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“Not now. The truth won’t matter if you die, will it?” I pointed over her shoulder in the direction we needed to run. “I will pick you up if I have to,” I added, and she released a small sigh before removing her hands from my body.
She frowned and tossed out another weak, “I hate you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, then grabbed her hand. Our fingers threaded together, and she peered at our clasped palms before meeting my eyes. “You hate me as much as I hate you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHARLOTTE
“We really need to jump?” Mya peeked over the ledge by the waterfall. Her movement dislodged a few rocks, sending them over the edge, lost to the rushing water as she shuffled backward.
It wasn’t that far of a drop, and Carter had assured us the water down below should be relatively safe compared to that first night. Honestly, I was fine with jumping. I was still wearing the dead guy’s blood, not my favorite accessory, and it beat the alternative of waiting to be sitting ducks out of the water.
“To get to the other side, yeah, we need to go over.” Oliver set his hand to her back, and she flinched. “I’m not going to force you unless you don’t go willingly.”
“You got her?” Mason asked, and Oliver looked back at him, his brows dipping as if surprised at the lack of jealous tone there.
Oliver nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got her.”
Was this some type of olive branch from Mason? And why was that even on my radar to care?
I was on the run because of a game show. We were being chased by assailants who either wanted to capture or kill us. And I’d just witnessed my teammates take down several of those pursuers, four of them who’d “fast-roped from a helo”—Carter’s words—less than five minutes ago. I knew my life was chaos, but damn if this wasn’t starting to feel like a bit much.
I focused on Mason who quietly turned his attention to my sister.
“You up for a little refreshing swim?” Mason tipped his head, his question competing with the sound of the waterfall.
It wasn’t exactly Niagara, but it also wasn’t something you found in my neck of the woods where I’d grown up in Orange County. Of course, both Lucy and I had gone cliff diving into similar waters as these while living around the world, so I knew we could handle it.
“Let’s do this.” Lucy slipped her hand into Mason’s, and they both jumped over the edge.
“We don’t have all day,” Carter grumbled as he swiftly stepped up behind Mya, grabbed hold of her, and took her over that same edge before she knew what hit her.
“Guess he has her.” Oliver laughed. “And he’s probably the only guy she won’t smack for that.” He shrugged, tossed our backpack over, then followed it into the water.
Gwen went next, and I took that as my cue to go. I swiveled to the side, searching for the man I’d watched not only shoot multiple men, but snatch a blade from one bad guy and use it to slice his throat.
When Jack had faced me after killing that man, he’d been breathing hard and looked . . . lethal. He’d glanced at the bloody blade and his lips had parted, and he immediately dropped the knife as if horrified I’d witnessed him take a life in such a brutal manner.
Unsure why I was stalling, fixated on that last round of unknown-enemy whack-a-mole, I asked, “Will the pilot head back and get more people?”
“If there are more people in the area, yes.” He removed his hat, then bent it and shoved it into the large side pocket of his cargo shorts. “Let’s hope no one is close so we can buy ourselves some time.” His voice was flat, no hint of the passion we’d shared the night before. The concern he’d shown me before Carter spilled the “official” version of the truth he’d uncovered was gone.
I wished I could go ahead and spill my own truth so he wouldn’t think I was some murderer any longer. Of course, I had to get him to also believe me. And the evidence was stacked up against me.
I held out my hand. My version of an olive branch.
“You don’t need me,” he said, looking away toward the top of the waterfall.
I swallowed and spoke one very uneasy truth for me, “Yeah, but I want you.”
The collapse of his broad shoulders didn’t do wonders for my nerves. But when he turned, that heartbreaking look in his eyes told a different story. He’d been hurt before, in a different way than I had, but it was there. Clear as day, and it cracked my walls. Cut through my defenses.
I lowered my outstretched arm. “I did kill someone when I was twenty. It was self-defense and to save my sister. But he wasn’t a Fed. I was framed for that.”
There wasn’t any change from him. No reaction. Just the same curious stare pointed my way. He looked as lost as I felt.
We needed to go over the ledge. Cross the narrow river to place more distance between ourselves and the bad guys. Focus on surviving. But there we both were, frozen in place, having the moment I’d worked so hard not to have for eleven years.
