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“Move!”
At Travis’s command, she jolted forward.
A few yards down the path that could once have been a one-lane dirt road, she glanced back.
He was following but keeping a significant distance between them.
That wasn’t conducive to an assault. He’d have to be no more than an arm’s length or two away for her plan to work. At most she’d have a couple of seconds to dive for a tree limb and swing it.
She had to come up with a strategy to draw him closer—and do it in an optimal location.
Ten minutes later, as if in answer to a prayer, she rounded a bend to find a downed tree blocking the trail. A casualty from a not-too-recent storm, in light of the moss growing on the side of the trunk.
If she could spot a club-like limb that would serve her purposes, this could offer an opportunity to coax Travis nearer.
She did a visual search for potential weapons in the area.
There. Near the trunk. A thick branch, which would do considerable damage if wielded with sufficient strength and aimed with precision, had broken off.
She paused, as if contemplating the barricade.
“Go around it.”
Pulse tripping into double time, she veered off to the side, the dead, fallen leaves crunching under her feet.
As she approached the spot that would provide the optimal access to her makeshift weapon, she gave a small yelp and went down on one knee, her hand resting on the branch destined to become a club.
“What’s wrong?”
“The ground’s uneven. My leg gave out. I had a parachute accident, remember?”
“Oh yeah. I remember.”
Was that odd nuance in his tone satisfaction?
She crimped her brow as she angled toward him. “You seem happy about that.”
He shrugged. “I’m not sorry.”
“That’s sick.” Disgust turned her stomach.
The smirk he gave her was downright evil. “No. It was justice.”
It took a few moments for his implication to sink in, and when it did, a shockwave rippled through her. “Are you saying ... did you sabotage my parachute?”
“You deserved it after all the grief you gave me.”
Sweet mercy.
All this time, she’d assumed the accident was due to an error on her part. Instead, it had been deliberate, cold-blooded revenge.
She stared at him. “You tried to kill me in Idaho too?”
“No.” His smirk faded. “I just wanted you to pay for causing trouble. I knew you’d survive. You had a backup chute.”
“I don’t today.”
He shifted his weight, and a muscle ticced in his jaw. “For the record, killing wasn’t part of my plan. The tires and the tree were more my style.”
