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  Cora wasn’t wise. She wasn’t mature. She was just good. Jaw-achingly, chest-tighteningly good. Her innocence scratched at his soul. He felt like grabbing her shoulders and shaking her as he yelled that the world was a fucked up place. That whatever she thought went on from behind the bars of her gilded cage, she couldn’t come close to imagining the greed and the filth and the perversions hunkering out there, just waiting to snatch her. To snuff out her purity like a candle sputtering to death in its own wax.

  He’d inadvertently felt her pulse earlier, in the diner. How it had quickened when he’d touched her. He hadn’t been able to hold onto her after that. Hadn’t wanted to try and figure out if the flicker had been fear, panic…or something else.

  Her nose was a darker shadow on her face, her bruises fading but not gone yet. She moaned as if she was trying to shout.

  He touched her shoulder and shook her as gently as he could.

  Her eyes flickered open, revealing wet pools of darkness. She brushed her fingers over her face, murmured something that sounded like an apology, and then tried to hide her face from him.

  “Just a nightmare,” he rumbled, wondering if she could even understand him.

  She let out a sob, so stifled that she must have been trying to keep it back with all her might.

  His stomach twisted at the sound. “Shh.”

  Cora stuck out a hand, fumbled against his chest, and gripped his t-shirt in a fist. He lifted his hand, not knowing if he should peel her off or drag her closer.

  He should be getting the fuck out of this bed. But instead of getting out, he shifted closer. The smell of her puffed out from between the sheets.

  Another sob, this shaking her so hard that the bed rocked under him.

  Finn bundled her up in his arms, wincing when her arms dug into the bruises on his chest. He trapped her there against him, willing her to grow quiet, willing her to stop crying.

  Why wouldn’t she stop?

  “I’m s-sorry,” was her spluttered apology.

  “Shh.” He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. What the fuck else was he supposed to do?

  Her proximity, her heat, her smell — it was too much. It annihilated the last shred of logic he’d been holding onto.

  He kissed her forehead, the skin between her brows. He tasted the salt of her tears, and it roused something bestial inside him.

  When he dipped his head again, already drunk on her tears and hunting for more, he found her mouth instead.

  She went stiff in his arms. And then squirmed against him. He slipped a hand around her waist, making sure there was no distance between them anymore.

  Cora grabbed his wrist, moving it away from her hair, urging him to cup her breast. So he did. But just once, hard enough to make her moan against his lips, and then his hand slid down her side and over her hips.

  She wasn’t wearing her jeans anymore.

  He twisted his finger in the hem of her underwear. Tugged her against him. She had barely any weight to her, like a doll stuffed with straw.

  Tear her skin and find that straw. Tug it out. Lay it out on—

  His fingers sunk into her thighs, knowing his pistol was out of reach somewhere behind him.

  Then she mewled like she had before. Fear.

  The sound drove him from the lust-induced fog he’d been wading through and snuffed out the sinister thoughts wreathing his mind. He drew away from that plump, hungry mouth of hers, drawing an unsteady breath as his eyes picked out the shape of her in the gloomy room.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, blinking hard. His dick strained against his jeans, aching to be inside her.

  He’d wanted to fuck her. He still wanted to.

  “What—?” But she cut off when he untangled himself from her. When had she wrapped her legs around him? “Finn?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed for the span of time it took him to wash his hands over his face, and then he was up, striding to the bathroom, slamming the door so hard it rattled. He leaned against the sink, grimacing at the pain in his neck. When he felt in his jeans pocket, he found the last of the painkillers. Only two, and Cora might need one.

  Dry swallowing one of the tablets, he leaned forward until his stiffened dick became trapped between the porcelain and his body. He winced, and applied more pressure, willing his erection to fade.

  It did, but reluctantly.

  When he licked his lips, he could still taste her tears.

  22

  Pain and desolation

  Cora lay huddled in a ball on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees. Her body thrummed in memory of Finn’s touch. Her underwear was damp, her breath still hard and uneven. But the worst was her lips. They tingled almost painfully, despite how hard she pressed them together.

  The bathroom door opened, but she already knew he wouldn’t come close to the bed again.

  She shouldn’t have touched him. She still didn’t know why the hell she had. No, she knew. It was to feel his solidity. Because he was real, and those long, twisted shadows from her nightmare weren’t. And the more she’d touched him, the more ephemeral those shadows had become.

  Was that why she’d turned to Bailey that night, too? Had he just been someone she’d used to chase away the nightmares? Someone to remind her that there were good things — pleasurable things — in the world too, not just pain and desolation?

  And, if that was the case, what did that mean? She’d thought she’d been in love with Bailey. Her heart had clenched every time she’d seen him for the first time in the day. When his eyes had settled on her, her body had begun responding in ways she hadn’t understood. Over the years, she finally did understand, but then she’d been too nervous to do anything about it. And Bailey had begun drifting away. Becoming distant and emotionless.

  Until Monday night, what felt like centuries ago now. But even that kiss hadn’t felt anything like what she’d felt with Finn. Her kiss with Bailey had been hesitant and cautious. Exploratory, but in a gentle, fearful way.

