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"Lainie?" He took a single step forward, then paused, his eyes searching the darkness for her.
She saw an impossible caring in his gaze. She felt suddenly as if she were falling, tumbling into the warm heat of his brown eyes. Her heartbeat picked up, sweat itched across her forehead.
What would it feel like if Vi were right? she wondered again. What would it feel like to have a man like that to protect you, to care about you? To keep you safe . ..
Safe.
The word slipped through her, brought with it an aching sense of longing and loss. She tried to push the foolish thought aside. There was no safe in life; that was a lesson she'd learned a long time ago, and if there was, it wouldn't be with a man like Killian. But the thought wouldn't go so easily this time. It resisted, beckoned.
Safe.
She forced a harsh laugh, disgusted with herself. It was almost impossible to believe, but after all the therapy and work and pain, she still had something of the dreamer inside her.
No, not the dreamer, she thought bitterly. The coward. She had to admit?to herself at least?that deep down, she was afraid. Everything about this journey
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scared her, from the endless desert to the doorway at the end.
She was used to being afraid, of course. She'd spent more than half her life in constant fear, but this was different somehow. Out here, she felt so desperate sometimes, so frighteningly alone. No wonder she had the unfamiliar hope that Killian would protect her.
But it was only a dream; she had to always remember that. He wouldn't protect her and he wouldn't voluntarily get her back to Kelly.
With an exhausted sigh, she reached down and picked up the gun. The weapon felt cold and hard and reassuring in her grip. She straightened, strode toward the fire. "I'm right here, Killian."
She stepped into the golden cloud of light, the gun held stiffly in front of her.
He sighed. "I thought you'd set off on your own."
She heard the worry in his voice, and it filled her with a sad regret. In another time, another place, they might have meant something to one another. But not here, not now. She tightened her grip on the gun. "Not me, Killian."
He stared at her for a long time, then turned and started to walk away.
She hefted the gun up a bit, aimed it at his back. "Don't move."
He spun on her. "For Chrissakes, Lainie, it's the middle of the night. Where do you think I'm going to go? I'm just gonna make us something to eat."
She kept the gun aimed at his chest and moved warily forward. "Okay. Go to the saddlebags and get some food."
He strode across the small campsite to Captain, who stood calmly alongside the fallen tree, his head drooped forward. Burrowing noisily through the saddlebags,
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Killian pulled out some beef jerky and canned beans, then untied the mess kit and hauled it back, dropping it at the fire. It hit the ground with a jarring clank. A tin coffeepot bumped over a few stones and rolled to Lainie's feet.
She glanced down at it.
That split second was all he needed. Lainie heard a whirring thwop, and looked up.
A huge circle of rope slithered through the air and fell in a hoop over her head. She gasped as the rope snapped tight around her body, pinned her arms to her sides. Hemp bit through her sweater and abraded her flesh.
The gun fell from her limp fingers and clattered to the ground, useless. She stumbled forward and almost fell, righting herself at the last possible second.
He pulled her toward him, almost wrenching her off her feet. Her legs shot out in front of her, bootheels skidding through the dirt as he reeled her in.
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bsp; She stumbled and pitched forward; her knees hit the dirt hard.
