Forsaken Read online

  She looked away. “Let’s go.”

  He touched a finger to her chin, drawing her attention back to his face, cradling her in his gaze. Then he straightened just enough to step through the door and disappeared without a sound.

  She followed, stopping to pull shut the door as if that single action could mean the protection of her home—her family. The sound was final and all too real. The noise seemed to echo over the rugged land. Worried, she found Gage’s eyes.

  They were bright and a little glazed and, as such, not much comfort. He stood flat against the back wall of the house, his right hand clamped to his left shoulder. “I’ll lead and cover you.” He tipped his head needlessly toward the shed—a good fifty feet away—and retrieved his gun from his waistband with his blood-soaked hand. Then he slipped from the darker shadows and into the open yard.

  Riley held her breath, her heart nearly pounding out of her chest, but he made it to a small cluster of trees situated near the shed without incident.

  It took every bit of self-control she could muster not to run after him, full tilt. To placate her nerves, she held her bag in a death grip and pinned it against her body so it wouldn’t rattle, then jogged after Gage. When she neared the trees, he waved her along. She ran past him, slipped into the shed, and stood there in the stale, humid air breathing hard.

  And admiring a hell of a truck. Late model, it looked brand new and gleamed black even in the dark—a far cry from the beaters he’d gone through when they were dating. How in the world had Gage ended up with a ride like that?

  Seconds later, he joined her. “That was too easy,” he said in a low voice. He switched the gun to his left hand and reached for the driver’s side door.

  Before he could pull the handle, Riley put a hand on his arm. “What about the light?” she asked, worried it would be a dead giveaway. Dead being the operative word.

  Mischief darted across his face. “I disengaged it.” To prove his point, he opened the door and, sure enough, no light. He gestured with his good arm for her to pass.

  “Who does this?” Riley muttered, climbing into the cab and scooting to the passenger side. “Awful lot of trouble you went through to be sneaky.”

  “Not on your account.” He jumped in after her and pulled the door shut with a quiet click. The gun landed in the console. “Look under your seat for the first aid kit. I need something to wipe off this blood. It doesn’t feel like more than a graze, but I don’t know how bad it actually is. Hurts like hell.”

  “You sound like you’ve done this before.” Riley felt under the leather seat and removed a plastic case. “And, by the way, nice truck,” she said, admiring the inside. His ride had to have cost more than her family home. Rifling through the contents of the kit, she found a moist wipe—a feat in the dark. “You win the lottery?”

  Gage ignored her question and accepted the thin towelette with a wry look. “Got another one?”

  Riley laughed—a nervous sound that gave more away than she cared to admit—and felt inside the box, almost spilling it when he shrugged out of his shirt. In spite of the unexpected distraction, she came up with a handful of alcohol wipes.

  “Need help?” she asked, staring through the windshield with exaggerated intensity. Ogling his shirtless chest was no more an option than looking him in the eye, and she was hard pressed to avoid either one. Not like you’ve never seen him naked, she told herself. But the sculpted Adonis in her peripheral vision said otherwise. Hardened muscle. Scars she didn’t remember.

  All of him achingly familiar, the differences striking because of it.

  “If you’re up for it.”

  His words jolted her from her thoughts. “Up for what?”

  “Help?” The innocence of the word was lost to the bemused grin he wore.

  Her cheeks grew warm, then hot when she ripped open one of the foil packets and had an immediate, unwelcome flashback to sex—with him. There’d never been anyone else. The tease of cool night air over tangled limbs, bare flesh and fingertips, butterflies and wild horses. Every moment irrevocably belonging to Gage.

  Gage twisted in the seat, giving her some version of access to the damage on his far shoulder. But it wasn’t enough to allow her to maintain distance, and the realization was an angst-filled one. Remember why you broke it off, she told herself as she moved within reach of the wound, but it didn’t do any good. Her parents’ deaths had been an accident. She knew it then, and she was no less aware of it now. And ridding herself of Gage had been a mistake.

  Especially now that she’d lost the affection of the man she’d left him for. Colt.

  She’d been so desperate for his love.

  She still was.

  Riley swallowed the bitter ache and went to work on Gage’s shoulder, relieved to discover he was right. It was little more than a graze. A deep one, but at least she wouldn’t have to dig to remove a bullet. “Not much bleeding now. We’ll be able to bandage it.”

  “Good,” he said, intent on the windshield in spite of the awkward yoga-esque twisted position in which it left him. “Let it go.”

  Riley paused, mid stroke. “Why? It won’t take—”

  He shifted in the seat and reached for the keys. “Because we’re sitting ducks. I’d love to play hero and tear through the back wall of this shed if someone starts shooting from the front, but that oak tree back there won’t give much.” He shot a bone-piercing look in her direction. “Get on the floor, and keep your head down. Once I start this truck there’s no turning back, and we’re in for a rough ride.”

  Was there any turning back now? She almost laughed, but his serious expression wiped the thought away. Without a word, she slid to the floor and tucked her knees to her chest, hugging them close. The large opening of the shed faced the side yard, and from their position near the rear of the property, they weren’t far from the crest of the next hill.