  Finn’s kiss had been rough and explicit. Unapologetic.

  It had felt like he’d been about to demand the world from her…and she’d have given it to him without hesitation.

  But now he looked pissed off and hostile. Was that because he was angry with her, or with himself?

  Finn ripped the chair away from the balcony door and went to stand outside. Morning light streamed in, making dust motes dance like glitter in the air.

  Outside in the hallway, someone struck a bell.

  She jerked at the sound, and heard Finn mutter something that sounded like “Jesus.” He came back inside, scowling at the door as if daring the chimes to return.

  The bell rang again, louder this time. Right outside their door.

  “Breakfast!”

  It was the old man. He seemed determined each of his guests would eat breakfast, especially if he’d gone to all the trouble of making it. Finn ran both hands over his face, glancing at her as she sat up in the bed. She found her jeans and slid into them, hopping to get them over her ass. He looked away, gave his head a shake, and fetched his gun from the nightstand.

  Cora went to the bathroom to pee and rinse out her mouth. This morning, the bruises around her nose looked fainter. The swelling was gone, except for some puffiness by the corner of her eyes. And her nose was definitely askew. Just a tiny bit off-kilter, enough for her to know she’d be noticing it every damn time she looked in the mirror.

  When she came back inside the room, Finn sat perched on the edge of the bed, staring at Santa Muerte’s altar.

  She ran a hand through her hair, wondered if she should brush it, realized she couldn’t be bothered. Who cared if she looked neat and tidy? If her hair was smooth or her clothes ironed? Who would care if she put on perfume or wore makeup?

  No one.

  Not now, not ever.

  She shoved her taurus behind her belt and put on her jacket. Then she grabbed the pendant and hung it around her neck. Finn took the chair away from t
he bedroom door, set it beside the dresser, and unlocked their room. Gesturing her into the hallway, he locked it again behind them.

  They came out of their room at the same time as a couple across the hall. The pair couldn’t have been older than thirty, and both their eyes sparkled when they turned to look at her and Finn.

  “Morning!” the woman called out, giving Finn an appreciative once-over before settling her eyes on Cora. “Gosh, but that guy sure knows how to ring a bell, doesn’t he?”

  Cora nodded, but Finn just made his way down the hall without looking in the couple’s direction. The two murmured to each other as they followed, Cora catching what could have been ‘didn’t get any.’

  Her cheeks went red. She hurried after Finn, crowding him as he went down the stairs.

  They didn’t have to look hard to find the dining room; the smell of bacon, eggs, fried onion, and coffee filled the entire downstairs.

  The old man and — possibly — Fanny were bustling around the dining room with trays of food. A single man sat at the head of a large, oak dining table, with a middle-aged couple seated a chair away from him.

  Finn pulled out a chair for Cora, but it was an absent gesture, almost an afterthought as his eyes roved the room like he was doing a damn security check on the place. She sat, tugged the chair out of his hand and did her best to ignore him as he came to sit beside her. He’d better not touch her hand again. If they were pretending to be a couple, then they could be pretending to have a fight.

  The pair from across the hall came to sit opposite them. It was probably unintentional — they seemed incapable of taking their eyes off each other long enough to dish up food or eat. If they carried on like this, they’d both starve to death.

  Cora rolled her eyes and met Finn’s gaze as he turned to grab the pot of coffee from the center of the table.

  He’d been rolling his eyes too.

  They both looked away. The innkeeper was chatting to the middle-aged couple further down the table. Something about how the recent dry spell was impacting some of the farmers in the area.

  “So, you don’t know where we could get some of Jimmy’s garlic?” the husband asked before biting into his toast.

  Cora chewed on a piece of bacon, glancing at the back of Finn’s head as he did another not-so-subtle sweep of the room. Did he ever stop looking for threats?

  “He’s been out of town for a while, but he came back last night ‘n fact.”

  “Where’s his farm again?”

  “Just down the road. Doesn’t have a number, but he usually parks his car in front.”

  Her ears pricked up. She sat forward a little, her mouth filling with saliva as she waited for the woman to finish speaking so she could chew the bacon and swallow it. Was that the guy she’d seen at the diner, and then later outside the inn?

  “Oh, I think I saw it last night,” the wife said.

  “Yeah?” the innkeeper said.

  “Think so.” The wife turned to her husband. “That blue Toyota. Young man. Wears a red cap.”

  Cora’s skin went tight. Finn took a soft slurp of his coffee, his eyes darting to the couple across from them and then to her. Where they fixated with sudden interest. She wanted to look away, if only because the intensity of that look made her squirm in her chair, but then the innkeeper came around to their side of the table with a refill for their coffee pot.

  “No, no. Jimmy’s turning sixty-two in a month. And he drives a beat-up Chev. Used to be red.” The innkeeper ducked down between them and gave her and Finn a broad smile. “You two doing all right this morning?”

  “Yes,” Cora managed in a tight voice.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Fine, thanks,” Finn replied.

  The innkeeper bobbed his head, filled up their pot and moved around to the other side of the table. “Doesn’t ring a bell, a blue Toyota. But we often get out-of-towners. Probably jus’ someone passing through.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. What were the chances that the same guy she’d seen in the diner just happened to have parked outside their inn, and then driven off as soon as she’d spotted him?

