She met his gaze at the door. He saw the fear there. And the anger, too. Motioned toward the stairs. She nodded.

  She was with him.

  They had no time to step softly. He couldn’t risk the sound of two sets of feet heading down the stairs, or voices either. Grabbing her up against his chest, Devon jogged down to the truck.

  * * *

  Ready when Devon dropped her on her feet at the bottom of the stairs, Kacey waited long enough for him to get his truck door open, and then dove inside, sliding across the floor hump and onto the passenger side while he was climbing into the driver’s seat. As panicked as she felt, as badly as she needed to know who those three men in the bar were, she was not going to put Devon Miller any further at risk.

  Or his bartender friend, either.

  She didn’t relish facing death at their hands again, either.

  “It’s hard,” she said as soon as Devon had started the truck and pulled away from the building. “Just letting them go. I feel like we should call the police. But...”

  She didn’t like the idea. At all.

  “But what?”

  “I know we aren’t in Bullhead City, but if one of those guys has connections with the Bullhead police, all it would take was a phone call down here to local police and...”

  Paranoia had her in its grip. She knew it. Couldn’t think straight.

  Finding that knife, having her twin refuse to confide in her, turning him in, being kidnapped and left for dead...she couldn’t expect herself to process anything normally.

  Nothing about life was normal anymore.

  “And with Kyle having listed me as a missing person...we call the police, I’m found.” With all that entailed.

  “You said your friend could get you surveillance tapes from the bar? Pictures of the guys? Maybe we take a look at them, first,” she said, focusing on the immediate moment. “Assuming I’m still welcome to stay with you.”

  “You want to see if you recognize any of the three.” His words were more statement than question. So she didn’t answer him.

  He still didn’t trust her.

  The knowledge shouldn’t hurt. At least not nearly as badly as it did. What Devon Miller thought of her didn’t matter.

  She didn’t need him to like her.

  She just needed him to not get hurt because of her.

  “The voice you recognized, was it from the night of the argument, or the kidnapping?”

  He was watching his rearview mirror as he spoke, so even though she was facing him, focusing on him to give her strength, she couldn’t see his expression.

  He’d been watching the mirrors religiously since they’d left the bar.

  “The kidnapping,” she said, looking straight at him. “He was the one directly behind me, telling me to walk normally. And then to get in the van. I also heard him after I was in the boat. He told someone to double-check the anchor.”

  “He was the one giving orders, then?”

  “I don’t remember hearing any orders. Mostly, everything happened in total silence. Like they all just knew what they were doing.”

  “And the other two?” He glanced briefly in her direction, though, in the darkness, she had no way of knowing if he could see her. The lights in the dash kept him visible to her.

  “I didn’t recognize the voices, but, as I said, there was very little talking.”

  He seemed as though he was going to say more, but closed his mouth, tight-lipped, and sped up. A few seconds later, he slowed down.

  And then made a quick turn.

  “What’s going on?” She felt powerless again, huddled on the floor, unable to see outside. Reminding her of the night before in the crawl space beneath his room.

  He didn’t respond. Just continued to drive. And watch his mirrors.

  It was as though she wasn’t there.

  Were they being followed? Had someone been on their tail since they left the bar?

  If that was the case, why hadn’t he said so?

  A few more turns happened in quick succession, throwing her against the seat, and then in the next second, as she flung back, she hit her head on the glove box.

  Fear engulfed her, taking her air. Making rational thought seemingly impossible. Had she been right in the beginning, to mistrust her rescuer?

  Was Devon on her side?

  Or not?

  Was he associated with the men who’d taken her? For all she knew he could be one of them. Maybe they’d seen her slide overboard in the storm and he’d been sent downstream to see that she didn’t make it to freedom.

  And the evening’s activities...the friend Rachel...the apartment...had all been a setup to see if she could identify her kidnappers?

  Or at least one of them?

  For all she knew the other two male voices in the bar could have been anyone off the street—taking part in superfluous conversation.

  For all she knew, there was no Rachel, bartender friend. The apartment she’d just vacated could belong to the man whose voice she’d just clearly recognized.

  And Devon could be taking her to her death.

  Shaking, her hand on her gun, she thought about her chances of survival if she shot the driver of the vehicle in which she was traveling.

  And knew they didn’t matter at all. Because there was no way she could shoot Devon. The man had been good to her. He’d taken her to call Kyle.

  Had tended to her ankles when he clearly didn’t have to do so. If he wanted her dead, he could have simply let infection fester in her cuts.

  He’d given her a gun.

  He’d snatched her away from that bar more quickly than she’d have believed possible. Before anyone could have known that she’d recognized one of the voices.

  He’d told her about his father, though that could have been a lie.

  “You up for a hike?” he asked then, his voice dropping like a bomb into the silence, making her jump.

  “Why?”

  “We were being followed. I’ve lost them for now, but we’re not taking any chances. Up ahead is a steep ravine. Below it is one of the deepest holes in the river that I know. The truck’s going over the cliff. If the fates are with us, it’ll sink into the river, never to be seen again. We’re about ten miles from my property. You think you can make it?”

