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Aloud crashing sound has me gasping and jerking to a sitting position, my gaze shooting around the cabin and settling on Noah—no, Aaron—throwing logs on the fire. “Easy, baby,” he murmurs, quickly standing and walking to my side where he kneels. “The storm is over. I made sure the fire will keep you warm while I go scout out our route before we leave.”
“You’re leaving me alone?”
“Not for long,” he promises. “But a safe passage out of here is critical.”
“Can’t we just scout as we go?”
“If I was alone, I’d do just that, but I’m not taking you out there and making you a target. I’m taking you out of here to ensure you’re not one.”
“What if someone tries to come in here while you’re gone?” I ask, concerned that I’m not equipped to handle anyone of his skill set alone.
“Shoot them and kill them,” he says, taking my hand and helping me to my feet, picking up my purse and sliding it over my head across my chest, before slipping my gun inside. “Keep it at your hip at all times, just in case, but this is just a precaution. I’ll get to them before they ever get to you.”
“What if—”
He grabs and kisses me. “I got you. I got us. When I get back, though, we’re leaving right away. Be ready. I put your coat in the bedroom when we arrived, and you have basic toiletries in your bag if you want to freshen up. You don’t have time to shower. I don’t plan on being gone that long, and I don’t want you that disengaged from your weapon.”
“Because the one man who was here could have told another,” I say. “And we’re being hunted.”
He gives me a nod, no hesitation or fluffy feel-good stuff, which I actually appreciate. I want to ask where we’re going, but I’m smart enough to sense his urgency. He wants out of here. I want out of here. Conversation doesn’t make that happen. “Got it. Shoot. Kill. Bundle up.”
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs softly, leaning in and kissing my neck, but that little show of affection is quick.
He heads for the back door. “Come and lock up!” he calls over his shoulder.
I rush after him, and by the time I arrive in the kitchen, he’s bundled up and shoving a gun in his pocket. “Shoot and ask questions later,” he says, reaching for the door. “Understood?”
“Yes,” I say, joining him at the door. “I understand.”
He kisses me and exits the cabin into a cold morning and only then do I realize that the sun is just now climbing the horizon, but the snow is cleared; he was up long before I knew he was awake. I shut the door and lock it, turning to stare at the table that covers the basement door. There’s a dead body down there. I wonder now if Aaron killed him and didn’t want to scare me by telling me, but he vowed not to lie to me again. I want to believe that he won’t, even when the truth is difficult. It’s a conversation we have to have again, a bit more candidly than we have thus far, I think. Later. God, much later, when we’re safe. If that day ever comes.
I shiver and push off the door, rushing into the living room and digging through my bag. I find a toiletries bag and hurry to the bathroom. A few minutes later, my face is washed and moisturized, sans makeup. My hair is brushed. I even change clothes, fitting in a sponge bath. All that said and done, I’m packed up, my coat already on, and under it, my purse and gun are at my hip.
Now that I’m in the living room, all activity behind me, nerves start to kick in. I walk to the fireplace, sit down against the wall, and rest my hand on my gun inside my purse. Now, I can see who is coming and shoot first faster. Time ticks by long and heavy and my mind escapes the torture of the wait. I slip back into the past, something I can’t seem to avoid. It’s my only path to validating what was real and what was not. It’s my only way to judge myself for what I didn’t know and perhaps should have known about Aaron.
This memory is about a night when we were supposed to have dinner with my ex-boss and friend, Cole.
Cole and I are sitting at a table in the corner of an Italian restaurant. Cole is hot and rich, but he has never been even close to a romantic interest of mine. We’re like siblings, close siblings who are also friends. He matters to me; I matter to him, but not romantically.
“So I finally get to meet Noah,” he says, “after he put a ring on your finger. It’s about time.”
“He travels often, and you’ve had back-to-back trials these past few months.”
My cellphone rings, and I grab it from my purse to find Noah’s number. “It’s him,” I say, glancing toward the door. “He must be looking for us.” I answer the call. “Hey. Where are you?”
“Come outside. I need to talk to you.”
He needs to talk to me. My stomach rolls. Something’s wrong. I feel it. “Okay.” I disconnect and glance at Cole. “Give me a minute.”
His brow furrows, and when I start to get up, he grabs my arm. “What’s happening?”
“I’ll let you know in a minute.”
“Ashley—”
“I’ll be right back.”
He releases me, but it’s with obvious reluctance. I stand up, straightening the red dress I wore because Noah picked it and loved it this morning. I cross the restaurant and step outside into a muggy spring night that feels like summer. Suddenly, a hand closes down on my arm, and Noah pulls me to him and out of the path of the door.
