Gone Too Deep (15 page)

“Better than nothing, I guess.” She tried not to think about the loss of the tent. “At least they didn't take this pack, too.”

“How did you get them to leave?” George watched her as he closed up the pack by feel.

“Oh!” That reminded her. Ellie gingerly pulled the gun out of her pocket, keeping it pointed away from both of them. “I wasn't sure how to put on the safety. Could you do it? And maybe take it?”

He accepted the gun and immediately dropped the magazine. Opening the slide, he turned the pistol and dumped a bullet into his palm. “It's a Glock. No external safety.” He inserted the loose bullet into the top of the magazine.

“Oh.” Watching as he stowed the empty gun and magazine in a pocket in his coat, she was a little jealous with the ease he'd shown handling the firearm. “I've never held a gun until today.”

His shock was obvious. “I'll take you to Rory's. She has a gun shop with a range.”

A sour taste climbed to the back of Ellie's throat, and she swallowed. The movement reminded her of her bruised throat. “Who's Rory?” The jealous note in her voice was obvious, and she flushed. She'd known George for three days, much too short of a time for her to be getting possessive.

He looked at her warily. “I told you. She has a gun shop with a range.” Each word was enunciated, as if he thought she might be slow.

Rolling her eyes, Ellie tried to shake off the foreign feeling of jealousy. Not only did she have no claim on George, but there weren't even any other females within pheromone range. Absently, she pulled off her glove and rested her hand against her bruised throat.

George strode over and crouched next to her, gently pulling her hand away. His ferociously controlled expression returned. He'd pulled off his gloves earlier to sort through the pack, so his fingers were bare when he brushed them against her neck. She shivered, but for a completely different reason that time.

“I'm okay,” she said quietly. “It's just bruised. You're the one who's hurt.”

At the mention of his injury, he shook his head as if to brush off her concern.

“I was so scared.” Her fingers touched the silly purple hat where it covered his bullet wound. “You were lying there, not moving. I thought you were…” She couldn't say it.

“What happened?”

“I…” She tried to put the blurred sequence of events in order in her head. “We were walking, and then the first guy, Anderson, he grabbed me.”

George's face was grim. “I should have known they were tracking us. I'm sorry.”

Shaking her head, she dismissed his apology. “It's not your fault. Who would've thought that two homicidal losers would mug us for our camping gear in the middle of nowhere? You were probably on the lookout for
real
threats, like moose and rabid squirrels.”

He didn't even smile at her joke. Despite her reassurances, Ellie knew he blamed himself. “Don't know what the King brothers are doing out here.”

“King brothers?” she repeated. “You know them?”

With a grimace, he said, “Meth dealers from Simpson.”

“Why follow us all the way out to the middle of nowhere just to take our stuff?” Ellie wondered. “Couldn't they have just robbed an outdoor-gear store?”

George frowned, his eyebrows knotted. “Not sure. Did they say anything?”

“About what they're doing out here? I don't think so, although I don't know if I'm remembering everything right. When Anderson had me in a headlock, I was concentrating on you, on the way you kept looking down. I thought you wanted me to drop to the ground.” She raised her eyebrows in question, and he nodded. “When Anderson moved away a little so they could take off my pack, I went limp, and he dropped me.”

George gave her a look of approval, and she tried not to bask in it. Falling down should not be a point of pride, even if it was intentionally done.

“Things got weird, and I wasn't hearing right. I heard a popping sound. Was that the gun?” His nod surprised her. “It didn't sound like a shot.”

“That's normal in combat.”

It was strange to think of that encounter as “combat.” Shaking off the stray thought, she continued. “Was that when he shot you?”

“Must've been.” He looked unhappy. “You went down, I reached for my gun, and then everything went black.”

Ellie shuddered as she thought about what would've happened if Anderson's aim had been a little more accurate. Since she couldn't continue on that train of thought without losing it, she forced herself to shut down that particular what-if scenario. “I tried to roll away from them, but I went the wrong way, so I tripped Anderson. He fell on me.” Her shoulder gave a twinge, as if reminded of the impact. When she rolled it with a tiny wince, George's eyes immediately shot to the area.

