The Heart Has Reasons (26 page)

* * * * *

Adrenaline scoured Larissa’s veins while
the rhythmic thumps of her pistoning feet jolted up her spine.  The moon’s
ghostly radiance revealed little but the blacktop beneath her feet and the
black, bristly shapes of the pines looming ominously to either side of the
road.  Physically, she was in moderately good shape, but she was no
runner.  The strength in her legs was already beginning to falter and a
fire ignited in her chest and rapidly grew, consuming her lungs.

Of
course, when she’d earlier attempted to map out possible courses of action, it
hadn’t occurred to her that the motel might be in the middle of freaking
nowhere.  She’d expected there to be nearby businesses: a gas station, a
small grocery, a waffle house, or fast food restaurant.

Risking
a look back, the pit of her stomach clenched at seeing that her kidnapper’s
pile driver legs were rapidly closing the distance between them.  Her only
hope of evasion lay in getting off the road and into the woods where she could
hide.  A fresh surge of adrenaline gave her a renewed burst of
stamina.  Without breaking her stride, she veered to the right toward the soft
verge that bordered the road and charged recklessly into the trees.

Shadows
reached out for her as she plunged into the concealing darkness.  Beneath
the silhouetted lacework of moon-frosted branches, the forest floor was thick
and spongy with decades of fallen pine needles.  Breath rasping in her
throat, she tore headlong through the trees.  Less than two-dozen feet in,
she tripped over an exposed root.  Bark bit at her palms as she clutched
at a tree trunk to keep from falling.  Lungs heaving, she quickly regained
her balance and kept on.

As
she headed farther from the road, the branches overhead grew so close-packed
that no moonlight reached the forest floor, forcing her to slow.  The
darkness seemed to menace as she stumbled around an impenetrable thicket of
vegetation that writhed and twisted, grabbing at her feet and ankles.  A
bramble snagged her pants leg, tearing the fabric.

The
ground abruptly rose before her and she scrambled up a steep root-laddered path
on all fours.  Her chest suddenly grew tight as her lungs screamed for
oxygen.  Oh please, not
now
.  Why hadn’t she brought her
inhaler?  Struggling to suck in air, a sudden, horrific thought occurred
to her. 
Did he have night-vision goggles?
  At this very
moment, he might have her in plain sight.

She
hadn’t
seen
any goggles, but the asshole had seemed prepared for
practically every other contingency, and who knew what all he had in that
duffle bag.  As she reached the top of the rise, she stayed low to the
ground, creeping through the darkness on hands and knees to a large outcropping
of rock that jutted forth from between the trees.

The
muscles in her legs trembled uncontrollably.  Unable to go any farther,
she ducked under a pine bough to meld into the lee of the outcropping. 
Kneeling in the knee-high tangle of undergrowth, her heart knocked crazily
against her ribs.  Nausea threatened as she drew deep shuddering breaths,
her lungs burning and wheezing.

She
needed to slow and quiet her breathing.  Concentrating, she drew from her
yoga practice.  Inhale, two, three, four, five, six.  Exhale, two,
three, four, five, six, seven.  As she did this repeatedly, the blind,
frantic hammering of her heart gradually began to lessen.

The
trees held a frightened hush, while the night itself seemed to watch her with
hostile intent.  Where the hell
was
he?  Off to her right,
pine needles rustled softly in the quiet night breeze.  Between the trees,
a patch of darkness seemed to move.  Her hand groped around in the
undergrowth until she located a baseball-sized rock buried beneath the thick
layer of needles.  Gripping it in one fist, she settled herself lower.

* * * * *

Chase lost sight of her as she ran deeper
into the woods where moonlight barely penetrated, but he was able to follow the
sound of her crashing impetuously through the trees.

Why
hadn’t he thought to bring a flashlight?  Well, because he hadn’t expected
to have to chase her through the fucking woods.  Then the sound of her
plowing through the brush suddenly disappeared.  He came to a halt,
straining his ears for movement in the night-clad forest.  There was
nothing but the soft rustle of branches overhead.

