Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) (6 page)

“Keys?”

Her trembling hand passed them over. Keith put the key into the ignition and turned it hard. The Jeep started with a grinding roar. From his peripheral vision, he saw a man dash out of the trees. Their time was up.

“Get down.” Keith barked the command to Grace and leaned over to shove her head between her knees.

Perspiration coated his palms; his pulse jumped a notch. He jammed the gear into reverse and stomped on the gas pedal. The tires spun, sending gravel spraying beneath the rubber as the Jeep executed a quick one-eighty. He slammed his foot on the brake pedal and shifted into drive without waiting for the Jeep to come to a complete stop.

He checked the rearview mirror. Where did he go? Where did the son-of-a-bitch—

The man materialized from behind a tree and raised his gun. A tap-tap of bullets hit the Jeep’s hatch. Grace screeched.

“Stay down.” He ducked his head, hunching his shoulders, and forced the gas pedal to the floor. Finally, the Jeep shuddered and shot forward. At the end of the driveway, he jerked the wheel sharply to the left sending the Jeep careening onto the small county road.

Keith checked the mirror again. No sign of the gun-toting asshole. “What’s the best way to the main highway?”

Grace lifted her head. “Uh...” Her shaky hand came up to brush her hair behind her ear. “Take a right at the next crossing. It leads directly to the Beeline Highway.”

The intersection turned out to be closer than he’d anticipated, but he didn’t take the time to slow down. The top of the Jeep slashed through a few low hanging juniper branches before breaking sharp right for the turnoff.

Damn. Keith yanked the wheel to the side, practically leaning into Grace’s lap. The tires squealed and gripped the shoulder. He held his breath, praying the Jeep wouldn’t roll. His fingers clenched the steering wheel. He grit his teeth, guiding the Jeep in the direction of the skid.

Beside him, Grace’s hand shot out and caught the dash. “Think they’ll follow us?”

The Jeep jumped back onto the road. Keith let up on the accelerator, his heart slowing in his chest.

“No. Too hot.” The faint wail of a fire engine disturbed the sound of their harsh breathing. “They’ll be long gone. Fire crew’s on its way.”

“Who’s they?”

He blew out a breath. “Mercenaries.”

“Merc...” She shook her head. “That can’t be right. Why would Jack be involved with them? It doesn’t make sense.”

“People do a lot of things for money, Grace.”

“But he was Mark’s friend. He worked with him.”

“Doing what? Selling software?” Keith snorted, training his eyes on the open road before him. “The fact is, good ‘ole Jack could’ve just been spouting off a load of bullshit back there. Maybe he doesn’t know where Mark and Ryker are.”

“You really don’t think he was telling the truth?” Her voice rose, hinting that the thought had never crossed her mind.

“Phantom? C’mon, Grace, that’s an extremely vague clue. It means nothing to me. How about you?”

“Are you suggesting we don’t check it out?”

“Check what out?” Frustrated, Keith smacked the heel of his hand on the steering wheel. “We don’t even know if it refers to a person or a place or—” He clenched his jaw. They were getting nowhere fast. “Can you think of any place Mark might’ve taken Ryker? Somewhere that had a special significance?”

“No.” Grace gripped her hands together.

“Grace...”

“I’m thinking.”

“Well, you’d better make it quick ‘cause the highway’s up ahead.”

“I don’t know!” She threw her hands wide. “I don’t know, okay? Are you satisfied?”

Why would he be satisfied? He narrowed his eyes, sliding a glance her way, and resisted the urge to strike back at her. Only a world-class jerk could strike back at the equivalent of Mother Theresa.

Yeah, Grace seemed way too good to be true. Hell, she looked too good to be true. Not like any mother he’d ever met. Even with dirt smudging her cheeks, dried tears smattering her skin, and a disheveled strand of hair poking at her jaw, she made his heart beat faster.

