Present Tense (A Parker & Coe, Love and Bullets Thriller Book 2) (4 page)

"Start marching," I said.

So we marched.

And we marched.

And we marched some more—with a little bit of stumbling here and there to keep things lively.

It soon became evident that we were much deeper in the woods than I had hoped, and as the day wore on, I was starting to wonder if we'd ever get out of there. I'd heard there were close to a dozen trails in this forest, but I'd be damned if we could find a single one.

A rescue team had undoubtedly been dispatched to the crash site, but that was miles away and chances were good that every available park ranger, fire fighter and volunteer had headed in that direction, along with curious campers and hikers who had heard the boom.

My plan had been to head there as well, but that was tough to do when I'd never spent a day of my life in the wilderness and the smoke I'd been using as a guide had dissipated hours earlier. It was very easy to get turned around in a forest that size and I had a feeling we'd been turned around and around and around.

I tried my cell phone several times to see if I could get a signal, but as I had suspected, there was none to be found.

I had long ago given up on holding the Glock. Those things get heavy very fast, and I figured if Ethan started to get cute, I'd somehow manage to yank it out of my holster again before he could follow through.

But so far he hadn't tried anything and it didn't seem as if he was planning to.

No, all he did was talk.

And talk.

And talk.

"...So there I was, standing on a platform in Paris, waiting for a train to take me into London, and these three punks surrounded me, looking to escort me back to Jean Paul's night club…"

Oh, lord.

I asked myself if Ethan had been this much of a self-absorbed motormouth when we were dating, but all I remembered was being rapturously in love, a condition that had undoubtedly blinded me to the guy's flaws. I suppose it hadn't hurt that he was what the girls on my Facebook feed call "man candy." Slender but well-muscled, with tousled hair and the kind of lead singer swagger that makes you want to strip off your underwear and lose your virginity.

Which, by the way, was exactly what had happened back then. And I can't say I regretted it.

Anyway, I imagine most girls who fall from the sky and find themselves stranded in an endless forest with a bail jumping con man who just happens to be an old boyfriend would probably be thrilled. But Ethan's criminal record and seeing him in those cuffs had poured a big bucket full of reality on my head, and I just wanted him to shut the hell up. His constant yammering was giving me a headache.

I stopped in my tracks. "Before you tell me for the third time about the heroic fight that saved your life, tell me something else."

He stopped in front of me. Turned. "What?"

"Do you have any earthly idea where we are?"

"Houston National Forest."

I frowned. "I was looking for something a little more specific than that."

"You're the one calling the shots, Pooks. I'm just going where you tell me to go."

I sighed. "We're never getting out of here alive. And don't call me Pooks."

"Old habits die hard."

I scowled at him and gestured. "I think we're walking in circles. I swear to God I've seen that same tree four times."

"How can you tell? They all look alike."

"And therein lies the problem."

"Hey," he said, "you're the expert. Aren't you supposed to know how to navigate places like this?"

I probably was—surely Parker would know—but I had always used my cell phone GPS to get me where I needed to go. I told myself that if we ever managed to find a way out of here, I'd make it a point not to rely on technology to such an absurd degree. When your survival is dependent upon how close the nearest cell tower is, you've got problems. Big problems.

"To be perfectly honest," I said, "this is my first time in the field. Parker usually handles this stuff."

"The boy toy? So where is he now?"

"Worrying about me, no doubt."

"If he's gotten wind of that plane crash, he probably thinks you're worm food."

"Which is one of the reasons I'm so anxious to get out of this godforsaken place."

"We can't do that standing here," Ethan said, then turned and started walking again.

I looked around, wondering if we really were walking in circles, then got my butt in gear and followed. We got about ten yards farther when Ethan suddenly stopped and I nearly bumped into him.

"So how did you meet this guy, anyway? I know high school was a long time ago, but you never struck me as the type who's attracted to macho assholes."

"Macho? Did you just go disco on me?"

"He's a bounty hunter, isn't he?"

"Fugitive acquisition specialist."

"Dress it up however you want, it all amounts to the same thing."

I detected a tone of derision in his voice and had to wonder. Was Ethan
jealous
?

Could that even be possible?

"Maybe so," I said, "but Parker isn't macho and he's not an asshole."

I wasn't about to admit that the two of us had gotten off to a shaky start, and when we first met, I would have called Parker both. But at the time, he had been convinced I was a stone cold killer, and first impressions aren't always the most accurate ones.

"So you really like him, huh?"

"More than you'll ever understand."

"Good. I'm happy for you, Kelsey. And I mean that. I really do. I was afraid I may have damaged you, taking off like that."

I wondered for a moment if this was just more blather, but I could see by the look in his eyes that he was sincere.
 

He may have found a semi-successful career in con artistry, but unlike his father, he wasn't a sociopath any more than he was a killer. The years and circumstances may change you, but they can't alter your basic DNA.

"Thanks," I said, "but if we don't find a ranger station pretty soon, I may have to shoot you just to shut you up."

He frowned. "Were you always this mean?"

"My mother seems to think so."

"That's not surprising. You struck me as more of a daddy's girl."

"Yeah, and she's never forgiven me for that. But why am I telling you this?"

"Because contrary to what you might believe, this perfect strangers idea has a major flaw. Meaning we aren't and never will be. Don't forget, I know what you like and how you like it."

I rolled my eyes again. "I see pointing out that you're a pig hasn't affected you."

"I'm a man, and we're all pigs, and pointing it out only encourages us."

"Apparently so," I said. "Can we get back on track, here?"

"And do what? Keep going in circles? If we waste enough time, sooner or later the men with guns will show up. It's been hours and they have to know by now that we weren't on that plane."

"You're gonna beat that story to death, aren't you?"

