What kind of business would take place so far from civilization?
What kind of men would be there?
Not the kind of business she wanted to be involved in. Not the kind of men she should be around.
Yet here she was, going where she didn’t want to go, with men she shouldn’t be with, and she had absolutely no idea how to get out of the situation.
Any time you’re ready, Lord, I’m open for suggestions.
She hoped for sudden inspiration, a quick solution to her troubles. She got nothing.
Her fingers itched to unzip her pack and pull out one of her chocolate bars. A little sugar, a little energy and maybe her brain would start functioning and she could figure a way out of the situation. She started to shrug out of the pack, but froze as Sky speared her with a hard stare. “What are you doing?”
Johnson must have heard because he turned, his dead eyes jumping from Martha to Sky and back again. “What’s going on?”
Don’t panic. Be a ditzy, stupid woman who thought it would be adventurous to wander through the Blue Ridge Mountains with Sky and his friends.
She forced herself to let the pack slide the rest of the way down her arms. “Just thinking I’d have a snack.”
“A snack?” Sky’s jaw twitched, his blue eyes boring into hers.
She forced strength back into legs that had gone wobbly and did her best to act as if she didn’t know how much danger she was in. “Yes. A snack. A girl’s got to eat. Right? It’s not like you gave me a chance to have lunch before we left.”
“Let me give you a hand with that.” Johnson yanked the pack from her hands, his eyes gleaming with the hard gaze of a predator and filling Martha with cold dread.
“Knock yourself out.”
He rifled through the pack, then thrust it at Sky. “No more stops.”
“Or else” hung in the air, unspoken, but Martha heard it clearly enough. She was also pretty sure that if she looked hard enough, she could see the outline of Johnson’s gun beneath the lightweight jacket he wore. It would take only seconds for him to pull it, fire it and wash his probably-already-stained-with-blood hands of the situation.
Fear loosened her muscles and joints and made walking almost impossible. Only Sky’s firm grip on her hand kept her going. She wanted to go home to her little cottage in the woods, sit on the front porch and watch the sunset behind the mountains one last time; bask in the colors, the feel, the scent of it. Crisp, cool, alive. She wanted to hug her father, tell him she loved him, kiss his leathery cheek just once more. Wanted to go out with her girlfriends, have a slice of Doris’s apple pie, inhale the scent of laughter, the heady aroma of joy.
Hot tears worked their way down her cheek, mixing with cold rain.
“Chocolate?” Sky’s question pulled her away from her maudlin thoughts.
She glanced at the candy bar he was holding out and knew she’d choke if she tried to eat it. “I changed my mind.”
“A little energy will do you good.” He unwrapped the chocolate, pressed the bar into her hand. “Eat and stop worrying.”
To her surprise, he wiped the hot tears from her cheeks, pressing his palm against her chilled flesh, his voice warm as a spring day. “Everything will be okay. I promise.”
“Promises are a dime a dozen.”
“Not mine. You will be okay. There is no other option.” He stared into her eyes as if he could pass his confidence to her with a look.
Then the moment was gone. He reached for the candy bar, broke a piece of chocolate off and popped it into his mouth. “Looks like we’ve reached our destination. Showtime.”
With that, he hiked her pack onto his back and pulled her toward the skeletal remains of the logging camp.
Fear was a terrible thing. It made thinking impossible. It made smart people act dumb. And that’s exactly what it was doing to Martha. She wanted to yank her hand from Sky’s and run, but that would not only be the stupidest decision of her life, it would also be her last. Sky would catch her before she got three feet away if Johnson’s bullet hadn’t already knocked her to the ground.
The way Martha saw it, she’d done enough stupid things in the past few months to last a lifetime. First she’d dated a guy who had a reputation for being arrogant and thoughtless. Second, she’d continued to date him even after she’d begun to suspect those rumors were true. Third, she’d decided to run and hide rather than face more pity from her friends and family when she’d finally broken things off with the jerk.
Now she was officially done with stupidity.
It was time to be smart. That meant waiting no matter how much she wanted to run. Eventually she’d have a chance to escape. She had to believe that.
Up ahead, thick trees opened into an overgrown field filled with the remnants of a once bustling logging camp. Martha hadn’t been there in years, but from what she remembered, things hadn’t changed much. The place was just a little older, a little more overgrown, a lot more creepy. Then again, maybe Martha was just more creeped out. To the left, an old trailer sat atop a cinder-block foundation, graffiti bleeding down the side in reds and blues and greens. Stumps and fallen logs stood to one side, skeletons of the life that had once been there.
In the distance, the clapboard cabin where Martha and her father used to stay stood blurry and gray in the pouring rain. Several men moved toward it ahead of Martha and her escorts, their tension filling the clearing and adding to Martha’s fear. She didn’t much care for the men she’d already met. She definitely didn’t want to meet more.
“Maybe I’ll wait out here.” She tugged against Sky’s hold, but he didn’t loosen his grip. Nor did he slow his pace. They were heading toward the kind of trouble Martha had never dreamed she would find herself in, and it didn’t seem as though there was much she could do about it.
“You’ll wait where I tell you to wait. Right in that trailer over there. After me and your friend are finished with business, we’ll decide what to do with you.” Johnson speared her with a cold, hard glare, his voice chilling in its callousness.
What to do with her? As if she were some disposable thing. Martha’s heart raced, her breath came in short, shallow spurts. This was terror. Pure and stark and ugly. She forced it back, not wanting Johnson to see just how scared she was. “I’d rather—”
“I don’t care what you’d rather. In the trailer. Now.”
Johnson pulled his gun, pointed it at her chest.
“Cool it, Johnson.” Sky stepped between Martha and the gun, his hand still wrapped around Martha’s wrist.
“Do we have a problem?” The words were smooth as honey and cold as ice. A new voice, a new player, another danger. Marti didn’t need to see the man to know it, she could hear it in his voice.
“Nothing that isn’t being dealt with.” Johnson still had his gun out, but his focus had shifted, his eyes on the man who was walking toward them—medium height, well dressed. Power. Wealth. Danger. They oozed off him. It was his eyes, though, that turned Martha’s insides to mush. If Johnson’s eyes were dead, this guy’s eyes were death. There was evil there, a blackness that no amount of polish could hide.