  If her daddy’s gun was in the hands of a killer, they just might need that hill. The rifle was accurate at a distance far past the cover of the far slope.

  “I hope I can still feel my way down your back path,” Gage said, peering into the night, “because I’m not going to hold this maniac’s hand by using the headlights.” He looked down at her and grinned. “Fortunately, I had a refresher trip this afternoon.”

  “Lovely. Thanks for the reminder.”

  He shrugged and turned the key. “How could you forget? Now, hang on.”

  She didn’t have a chance. The instant the engine caught, the truck tore out of the shed. They took a hard right, away from the house, the suspension absorbing several rough bumps as they slid sideways over the thick, unkempt grass near the rear of the yard. From her vantage point, Riley could see only the black sky outside the truck, but it wasn’t hard to figure out where they were by the feel of the terrain under the tires. Old ruts on the path caused several unforgiving jolts, each one slamming her against the door and glove box with increasing intensity.

  Gage didn’t let up. He kept a white-knuckled grip on the wheel, and—judging from the scream of the engine—the pedal to the floor. The ride was relentless, but the angle of their ascent told her they had to be near the top of the hill. Any second now, they would crest it and be out of the sights of the killer behind them—

  With a horrific blast, the back window imploded. All sound seemed to fall away with the raining glass, and for a split, surreal second the world was mute. It wasn’t until the truck slowed and took a sudden, thoughtless turn to the left that Riley tore her attention from the gaping hole. The steering wheel jerked erratically, fighting the lay of the land.

  Only one thing hampered the wild rotation.

  With horror, she realized it was the cumbersome weight of Gage’s body.

  Chapter Three

  Driven by instinct, Riley scrambled for the steering wheel. She refused to consider the worst—acknowledging the sight of Gage
face down was out of the question—and focused instead on gaining control of the truck before it wrapped itself around a tree. Lodged on the floor of the full-sized cab, the only thing she managed to reach was Gage’s arm. Desperate and hoping for leverage, she pulled hard on the dangling limb.

  The limb pulled back. “What are you doing?” Gage hissed, glaring over the bend in his elbow. “I told you to stay down.”

  Startled, she rocked back to the floorboard. Broken bits of safety glass rattled under her. “What do you mean, what am I doing?” She gulped air. “My God, I thought you’d been shot. What are you doing?”

  “Playing dead.”

  “What?”

  “I’m letting our guy pat himself on the back a little. If he thinks he got me, it might buy us some time.”

  She hadn’t thought of it, but of course he was right. Their erratic route had convinced her, and she had a front row seat. From a distance, the act must have been impeccable. They were near enough to the top of the hill to simply idle over it to make their escape, and all Gage had to do was ensure their trip didn’t involve a tree trunk. “You almost sound like you know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Have you tried this before?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  Riley narrowed her eyes, now sure he was keeping something from her. The scars, the kind of truck upon which he swore he’d never waste good money, the packaging of gunfire and bullet wounds into something akin to “shit happens”…by themselves none of the facts meant much, but the compilation told a story.

  Only he wasn’t talking.

  The land flattened somewhat beneath the tires, and Riley released a breath. She brushed some of the broken glass off the seat with an envelope she found on the floor console, knowing the safety glass wouldn’t cut her but not particularly willing to sit on it, either. She waited until her view of the trees thickened on the other side of the small hill before edging into the seat, dismayed with the tension in her legs. Fortunately, she had plenty of room to stretch.

  Gage straightened, rolling one shoulder then the other, his jaw tightening when he moved the injured side. He glanced in the rearview mirror, hit a switch, and the yellow glow of parking lights paved their way downhill. He steered onto the path and hit the gas, pulling them out of the silent idle and picking up speed.

  “Good thing it’s warm tonight,” she ventured, fanning herself with the envelope she still held. She gave him a sideways look. “Window stuck in the down position and all.” The attempt at small talk seemed misplaced but, she reasoned, even fugitives had to talk about something.

  Fugitives? The day had most certainly gone awry.

  “Glad to know you still have a sense of humor.” He spared another glance her direction, eyes dancing and warming her to the core. Then his gaze drifted lower, evoking tawdry tingles from unpracticed nerves. The lazy tour came to a screeching halt, however, in the proximity of her lap.

  “What?” She looked down and noticed the envelope in her hand.

  And her handwriting on the front.

  She stared at the three-year-old love note—the first she’d ever given him—in shock. “You still have this? With you?”

  “Yeah.” He stared through the windshield. “I agreed to stay away from you, Riley, but I never promised to forget about us. I never said I’d stop loving you.”

  Stunned, she leaned over to settle the note in its spot on the console, right next to his revolver. “I—”

  “Don’t. I know I shouldn’t have gone anywhere near you—and damned if I’m not good for my word—but as soon as I saw that bullet sticking out of the back wall of my house, I knew that was your gun. I didn’t stop to think about it. I just knew I had to get to you.”

  “To kill me?” she asked, remembering the direction of his aim.

  “Not once I realized you didn’t do it.”

  Small comfort.

  The dirt path they traveled met pavement. Gage hit the brakes and looked in both dark directions. After a long moment, he turned on the headlights and pulled onto the road, heading west.