“You're hurt?”

“Not really.” To confirm that, she shrugged it and lowered it. Like her throat, there'd probably be a flashy bruise, but nothing had been seriously damaged. “Just remembering the moment.”

Something unreadable flashed over his face, and he sat next to her, close enough that her unbruised shoulder bumped his arm. That contact, even through multiple layers of fabric, steadied Ellie and made it easier for her to continue.

“He must've hit his head on something—a rock, probably—when he fell, because he had a big gash through his eyebrow that was bleeding everywhere. It stunned him, and I grabbed his gun out of his hand.”

George stiffened against her.

Wanting just to be done with telling the story so she could go back to deliberately not thinking about what happened, she ignored his reaction and rushed out the next words. “The other guy, Wilson, came running toward us, so I pointed the gun at him, too. I shot a few times, but I didn't hit them. Well, I might have winged Wilson's arm, but that was it.” In a burst of honesty, she admitted, “Except for once. I didn't mean to pull the trigger. I just jumped, and it happened. So they backed away and then ran. I should've made them give us your backpack. Sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly. Then I saw you”—Ellie had to swallow hard before she could continue—“cleaned your head, and, after I was done, you woke.” She kept the last part as brief as possible, since she wasn't ready to talk about how still he lay, bleeding into the snow, without bursting into tears.

He put his arm around her, his hand settling on her sore shoulder. Although she had to stifle a flinch, the comforting weight of his arm across her back was worth the ache. Leaning close, he put his mouth next to her ear.

“Good job, El.”

Despite the entire crazy day, his simple praise made her smile. It dropped at his next words.

“This isn't a good place to camp. Can you keep going?”

Her body screamed “No!” but she nodded anyway. The farther they could get from the two men, the better. His arm slid away, and she stifled a regretful sigh. As pathetic as it was, she could've sat in the snow with George's arm around her for hours. He stood and offered a hand. She grabbed it and pulled herself to her feet, biting back a pained groan. In just the short time they'd been stopped, all her muscles had stiffened, locking into a sitting position.

George was watching her face closely, so she forced a smile and asked, “Ready?”

After a long moment, during which he studied her, he finally turned and started walking. The first few steps were the worst, but her body soon grew numb, and Ellie fell into auto mode, her feet moving without the assistance of her brain. The narrow, uphill path was full of switchback turns, and she frequently tripped on rocks protruding from the thin layer of snow. The afternoon light grew watery and then tinted with red as the sun approached the mountain peaks.

Just as Ellie started thinking tearfully that they were going to have to walk through the night, George stopped. She locked her knees to prevent herself from crumpling to the ground right where she stood. Looking around, she saw they were on a rocky apron that stretched in a half circle in front of a sheer rock wall towering above them.

As he moved toward the wall, George disappeared. Ellie blinked, sure she was hallucinating or losing time or something.

“George?” she asked, too freaked and exhausted to be embarrassed by the shrill note of panic in her voice.

His head popped out of the wall at about waist height, and she almost screamed. Then she realized that the evening shadows had hidden the entrance to a shallow cave. Forcing her legs to move just a few more steps, she reached the entrance and looked inside.

“Nice,” she breathed. It was perfect—just deep enough to be sheltered from the weather, but not so deep that a bear could be hiding in the depths. George smiled at her as if she'd complimented him on a thoughtful gift. At the moment, the cave really was the most wonderful thing he could have given her.

When George shucked the backpack, she moved to grab the sleeping pads, but he frowned at her.

“Sit,” he ordered, pushing a water bottle and one of the bags of trail mix into her hands. “Drink.”

She did, gratefully. Although she was too tired to feel hunger, she forced down a couple of handfuls of nuts and dried fruit before taking a drink. Frowning, she studied the bottle.

“Should we conserve?”

