It feels like I’m moving in slow motion as I throw a few more handfuls of sand and grab a couple more fronds to place on the vehicle. Then I rub my hands together, feeling the grit exfoliate my palms, while examining our work.
“Well, it’s not exactly the best cover-up, but it’ll have to do.”
Cole drops his hands and shakes his head. “Why do I get the feeling our luck’s about to run out? Those people were serious. They wanted to take us back to the Hole even if they had to die trying.”
A flick of wetness lands on my face, and I glance upward. It looks like someone took a brush and painted a fresco of rolling black and gray clouds.
“Yeah, luck hates us, royally.”
Steadily, the rain picks up until it’s pounding us with a fury. We watch hopelessly as Mother Nature completely destroys our efforts to hide the car.
“Well,” Cole says, “there goes that.”
His black eyes still manage to render me speechless. On his face is every emotion of the last few minutes—fear, anger, sadness, relief. I don’t know what to say.
When I was younger, there was a movie where the guy grabs the girl and kisses her in the rain. I remember wishing back then that I was her. Yet, here I am, with the man of my dreams, and while this could be a total romantic chick flick moment, killing two people and crashing our car has kind of spoiled the mood. I’m shivering, injured, and nauseous. All I really want is an electric blanket, some hot soup, and a safe place for Cole and me to cuddle up for the night.
He looks as if he’s about to say something profound. But when he opens his mouth, all he says is, “We can’t waste any more time out here.”
“What about the car?”
“Forget the car.” He pushes himself up, links his fingers in mine, and guides me away from the scene.
By now, the rain’s slowed to a gentle pitter-pattering around us. Unfortunately, it does nothing to quell my ice-cold, wet toes or the water sloshing inside my boots. I hate walking in slushy shoes, but this is the least of things I’ve had to endure the past few months.
While walking, I slip on something slick—a “Wanted” poster. Seems Wilson wants me alive, and the reward for my capture is an extravagant one million dollars. Sutton, the leader of the revolt, will see his captor get paid an outrageous sum of seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. But Cole’s reward is more than mine and Sutton’s combined. He not only broke rank and escaped, but he helped me escape and executed the Commander. And, if he is captured—dead or alive—Wilson will pay one lucky person two million dollars. My mind is blown.
“Our faces are everywhere. Can you believe Wilson wants us captured that badly?” My wet fingers struggle to keep the dripping poster from tearing in two as I examine it. “I thought, at least, down here, I wouldn’t see these … ”
A black and white photo of myself at seventeen looks back at me. That girl looks so different. She’s clean, well fed, dressed in the latest fashions of that time, and would not be caught dead looking like the me I am now.
The photo was taken at school the year before I was accused, dragged off to the Hole, and branded. I wipe water from my eyes. Still, I looked so unhappy, even then. I shrug and tear the poster into pieces, stomping it into the sand before moving on. If I didn’t know myself, I’d turn me in. That’s a lot of money. A person could start a completely new life somewhere else, where no one knew them and no one cared what they had done in the past.
“Even with your face everywhere, have they found you?” Cole asks. “No.”
“Maybe we won’t be so lucky next time,” I say.
He turns around and kisses the top of my head. “You don’t need luck. You have me.”
“I will always need you, Cole.”
“You already know, Lexi. As amazing as you are, and with all the new skills you’ve gained, I’ll never truly be comfortable letting go. I know you can take care of yourself … that if something happened to me, that … ” He pauses, a pained expression covering his face. Cole takes a deep breath and grabs at his side again before continuing. “When those jackasses were shooting at you, I was not okay with that.” Cole’s grip on my hand tightens almost painfully. “I was not okay with that at all.” He turns away from me, averting his eyes.
“You think I enjoyed watching you being shot at, nearly run off the road, and choked? When our car tipped over and I couldn’t find you, I thought I had lost everything.” I swallow hard while wiping tears from my eyes. He turns back toward me, his lashes dripping with water, and his lips pursed.
“No matter how good you become at all of this”—Cole gestures to the area around us—“I’ll always protect you. I love you, Lexi, and I protect what I love.” I open my mouth, and then close it. Sometimes, hearing him say things like that confounds me. That he would put his own life before mine still baffles me.
He doesn’t wait for my response, as if the matter is settled. He just takes my hand again and leads me in the direction of the safe house, which I hope is close by. Because I’m unable to move my toes at this point.