  She stared down the long, empty road ahead. “Now what?”

  “First we’re going to get rid of this truck. I don’t know if anyone is looking for it or not, but as long as there’s a chance we can’t take it. Besides, it’s hard to blend in without a back window. Then”—he drummed his fingers on the wheel, casting a hollow look in her direction—“we’re going to Tehcotah.”

  Riley’s heart skidded to a stop. There was only one reason they’d go to Tehcotah, and Gage was the absolute last person who ought to be there.

  And he knew it.

  He shifted to give her a pointed look. “It’s about time we paid my buddy Colt a visit, don’t you think?”

  Gage didn’t wait for her reaction—the last thing he needed was to see her think about him. Instead, he turned his attention to the road, listening to the hum of the tires on the pavement through the missing back window. He wasn’t thrilled about the broken glass, but the fresh air and the smell of home worked wonders for his peace of mind. He’d been gone far too long—he still would be gone if his brother hadn’t asked to meet him that afternoon. And if Gage hadn’t agreed, Billy would still be alive.

  Gage sure as hell hadn’t come back for this.

  Riley left him for Colt. He knew it, and he didn’t care to revisit the emotions hidden behind that particular closed door of his past—probably not any more than she did. But if anyone else in the world would know how to get in Oren Beckett’s safe, it was Colt.

  And the bastard better have answers, because the list of people who could have stolen the gun was only four letters long—each one written in Billy’s blood.

  Gage wasn’t one to sniffle over his emotions, but he felt them all the same. He and Billy hadn’t been close—adolescence had taken them in vastly different directions—but the loss ripped at his foundation. Gage had precisely two portions of his life that mattered: the early years spent raising prepubescent hell with Billy, and the couple of years he had with Riley before he’d managed to kill her parents. For two broken pieces of his past to collide like this was more than a blow…it was a mockery of his life.

  A sideways glance told him Riley wasn’t faring much better. She twisted her hands in her lap—a constant shuffle threatening to rattle his nerves—and stared out the window with a bit more concentration than near pitch darkness required. He knew the feeling, the search for distraction. He’d lived it a year ago after he said goodbye to Oren and Evelyn Beckett, an unwelcome outsider skirting the back of a double graveside crowd whose numbers rivaled the town’s entire population.

  A day later, he had buried himself. Wanted to crawl out of his own skin and forget what he’d done and how much he’d hurt everyone. To be anyone or anywhere else when Riley left to be with Colt.

  “Colt didn’t do this.”

  Gage turned his head from the road to see the gorgeous lines of her profile, nearly hidden by waves of dark hair.

  She didn’t look his way.

  He sighed and turned his attention to the road. “I know you love him, but you don’t know—”

  “No, really.” Her voice was firm. “He’s paralyzed from the neck down. He didn’t do this.”

  Gage snapped shut his mouth. A year before, Colt left the scene of the accident in an ambulance, and unlike the one waiting for Oren and Evelyn, his took off in a hurry. As far as Gage knew, once Colt left the hospital, he had never returned to their hometown of Barefoot. Gage assumed the change in venue had been Colt’s way of sidestepping the memories—hell, it had been Gage’s own excuse—but under the circumstances, the assessment now seemed cruel.

  “He could have hired someone,” Gage said.

  “No. He wouldn’t do that.”

  Even from the corner of his eye, the stubborn set of her jaw warned against his going further. He continued a
nyway, knowing damn well opening his mouth would be akin to tiptoeing on landmines. “You also knew nothing would come between us. Remember that? And I bet all those times you let me make love to you, you never considered I might wipe your family off the map. Loss changes people. So unless you know who has that gun, I suggest you stop defending the only man who could know.”

  He was genuinely surprised the driver’s side window didn’t crack under the scathing look he received in response. Regret crept through the frustration. “Riley—”

  “Don’t.” She turned to her window, leaving him with a view of the back of her head.

  A hint of the sugary scent of her shampoo—inexplicably not lost through the gaping hole across the rear of the cab—railroaded him. He slowed to a stop at an intersection, wondering if she’d bail on him. Not wanting to give her more of an opportunity, he questioned whether he should take the time to fish the phone out from under the seat. Considering the hell he’d raised that day, he was long overdue to check in with Maverick. Still, Gage didn’t trust his injured arm to steer, so he had little choice but to stop the truck. Besides, there wasn’t anywhere for her to go. They were in the middle of nowhere.

  He found the phone. Still idling at the stop sign, he powered it up and was surprised to discover two whole bars of reception lighting up the corner of the screen. “Must be our lucky night,” he said under his breath, not missing Riley’s subsequent look of disbelief.

  Despite her steadfast glare, his arm tingled with the urge to reach for her. Even a bullet hadn’t dislodged the arousal that set up camp in his groin earlier that night after he found himself between her thighs again. She may have played him—and embarrassingly so—by taking his gun, but he was kind of proud of her for that move, especially since there were no other witnesses to his humiliation.

  Studying her as he pressed the call button and fighting the urge to give his fingertips another taste of her skin, he concluded it might be fortunate he only had one good arm at the moment. It rather narrowed his options.