“Do you normally brain people to death after they go to the trouble of saving your life?”
Panting, I eye him, appreciating the scrape of angry red skin on the side of his temple, courtesy of me.
“If you’re such a Good Samaritan, get off me. You’re hurting me.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment, the amber-gold of his brown eyes crawling over my face and throat, missing nothing. Yeah. Even that. He knows what I am. My fingers itch to touch the flesh there. Still. After all this time, I still want to hide it. Still want it gone. I feel a stab of regret that I couldn’t stick it out at Mount Haven. That I couldn’t last there long enough to win their offer to remove my imprint. It’s only a temporary regret, because then I remember how bad it was there—that they required me to kill a man. I had to leave. There was also the not-so-small incentive that Sean and Gil were leaving. With or without me. This reminder brings a fresh pang to my chest.
I lost them anyway. I’m alone and at the mercy of this guy.
He looks away, releasing my wrists. Plucking up the rock that I used to club him, he settles back down a few feet away from me, tossing it carefully between his hands.
“Pretty resourceful for someone with a bullet in her shoulder.” He arches a dark eyebrow as though impressed.
Wincing, I sit back up, scooting into a secure position and holding my arm close to my side as if that might somehow control my pain. My movements don’t do me any favors. Fresh blood trickles warmly down my back, soaking my shirt.
I glance down at my knife, which he left beside me, and back up at him, wondering at his game. He couldn’t have forgotten about it.
He watches me in turn, his expression mild, unconcerned. “Are you going to use that on me?”
I stare, contemplating him as I pick the knife back up and stand with a grunt of discomfort. Looking down on him makes me feel somewhat better. “You want me to? Is that why you left it?”
“If it makes you feel better, keep it.” Even as he says this, he doesn’t fool me. He looks hard. Like something that belongs here, a part of the unforgiving landscape. A shadow of scruff brushes his jaw. He hasn’t shaved in several days. A wide-brimmed hat hangs back behind his neck to protect him from the sun. And yet he’s still sun-browned. He wears an earth-colored poncho. More protection from the sun. My gaze drops to his boots again. They’re quality. Made for this type of living. If eking out an existence here could be called that. But isn’t that all I can hope for at this point?
“What do you want with me?” I ask.
“I can’t just want to help you?”
Maybe I could have believed that a few months ago. The inherent goodness of my fellow man. But not anymore. The world isn’t the same. At least my world isn’t. I’m not brimming with faith in the humanity of others. Especially carriers.
I nod to his pack. “Kick that over here.”
He glances from it to me. Shaking his head, he starts to speak. “You have real trust issues.”
“Just kick it over here.” After a moment of hesitation, he moves, pausing when I sharply instruct, “Don’t get too close. Keep your distance.”
He kicks the bag, frowning, looking disappointed. And that annoys me. Why should he—a total stranger—act as though I disappointed him?
Sitting back down, he looks up at me. “You’re not going to make it far. You’ve got a bullet in your shoulder.”
“Yeah?” I snap. “I kind of noticed that, but thanks for the tip.”
His gaze skims me. “You’ll stand out like a hothouse rose there. There aren’t too many girls traipsing up and down the border all alone. How do you expect to make it out there—”
“That’s my problem.”
His eyes narrow on me. “You’ve got a funny way of showing your thanks.”
His words give me pause. Is that what he’s truly doing? Helping me? I think of Tully then. And Jackson. Carriers I know. Guys who I would never want to be alone with. The things they would do to me . . .
Death would be easier than any of those scenarios.
How do I really know what this guy’s intentions are with me? He brought me to this cave for what? So that I could recuperate?
The answer reverberates loud and clear in my head. Don’t trust him. You can’t afford to be wrong.
I slip one strap of the backpack over my good shoulder. I nod at him, and the motion makes my head spin. I stagger sideways one step before righting myself, reaching a hand to the cave wall for balance. “Thanks. No hard feelings.”
“Nice,” he says flatly as I inch around him, heading to where he entered, assuming the exit is that way. “I rescued you, and for that you’re stealing my stuff and taking off. You’re not going to make it. Just look at yourself. It’s the hottest part of the day, and patrols are swarming out there. In greater force than usual.” His amber eyes glint at me, sharp as a blade, cutting, probing. “Almost like they’re looking for someone.”
His words make my stomach clench. Me. They’re looking for me. Maybe they already captured the others. God. Sean. Gil and Sabine.
He continues, “Apparently some carriers made it across the river into Mexico last night. It’s all over the wire. I’m guessing you were with—”
Everything inside me locks up tight. “Wait . . . what? I’m not in Mexico?” I press a hand to my forehead as if this information just pinged me like a rock in the face. I’d been so close. I was almost to the shore.