He’d been hoping to find the equivalent of a map with a ‘Ryker is here’ sticker so he could return her son safe and sound, free to continue on with his own quest for answers. He was in way over his head with her as it was. He didn’t like the way his heart kick-started when he looked at her, or the way she made him remember his hopes and dreams he’d long since abandoned during all those cold nights in hollowed-out bunkers.

He braked at the entrance to the highway and watched the remnants of morning rush hour trickle past.

“Where’s the
last
place you think Mark would take Ryker? Somewhere so out of character it would be absurd to look for him there.”

She turned bewildered eyes on him. “I...anywhere Mark would have to rough it, I guess.” She bit her lip. “He skipped out of every Cub Scout camping trip Ryker had.” Her gaze dropped to her lap. “But that was before.”

Keith frowned. “Before what?”

“Before I knew that pretty much everything he’s ever told me was a lie.”

He nodded. Like Grace, he much preferred cold, hard truth to the false security of lies. He swallowed back an unfamiliar lump of sympathy and curled his fingers tighter around the steering wheel.

“What about a hard to reach place? Like a cabin or a boat? Or...or a mountaintop retreat.”

“Oh, my God. That’s it.” She straightened. “The cabins at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. You can only get to the ranch by mule or on foot. Phantom Ranch!” Her eyes lit with excitement. “When Mark and I were first married we spent the weekend there. He complained the entire time. It was too primitive, too muggy...That’s got to be it.”

“Would he really take an eight-year-old asthmatic for a hike down into the Grand Canyon?”

“If he hiked and Ryker went by mule. Yes. It would be perfect. Who would think to look there?” She clutched at his arm and shook it. “We’ve got to get to the Grand Canyon.”

Her slender, pale fingers curled around his forearm, a stark contrast to his muddied sleeve.

He tried to ignore the sweet warmth of her hand. “I say we keep thinking of other options.”

Her grip tightened. “No. He’s there. I know it.”

The heat of her trickled through his shirt despite the way he steeled against it, imbuing his veins with warmth and a comforting sort of strength he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

He shook her off and tossed her a glare. “What, do you have some sort of motherly ESP? How does that work? Is it like a homing beacon or something? Can you dig deep and tell us where your son is?”

Grace curled her arm around her middle. “If I could, I wouldn’t have asked you for help.” Some of the fire returned to her eyes. “We wouldn’t have some maniacs chasing us. We wouldn’t be getting further and further away from my son while you insist on arguing with me.”

He threw the Jeep into park. “This is all my fault, is that it? Go ahead and blame me if you must, but what Mark was involved in—it’s big. Bigger than me, bigger than you. Bigger than the life of your son.”

She gasped. “How dare you!”

“I dare. Yeah, Grace, I do,” he repeated when she clenched her jaw, “because to do anything less might get your son killed. We’re not dealing with your average criminal, here. These men won’t hesitate to kill your boy. Our best hope is to find Ryker and Mark before they do.”

Her lips trembled and some of her bravado fizzled. “I don’t know what we’re dealing with. You won’t tell me. I need to know. I
deserve
to know.”

He scrubbed his hand down his face, torn between keeping what knowledge he possessed close to his vest and laying it all out for her.
What do you really know about Grace?

Certainly not enough to spell
everything
out to her. But she needed to know what was on the line.

“Look, Mark was doing a little underground spying. On the home team.”

“You mean—”

“Yeah. But with good reason. We believed one of our own was bringing large shipments of drugs, automatic weapons, as well as the occasional terrorist across our borders.”

“Oh my God.” She covered her mouth.

“Hey, the Coyotes will run anything through our borders—as long as the price is right. Mark was working undercover on both sides of the border when he received a tip from one of the runners about a terrorist smuggling. Within the hour the man was dead. Along with his family.” He squeezed his eyes shut, recalling the grisly scene of the man’s slaughtered wife and children that bore the trademark stamp of a murderer with military training. He couldn’t control the rough edge to his voice. “One of our own did that.”

He opened his eyes and found Grace staring right back at him, her pale face reflecting shock and palpable fear for her son.

