Chapter Ten

It was dark.

Time to move.

Meg—she'd focused so hard on calling herself Meg for the past fifteen months that she couldn't even think of herself as Elle now that she'd been outed—had made a decision on her next step. For the plan to work, she had to find a way to keep Griff out of sight for a while.

She glanced at him. He'd insisted on heating up a can of soup and then that they both ate said soup. The crackers he'd found were a little stale but not so bad. She wasn't complaining. The ability to perform critical thinking and to physically outmaneuver the enemy required two things: sleep and sustenance.

The one thing she understood with absolute certainty after spending the past few hours shut up in this small cabin with him was that he was determined to help her survive this situation. This was exactly why she should never have allowed herself to get so close to the folks in Piney Woods. People like Jodie and Dottie, and certainly Griff, cared about her and wanted to help with whatever she needed.

But they didn't adequately comprehend the situation. This was not about picking up an extra shift or taking home a few dogs to foster. This was about facing people who killed for a living. People who enjoyed killing. People with no conscience. Unfortunately, there was no simple solution to her dilemma.

The one thing she needed right now was to be alone—to be abandoned by those who cared about her. It was the only way to ensure their protection, and even then she worried that might not be enough.

But if she got away clean and Griff laid low for a few days while she laid out a new trail for her pursuers to follow, he might just survive the coming storm.

She glanced at his back as he put away the bowls they had used and he'd washed and dried. She should have helped, but she'd been staring out the window in deep thought and hadn't known what he was doing until he was done. Since it was dark, it was time to put her plan into action.

"Do you think Ernie has any flashlights around here?" She strolled toward the kitchen area. "If the generator runs out of fuel, we'll need flashlights."

He glanced around. "I'm sure there are some around here somewhere."

"Mind if I poke around?"

"Be my guest." He tossed the towel onto the counter. "I'll help."

Meg started with the side tables in the living room area. She found poker cards and game chips. A lighter. Pens, pads of paper. Scissors. A couple of cans of beer. She laughed, held up a can. "Someone was hiding his stash."

Griff grinned. "That would be Joey Hurt. He used to be a deputy here. He joined us a couple of times. That was his favorite brand. No one else liked it, so he always brought his own supply."

Meg placed the beer back in the drawer. She stood, stretched then moved on to the bedside table. She dropped to her knees and pulled open the first drawer. Right on top was a pair of binoculars. "These could be handy." She placed them on the table.

"We like watching the deer come to the creek for water."

"Birds too?" She glanced at him. She imagined there were lots of bird species and wildlife.

"Sometimes." He shrugged. "Mostly the four-legged animals."

"Aha." Meg lifted a pair of metal handcuffs from the drawer. "Did you use these in your poker games?"

Griff laughed as he closed the last of the cabinet doors. "I can't answer that question. You'll have to ask Ernie. He's the only one who ever comes here with a romantic interest."

"A romantic interest." She nodded. "Did you ever bring a romantic interest here?" None of her business, but she couldn't help herself.

"Not me." Griff opened a drawer next to the sink. "I prefer..." He stopped talking as if he'd realized he was about to say something too personal.

She shrugged and placed the handcuffs on the table. These could definitely come in handy. The fact that he hadn't used them on someone like Rhianna the casserole queen was all the better. Funny how she had absolutely no right to feel anything remotely resembling jealousy, and still she did. Just one more indication of how far over the line she had allowed herself to go. Doing a mental eye roll, she shifted her attention back to going through the drawers.

"I've been thinking." Griff walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed.

She erased the immediate reaction from her face. The last thing she needed was for him to pick up on any impatience or regret at the idea that he wanted to help. She needed him to believe his help and advice were welcome. She also didn't want him picking up on her possessiveness toward him.

"About?" she asked innocently.

"About the situation." He let his impatience show a little.

"Okay. Tell me your thoughts." She sat back on her heels, gave him her undivided attention and waited for him to go on.

"Ernie can go to Sheriff Norwood. She's good. She might be able to help."

Why couldn't Meg make him see that the more people drawn into this, the higher the body count would rise? Ernie, the sheriff—no one could fix this. No matter how good, no matter how well intentioned. This was not that simple. "I wish she could, but that isn't likely. I appreciate the suggestion though."