"I'm telling you the truth, Pooks. That plane crash was no accident and our pilot did not die of natural causes."

"And who do you think doctored his drink? Wilky?"

"He's the most likely candidate."

I shook my head. "I just don't see it. He's too nice of a—"

I was cut off by a sudden roar, and the
fop-fop-fop
of rotor blades as a helicopter came into view and hovered above the trees.
 

I looked up and saw that the side door was open, cutting off some of the stenciled letters, but it was obviously one of the local news copters, no doubt hunting for possible survivors of the crash.

"Oh, thank God," I said, then moved into a nearby clearing, extending my arms to wave at it. But before I could, Ethan came up from behind and grabbed hold of me.

"No," he shouted. "That's not a good idea."

He started to pull me back into the trees, but I jammed my heel into his shin, ripped away from him, and ran forward, throwing my arms into the air to get the chopper's attention. "Hey! Hey! Over here!"

And I got it, all right.
 

Just not in the way I was expecting.

Through the side door, I saw one of the men inside gesturing toward us as another came forward carrying what looked like a high-powered rifle.

Then he lifted it to his shoulder, pointed it in our direction, and began to fire.

PART TWO

A Clear and
 

Present Danger

If you read my last entry in the saga of Parker and Coe, you know I have a deep and sustained aversion to bullets. Especially when they're hitting the ground around me as I run for my life.

I felt them punching the dirt at my heels—certain I'd be hit either directly, or by ricochet—and all I could hear in my head was Parker's voice, taunting me:

I told you so.

I told you so.

I told you so.

I'm not sure why I was thinking this, because he
hadn't
told me so. He had merely expressed concern for my well-being, as Parker has a habit of doing. But his instincts had told
him
that my going it alone was not a good idea—not yet, at least—and I, in my usual impulsive fashion, had refused to give credence to those concerns.

Not that any of this was my fault. Who could really blame me for wanting to get out of that office? And I'd had every reason to believe that Arlin Wilkinson was a stand-up guy who had merely wanted to give PC&A an opportunity to make some money.

But now that there were bullets in the picture, I could only conclude that Parker had been right to worry, and that Ethan Rider was not a liar. Not about this, anyway. Wilky had set him up to die and Hap and I were the sacrificial lambs. And now that Ethan and I had managed to survive, Wilky—or the people he worked for—had decided to correct this mistake posthaste.

As dirt flew around me, I had every intention of making that task as difficult as possible. I bore down and headed for the protection of the trees, where Ethan was waiting, urging me forward.

"Faster!" he shouted. "Hurry!"

What did he think I was doing—taking a leisurely stroll?

With my heart pounding in my chest and my lungs screaming for air, I picked up speed and managed to reach the trees just as another bullet whizzed past my head.

Ethan grabbed my hand and yanked me forward and we ran together through the forest, hearing the roar of the helicopter as it followed, high overhead. I didn't think they'd be able to see past these trees, but nothing would prevent the shooter from firing indiscriminately. So slowing down was not an option—even if my lungs
were
about to collapse.

And just as this thought exited my mind, it happened.
 

Not the lungs part. The indiscriminate shooting—although a collapsed lung was a sight more attractive than a bullet to the top of the head.

The rifle cracked several more times and the ground around us came alive. I began to wonder if the shooter had x-ray vision, because the shots were too damn close to be random.

Ethan veered left and I followed, zig-zagging behind him. We ran several yards without slowing down, my heart now thumping in my ears. We came to a thicker grouping of trees and barreled in, branches whacking us in the face and arms and chest—a kind of horizontal replay of our fall from the sky.
 

Then finally, thankfully, the shooting stopped and the helicopter roared away, the sound of its rotors fading.

We came to a halt in a looser grouping of trees, and I bent over, put my hands on my knees and tried to catch my breath. "How did they … find us … so fast?"

"… Fast?" Ethan said. "We've been lost out here for hours. And I
told
you not to wave at them."

I stood upright. "How was I supposed to know? It looked like a TV newscopter. Besides, I'm not the one who pissed these guys off."

"So you believe me now?"

"They weren't shooting at us for sport. What did you do to them?"

Ethan grunted. "A little conflict involving their boss's wife."

I stared at him. "You have got to be kidding me. Did you sleep with her?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that."

"Come on, Ethan, don't get quiet on me now. You couldn't shut up before all the shooting started."

He looked mildly insulted and was probably wondering if
he
had once been blinded by love as well. I was clearly no longer the girl he left behind.

He said, "Why don't we get moving first? They're bound to come back or even send in a ground crew, and they'll be headed straight this way."

"I'd still like to know how they found us in the first place. You'd think they would've stuck to the area around the crash site. And even without me waving, they seemed to have some sense of where we were."

Ethan shrugged. "What can I tell you? They're good at what they do."

"You mean kill people?"

"That's the gist of it, yes."

We got moving. Fast.

We were clueless about which direction to go, so we simply chose one that felt right and hoped we'd get lucky.
 

When we'd made some distance, Ethan returned to form and started talking again. But this time I was actually interested in what he had to say.

"Contrary to what you're thinking, sleeping with Elena was not what got me into trouble with these people."

"I assume you're talking about the boss's wife?"

He nodded. "A man named Jack Swan. He has his corporate offices in California, so I don't know if you've heard of him, but—"

"Swan Realty?"

"That's only one of his holdings. The parent company is J.L. Swan Enterprises, worth nearly three billion in cash and equity."

"Nice. So how do you fit in?"

"I don't, and that's part of the problem. I saw Elena in a bar in Hollywood one night, and she was alone and I knew who she was."

"And you ran a scam on her."

"No. But I did try to get close to her in hopes of gathering information about her husband so I could run a scam on him. It was the pillow talk that did me in."