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On wobbly legs, she pushed herself up and started back on her way. Though her earlier words sounded brave, facing death at the hands of nature was entirely a different matter. She didn’t fancy the idea of being some bear’s breakfast. Getting to her feet, she limped forward; walking as best she could, she pushed herself onward.
All of a sudden, a commotion broke from the trees and something dark, and large, lunged at her from out of the woods. So unexpected, she didn’t have the second she needed to produce a scream.
Her mouth opened, yes, but she was knocked to the ground so swiftly, the only sound passing through her lips was air whizzing out of her lungs.
“Tracked ya down a lot sooner than I anticipated.” Someone muttered in her ear. She lifted her chin and saw Sam Michalski looming above her.
“Get off me!” she growled, struggling to free herself.
“Not so fast.”
“I not be going back to Chicago.”
“Yes, you be.” He mocked her accent before reaching for her wrists and hauling her to her feet.
Ivy tugged to release herself, but his fingers were like steel. Though stronger. “Let me go. I be not going anywhere with ye.”
“‘Fraid you are, ma’am.” She heard the jangle of handcuffs. He wouldn’t dare! With effort, she struggled even harder, her breathing heavy.
“Calm down, Ms. McGregor,” he said the same moment the click of the heavy irons locked around her wrists.
“Calm down? Ye bastard!” Anger fuelled her actions. She reached out with her good leg and kicked with her best effort. Though her attempt was feeble as her poor leg was barely able to support her weight. Sam Michalski grabbed hold of her shoulder and turned her away from him.
“Start moving.”
“Absolutely not!” She refused to budge, planting her feet firmly to the earth and glared at her assailant.
“Now, you listen here.” He shoved his face toward her, his jaw stiff, his eyes blazing. “It’s been one hell of a night and I’ll be damned if I’m going to put up with any drama from you. I have no intention of carrying you, but I will not hesitate to drag you.”
Her anger flared. Without thought, she spat in that face which was far too close for her own personal comfort. His only reaction was the smallest flicker of movement, and then he reached up and wiped her spit from his face with his gloved hand. Ignoring it, he turned to the satchel he carried over his shoulder and removed a rope.
“What do ye think ye be doing with that?” Her eyes widened as an image of him literally dragging her like some barbarian through the forest leaped to mind. “Ye can’t be serious!”
“I’m not the real joking kind, ma’am.”
Then he reached out and snatched her cuffed wrists in his one hand, while the other proceeded to wrap the end of the rope around her wrists. As he tightened it into a secure knot, she burned with outrage wishing she had killed him after all. With all her hatred she glared up into his face, but his eyes did not even bother meeting her gaze, though she was certain he knew she was looking at him.
“Why are ye doing this?”
“It’s my job, ma’am.” His voice was so cold, so unemotional.
A flicker of hope. “Whatever they be paying ye, I’ll double it.”
He actually smirked, his eyes briefly rising to look at her before dropping her wrists. Reaching back into the satchel, he pulled out a piece of gray material. Surprised, Ivy looked upon her cloak before he snapped it open and tied it around her shoulders. Blessedly, it blocked out most of the frigid elements.
She drew her attention back to his face; however, refusing to offer her gratitude. His eyes met hers and something crossed their dark depths, turning their golden highlights into a darker shade of brown. Then he went hard and cold once more.
“We best get moving.”
“Please, I beg of ye. Don’t do this.” God, she hated begging. But she had nothing else left to defend herself.
“A little late for remorse, Ms. McGregor.”
Slightly confused by that, she brushed his comment aside and said, “Whatever your price be, Mr. Michalski, I’ll pay it.”
His smirk, long gone, was now replaced with a dark scowl. “There wouldn’t be enough money.”
This caused her to draw back slightly, frowning hard. It almost sounded as if he hated her. As if he felt she deserved whatever her fate back in Chicago. But that was impossible. He didn’t even know her.
