Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Finally, my other wrist dropped out of the rope, and I sat there stupidly holding my wrist in my hand until the feeling came back in that arm. Then I forced myself to stand up, trying hard not to hear the squelch in my boots from my sodden socks.
I was experienced enough to know this would spell terrible blisters by the time I made it back to the trailhead, but Jake could come back at any moment, which meant I didn’t have time to wait around for my socks to dry.
It took me a moment to orient myself before heading off. I couldn’t bring myself to drink from my water bottle since I didn’t trust that Jake hadn’t drugged it, too. Besides, the pack was protecting the only dry spot on my body—my chest—and I didn’t want to take the chance of giving up that retained heat by opening my jacket and rooting around in my pack.
I moved down the trail as quietly and swiftly as I could, listening for any sounds of approach. The trail narrowed quickly as I moved past the trees, and cold rain shafted through the branches to lay glistening wet streaks across the ground. The light was nearly gone now, and the deepening shadows were disorienting, making me second-guess every step I took.
I couldn’t believe this had actually happened. Kidnapped at the ripe old age of thirty, not because my attacker wanted to ransom me to my famous father but because he wanted to ransom me to… myself. Because he wanted to trade on my fame. My parents would appreciate the irony.
Actually, no, they wouldn’t. They’d lose their minds. So would Trace.
They’d murder Jake. And then happily spend the rest of their lives in jail.
After they had a collective heart attack from learning that I was Fletcher Coe.
Fuck, imagine if this was how they found out? After five and a half years of hiding, of burying that half of myself behind thick, reinforced walls, would it really be Jake who brought everything crashing down?
He claimed he wanted a break for Shay. Financial security. And I didn’t doubt it was true. But I was pretty sure this was about resentment, too. Humiliation.
About needing someone to blame for years of disappointment.
My boot caught on an exposed root, and I stumbled, catching myself against the nearest tree trunk.
I blew out a breath and stood back up, silently thanking the tree for the quick save.
After a few more minutes down the trail, a rustling noise moved through the trees in front of me. I stepped backward instinctively—
And the edge of my boot landed on a jagged rock hidden beneath the dirt and leafy debris of the trail.
My ankle rolled violently.
Pain tore up my leg so fast and sharp it stole the breath from my lungs. I crashed hard on my hip against the base of a tree, and the flash of a deer’s white tail disappeared through the trees as the world tilted beneath a wave of nausea.
“Fuck,” I hissed.
I tried to stand and immediately regretted it as agony shot through my ankle hard enough to make my vision blur.
Definitely not okay. A strained laugh escaped me before I could stop it, even though my eyes smarted with tears. “Idiot.”
I thought of just how serious my situation was. Injured and alone on a dark trail slick with mud, not knowing if or when Jake would return.
It took me a minute to come to terms with my new reality. If I was going to get out of there before the sun completely set and the remaining light blacked out every hazard on the trail, I was going to have to crawl.
So that’s what I started doing.
Any other time, I might have been embarrassed that Trace’s name repeated in my head like some pathetic mantra. Now, alone in the mud with a busted ankle and the rain coming sideways through the trees, I stopped being embarrassed about it.
As I slogged through the mud on my hands and knees, I thought Trace’s name as loud as I could, like his presence could warm me from the inside out. Like he’d somehow feel it from wherever he was and come find me.
There was no one better at finding lost things than Trace Bishop. Lost hikers, lost causes, lost men who should have known better—he had a gift for it. I’d never once doubted that he’d find me.
And maybe I should have been embarrassed by needing him as badly as I did. Maybe I should have worried that it would make me seem weak or childish. But I couldn’t quite make myself feel it.
Trace hadn’t treated me that way. Especially not since he found me again. At every opportunity, he’d shown that he trusted and believed in me. When my fear threw up roadblocks, he knocked them down, reminding me of my talent and competence.