Driven by Fire (24 page)

“Sure,” she muttered.

He caught her chin in one hard hand. “Promise me you won’t throw it over the balcony.”

“I promise.”

To her shock he place a swift, hard kiss on her mouth, and a moment later he was gone, leaving her alone with a dead woman and the one thing that could destroy her brother.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jenny stared at the smartphone in her hand. He was right, he could have taken it from her, but he probably thought she was too shell-shocked and grateful that he’d saved her life to disobey him.

He had saved her life, she realized. If he hadn’t knocked her aside Soledad would have shot her, and at such close range it would have been fatal. Instead, he’d knocked her aside as he’d shot back, and now Soledad lay dying on the once-pristine white carpet, and Jenny couldn’t bear to look at her.

Instead, she stared at the phone. It symbolized everything—her trust in her brother, her blind hope that he really was innocent. It was still a possibility, but a weaker and weaker one.

Had Soledad lied? Was it possible her brother could really have been behind it all? She’d been wrong about Soledad. She stared at the phone like it was a snake, an evil, murderous thing that was going to crush the life out of her family. She’d promised Ryder she wouldn’t throw it over the balcony, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t destroy it some other way. And what would happen if she did? Would she be saving her innocent brother from a punishment that far outstripped the lesser crime he’d thought he was committing? Or would she be protecting a monster who deserved everything he got? Ryder said they’d already downloaded and decrypted the information—they would still have a strong case even without the actual phone itself. She turned to pick up the baseball bat and then froze.

Soledad was standing, holding on to the table for support, weaving slightly, her eyes crazed. In her hand she held the gun.

Jenny felt like a rabbit caught in the stare of a rabid coyote. Ryder had gone off somewhere and left her to die. Had he done it on purpose, knowing that Soledad was merely wounded? Had he left her gun behind just so there wouldn’t be any loose ends? Did he want her dead?

Whether he did or not, that was going to be the outcome, as Soledad swayed, trying to get her gaze properly focused. “Give me the phone,” she said in a guttural voice, and there was blood trickling out the side of her mouth.

A number of responses came to mind, such as “come and get it” or “in your dreams,” all of which would have signed her death warrant. In fact, she was so terrified she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, could simply stand there waiting to be shot.

And then the sheer stupidity of that hit her, breaking the thrall. She dove for Soledad’s feet, sliding on the bloody carpet, moving so fast the dazed woman didn’t have time to react, and she went down with a crash, firing the gun wildly. Jenny didn’t count the bullets, she simply rolled away, snatching up the baseball bat as Soledad rose to her feet again, like fucking Rasputin, and on sheer instinct and adrenaline Jenny slammed the bat against her head.

It only seemed to daze the woman. She staggered toward her, but Jenny was already at the very edge of the room, by the sliding doors, and she had nowhere to go but out on the ledge, where there’d be no escape from Soledad’s gun.

She was backing onto the decking as Soledad advanced on her, cornering her, when she heard the
click click
of an empty gun, and relief swamped her. Jenny’s eyes met Soledad’s crazed ones a moment before the woman heaved the gun at her head, stunning her, and then Soledad jumped her, overwhelmingly powerful in her insane rage.

It was over in an instant, so quickly Jenny wasn’t even sure how it happened. Soledad clamped her strong, bloody hands around Jenny’s neck, squeezing fiercely, and Jenny could feel the air cut off, the blackness begin to close in. The baseball bat was trapped between them, and she turned, shoving at Soledad as hard as she could in blind panic. Soledad’s hands fell away from Jenny’s throat, and in the next moment she went backward over the low edge of the railing, twisting and turning in the wind as she fell in a silent, graceful dance.

Jenny sank back in the chair, still clinging to the baseball bat, panting, shocked, wanting to scream herself. And then she saw the smartphone lying in the middle of the carpet, in the pool of Soledad’s blood.

She’d promised not to throw it. She hated that small piece of technology—it stood for her brother’s betrayal and every horrible thing that had happened, up to and including the fact that she’d just killed a woman.

She stood up dazedly, walked over to it, and slammed the baseball bat in the center of it, over and over and over again, until she felt arms come around her, strong arms, forcing her to stop, to drop the bat. “I think you killed it,” Ryder said in her ear, sounding incredibly calm. “Where’s Soledad?”

She was surprised she was even able to speak. Her voice came out in a curiously raw monotone. “She’s gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I knocked her over the side of the balcony. She wasn’t dead, and you’d left the gun behind. Did you do that on purpose?”

He said nothing, and since he still had his arms around her, holding her back against him, she couldn’t see his expression. “Are you hurt?” he said instead. “You have blood on you.”