Shaking his head, he inflated the top sleeping pad. “Plenty of snow. We'll just bring them into the sleeping bag with us.”

She'd started taking another drink at his first head shake, and she choked when he said “us.” Coughing, she looked up to see him watching her with a concerned frown. “I'm fine. Just went down the wrong pipe.” Inwardly, she scolded herself for overreacting. Of course they were going to share the only sleeping bag. It was a matter of survival, not of lust. She took another sip, trying not to notice that he was still watching her with his eyebrows knotted together.

Despite her mental lecture, when he laid the mummy bag on top of the stacked sleeping mats, she eyed it like it was a large, flat, very venomous snake. It wasn't as big as his had been, but it was still good-sized, intended to fit a large man. She'd probably be able to squeeze in there with him, but it would be a tight fit. They would be pressed against each other, wearing just their long underwear…

Her body flushed from her feet to her hairline, and she gulped down another drink of water, hoping it would cool her. It didn't work. The sideways glances that George kept throwing her way as he set up their cave didn't help, either.

“You okay?” she finally asked, not able to handle one more unreadable look.

Instead of answering, he fiddled with something in the pack. Uncomfortable silence sat like a physical thing between them. Ellie sighed, resigned to not getting an answer, when he finally spoke. “It's… Are you…?” She watched his profile as he pressed his lips together in a grim line. “I don't know another way to…” Making a frustrated sound, he grabbed the flashlight and stomped out of the cave—as much as he could stomp bent almost in half so he didn't hit his head on the low ceiling.

Blinking, Ellie watched him leave. After he circled an outcrop, he disappeared from view, and her stomach instantly cramped with fear. She stayed for as long as she could manage, but her anxiety rose higher and higher until she was swamped in it. Sealing the water bottle, she set it aside and, ignoring her protesting body, followed him.

It was almost dark, and the gray light that remained created unnerving shadows. She stopped at the edge of the flat apron, not wanting to wander around in the near darkness and fall off a cliff. It seemed like a dumb way to die, especially after escaping getting shot just hours before.

Her ears were filled with the sound of rushing blood, and she started breathing fast—too fast. “George?”

Her call was faint, but it was enough, because he was instantly in front of her. His lips were moving, but it was hard to hear him over her heartbeat. Then her face was pressed against the front of his coat, and breathing got easier.

After a few minutes, she was recovered enough to feel embarrassed, so she took a step back, putting a few inches between them. “Sorry.”

“What's wrong?” His fingers lightly touched her cheek and then were gone.

Ellie tried to figure out how to explain the panic she'd felt at being left alone, but she couldn't think of a way to say it without sounding like a childish idiot. Instead, she just shook her head. “I'm okay now. Just tired, I think.”

He studied her, holding the flashlight low so it illuminated her face without shining directly into her eyes. It made him look like a campfire boogeyman, and she had to smile. As if that was the reassurance he'd needed, he stepped away. Not wanting to be far from the light—or George—Ellie followed him to a scattered pile of broken branches that he must have dropped when she'd started hyperventilating. He bent to pick them up, and she helped.

“Are we going to have a fire?” She liked the idea. It would be warm, but also cozy, making their overnight seem more like a voluntary vacation than a rescue mission derailed by supply-stealing muggers.

“Tomorrow morning.” He piled the wood on the opposite side of the cave as their bed, and she added her few pieces to the stack. “Don't want anyone to see it tonight.”

“Okay.” She tried to hide her disappointment, but George's sharp look told her she hadn't succeeded. She sent him a smile. “It's okay, really. I was just getting nostalgic about camping trips with my dad when I was little.”

He seemed to accept that, pulling out stuff sacks for their boots and water bottles.

Ellie frowned. “You haven't eaten yet
or
had anything to drink.” When he brushed her off with a shake of his head, she moved over to the pack and pulled out the trail mix and one of the water bottles. Just like he'd done to her, she shoved both at him. “Eat. Drink. Don't make me check your pee color, buddy.”