“Peter kept a knife in his boot. I threw it at Adam’s throat.”
A whimper escapes me.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here before someone comes looking.” He picks up Adam’s pistol and does something with the chamber. “Hell,” he says. “Damn. Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?”
He tosses the pistol onto Adam’s slumped body. “It was empty.”
“All this time?”
“We’ll do this the old-fashioned way.” He leans down and grasps the knife. When he pulls, Adam’s eyes open slightly. He looks confused, like he doesn’t remember the past few minutes. Elijah grasps the knife differently, and I realize he plans to finish Adam off.
“Wait.”
Elijah looks back, incredulous. “He was going to torture you.”
“He also saved me from Peter.”
“Which wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t kidnap you.”
I know that Adam Bisset is not a good man. He should be taken to prison—a real prison, not one in the basement of a church. But killing a defenseless man doesn’t feel right. The shock of realizing the gun was empty the whole time makes me uneasy. He isn’t hurting us right now. This isn’t self-defense. This would be murder. “No,” I whisper.
“Holly.” Elijah’s voice is rough. “This bastard is the reason I touched you. The reason I… violated you. He should die for what he did to you.”
“What he did to us,” I say, my hand on Elijah’s arm. “He violated you, too.”
A dark laugh. “He wasn’t so wrong. It was a good time for me.”
I’m not sure about that. No one wants to be forced. Even knowing Adam’s sins, I can’t stand here and witness him be killed. “Let’s just leave him.”
Elijah wants to argue. He almost does. His mouth opens. And closes.
Then he turns and leads me away. I glance into Adam’s dark eyes. There’s gratitude. That’s the last bit of shadow I see before Elijah leads me into the blinding light.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Holly
He leads me through a different way than before, a more circuitous route that lets us out directly into a dark copse of trees. Without a word he begins to push through the foliage, and I follow him with silent determination, ignoring the sting of branches and the pull of leaves.
It’s day when we emerge from the church.
Day turns into night.
The sun bleeds over the horizon in red-purple rays by the time we stop for a break. The forest has changed in the hours that passed. It’s become less damp, more sparse. There are no buildings in sight. He points to a flat rock, where I gratefully collapse. The coming sun casts only enough light to be eerie, without illuminating more than a few feet ahead of us.
“We’ll rest for a few minutes,” he says. “I want to find some shelter before the heat of midday.”
My lips are already parched. How long will I last in the elements without food or water?
In the bright dawning sun it’s clear he’s strong. Broad shoulders. Muscled legs. He’s wearing only jeans and a torn gray T-shirt. The bruises that cover his arms don’t detract from his ability. Tendrils of red light illuminate a network of cuts.
They only show that he can survive anything. Everything.
“No,” I say softly.
He turns back to me, green eyes flashing dangerously. “No?”
This is the first time I’ve been able to really see him. I’ve spent hours in a locked cell with him, but like the church, he was shrouded from view.
Now I see that he’s commanding and strong. That much I expected from the way he spoke.
The part where he’s handsome, I didn’t see that coming. He could be on the set of some superhero movie, his face smudged with dirt, several days’ growth darkening his jaw, walking away from an explosion. His eyes are striking green and gold, his hair a dark brown.
The boy was cute. This man is the grown up version, rugged and dark.
A man this dangerous shouldn’t also be beautiful.
“I want some answers before I go anywhere with you.”
“You were happy enough to leave the goddamn church without answers.”
“Tell me about the guns.”
He freezes for only half a second. It’s a small thing, that reaction, but I’m watching for it, and I saw it. “You let me think you were stealing something, like jewels.”
“You made the assumption. I didn’t correct you.”
“So it’s true. You stopped stealing diamonds and started stealing guns. God.”
“What does it matter? I’m not stealing anything right now.”
“Of course it matters! I write children’s books, for God’s sake. And you’re saying that you—what? That you’re some kind of entrepreneurial warlord? That you buy and sell weapons?”
“Entrepreneurial warlord has a nice ring to it.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing. But we need to move before they follow our trail.”
I stand and face him, knowing I’m dirty, a complete mess. Hungry. Thirsty. I’m weak in every way but one—stubbornness. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You are if I have to carry you, Holland Frank.”
That’s the only warning he gives me before bending down. His shoulder jams my stomach, and I cough at the sudden pressure. Then I’m hoisted over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“Let me down.” I beat at his shoulders with my fists. It’s like boxing a mountain. He doesn’t even register the blows. He just keeps walking. “Asshole. Bastard. Thief.”
He stops suddenly, and the momentum rolls me off his body. He pushes me against a tree, and I realize it was a careful maneuver. Everything he does is a careful maneuver. God, even ending up in the goddamn prison cell was probably done with grace. His face is inches from mine, and finally, finally I can see the beautiful gold lines in his green eyes. “I am an asshole. I am a bastard, and I’ll own up to that. But I’m not a thief. I never was.”
“The diamond.”
“It was returned.” He studies my eyes. “But then, you already knew that.”
I look away, slightly to the right—the same way the Mona Lisa does, not really meeting his eyes. “So what? It made the news. And why shouldn’t I know what happened? You made me an accomplice when you put that diamond in my backpack.”
He gives me a crooked smile. “An accomplice? Is that what you think?”
“Of course it’s what I think. God.”
“And did you see that the men responsible were caught?”
“They were tried and convicted. They served jail time. Unlike you.”
“You were glad I wasn’t caught, weren’t you?”
“Of course not. I should have called the FBI. Or Interpol. Or whoever.”
He nuzzles my cheek. “You were glad. Admit it.”
God. I was relieved. And frustrated with myself. And I still had that itchy, achy feeling that I didn’t fully understand until years later. Sometimes I’m still not sure I fully understand. No one has affected me like him. “I’m not admitting anything.”