lines around her lips and her face turns white as a sheet.
“Stop. Never mind. We’ll do it another way.” This is a bad idea of epic proportions. “But we have to be fast. You understand?”
“Y-yes,” she whispers.
“Is your right arm injured?”
“No.” The woman gingerly reaches up, and I nod.
“Good. I need you to hang on to me. No matter what.” Crouching a little lower, I slide my free arm around her back and lift her so she can cling to my neck. To her credit, she doesn’t cry out, but she’s shivering so violently, I’m afraid she’s going to pass out any minute.
I guide the rope under her ass, then feed it through my belt loop. It’s not enough to hold her entire weight. But it’ll help. One more time around my body and I knot it at my shoulder.
Below us, Murphy starts barking, the tone frantic. “Gotta go, darlin’. Close your eyes if you have to, but don’t let go.”
She buries her face against my chest, and I pull us up one hand at a time. She’s maybe a buck-thirty, and I’ve carried heavier on missions. Granted, that was before the explosion.
Before the lifetime of pain and nightmares I just can’t shake.
Six inches at a time, we rise. My head and shoulders clear the passenger side window as the tree gives up the fight. The crack is deafening, especially with the silence of the snowfall around us. The woman starts to scream.
“Look at me, darlin’. Nowhere else,” I snap. She peers up at me, her brown eyes bloodshot and terrified, but she doesn’t look away.
The SUV falls out from under us, and the crash when it lands? Fuck. I’m back in Afghanistan as the building explodes. I can smell the smoke. The burning flesh. The blood.
Until Murphy starts barking like his life depends on it. My best friend. He needs me. Cold fingers dig into the back of my neck. Blinking hard, I meet the woman’s gaze. She’s half frozen, and now that I can see her whole face? I’m back in the present in a heartbeat.
A black eye at least a week old. A scraped cheek, less than a day. Bruises around her neck. We’re losing the light, but I wouldn’t be surprised if those were finger marks.
Move, asshole. Get her onto solid ground.
“Almost there. This next bit’s not gonna be fun.” With the car gone, I brace my feet against the cliff face, bend my knees, and push off. We swing twenty feet to the right, and I absorb the worst of the impact as we come to rest before I lower us the last fifty feet.
Murphy runs back and forth, waiting for us, and as soon as we touch down, he presses himself to my legs. “It’s okay, pal. Settle.”
The command word calms him, and he sits patiently, waiting for my next order.
“What’s your name?” I ask the woman in my arms. “I’ll get you up to the highway. There are call boxes every mile, and you need an ambulance.”
She shakes her head, tears shimmering in her eyes. “No...hospitals,” she whispers.
“You’re bleeding, darlin’. And half frozen.”
“He’ll...kill...me.” Her voice fades, her eyelids flutter closed, and she collapses against me.
“Fuck.” What the hell am I supposed to do now?
3
Wyatt
I stumble up the cabin steps with the woman slung over my shoulders in a fireman’s carry. The whole trek, I was sure she was going to wake up and lose her shit, but I couldn’t cradle her in my arms for two full miles. Not over rough terrain, in the dark, with the snow falling hard and fast.
Murphy sits patiently next to the wood stove while I lay the woman on the rug, stoke the fire that almost died out, and retrieve my first aid kit from under the kitchen sink. Now that I can see her in the light, I curse under my breath. I should have spent more time assessing her condition before hiking back here.
She’s too pale. Her fingers are almost blue. I wrapped her in my heavy flannel before we set off, but she was already soaked to the skin and down a hell of a lot of blood.
“Can you hear me, darlin’? I have to get you warm, and that means taking these clothes off.”
She’s out like a light. If I thought I could wait until she regained consciousness, I would. The idea of stripping a woman down to her skivvies without permission doesn’t sit well with me, but it’s a hell of a lot better than watching her die.
Get your shit together, Wyatt.
Boots. I can handle taking off her boots. They’re new. Expensive. As is her sweater. Hell, everything she’s wearing screams luxury.
With every inch of skin I uncover, my anger ratchets up another dozen notches. Under the lights, it’s painfully obvious she’s been someone’s punching bag for quite a while. Bruises cover her torso and upper arms, a handful of long, thin scars cross her back, and the wound to her left arm? It’s not one gash, but two.
The deep slice was definitely from a blade, but just above the makeshift bandage she fashioned from a strip of cotton is a jagged hole. A bullet.
“He’ll kill me.”
Looks like whoever he is came damn close. I call up my memories of the SUV. One of the tires was flat. No glass in the passenger side window. The back window…at least three small holes.
Fuck me. Did they force her off the road too? I glance up at Murphy. “You heard the shots, didn’t you, pal?”
He whines and nudges the woman’s bare foot.
“I know. I’m workin’ on it. No one’s goin’ to hurt her now.” Not even me, if I can help it. But the bullet’s still lodged in her arm, and I don’t have any anesthetic. Now that her clothes—everything except her bra and panties—are in a heap next to the stove, her cheeks start to flush. Resting the back of my hand against her forehead, I mutter, “Shit.” If she’s this feverish after less than ten minutes inside…I need to get the slug out of her ASAP.
“Murph? Protect.”
He knows hundreds of commands, and protect tells him to use his entire body to cover his target. Stretching over her, he rests his muzzle on her right shoulder. If she does wake up, at least she won’t feel alone.