Jenny shook her head, not caring whether he could see it or not. “It’s Soledad’s blood. I hit her with the baseball bat.”

Something rippled through the body behind her, and she had the horrified suspicion it was laughter. “And you dumped her over the balcony?” he said in an even voice.

“No. She still came after me, but she ran out of bullets, and then she was trying to choke me, so I shoved her, and that’s when she fell.”

He turned her in his arms, with surprising gentleness, tilting her chin up so he could look at her throat. His face was expressionless but his fingers were gentle. “You’ll have some bruising,” he said. “But you’re in one piece, and that’s what matters. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

She looked up at him dazedly. “You didn’t answer my question. Did you leave the gun behind on purpose?”

There was no change in the emotionless face, but his eyes darkened, and her brain woke up enough to regret her words.

“I promise you one thing, Jenny,” he said, and she’d never heard him call her by her name before. “If I decide you’re going to die I’ll kill you myself. I don’t leave things to fate.” His words were cold, clipped. “Either come with me now or take your chances with the rest of the Guiding Light when they show up.” He stepped away from her, removing his protective warmth.

She couldn’t summon any words, so she simply nodded, following him out into the bright, cheerful sunlight, leaving the house of death behind.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The ride down the mountain was made in complete silence. Ryder had commandeered an ancient jeep, in worse shape than the one they had first used, but it bumped its way over the barely perceptible roads without complaint, splashing through deep channels of water that sent sprays of mud up the sides and over Jenny, bouncing over gravel and stones and small tree trunks without hesitation. She’d managed to unearth a seat belt, but Ryder was driving like a bat out of hell, and if she didn’t know better she would have suspected he was driving fast more out of rage than necessity.

It wasn’t until they were down on level ground that she noticed the fresh blood on his hand as he shifted gears, the blood that had accumulated all around the stick shift. “You’re hurt!” she said involuntarily, startled.

“Yeah, so what?” he snarled, stomping on the accelerator. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? You’re bleeding.”

“What the fuck do you care?”

She was emerging from her horror-filled thoughts to stare at him. “If you bleed to death, then chances are I’ll die out here as well,” she shot back furiously. “Pull over and let me see how bad it is.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell, gorgeous,” he muttered. “It’s just a through and through in the fleshy part of my arm. A couple of Band-Aids will fix it.”

“In that case stop and we’ll find the Band-Aids,” she snapped.

“This jeep doesn’t come with a first-aid kit.”

“Then I’ll find something to bind you up. Stop the fucking jeep!” A distant part of her brain wondered at her language. Her father had always hated it when she swore, and she’d never dared use anything stronger than
damn
and
hell
in his presence. But right now it was a holy fuck of a day.

Ryder slammed on the brakes so fast that Jenny would have gone through the windshield if she hadn’t been wearing her seat belt. He was wearing a loose jacket, and if she hadn’t been so caught up in her own horrors, she would have noticed the dark patch of blood on the upper arm. She unfastened her seat belt with shaking hands, then started rummaging through the front of the jeep. “Take off your jacket,” she ordered, coming up with a beer-can opener, a bandanna, three oily rags, and a roll of duct tape.

“You think you’re putting any of those filthy rags on me and you can guess again. Unless you’re trying to kill me. Which I suppose would serve me right since I deliberately left the gun with Soledad, hoping she was strong enough to shoot you before she died.”

It sounded absurd when he said it. “Shut up,” she muttered.

“But why? I thought you wanted the truth. Of course I left the gun with Soledad. I should have known three bullets center mass wouldn’t kill the bitch, but then I thought I’d spare your tender sensibilities by leaving her as she lay rather than turn her over and finish her off with a head shot. Of course I was hoping she’d be able to reach the gun she fell on and take care of you, but things don’t always work out as we plan, now do they?”

“All right, I’m sorry I asked!” Jenny said. “It’s just that you never make mistakes, and leaving that gun behind . . .”

He sighed. “Leaving that gun underneath Soledad’s body was the very least of my mistakes in the last week.”

“What was the worst?”

“You.”

Okay, she was a glutton for punishment. She knew that answer was coming long before he said it, and she didn’t even flinch. “Are you going to take off that jacket?” she said in a dangerous voice.

In answer he shrugged out of it. He was right—the bullet had gone through the fleshy part of his upper arm, tearing across the skin. “That’s not harmless,” she said. “You’ve got muscles there.” She could feel a sudden warmth in the pit of her stomach. Of course he had muscles in his arms—he’d held her, carried her, rocked her when he’d killed the snake.

