AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Jumping a few more short benches, Rowan shoved several stacks of plastic nursery pots off a table, sending them tumbling in the direction opposite from the one she headed in. While the pots clattered to the ground, she froze, using the commotion for cover. She opened her mouth wide to catch her breath. Her tongue felt as dry as old newspaper.
Again, she heard the unmistakable crack of a shin or ankle bone meeting wood. A groan, and “Motherfucker.” Then he went as quiet as her.
A solitary cricket whirred once, twice, testing the silence. Outside, another bubbly scream split the night, followed by peals of familiar, obnoxious laughter. Frankie must have gotten caught. It annoyed Rowan that she couldn’t force her brain to find that same uncomplicated joy in the experience.
Could she get around the guy and out the front door? Possibly, if she could pinpoint where he was and get him moving in the wrong direction before she made her break. But the tables and benches weren’t arranged in any pattern. It had been sheer luck she hadn’t yet tripped ass over ankles and busted out a tooth.
From where she squatted, the wide windows along the back wall of the greenhouse were far closer than the front door. One of them was cracked open.
She could get there.
A rumbly sigh came from an indeterminate place in the shadows. “I think you’re out of bounds, this far away from base.” His voice was smoother now that it wasn’t grinding out obscenities. It had a cultured cadence to it that opposed his rumpled appearance.
Was heteasingher?
Rowan caught her lips between her teeth and fought the impulse to retort. He’d homed in on the only thing that might make her give away her position—and her advantage: an accusation that she wasn’t following the rules.
At least she knew now he was part of the game, and not some vagrant from Linden, the closest town over on the way back to Philly. Still, it seemed strange she hadn’t seen him until now. Maybe he’d been the latecomer in the car. That would explain why he didn’t have a flashlight.
Rowan’s knees and ankles burned from crouching, andgod,her bladder.
Outside, two male voices shouted to each other from different directions, coordinating with militaristic urgency. Moments later, another high-pitched scream floated up the hill before dissolving into giggles. Her teammates were dropping like flies.
A plastic pot rolled across the floor in the darkness. Her pursuer was on the move, but heading toward the wrong side of the greenhouse, by the sound of it. Rowan seized the opportunity, shooting to her feet to make for the back wall.
The guy went down again as he tried to swivel and pursue. This time, his growling groan sounded muffled, like his mouth was pressed against the ground. She almost felt sorry for him, but her haywire sense of self-preservation wouldn’t let her stop to check on him.
Rowan wanted to shout with relief as her hand closed on the lever-like handle of the partially open window at the backof the greenhouse. She grasped the latch in both hands and shoved, hard.
Nothing.
No movement. It was frozen into a foot-wide opening by rust and time.
Shit.
As circulation returned, her legs felt like they were full of buzzing bees. The eruption of sensation nearly buckled her knees. She blurted an agonized, frantic laugh.
“No way you’re getting through that,” the guy called. He grunted, pushing to his feet.
Rusty joints screamed like a banshee and the pane gave. She pushed it up and outward, as wide as it would go, then dipped her head through. Way too far down to go headfirst.
Rowan hooked each of her legs through the bottom lip of the window, squeezing her backside through with a shimmy of her hips. For a mortifying moment, she imagined becoming stuck, wedged there between the glass, squished out like a specimen on a microscope slide.
“Told you.”
His smug tone pissed her off. Squeezing her butt tight, she wiggled centimeters farther out the window. She’d make it. There were still too many tables between them for him to reach her before she was fully through. A petty surge of triumph buoyed her.
But then, everything changed. When Rowan looked back again, he was retreating, fading quickly away in the darkness.
He headed for the door.
Oh, god. He was going to intercept her outside.
“Shit, shit,shit,” Rowan wheezed. She’d wedged too far into the window to pull herself back inside, and her feet hadn’t hit the ground yet, so she had no leverage. She dangled there, inert, limp as a flag on a windless day.
It was a miracle her shorts hadn’t ripped yet. With a desperate final squeeze of her ass, she made it the rest of the way through the window, hitting the ground below with a molar-clacking impact.
“Just a game,” she panted.
