Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
The tracks finally veered off. Just before the switchback, they curved behind a stand of alders and stopped. Brock’s truck was there. Christian quickly searched it and found nothing but a bit of blood on the passenger seat. Amka’s. Had to be.
A second set of tires showed. Narrower, more aggressive pattern. SUV, maybe. Possibly a light pickup with off-road grip. The angle said she’d been moved fast. No blood on the ground now. Probably moved her to the second vehicle unconscious.
Christian pressed a hand to the earth where the tread turned. Still damp. Still fresh. They’d moved fast. He stood, chest burning. His shirt clung to him, soaked through on one side, the duct-taped gauze useless now. The pain in his torso flared again, sharp and biting. He ignored it.
He turned in a slow circle, scanning the tree line.
Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a sharp, rising whistle.
Waited.
The wind moved through the branches. A raven called overhead. Nothing else.
He whistled again. Louder this time. A raw edge clung to the sound.
Silence held for three long seconds.
Then, crashing brush to the east. Four-legged movement.
Tika burst from the trees at a dead sprint, tongue lolling, fur bristled. His mismatched eyes locked on Christian, and he didn’t stop until he reached him. He skidded to a halt, nose down, breath coming fast.
Christian dropped to one knee again and gripped the thick ruff of fur. “Good boy,” he muttered, the tightness in his throat burning worse than the hole in his chest. “We’ve got her trail. Let’s finish this.”
Tika turned and sniffed the dirt, pacing the edge of the second set of treads.
Christian followed, scanning the ground.
There was a drag mark. Slight. A vehicle had trampled the pine needles. No blood now, but the direction was clear.
He moved fast, boots churning mud, gaze on the disturbed path. He couldn’t believe he’d tried to brush her off, and she’d laughed at him.
Knowing they belonged together.
And he’d fucked it up. Had let himself be shot and her be taken. She had to be all right. He needed to tell her everything—especially how he felt about her.
Tika ran beside him, nose low, tail straight behind him. They cut into the old logging road, the tires having spun deep here. Water had pooled in the ruts, and rocks jutted up in scattered clumps. The vehicle was still moving fast. Maybe thirty, thirty-five. Too fast for rough terrain.
He followed the track into thicker forest, branches scraping his arms. The sky had clouded again, light dimming. But the trail was solid.
He kept going. Pain shot down his arm. His knees ached. Sweat stung his eyes. None of it mattered.
She was out there.
He would find her.
“I’m coming for you,” he said aloud, voice rough.
Tika growled and pressed ahead again.
Christian followed, boots steady in the mud. He would track them until the road gave out. Until his legs did. Or until he lost too much blood.
His vision wavered and he blinked several times to focus.
He had to find her.
Chapter 38
Amka slowly came to, her head aching and her nose hurting. Why did her nose hurt? She tasted blood. Wait a minute. Blood.
Christian.
She gasped, opening her eyes. He’d been shot.
The room came into focus and she tried to move but couldn’t. Where was she? Wait a minute. She looked down, noting she slumped on a ratty old wooden chair. She was in Jarod’s apartment. In his small and dingy living room in the Willows.
The couch was across from her. Ugly green, ripped open at one corner, stuffing leaking out like it’d given up. A crusted plate sat on the armrest. She couldn’t move her hands, which were tied behind her to the chair. Wood bit into her wrists. Before she and May had broken into the place, she’d only been here once to try to talk him out of the fake engagement, and he’d grabbed her and tried to kiss her. She’d kicked him and ran outside to her car, careful not to be alone with him again.
Light caught her eye, and she turned to see a filthy window. She smelled old pizza, feet, and something moldy. The carpet, what little showed, was worn to the threads.
The fake-wooden kitchen door was shut. The bathroom, too. Her pulse pounded against the rope. She tugged once and just caused pain up her arms.
The kitchen door was shut, and she couldn’t see into the one bathroom.
“Oh. Finally.” Helene Stanford walked in from the bedroom, this time wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, her black hair up in a ponytail. “Sorry about your nose. I kind of dropped you a couple of times.” Her dark gaze narrowed. “You’re heavier than you look.”
Amka lifted her chin, her hands tied behind her back and to the chair. It was a cheaper wooden chair. Could she damage it? Right now, her head felt like mush. “I don’t understand.” Why would the insurance adjuster kidnap her?