Nearly four years of routine.
It hadn’t brought him peace, but it had brought him safety. No more heartache. No more sorrow. Nothing but restoring what had been left to decay. Old houses were easier to deal with than people.
Easier.
Safer.
Emptier.
“Do you think he’s following us?” Skylar panted, pulling him back to the moment, the mission.
“He doesn’t have a gun. We have two. I think he’ll hang back and wait for his buddies to join him.”
“I hope you’re right, because I’m telling my legs to move, but they don’t seem to be listening.”
“You’re doing fine.” But he was nearly dragging her along, her stumbling steps keeping him from moving as fast as he would have liked. As fast as they needed to.
Somewhere in the distance a bird called, the sound crawling up his spine, urging him to hurry. Another call answered the first, and he tensed. He knew the desert and her creatures, and he knew the sound of a posse moving in, a net tightening. Knew it … felt it. If they didn’t move fast, they’d be trapped, boxed in by the men who were hunting them.
“Kane said you’re a marathon runner. Think you can turn on a little speed?”
“I—?” Skylar began, but he pulled her into a dead run, not giving her time to think, to doubt her ability. She had to know. Had to sense what he did. Danger breathing down their necks, nipping at their heels. Whatever she’d gotten involved in, it wasn’t pretty, and if they weren’t careful, it would take them both down.
“How much time do you think we have before they find us?” Skylar panted. A runner for sure, but a runner at the end of her reserves. How much farther could she go? How much more energy did she have to expend?
“Not enough,” he answered her question and his own.
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” She coughed on the last word, the sound tight and hot. Her hand was hot, too, heat coming off her body in waves. He could feel it through his sleeve.
The mesa was just ahead. A mile or less, but Skylar’s pace was slowing, her breath coming in short, frantic gasps.
“We need to keep going, Grady. Another few minutes. You can give me that, right?” He tightened his grip on her hand, and she squeezed back, not bothering to waste breath responding.
Lightning flashed to the north, the low rumble of thunder reminding Jonas of another night, another woman. Pouring rain. Lightning. The sound of a gunshot. Gabriella falling, blood pouring from her chest. His frantic, futile attempts to staunch the flow as the storm raged around him.
He pulled his thoughts up short. The memories could still bring him to his knees if he let them. He wouldn’t. Not now. Not when there was another life hanging in the balance, another woman depending on him.
Thunder rumbled again, and the first drop of rain fell on Jonas’s cheek. A downpour would wash away their footprints, make it more difficult for their hunters to track them. More difficult, but not impossible. There were plenty of men in the area like Jonas, trained in the old ways and capable of finding the smallest trace of their prey.
“How much farther?” Skylar huffed, her words barely carrying above the sound of rain hitting the desert floor.
“We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?“
“The mesa.”
“It’s a sheer cliff, Jonas, a rock wall. We’ll be trapped.” She bit out the words one at a time, every ounce of her fear and anger ringing with them.
“It’s not a sheer cliff, and we won’t be trapped. Now, how about you save your energy for what lies ahead instead of wasting it on words?”
“Call me crazy, but when my life is hanging by a thread, I like to know the plan.”
“The plan is we keep quiet, we keep going and we escape.”
“We’re about to run into a granite wall. Give me something more than that.”
“You ever free-climb?”
“Not at night. Not in the rain. Not …” Her voice trailed off.
“What?”
“You’re right. I need to save my energy.” She clammed up; whatever she thought about climbing the mesa was her secret.
Jonas understood that.
He knew all about holding things close to the cuff, keeping them hidden, and he let silence take them both.
Thunder cracked, the sound reverberating through the darkness, the sudden, heavy downpour soaking through Jonas’s shirt, dripping from his hair and into his eyes. There were ponchos in his pack, but he didn’t waste time pulling them out. A dry corpse was just as dead as a wet one.
The rain drowned out any sound of pursuit, but Jonas’s skin crawled, the hair on his nape standing on end. Danger was closing in.
Skylar must have sensed it, too. She tensed, her grip on his hand tightening, then loosening as she tried to pull free. “You go … ahead. I’ll find a place to wait … and ambush our … followers.”
“I didn’t take you for a quitter, Grady.”
“I’m not quitting, I’m—”
“Trying to make sure at least one of us survives? Because, if that’s your plan, you’d better change it. I told Kane that I’d get you out of the Sonoran. That’s what I’m going to do.”
“One of us living is a whole lot better than both of us dying.” She ground out every word deliberately as she yanked her hand away from his. She didn’t stop running, though, and he pulled her up short as they reached the mesa, turned her to the east.
“This way.” He knew the area well, had climbed the mesa dozens of times when he was a reckless teen searching for the next challenge. Had climbed it again as an adult seeking solace after the murders. The ridges in the rock face were as familiar as an old friend, and he slid his palm along the cool stone as he sought the large crevice that would lead them up.
There. Just under his fingertips. “This is it. There’s a cave a hundred feet up. Ready?”
“I don’t think I can do it.” The words were barely a whisper, but Jonas heard the admission and the defeat.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“There are always choices. I can die with my feet planted on the ground, shooting it out and fighting. Or I can die trying to escape. I choose to fight.”
“Who says trying to escape isn’t fighting?” He pulled a rope from his pack. He hadn’t bothered with full climbing gear, hadn’t imagined he would need it. That had been his mistake. Hopefully, he wouldn’t live to regret it. Wouldn’t die regretting it.
“Me.” She dropped onto the ground, pressing her face to her bent knees.
“Here’s the thing, Grady.” He crouched beside her, forced her chin up so they were eye to eye. “If you stay, I stay. That means I die, and I’m not willing to die tonight.”
She stared into his eyes, rain streaming down her face, sopping her hair so that it clung to her head. She looked cold, tired, miserable, but she didn’t look done. She looked angry. “How about you do your thing, and I do mine? How about you climb, and I stay?”
“How about we stop arguing and get moving?”
She hesitated, then stood. “Fine. We’ll do it your way,