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And she wasn’t the only one, because Caine’s heart beat hard and fast enough that she felt it where her hands still clutched at him.
The distant roaring revs of an engine…
The sound sent her heart right back into her throat. She knocked her helmet once into Caine’s left shoulder, but he’d apparently already heard, because he went hard on the throttle, and they started regaining speed.
Anger erupted inside her right alongside the fear. Who was this? And what had she ever done to upset someone enough to chase her, to want to hurt her? Why in the world would someone endanger lives to get at her? She didn’t understand a single bit of this. The only thing she understood was that she wanted her and Caine to survive it. And to have a chance for something after they did.
She clutched him as they took a curve in the rural road hard and tight, that terrifying dip happening again. He fired more shots, but she didn’t hear tire squeals like she had last time. Suddenly, he tapped the gun against her left thigh. No, he was working into the pocket of his riding gear that hung there.
Why was he giving it to her? But she couldn’t ask and, anyway, they didn’t have time for even a single one of the questions she had. Instead, he pointed ahead of them. Emma looked over his shoulder. The road turned at more than a ninety-degree angle around a field of dead, golden grass. How were they going to make that turn?
He let off the throttle entirely, and then she knew. They weren’t.
What did that mean? Could the motorcycle drive into the field? And if not, what were the alternatives? And, oh God, why had she allowed Caine to give her all his protective gear?
All these thoughts and more raced through her mind in mere seconds, all the time that elapsed between his pointing and their way-too-fast approach to the sharp curve. Emma held him tighter, her gaze trained on what they were hurtling towards, which was when she saw two things that made her blood run cold—the mounds of hard snow the plow had left along the edge of the road and the deep ditch that ran along the edge of the field behind those snow piles.
Caine made a gesture with his hand, as if it were an upright blade that spun and flattened. And she knew exactly what was about to happen.
She just couldn’t believe it was about to happen.
Maybe a hundred feet. Half that. Thirty. The bike began to turn and skid. Twenty. The angle lowered and lowered, bringing them closer to the ground. Ten. Emma could see the specks of rocks in the snow now.
She expected the weight of the bike to crush her leg, but for a long second, it felt like she was flying on Caine’s back. Somewhere near her, metal and plastic screeched against asphalt. And then she collided with the ground in a cold cushioning crunch. She lost Caine upon impact, and then her body was rolling over rough, uneven ground until she came to a hard stop at the bottom of that wet, weedy ditch.
I’m alive. Holy shit, I’m alive!
“Caine!” she shouted, struggling to take off the helmet. “Caine!” Finally, she managed the release and threw the heavy black lifesaver aside. She crawled out of the ditch wet and bruised, her ears ringing, but so very fucking alive. “Caine!” she cried, adrenaline propelling her back to the road.
She pushed onto her knees. There! A few feet farther away. Face down at the top edge of the ditch.
“Caine!” She ran and fell at his side. Blood poured from gravel-lined gashes in his cheekbone and his forehead just above his temple. “Caine, can you hear me?”
A single groan. But it was the sweetest, most hopeful thing she’d ever heard.
Until the SUV that’d chased them came to a skidding stop a few feet away.
* * * *
Boots hit the asphalt, and then a tall, thin figure stepped out from behind the driver’s door. He wore a ski mask with cut-outs only for his eyes and mouth. The same one from the night he’d tried to grab her.
Bile hit the back of Emma’s throat. She couldn’t believe that it was all coming down to this.
“Hello, Emma,” he said.
Recognition skittered down her spine, but her heart beat too hard and her head hurt too much to pinpoint it. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
“I was trying to save you, not hurt you. You weren’t supposed to get on the bike.” He tsked. “That was his punishment, not yours.”
She shook her head, his words not making sense. “I don’t understand.”
“No, ma’am. I know you don’t. But you will.” He pulled off the mask, and there stood before her Mr. Wilkerson. The friendly new janitor from school who’d helped her so many times this year.