"Sit with me." He patted the mattress beside him. "You've been pacing the floor and staring out that window for hours. Now you're prowling around in drawers. You need a break. I know you're worried, but you keep blowing off my suggestions."

Meg moved up to the bed. "Really, I appreciate your suggestions. I appreciate your friendship. I just don't want anyone else to get hurt by this, and that's what will happen if other people get involved. I keep telling you this, but you're not listening."

"The sheriff's department is already involved," he reminded her.

Not that she needed a reminder. "I wish that wasn't the case."

"Don't you think it would be helpful if they understood what was happening? Isn't being in the dark more dangerous to folks like Ernie?"

It was, and that was exactly why she had to get out of here as quickly as possible. She'd stayed too long after the first strike as it was.

"You're right." She made a final decision. "Maybe I should meet with them first thing in the morning to make sure they understand the situation."

The relief on his face was palpable. More guilt heaped on her shoulders. She hated lying to him.

"Great. You can call him first thing, and we'll make that happen."

"Speaking of which," she stood, "I should charge my phone."

Anything was better than staring into his hopeful eyes. She dug her charger out of her backpack and found an outlet. It wouldn't take long, so she didn't have to wait on moving forward with her plan. The sooner she was out of Griff's life, the sooner his was back on track. Distance was crucial right now. She would get out of Tennessee and let Lorenzo know she was headed his way. That should shift focus quickly enough from Piney Woods. This was the only way.

Maybe she'd head northeast and disappear into New York City. Lorenzo had contacts there as well. The bastard had contacts in every city of importance in the country. A little place like Piney Woods had felt relatively safe in the grand scheme of things. If Ernie hadn't run her prints, maybe—just maybe—she would still be safely ensconced in her made-up life.

Moments with Griff flickered through her mind like last week's recap of her favorite series. Jodie's laughter and Dottie's mothering. The best meat loaf she'd ever eaten at the diner. Raymond. God, she loved that dog. The idea of never seeing him again...

She really had to get out of here before she lost the ability to stay focused.

The longer she waited, the harder it would be to walk away.

As if he sensed her emotional struggle, Griff joined her at the window. He pulled down the worn shade. "You should relax. We'll take this to the sheriff in the morning and go from there. There's nothing else you can do tonight. Worrying won't help."

Meg braced herself. "You're right." She turned to him, looked deep into his eyes. "I think I need something to take my mind off the fact that I might never be safe, no matter where I go."

The words were for him—to garner a response—but sadly they were all too true.

He cupped her face in his hands. "I can do that," he whispered as his mouth lowered toward hers.

Her heart surged, her body trembled as his lips brushed across hers. He kissed her softly then, carefully, as if he worried she might shatter. Her hands found their way to his chest, flattened there, molding to the strength she felt beneath his shirt. His body was solid from long days of hard work. His muscles flexed beneath the pressure of her touch. She wanted so badly to unbutton his shirt, to feel the heat of his skin against her palms.

He pushed his fingers into her hair and deepened the kiss. Meg's body caught fire, reacted so intensely she barely remained standing. Her fingers were unfastening the buttons of his shirt before her brain realized what she was doing.

She just wanted to touch him, to feel him.

Catching her breath no longer mattered, slowing down was not happening. Her fingers fumbled, couldn't move fast enough. She tugged open the final button and pushed the shirt off his shoulders, and then her hands slid over his bare skin. Every nerve in her body reacted.

His fingers tangled in the hem of her tee, pulling it up and over her head. She should slow this down, but she couldn't. She wanted to feel all of him, wanted to taste him. To have him taste her, to touch her all over. They moved toward the bed. Whether he took the first step or she did, Meg couldn't be sure. Didn't matter. All that mattered was that they shed the rest of their clothes as quickly as possible.

She unfastened his jeans.

He stopped kissing her, drew back just enough to look into her eyes. "We really doing this?"

He was right. What had she been thinking? Reality slammed into her like a bucket of icy cold water splashing over her body.

You need him disabled.

Meg blinked. "Yes." She kissed him hard on the mouth until his resistance melted away. Her fingers went to his zipper again, and she slowly lowered it. He reached around her, unfastened her bra. She gasped. He dragged it down her arms and tossed it aside. Then his hands closed over her breasts. Her body seized with pleasure.