“I’ll live,” he said dryly.

“There’s a stream up ahead. Do you think it’s safe to wash it off?”

He shrugged, and the gesture didn’t seem to cause him any pain. “I’ll take antibiotics when we get back to town.” He slid out of the driver’s seat and stalked toward the stream, and Jenny followed after
him, bringing the bandanna and the duct tape. He was kneeling by the
stream, splashing water up his blood-streaked arm, and she could see
the tear was still oozing blood. Coming down beside him, she began to
wash the bandanna in the stream, hoping to get some of the dirt off it.

“If you think you’re wrapping that around my arm, you can guess again,” he drawled. “It’ll still be filthy.”

“It’s the cleanest cloth I have.”

“I think we should use your panties.”

She looked at him in shock, certain he was kidding. He wasn’t. “They’re relatively clean, and considering their proximity to holy virgin territory they’re probably supernaturally blessed. You can count the instant healing as your first step toward a miracle.”

“I wasn’t a virgin.”

“Well, you fuck like one.”

The words were so cruel they took her breath away. She turned her face so he wouldn’t see how he affected her, and muttered, “I’m not taking off my underpants to bandage your arm.”

“Softhearted, aren’t you?” He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and presented it to her. “Then use this. I won’t enjoy it half as much, but then, I’m not in a very good mood.”

“I know you don’t give a damn, but if your bad mood has anything to do with me then I’m sorry,” she said, feeling stupid.

“You mean when you accused me of trying to murder you? I’m hardly going to get all butt-hurt over something like that—I don’t give a flying fuck what you think of me.” He leaned back, most of the blood gone from his arm except for the fresh rivulet beginning to slide down.

She took the handkerchief from his hand and examined it briefly. If it had been dirty she actually would have considering taking off her underwear, but it looked clean enough, and she wrapped it around his bicep as far as it could go. “Your muscles are too big,” she grumbled.

His laugh wasn’t entirely devoid of humor. “First time I’ve been told that.”

She pressed the handkerchief hard against the wound, expecting him to curse in pain, but he didn’t even take a deep breath. He was watching her out of those blue eyes, wolf eyes, she reminded herself. The eyes of a predator who feels nothing, not mercy, not sorrow, not love.

She peeled off a strip of duct tape and wrapped it around his arm, holding the handkerchief in place, then followed it by rows and rows of the stuff. “There,” she said, sitting back to admire her handiwork. “You look steampunk.”

He gave her a look of disgust. “Just in case I get shot again, if you’re not going to donate your panties, then you can always close a wound temporarily with just the duct tape.”

“You’d end up looking like the Tin Woodman in
The Wizard of Oz
.”

“If I only had a heart,” he said briefly, and the knife in her stomach twisted again. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“How far is it to Puerto Claro?”

“Depends on what route we take, how many stops we make, whether we have to hide out for a while. We can’t drive main roads, people will be looking for us. Sooner or later I’m going to have to find us something to eat or we’ll never make it, and this thing is going to run out of gas. So we’ll get there when we get there, sweetheart.” The endearment was a cynical slap in the face, and she wanted to kick him. “So shut the hell up and let me drive.”

It must have been later than she thought. Even though it was the middle of the summer, shadows began closing in around them in another hour, and the temperature began to drop. She was starving, she had to pee, and she was freezing to death in her thin cotton cargo shorts and braless T-shirt, but the last thing she was going to do was complain. Sooner or later he was going to have to answer nature’s call—despite all evidence to the contrary, he was only human—but he seemed content not only to keep driving but also to hit every bump imaginable. It was almost dark when he turned off the barely recognizable road and drove the jeep into the underbrush.

“We’re stopping here for now,” he announced.

She looked around her. “No Motel 6?” she inquired sweetly.

“Sorry, gorgeous, but we’re roughing it. Go find yourself a tree—you’ve been squirming in your seat for the last hour.”

She was past the ability to be embarrassed. “If you knew I had to go, then why didn’t you stop sooner?”

“You didn’t ask,” he said simply.

Jenny made a growling noise in the back of her throat. At least the post-twilight shadows afforded her more privacy, and she didn’t have to go too far from the jeep. By the time she came back he’d grabbed a duffel from the back and dumped it on the ground in a clearing a ways off from the jeep. She tried hard to control her shivers, but as usual Ryder was ahead of her, tossing her his blood-soaked jacket.

“Put that on,” he ordered. “You’re freezing to death.”

“It’s not b . . . b . . . bad now that we’ve stopped driving,” she said, trying to disguise her chattering teeth.