“So. Now you know.” He swallowed, pushing the tainted memories from his mind. “These people won’t be gentle just because Ryker’s a child. We need to find Mark and your son now. I can’t afford to be wrong about this.”

Her chin jutted in his direction. “Neither can I.”

He searched her face, not even sure what it was he was looking for, but what he found caused his heart to constrict. Strength. Determination. And resolve—to see this through no matter what they found deep between those canyon walls.

He resisted the impulse to brush his fingertips along the curve of her cheek.

Instead, he slid the gearshift into drive without another word and pulled onto the highway, heading north toward the Canyon.

They reached Tusayan, at the edge of Grand Canyon’s south rim, at dusk.

“We’d better stop here.” Keith maneuvered the Jeep into a crowded parking lot. “Hiking the canyon at night would be suicide. We’ll have to wait until morning.”

Grace wanted to argue. She wanted Ryker back now. But wisdom dictated they wait. The trails were tough. The encroaching darkness would render the path and the cliffs practically invisible. Only fools rushed in, and she refused to risk Ryker’s safety. Without supplies like water, food, backpacking equipment, their rescue effort
could
turn into a suicide mission.

She fisted her hands in her lap.
Hang on, Ryker.

“We’ll stay here for the night,” Keith said.

Grace nodded. Weariness crawled up her spine. She didn’t care where she slept. Didn’t want to sleep. Didn’t want her ugly nightmares to keep her company.

“Wait here,” Keith said and hopped out of the Jeep.

She watched him enter the office. Through the window, she could see Keith talking to the desk clerk. His clothes were hopelessly rumpled, his short dark blonde hair spiked in different directions from running his fingers through the strands.

Several minutes later, Keith stalked out of the office. He opened the Jeep’s door and crouched to meet her eyes. Even the inadequate glow from the overhead dome light couldn’t hide the reluctance that radiated from his tense jaw.

“They only had one cabin left.”

Grace’s mouth went dry. She struggled to look away and shrug her shoulders as if spending the night in the same room with him wasn’t a big deal. Why hadn’t she anticipated this scenario?

“Oh.” The strangled sound popped out of her mouth.
So much for casual.
She let out a breath to loosen the knot in her stomach. “Um...okay.” It was one night. In a cabin. Surely they’d have plenty of space between the two of them. She’d just keep her distance.

Keith drove around the back of the office and parked in front of a small house. Though the door looked inviting—newly painted a dark chocolate brown with a metal number ten affixed in the center—Grace couldn’t unglue her butt from the Jeep’s vinyl seat. Keith, however, had no such trouble, and it wasn’t until he reached the tiny wooden stoop that he realized she hadn’t followed him.

“You coming?” The tiny porch light illuminated his giant, grim frown.

“Yeah,” she whispered, but of course Keith couldn’t hear her from out on the porch.

He shrugged and turned his back on her to open the door. More light spilled onto the porch as Keith disappeared inside the cabin and flipped the switch.

She slid from the truck and crept up the two creaky stairs. Her stomach turned inside out at the sight of the cabin’s interior. One small rustic room greeted her, consisting of a cramped, outdated kitchenette, a round table with two chairs, one double bed, and a ratty recliner.

She stepped across the indoor/outdoor carpet. No T.V. No separate bedrooms. A functional, yet woefully undersized, bathroom completed the space.

Grace rubbed the sudden chill from her arms. She’d foolishly thought they’d quickly find Ryker and part ways. What a gross error in judgment on her part.

She couldn’t stay here. It was too uncomfortable. Too intimate. She’d spent nearly half her life despising Keith and everything he represented. What would keep her from shouting accusations at him in the silence?

Grace spun to leave, but the door slammed shut and she found herself face to face with Keith instead. His warm breath whooshed across her cheek, her pulse spiked. The furniture suddenly seemed to shrink, making Grace feel as if she and Keith were giants in a miniature dollhouse.