She moved his jeans down his hips, purposely leaving his boxers in place—as difficult as that task was. She so wanted to feel that part of him too. She lowered to her knees, and his eyes closed as if he couldn't bear to watch. Tugging his jeans down, he lifted first one foot and then the other so that she could pull them free.

When she stood once more, she ushered him down onto the bed. She straddled his waist, immensely grateful she still wore her jeans. She slid her palms over his chest, leaned down and caught his lower lip between her teeth.

He massaged her breasts, tugged one toward his mouth. She cried out, barely held on to her wits. While he focused on driving her crazy with his mouth, she grabbed the handcuffs, quietly fastened one to the vintage iron headboard. He stilled, looked up at her, but she didn't give him time to react. She snapped the other cuff onto his left hand.

Then she kissed her way down his chest to distract him from what she'd just done. When his eyes closed once more, she quickly climbed off him, off the bed and stepped back.

Distracting him with the promise of sex was low. No question about that, but it had been necessary.

She grabbed her bra and put it back on.

His languid expression shifted to one of wariness. "What're you doing?"

"You'll be glad I did when all this shakes down."

"What the hell?" he growled as he sat up and attempted to tug free of the headboard.

God, she had never seen that much of him. His body was pretty perfect. She almost sighed. Instead, she grabbed her tee and yanked it over her head, which she badly needed to get on straight.

"I have to go," she said, finger-combing her hair. "The sooner I lure Lorenzo's thugs away from here, the sooner you'll be safe."

"You said," he snapped, "we'd go to the sheriff in the morning."

She stuffed one foot into a sneaker and then the other. "I lied." Why pretend? He was no fool.

He yanked at the cuffs one more time. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"No." She drew in a big breath. "You shouldn't. I've been lying as a way of life for a long time now. It was necessary to my existence." She turned away, couldn't bear the look in his eyes. "I'm sincerely sorry that my decision to come to Piney Woods has hurt you and others. I'm sorry you and Jodie and Dottie trusted me and were nice to me. I should never have allowed you to get so close." The emotion burning at the back of her eyes escalated her frustration. What the hell was wrong with her?

She had to be stronger than this. Smarter. Or they would all end up dead.

"So, you're just going to run." The anger in his voice was unmistakable.

"I'm not running," she argued, her ego bruised. "I'm navigating the coming storm to a different location. Away from you and the people here who I care about."

"I'm supposed to believe—" he banged a fist against his chest "—you care about me." He tugged on the handcuff again. "I can't imagine how you show your deeper feelings for a guy."

He had no idea just how deep her feelings for him went. Big mistake, Eleanor.

Her mother had always called her Eleanor. Only her dad and her school friends had called her Elle. That life—her real life—felt so far away. She had no one left. She'd abandoned those who hadn't died. She had thrown herself into her work and ignored all else. She had purposely chosen not to have so much as a goldfish, much less a dog or cat. She'd had nothing and no one who could slow down what she had to do. No one and nothing that would prevent her from taking the next big risk.

One year ago, she had allowed herself to start caring again, to care about another person or thing, like sweet Raymond. Now she had to walk away.

You have to do this...have to do this.

"Disappointment you'll get over," she offered. "Dying doesn't provide that option."

She unplugged her phone, tossed it and the charger into her backpack. She remembered the binoculars and tucked those into her backpack as well. Then she grabbed Griff's truck keys. She walked to the door, paused. As difficult as it was, she turned to face him. "I'll call Ernie in the morning and let him know you're here and in need of his assistance." She moistened her lips. "Goodbye, Griff." She started to turn away again but hesitated. "Take care of Raymond for me."

"Elle—Meg, wait."

She couldn't. She twisted the button on the knob, locking it and then closing the door behind her. He shouted after her, but she kept going, didn't want to hear his words. She stepped off the porch and slipped into the darkness.

The truck was parked behind the cabin. She took a moment to listen carefully to the night sounds. The whisper of the breeze sifting through the trees, the trickle of water in the nearby creek. The chirp of crickets, faster tonight because it was cooler. Her body adjusted to the outside temperature, to the night sounds.