“We’re not having a fire, so you’re going to have to figure out some other way to warm up. You can have my jacket or me.”

She grabbed the jacket. “You think the rebels would see the fire?”

“I think anything’s possible. We just need to get through the night. There’s a small village a mile or two to the left, and I’m going to see if I can get us some food and gasoline.”

She stared at him. “Have you been here before? How do you know there’s a village nearby?”

“I can smell smoke and farm animals on the wind.”

Jenny took a tentative sniff. “I can’t smell anything.”

“You don’t have my training. Just sit tight and I’ll be back.”

“You’re leaving me?” she shrieked.

“For God’s sake, lower your voice! You never know who’s around,” he said irritably.

“And again I say, you’re leaving me? To those mysterious marauders?”

“I’ll leave you my gun.”

“No!” she said in horror. “I’ve already killed one person today—that’s about my limit.”

He came over to her, and she’d forgotten how very large he was, how intimidating he could be. “You’re going to sit your sweet little ass down over there, wrap yourself in the jacket, and keep my gun in your hand. If anyone shows up and it’s not me, you’re to shoot first and ask questions later.”

“What if you don’t come back?”

“Don’t make me think you care one way or another, gorgeous. And you may as well accept the fact—I always come back. You can’t get rid of me until I’m ready to let go. You’re going to have an hour or two of sitting alone, and then I’ll be back and you can entertain yourself hating me.”

“I don’t hate you,” she said in a very small voice.

“Oh, yeah? You could have fooled me.” He shoved her down on the ground, wrapped a jacket around her shoulders, and put a gun in her hand. It was the same gun she’d had before, but back then it had simply been a tool. Now she could see Soledad’s face as she’d gone over the balcony, and she wanted to throw it at him.

He must have sensed her rebellion. “You want the Guiding Light to have a crack at you?” he said in a cool voice. “I’ll be back in time to kill them before they could finish with you, but if they happen to find you, you’d be in for a very unpleasant time.”

She tightened her grip on the gun. “Don’t be long,” she said.

For the first time in the entire horrid day, he smiled at her, and even though it was tinged with cynicism, she felt some vague stirrings of hope. “One might almost think you cared, Parker.” And then he’d melted into the underbrush as if he’d never been there in the first place.

One or two miles, he’d said. One or two miles through this dense foliage, following the scent of something she couldn’t smell. And then one or two miles back, following nothing but whatever kind of path he made on his way out.

He was never coming back for her. He hated her for doubting him, hated her for all the trouble she was. Traveling on his own would be a lot easier without her tagging along—he could hike or hitch a ride to the port city and fly out from there, complete with the sad tale of how she’d been murdered by rebels. Her father would probably breathe a sigh of relief as he made a substantial contribution to the church in her memory. If there was one thing you could say about her villainous father, he was a devout Catholic.

Who else would mourn her? Daisy, her paralegal, might be more worried about where her next paycheck was coming from. Her two older brothers wouldn’t give a damn.

As for Billy . . . she still didn’t know what to believe, and at this point she didn’t care. She’d gotten herself into this unholy mess because of a misguided need to save him, save someone who’d done something unforgivable, and her act of covering up for him was unforgivable in itself. Maybe she deserved all this.

It had all been for nothing. Ryder hadn’t seemed the slightest bit discomfited by the loss of the phone, but then, he’d already known about it, had already hacked it. Which meant there had never been the need for her to come with him, never been the need for him to hurt her. He’d already known most of the answers to what she’d been hiding, and he’d hurt her anyway, the sadistic bastard.

Except he hadn’t hurt her since. When they’d had sex he’d been almost tender with her, if such a strong man could be tender. She would have thought he’d feel wracked with guilt, but Ryder wasn’t the kind of man who let guilt faze him. Then again, what did she know about what kind of man he was? She was an idiot when it came to people—Ryder might be a secret saint or a sociopath, and whichever she guessed would probably be wrong.

She drew her knees up to her chest, huddling under the blanket, as his cruel words came back to her. “You fuck like a virgin,” he’d said. She could think of a thousand comebacks now that it was too late, but in truth she just wanted to put her head down and cry. She hadn’t really liked sex, had never liked it, until Ryder had crawled into her bed, and his touch had been such a revelation she’d been foolish enough to think it was mutual.

He wasn’t going to come back for her. Why should he? She’d destroyed his piece of evidence, she’d lied to cover up for her brother, she fucked like a virgin. What possible use would he have for her? He’d know well enough her father wouldn’t be grateful for her return, particularly since Ryder was going after Billy. So what possible use would he have for her? He’d be much better off on his own.