Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I feel my stomach tighten at his response. It’s not the reassurance I was hoping for. He’s still trying to figure me out, trying to connect the dots, and I can’t help but feel like I’m a part of something bigger than I understand.
“Do you think it’s safe to stay here?” I ask, the words escaping before I can stop them.
Boone exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I was wondering how they found you,” he mutters, almost to himself. His eyes flick toward me, sharp. “How they found us.”
“Boone, what’s going on?” I ask, my voice almost desperate.
After a long moment, Boone finally speaks. “I’m calling Dean,” he says, his voice clipped, the tone one I’ve come to associate with urgency.
He uses his phone to call Dean and waits for the line to connect, his eyes never leaving mine. “Dean,” he says as soon as the call picks up, his voice calm but with an edge to it. “We’ve got a situation. I’m going to need you to check something for me.”
He pauses, listening intently to whatever Dean is saying on the other end of the line.
Boone launches into the details of the night, making my skin crawl with panic. As soon as he’s done, he listens to Dean for a while.
“I need to know who all has this location.” Boone nods. “Right. Yes.” Boone moves toward his room in the back. “Got it. We’re leaving now.”
My eyes widen because things have gone from safe to not safe in a matter of seconds. Who is doing this to me? I’m starting to fear I’ll never find out.
Chapter 17
Boone
The night feels endless. It’s late, and both of us are exhausted, the weight of the day and everything that’s happened settling heavily over us. The silence in the cabin is thick, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire.
I hang up with Dean. And Aubree’s afraid. I hate this for her, but this place is no longer safe for us.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“We’re leaving,” I answer, though the word tastes bitter on my tongue. “I’m not comfortable staying here tonight.”
She starts to say something, but I shake my head. “Aubree, it’s not worth the risk. I’m not taking any chances.”
Her gaze flicks to the gun in my hand, and I see the flash of fear in her eyes. Not fear of me, but fear of the entire situation she’s been forced into. I can’t blame her. This is her life on the line, and I just about forgot that because I couldn’t keep my hands off her.
She swallows, then nods. “Okay. Let me just…” Her voice cracks, and she takes a moment to steady herself. “Let me pack what I need.”
“Do it fast,” I say, moving to the bedroom. I slide my gun back into the holster at my hip, snatch up my boots from near the door, and jam my feet into them without bothering with socks.
Aubree throws her duffel on the bed and hastily shoves in clothes, toiletries, and a few other personal items. My chest tightens at the sight—she’s barely holding it together, but she’s doing her best. As she zips the bag, her hands shake, and my instincts shout at me to reach out, to pull her into my arms and promise it’ll be okay.
But I don’t. I can’t. Not when I’ve just reminded myself how easily I can be distracted. Instead, I stand by the bedroom window, scanning the yard outside like a hawk. The pale moonlight shows the battered old pickup in the driveway and the faint silhouette of trees. Still, no movement.
Once she’s ready, we swap places. She stands at the window, on guard, while I gather my own minimal gear—clothes, my phone, a first-aid kit I keep for emergencies. In under two minutes, we’re both set. The tension is so thick, I feel like I could slice through it with a knife.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods. “As I’ll ever be.” Her voice trembles. She glances at me, and for a moment, I see the echo of what we were doing before the noise. There’s longing there, but also fear.
I push away the guilt. We don’t have time for that now. “Let’s go.”
We move through the cabin carefully, lights off, so as not to advertise our departure. I keep my gun in hand, unlocking the front door just long enough for us to slip out. The night air envelops us. The sound of crickets once again assaults my ears, a thousand insects singing in the darkness.
I gesture for Aubree to stay close behind me. She does, pressing near enough that I feel the warmth of her body. Each step we take crunches on the gravel, and I’m painfully aware of how loud we seem. But there’s no use tiptoeing; if someone’s out there, they already know we’re leaving.