“Tell me your full name and date of birth.” His gravelly voice rumbled from the shadow of his hat as he produced another bottle of water and set it beside him.
So this was his plan. Take away the basic requirements for survival and dangle them piece by piece as a trade for information.
“What did you do while I roasted in the desert for the past three hours?” she asked. “Did you contact Cole to initiate an investigation on me?”
As expected, he gave no answer.
All they had to go on was her first name and the city where she grew up. There were a lot of Rylees in El Paso. It would take time to identify her and those she cared about.
She had an ex-husband who never remarried and a neighbor with benefits. That was the extent of her liabilities.
But the moment he learned her occupation, address, and boring background, the mystery would be over. He would send her home with a threat to kill her loved ones if she ever leaked information about him. Then he would disappear forever.
That outcome was inevitable, but before that happened, she had a desperate, reckless need to help him.
She cared about him. Deeply. It was a one-sided sentiment, a motivation he couldn’t possibly understand because he didn’t know her the way she knew him.
He wasn’t happy. Not today, not last week, not one second in the past ten years. His friends, the family of ex-captives who had his back, didn’t know the extent of his suffering. He concealed it from them because he didn’t want to be a burden. He didn’t even know how to open up to someone. For a decade, he carried around a terrible weight in his soul, confiding in no one. Except a dead girl.
That in and of itself troubled her.
After his abduction, he lived with his vigilante team. But over the years, his roommates found partners, some of them married, and the dynamics of their tight-knit clan changed. They were moving on.
Unless something changed since his last email, he and Luke were the only bachelors left.
“What happened with the cartel?” She squinted at his shadow, unable to see his eyes in the dark.
Silence.
Exasperated, she glanced around and spotted a black smudge on the ground several feet away. She crawled toward it, marveling at how quickly the sand had already cooled.
“I assume the cartel bought your undercover story? Either that or you escaped.” She focused on the dark object and quickened her movements when she realized it was her backpack. “Where’s Luke?”
She pulled the pack onto her lap and dug through the contents while watching him out of the corner of her eye. His silhouette didn’t twitch. No sound. No attempt to take away her belongings.
It occurred to her that his undercover operation might’ve gone terribly wrong. They went in to find Tula’s sister. Tula, who had fallen in love with Martin and Ricky during a mission in a Mexican prison.
What if Luke hadn’t made it out of the cartel headquarters? What if he’d been forced to kill Vera, Tula’s sister?
“You said your friend killed an innocent girl on a meat hook.” She shivered, her voice wavering. “Tommy? Is Luke okay? And Vera? Please, you have to tell me.”
“Why the fuck do you care?”
Her pulse skipped at the sound of his voice. “I’m invested. For ten years—”
“You’ve been collecting intel on my team. Tell me what you’re doing with that information.”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“You needed someone to hear you. So I listened. Through every word, no matter how uncomfortable or horrifying, I silently supported you, rooted for you and your friends. I’m still doing that. It’s the only reason I’m here.”
“You’re a liar.”
“I speak the truth. You’re just not ready to hear it.”
She took an inventory of the supplies in her pack. Some of her belongings were here. The first-aid kit. Sunscreen. Extra clothes. But he’d removed the rest, the things she needed most, such as water, food, weapons, maps, and the compass.
But he’d left the small lantern and its solar-powered charger. She grabbed it, turned it on, and wobbled to her feet.
Thirst was her loudest ache. It screamed from her stomach and clouded her head. Fatigue and fear followed closely behind, making every step to the truck feel like a mile.
The lantern’s dim light helped her navigate the uneven terrain. She didn’t have a plan beyond the imperative to be in that vehicle when it left.
Halfway there, a startling, ear-splitting bang ricocheted through her skull. Gravel sprayed beside her boots, and she screamed, staggering backward and falling on her butt.
For a moment, she thought he’d shot her. But the sudden pain in her chest was just her heart ramming against her ribs.
“Have you lost your mind?” she roared, swinging the lantern toward him. “If you don’t want me to approach, use your fucking words, not a—”
The light snagged on a long, scaly body beside her. Four feet in length, a diamondback rattlesnake lay unmoving, bleeding from the head.
“Oh, my God.” She scrambled to her feet, tripping over a deep crack to get away from it. “Fucking shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Her breathing rampaged as full-body tremors robbed her balance. That venomous thing had been right next to her! And he’d shot it with impossible accuracy.
He’d saved her life.
Maybe she should thank him.
Should she thank him for chaining her in the desert, too?
Fuck that.
“Where’s my shotgun?” She thrust the lantern out before her.
“Afraid of snakes?”
“Well, I’m not fucking friends with them.”
“Who are you friends with?”
“Just you, as crazy as that sounds.” She staggered the remaining few paces to the tailgate.
“You’re a stranger. That’s a long way from friend.”
“Give me my shotgun.”
“So you can shoot me?”
“So I can defend myself against things like that.” She pointed at the dead snake.
“No.” He hadn’t shifted from his sprawled position, the hat still dipping over his eyes. But a handgun now rested on his lap.
He didn’t move the gun or the water out of her reach. But she wasn’t stupid. If she went for either, he would stop her, and he wouldn’t be gentle about it.
Instead, she focused on the view.
The lantern’s glow picked out the contoured muscles of his legs and accentuated his trim waist, V-shaped torso, and broad shoulders. Sun-bronzed skin sheathed his biceps and forearms, emphasizing the flex of sinewy strength.
He wore snug jeans, a faded t-shirt, and the rugged hat and boots. The shirt rode up, and the denim rode low, drawing her gaze to the thin strip of brown hair that disappeared beneath his fly.
She swallowed hard and moved the light higher, capturing the arrogant cut of his jaw, the bold line of his nose, and the cruel taunt of chiseled lips.
As fate would have it, he was astoundingly, inconceivably gorgeous. Even with his face etched in godlike fury, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. But she wasn’t besotted into thinking that was all he was.
This virile, handsome devil was a dangerous vigilante and killer. He was also a sexual deviant, a kinky freak with an insatiable appetite, who’d lured hundreds of unsuspecting women into his bed.