his knuckles brushing her chin and her jaw as he turned the collar up around her ears. “It means that you’re trespassing, and I’ve called the police. They’ll be very interested in hearing your story.”
“My story is simple. I came to find you, and you chased me through the woods with a gun.”
“I already told you, it wasn’t me.”
“Someone chased me. I fell.” And she’d hit her head. The cold had stolen most of the pain, but she could feel it again, pulsing just above her right ear. She touched the area, felt warm blood.
“You’re bleeding,” he commented, and she wanted to say something sarcastic, because she was cold, she was scared and she was in pain.
She didn’t think that would win her any points, so she kept her mouth shut.
He sighed. “Come on. Let’s go back. The police should be at the house by now.”
“Good. Maybe they can find the guys who were shooting at me.”
“How many?” he asked, taking her arm and leading her along the shore. They weren’t heading the way they’d come. That was probably for the best. She didn’t think she could climb up what she hadn’t been able to climb down.
“At least two.”
“Did you see them?”
“No. I was too busy running for my life to stop and get a description of the people who were trying to kill me.”
Oops.
There she went with the sarcasm.
“Glad you’ve kept your sense of humor,” Mason muttered, stepping between towering pine trees, his grip on her arm firm.
She knew he was trying to keep her from running. She couldn’t say she blamed him, but she didn’t like it.
“No need to hold on to me,” she said, pulling her arm from his grasp. “I’ve got no idea where we are and no idea how to get to civilization from here. In other words, I have absolutely nowhere to go, so I’m not going anywhere but wherever you’re heading.”
“Thanks for the information. Now, I’ll give you some. If you run, I’ll catch you,” he replied. “So, how about you save us both the effort and don’t do it?”
“I already told you, I’m not planning on running.” Especially not now when the guy she’d been looking for was just a few inches away.
They hadn’t gotten off to a good start.
She could fix that, clear things up, explain all the reasons why he should hear what she had to say and listen to her reasons for being there.
They were moving steadily uphill, heading—she presumed—back toward Mason’s house. She expected him to ask more questions. She actually hoped he would. She just needed an opening, and she could explain the situation with Henry, tell Mason all about the young athlete, his cancer diagnosis and his upcoming surgery.
But Mason seemed content to stay silent.
She did the same, the sound of police sirens a constant reminder that she was running out of time. For all she knew, she’d be arrested as soon as she reached Mason’s house. She’d be tossed in jail for trespassing, and she’d never get an opportunity to say what she needed to.
She couldn’t let that happened.
She’d promised Bryn she’d give it her best. Walking mutely through the forest with the man who could help Henry? That wasn’t it.
“I’m Trinity Miller,” she said, her voice a little too loud.
Nothing.
Not even a hitch in his stride.
“I have a friend—”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Don’t I?” He turned abruptly, stopping short in the middle of the path. It was too dark to see his expression, but Trinity was certain he wasn’t smiling. “You have a friend who needs money, or an uncle who needs help, or you know a good charity I could donate money to.”
“Not even close.”
“Then why are you here?”
“My friend’s son has cancer. He’s going to have his leg amputat—”
“No,” he repeated and started walking again, his long legs eating up the ground so quickly she had to jog to keep up.
“You haven’t even heard me out.”
“I heard enough to say no.”
“I drove six hundred miles!” she protested, her teeth chattering on the last word.
She did not want to fail at this. She didn’t want to have to call Bryn to tell her that she’d blown their chance.
“I’m sorry you wasted your time.” He didn’t sound sorry. He sounded irritated.
“Look—” she began.
Somewhere to their right, a branch broke.
Mason grabbed her wrist, yanking her close to his side.
“What—”
“Quiet,” he whispered, his lips close to her ear. “I’m going to see who that is. You stay here.”
“We need to stay together,” she whispered back.
“It’s not up for discussion.” He pulled her off the path and dragged her into thick undergrowth. “Do. Not. Move.”
Three words and he was gone, slipping soundlessly away while she shivered in his coat.
* * *
Another branch snapped as Mason crept through the heavy underbrush. He followed the sound, honing in on the soft pad of feet on dead leaves.
Whoever was out there, he didn’t know much about being quiet. He also didn’t know much about staying hidden. Mason could see a flashlight beam bouncing along the ground a few yards away. The guy was searching, but he wasn’t even close to where Mason had left the woman.
Trinity Miller.
Interesting that she’d found him.
Most people who looked didn’t.
He had a house in Boston he rented out, and that was where people who were searching for him usually ended up. Somehow Trinity had ended up here. He wanted to know how. He also wanted to know why. She’d said something about a friend’s son and cancer, and he’d cut her off. He didn’t work with kids. There were too many memories there, but he was intrigued by the thought of someone going to such great effort to help a friend. Six hundred miles to see a stranger for a friend’s sake? That was a long way to travel.
If that was really the case, if she’d really driven that far, Trinity was the kind of friend everyone wanted to have.
If her claim was true.
There’d been a lot of activity around his house lately. A few days before he’d left for John’s funeral, government officials paid him a visit. They’d wanted information about one of his clients. He’d refused to give it. The military police had stopped by the next day, demanding that he release confidential information. Mason had refused again.
For all he knew, Trinity worked for the government or was part of the military, sent to do what the other two groups had not—gain access to information about Tate Whitman. Tate had served three tours in Iraq. He’d nearly lost his life there. Two years ago, Mason had fitted his prosthetic leg. Tate was an active guy. When he wasn’t teaching college counterterrorism classes, he was hiking, biking, running and lifting weights.
Unfortunately, he was also the key witness in a court-martial case that had the potential to bring