He scowled at her, his lips twisting into a pout but then handed it over. Her fingers were dead with cold; she could barely wrap them around it, squeezing the button he indicated.
“Don’t you drop that, now. The dead man’s switch is live.” Clint chuckled at his own pun. He yanked the bag from her other hand—good thing as she was about ready to drop it, it was too heavy—and peered into it. Satisfied by the real cash on top of the dummy bills, he threw it into the ATV’s rear compartment.
“Now, you. Get on.” He scooted back in his seat, motioning her to sit in front of him.
She climbed on, her movements awkward and slow. He circled one arm around her, holding a knife—a wicked sharp Tanto blade—below the left side of her rib cage, aiming up. Then he began to search her, running his free hand over her coat then her body, checking everywhere.
At one point she slipped, falling forward over the handlebars, barely catching herself against the fender that shielded the front wheels. As she fought to hold onto the detonator, the knife pricked her, just a small cut, a reminder of what was possible in Clint’s world.
“Do you remember this place?” he whispered in her ear as his hands did their business. “When I first rescued you, I brought you here. Taught you what life was really about. Shared with you all my secrets.”
“I killed my first deer here,” she answered, her voice sounding like tin. Flat yet malleable. “Slit its throat. You taught me how to skin and gut it.”
“I taught you everything.” His tone was a knife edge.
Clint wasn’t stupid. He’d be sure to dispose of the bag with its tracker as soon as he stopped long enough to learn that the only cash in it were a few actual bills on top—then their plan was doomed. He’d escape again. And next time when he came for Morgan, he’d be even more furious.
She glanced down, the ice-slicked mud reflecting the sky as if she floated above an ocean of stars, and remembered the daydream—dread-dream was more like it—she’d had at Nick’s office yesterday. All of the people she cared for most, they would all be at risk if Clint escaped. Because of her.
“How quickly you forgot everything,” he continued, sliding his hand down her calf, slipping her shoe off and flinging it to the mud. Then he switched to her other leg. “But we’re together again. That’s all that matters.”
“And my friends?”
His hand froze, hovering above her skin. Mistake, she chided herself. Friends weren’t part of Clint’s delusion. She held her breath, waiting for his answer.
“You’ve grown weak without me. Relying on others.” He ran his hands through her hair—one of her favorite hiding places for razor blades and lock picks. He found nothing. “I taught you better than that. Family is everything. Family is the only thing.”
Once Clint discovered her betrayal, no matter the danger to himself, he would return. Because of her. He would hunt down everyone she loved—could she love? If she could, how could anyone love her? It was the cold clouding her brain, such crazy thoughts of love—no matter, Clint would find them all. And they would each and every one pay dearly with blood and pain.
Because of her.
“I’ve missed you, little girl,” he crooned as he revved the engine. He steered one-handed, keeping his knife hand wrapped around her body, holding her close. “We’re going to have so much fun.”
Now that Andre was safe, she was free to deal with Clint. The question was: how? Naked, unarmed, knife to her heart, what could she do? There was no way in hell the cops would ever catch him—despite all their planning and maneuvering and dragnetting.
This was on her and her alone. The ATV headed toward the thick forest, the cliff with its sheer drop to their right. Only one thing to do, she realized as the ground blurred beneath them.
She shoved all her might against the handlebars, barely feeling the pain as Clint’s knife pierced her side. The ATV hurtled toward the cliff.
He fought her, but she bent over, focusing her weight on the controls, torquing his wrist—one of the most fragile joints in the human body. He’d taught her that.
She bit down on the exposed bit of flesh between his glove and his coat sleeve, clamping down hard until she tasted his blood.
He shrieked in fury, tried to pull his arm back, which only drove them closer to the cliff’s edge. She didn’t care. Her one and only thought was to hold on to the detonator. Nothing else mattered.
Clint slid his knife free from her body, not-so-warm blood slipping out behind it. He whipped the blade toward her face, but then they were flying through the air, hurtling, soaring, falling…
Chapter 29
AS SOON AS Clint and Morgan sped away, Jenna abandoned her position and ran to Andre.