Shit. 
Had she eluded him?

He
was well versed in the lore of tracking, but the near-total darkness beneath
the pines made tracking impossible.  He crept forward on noiseless feet,
striking through the woods on an oblique course.  What if, while he was
still out here in the woods searching for her, she somehow managed to double
back to the motel?

There
was a furtive scuffling in the nearby undergrowth of something too small to be
Larissa.  Ignoring it, he threaded his way between the trees, ears peeled
for any sound.  The ground rose sharply before him and he slowly made his
way up the steep slope.  At the top, some instinct whispered that she was
near.  He ghosted through the trees, not making a sound.

Was
that wheezing he heard?

It
was!  Moving silently through the undergrowth, he altered his course
through the trees accordingly, following the sound until it suddenly
stopped.  He stepped around a massive outcropping of rock thrusting up
from the ground and there she was, kneeling under a pine bough at its base.

He
reached down and yanked her to her feet.  Her held breath released in a
ragged gasp as her hand arced toward his head.  As it connected, bright
white pain exploded at his temple, blinding him with its intensity. 
Stunned, he staggered and fell to his knees as she broke free from his grasp
and bolted.

Forcing
himself back to his feet, he clung to a tree truck for support as his sight
darkened, then steadied.  His head felt as though it would split asunder,
like a geode struck with a hammer.
 
He took several cautious steps
in the direction she’d run, testing both his balance and his ability to remain
conscious.  Bile scalded the back of his throat as an artillery barrage of
pain reverberated through his head. 

The
sound of her crashing through the trees worked its way into his
consciousness.  Ignoring the agony that clamped his head like a steel
vise, he took off.  As he pounded through the trees, fear that she’d get
away gradually overshadowed the pain in his head until he was only dimly aware
of it.

She
was now moving much slower than before, and he had no problem staying on her
trail, rapidly closing the distance between them.  Nearing the edge of the
wood, she tripped and went sprawling.  She was on hands and knees
struggling to rise when he caught her.

He
yanked her to her feet.  Angrier than he’d ever been, he drew back his
open hand to slap her, then froze in horror.  What the fuck was he
doing?  Was he actually going to hit a woman?

Was
he turning into his old man?

Blood
thumped in his temples as he dragged himself back from the brink. 
Lowering his hand, he satisfied himself with giving her a good shake. 
When he released her, she fell to hands and knees, wheezing and struggling to
catch her breath.

He
wearily lowered himself to the ground beside her, his head pounding in time to
his heartbeat.  Slipping a hand up under the ski mask, he tenderly probed
his temple.  The area was already swelling but, protected by the ski mask,
the skin didn’t seem to be broken, so he assumed the wetness beneath his
fingers was sweat, rather than blood.

Beside
him, she wept without restraint, great hiccupping sobs mixing with the wheezing. 
He let her cry while he rested.  Had her pounding awakened the motel’s
manager?  Had he gone to their room to check on them?

Had
the old geezer seen him chasing a woman down the center of the road?

Her
tears finally subsided into a low, inarticulate weeping.  She sat up, her
back against a tree trunk, her face almost indistinguishable in the dark. 
“He’s going to kill me. 
Ple-e-ease
let me go.”

Speaking
with difficulty around the mysterious tightness in his throat, he said harshly,
“If you think I’ll believe anything you say, then you’re an even bigger idiot
than I am.”  Heaving himself to standing, he hauled her to her feet and
propelled her out of the trees onto the grassy verge.  Her chest rose and
fell like a bellows as she gasped for air.  Jesus.  He’d never heard
her wheeze this bad.  “Did you bring your inhaler?”  Unable to speak,
she shook her.  “Why the hell not?  You had everything else planned
out perfectly.” 
And I, like a fucking idiot, fell for it. 
Betrayal
as caustic as acid ate into him.