  “Cora?”

  She turned wide eyes to Finn. As if she’d sent him some kind of telepathic message, he took four quick bites his toast, swallowed it down with a slug of coffee, and stood.

  The innkeeper looked over at them in surprise. “Everything all right?”

  “Running late,” Finn rumbled. “Thank you for breakfast.”

  He made a grab for Cora’s hand, but she tugged it away. He widened his eyes at her, but she was already on her feet and heading back to their room.

  She raced up the stairs, squeezing her arms over her chest as she waited for Finn to catch up and unlock their bedroom door.

  As soon as they were inside, Finn grabbed her arm and spun her to face him.

  “Something you feel you should be telling me, princess?”

  Princess? She bristled, but then shoved away her irritation. He was just doing his job, albeit with all the tact of a small bulldozer.

  “There was this guy...in the diner.” She bit the inside of her lip and told Finn about the red-capped driver of the Toyota.

  After staring wordlessly at her for a few seconds, Finn hurried onto the balcony. He spent a moment scanning the road, and then came back inside.

  “Is he there?”

  Finn shook his head and made the universal gesture for her to hurry the hell up. They hurried out the door, Finn pulling it closed behind him.

  “Leaving already?” the innkeeper called out after them as they came past the dining room doorway.

  “Long road,” Cora said, trying to give the innkeeper a smile and probably only succeeding in grimacing at the old man.

  Outside, the sun was too bright. She shaded her face with a hand and tried keeping up with Finn as he hurried across the gravel drive.

  “Finn.”

  He ignored her.

  “Finn!”

  The man swung around to face her. “What?”

  “Where are we going?”

  Irritation flickered over his face. He spun back and marched down the road. It was keep up, or — possibly — get kidnapped. She kept up.

  They came out by the diner. There were even more cars parked along the road now; apparently, it really did make the best pancakes in town. If this place could be called a town. Finn paused for less than a second, and then started down the main road.

  She darted after him and then fell into step beside him.

  “Hitch a ride,” he said.

  “Like, with my thumb?”

  He gave her a long, blank look. She looked up at the heavens, bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t say something snarky to him, and stuck out her thumb.

  “This’ll never work, you know.”

  Finn cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “These things only work in the movies.”

  His eyes flashed down at her. “On the contrary,” he said dryly.

  Behind her, the purr of a car grew loud and then cut out.

  She spun, her shoulders slumping.

  A Chev pickup had stopped a few feet behind them. An old man stuck his head out the window. “You two lovebirds need a lift?”

  She glanced at Finn over her shoulder. He gave her a half-shrug as he walked past to the car. “Small towns,” he murmured in passing, and then threw her a grim smile over his shoulder.

  She followed, but only after glaring at his back for a few seconds.

  The driver’s name, unsurprisingly, was Jimmy.

  23

  Black, no sugar

  Jimmy was kind enough to drive them all the way to Cliff, New Mexico. He was also kind enough to keep them entertained the whole way with anecdotes about his years living in the small town of Alpine where he produced gourmet garlic. Since he was the kind of guy who drove out to meet suppliers who wanted to start stocking his produce, he was also the kind of guy who took four hours to reach a place that shouldn
’t have taken more than two.

  Finn tried not to push the man to drive faster. After all, he seemed to be under the impression Finn and Cora were newlyweds road-tripping across the country for their honeymoon.

  Cora seemed enthralled by the man, giggling at every story and throwing Finn wide-eyed stares whenever the man’s fancies took him too far into the realm of his withered imagination. She sat closest to the driver, Finn beside her. There was barely enough room for all of them in the cab, and he kept catching Cora’s scent. Which kept reminding him about the feel of her mouth against his. He wound down his window, but it didn’t help.

  They’d stopped at a gas station in Alma so the old man could fill up his tank. If it hadn’t been so deserted, Finn would have told Jimmy they’d decided to go in a different direction. But it made no sense to do that; he was driving toward Silver City, and that’s where they wanted to be.

  He would have bought a new burner phone at the gas station, but they carried only essentials; snacks, toilet paper, and shotgun ammunition. He still had Kristen from the minimart’s phone on him — as well as, ironically, her phone number. Even if she’d reported it stolen, the worst the cell company could do was block it. No one else could possibly know he had it on him.

  Jimmy paid for Cora’s candy bar after Finn refused, and she gorged on it with evident delight while giving him far from subtle glances from the corner of her eye. She left about an inch of the candy bar in its wrapper and stowed it away inside her pocket. Where it would undoubtedly melt.

  The old man stopped outside a cafe in Cliff about two hours later. With a wave for Finn and a kiss blown to Cora, Jimmy unloaded a bag of garlic and went on his way.

  It was almost midday — he had to find them a new ride to Silver City.

  Hopefully, the guy in the red cap hadn’t managed to follow them here. But at the speed Jimmy had been driving, the guy could have left an hour after them and still found them on the road, begun tailing them. Finn had been on the look-out for a tail and hadn’t seen one.