The bump and clomp coming from the cabin warned her that Griff was attempting to disassemble the old iron bed. Not an easy task, and the probability of breaking it was a serious zero. It was one of the older real iron beds.

More of that regret and guilt piled on. She should go before she screwed up and changed her mind.

Going was essential. It was the only way to see with any measure of certainty that he was safe. She told herself this over and over as she moved away from the cabin and deeper into the darkness.

A soft thud down the road caused her to stop. Every muscle in her body froze. Another gentle whump.

Car door.

A good distance away. Sound carried in the dark. Her breathing slowed as her instincts elevated to a higher state of alert.

Moving slowly, listening intently, she removed her weapon from the front pouch of her backpack, then hung the backpack on her shoulder. The cold steel in her hand sent her pulse into a faster rhythm and her heart into a firmer bump, bump. She closed her eyes a moment and isolated the sounds she heard. Silenced the roar of blood in her ears. Ignored the thumping in her chest. Listened beyond the breeze, the trickling creek and the crickets.

A voice, possibly male. Too distant to make out the words.

Someone was here. Near the road, she thought. At least two people. She had heard the distinct sound of two different doors closing.

If there were only two, she could take them before she vanished. She had the element of surprise that they no doubt believed they possessed.

How had they learned their location?

She swore silently. Property records, of course. Ernie Battles was a friend of Griff's. Looking him up in the county database was easy peasy.

Damn it.

Moving soundlessly, she kept to the edge of the drive, near the tree line. Slowly, one careful step at a time. Listen...listen. The faint echo of a spoken word. Not moving closer yet.

Vague thump, then another.

Not two, four.

Her hopes sank deep into her gut, making her feel ill.

That was a risk she couldn't take. She was more likely to be overpowered by four thugs. That would leave Griff bound and vulnerable.

Meg did an about-face and moved quickly, silently back to the cabin. As soon as she hit the clearing, she leaped into a dead run. There was no time for explanations. No time to argue. She hoped like hell she could convince him without a lot of words or actions.

At the door, she turned the knob. Damn it! She had locked it. She wrestled with the keys on the ring with his fob. Stuck first one and then another into the lock until she had the right one. She twisted the knob again, and the door opened. She stepped inside, her finger immediately going to her lips. He had managed to drag his jeans on as well as his shoes. He stared at her now but kept his mouth shut. She grabbed his shirt from the floor and passed it to him.

"They're here," she whispered. "We have to go."

He tugged at the handcuff.

Oh hell.

She tucked her weapon into her waistband, opened the drawer, her heart pounding, and felt around inside. Where the hell was the key?

"Check the next one," he murmured.

She closed the first drawer, careful to do so quietly and then dragged open the bottom drawer. She felt around, not daring to turn on any additional lights.

Her fingers moved over something cool. Metal. She picked it up. The key. Thank God. Thank God.

Fingers fumbling, she fought to get the key into the slot. They were both breathing hard by the time the cuff came loose. She lowered it to the bed to prevent the clink of metal.

She pointed to the back door. Hoped like hell the trouble hadn't reached the cabin yet. She pressed her finger to her lips once more. They had to be quiet. So quiet. These people had the same training as her. They would be listening.

Her weapon in hand, she moved in the direction of the back door. She turned the knob and slowly opened the door, wishing it not to squeak. Had it squeaked when she closed it? She couldn't remember. No squeak. Thank God.

She stuck her head out far enough to peer around. Listened hard. No new sound, no movement.

She eased out the door. Rested each foot in the grass with care.

Griff slipped out behind her, pulled the door to without making a sound. Smart guy.

She grabbed his hand with her free one and tugged him close enough to whisper directly into his ear. "We're going into the woods. We need to go far and fast. But I don't know these woods. I need you to get us as far away from here as quickly as possible while making the least amount of sound possible."

His lips pressed against her ear. She shivered in spite of herself.

"I understand." He squeezed her hand. "Trust me. I won't let you down."

His words wrapped around her chest and squeezed. She nodded, turned her face up to his. "Lead the way."

He'd been in these woods before. Many times as a kid, he'd told her. She had no idea when he'd last hiked in the area, but he was the only shot they had of escaping.

She was counting on his recall not only to get them out of here but to get them out of here fast.

Otherwise, they were dead.