When
she swayed on her feet, he laid a steadying hand on her shoulders.  “Can
you make it back to the room?”  Unable to speak, she shook her head. 
Worry suddenly crowded out his anger.  People
died
from asthma
attacks.  He squatted down before her.  “I’m going to carry
you.  Wrap your arms around my neck, your legs around my waist.”

She
clutched the slender trunk of a sapling, and managed to gasp between
wheezes.  “Rather … die … here.”

“I’m
not going to let you die.”  He pried her hands free and knelt with his
back to her.  “Get on.  Otherwise I’ll throw you over my shoulder and
carry you like a sack of potatoes.”  Apparently realizing she hadn’t the
strength to offer much resistance, she reluctantly complied.

In
Afghanistan, he’d become accustomed to carrying two-hundred-plus-pound soldiers
while wearing eighty pounds of gear and armor.  In comparison, she seemed
to weigh almost nothing.  Ready to bolt back into the cover of the trees
at the first sound of an approaching car, he set out at a trot down the
blacktop.  Pain crashed upon his brain like waves upon a beach but, worse
even than that, she was wheezing directly into his ear, the sound horrifying.

In
case the clerk was about, he was unwilling to pass in front of the
office.  As they neared the motor inn, he slipped into the woods and
circled around the back, where the towering crags of the mountains thrust
upward into a sky ablaze with stars.  By the moon’s high angle, he guessed
it close to midnight.  The chill oblate disc rendered the rock face in a
silver-and-black palette and mapped his route through the clearing.  As he
picked his way around the rocky outcrops poking through the shallow soil, a
startled pheasant exploded into the air from practically right beneath his
feet, making his heart rattle crazily inside his chest.

After
a seeming eternity, he made it all the way around to the far end of the
motel.  When he opened the door to their room, the light pierced his eyes
and ricocheted around the inside of his skull.  Carrying her inside, he backed
up to the bed.  She loosened her feeble grip on him and plopped onto the
mattress.  He frantically scanned the room for her inhaler, snatched it
from the dresser, and thrust it into her hands.

Oh,
Jesus, not only was she gasping like a fish out of water, her face was
blue.  As she sucked in a lungful of medicated mist, he turned on the
bedside lamp, then extinguished the overhead in deference to his pounding
head.  She took a second inhale from the canister and fell back against
the headboard.  Almost frantic, he waited, his fear for her still
submerging his anger.  He didn’t want to be afraid, he wanted to be angry,
for anger kept the mental anguish at bay.

The
wheezing continued, goose bumping his skin and causing every hair on his body
to stand out straight.  A slight bluish tinge still darkened her
complexion, and she continued to struggle for every breath.  Why the fuck
was the medicine taking so long to have an effect?  How far was the
nearest hospital?  As she took several more hits off the inhaler, he paced
back and forth.  When his jaw began to ache, he realized he was clenching
his teeth.

After
an interminable amount of time, the wheezing began to ease, although his relief
was short-lived.  An attack of hoarse coughing suddenly wracked her, so severe
that it doubled her over and left her breathless and flushing bright red. 
Levering herself up off the bed, she stumbled to the bathroom.

He
dug in his duffle bag for a bottle of aspirin.  Popping the cap, he shook
four tablets out, chewed and swallowed them dry while, in the bathroom, she
coughed and retched.  The coughing had a very wet sound to it and she
paused frequently to spit into the sink.  Jesus, it was a wonder she
didn’t drown in her own lungs.

Finally,
she came out to sprawl, clearly exhausted, on the bed.  He covered his
immense relief by snarling, “What did you do with the two sleeping pills?”

“Spit
them … between the … mattress … and headboard.”

Goddamn
it. 
She’d
constantly asked for the pills so he’d grow complaisant.  And at the very
moment he was about to check that she’d swallowed them, she’d known exactly
what to say to divert his attention.

“You
must be mightily pleased with yourself.”

“Pleased
… about what?  I’m still … your prisoner, so I … accomplished … absolutely
nothing.  If I’d … been smart … I’d have bashed … your freaking head in …
while you slept.”

“You
should have.”