  To stay alive? “Absolutely.”

  “Get up and get a good grip on the door handle. When I say now, open the door and jump out.”

  She climbed into the seat. Got ready to let herself out.

  He could be leading her to her own death. Making it look like a suicide.

  The thought occurred. Struck terror within her.

  He was driving along a road that bordered the river. Looking out his window, all she saw was eerie darkness, with occasional glints of light far in the distance. The opposite shore.

  California side.

  Visions of her dad flashed before her eyes. Her mom. Lizzie. Kyle...

  Brother, what have you done?

  The truck swerved sharply and so did she, bumping her head on the window. They’d slowed down drastically. Only darkness lay ahead.

  “Now!” Devon yelled out.

  She pulled, jumped out the opened door, hit the ground and rolled, realizing, too late, that Devon hadn’t pulled when she had.

  He’d still been sitting there, watching her.

  Lying in a huddle, she cringed at the sound of metal hitting rock, branches breaking, an avalanche so loud she couldn’t hear anything else, thought she might go deaf from the sound.

  Until she did. Her head filled with nothing but eerie silence.

  And all she could think of was Devon Miller, going down with his truck, as she laid there on the hard desert ground and sobbed.

  Chapter 15

  Devon heard the crash. Didn’t give a whit about it, or his truck as he raced to find Kacey and get them the hell out of there.

  He’d seen her land just before he’d taken his own dive for the ground. Was certain he’d seen the hump of her body on the ground a distance across from him while the truck made its stupendously loud descent into the Colorado.

  But when he started running toward her even before fully standing upright, he couldn’t get his bearings. Circling, even as he continued jogging, he didn’t see her lying anywhere. She’d been there. He was certain of it.

  She couldn’t have just vanished.

  Running full speed, he covered the ground where she’d jumped from the vehicle. She’d landed. Rolled. He’d made certain...

  With a frantic glance toward the cliff, as though to be certain that she hadn’t been in the truck when it went over, he ran in that direction. If she’d gone over...

  Panting, he stopped just short of going over himself. Glanced down.

  And saw movement.

  Downward movement.

  Just yards away from him.

  Kacey was descending the ravine?

  Purposefully?

  Shaking his head, he stood there for a second, as though not sure he could believe what he was seeing.

  She was trying to get away from him?

  Made no sense.

  She’d definitely been tied up. Had clearly recognized the voice of one of the men at the bar. And if she hadn’t, why lie to him about it?

  For that matter, why cooperate with him to get in his truck if she...

  He was over the side of the cliff and following her before the thought finished.

  She had to have heard him, but she didn’t turn around. Rather, she sped up. So he did as well. Knew, no matter how athletic she was, he could catch her. Put his mind to getting it done as quickly as possible, sliding on the side of his bare leg in the dirt to that end, gun in hand in case she turned to shoot him. Was almost upon her when he said, “Kacey.”

  The sound had a peculiar effect on her. She froze. Just stood there. Both hands—gunless—at her sides.

  “Kacey?” he said again, quickly holstering his own gun before taking a small step toward her.

  Had she been knocked out? Lost her memory?

  Frowning, engulfed with concern, he stood still, knowing he had to proceed with caution.

  She turned then, close enough to him that he could see the tears on her face.

  “Kacey?” he asked, taking a few quick steps to reach her, hold her by the shoulders and gaze into those wet eyes. “Are you hurt?”

  Shaking her head, she stared at him. “I...thought you’d gone over with the truck...”

  And she’d...

  She was going after him?

  “If you were trapped... I had time to get to you... I’m the strongest swimmer I know...and...”

  The way she was looking at him, so wide-eyed and sincere, the emotion, tears, words, the moment... Devon didn’t seem to be able to think.

  He could only do.

  And so he did.

  Pulling her up against his chest, he held on tight, lowered his lips and mingled his life breath with hers as he kissed her with every ounce of his being.

  * * *

  Kacey held on. Floated. Flew to heaven and stayed firmly on earth, as she lost herself in the taste, the male scent, the strength and warmth of Devon Miller.

  She barely knew the man. He had secrets. He didn’t even trust her.

  And yet she was consumed by a need to be as close to him as humanly possible, for as long as the night would leave them alone.

  She thought he’d...

  A huge rumble of metal and rock shocked her into pulling her head up for air. Devon’s arms held her; she’d wrapped hers around him and didn’t pull them away as she glanced downward.

  Watched as the large body of white metal slid into blackness.

  “We have to go,” Devon said then, dropping his arms as he stepped away from her body, but grabbing hold of her hand. “We’ve got to get you back to my property before dawn.”

  He said nothing of the kiss. And as soon as they were on level ground, he dropped her hand, too.

  Kacey pretended to herself that she was relieved. That she wanted it that way. For a second or two, anyway. One of the lessons both of her parents had taught her growing up, and that life had taught her even better, was to always be honest with herself.

  And in all honesty, she wanted Devon’s arms around her again. She wanted his body naked, holding hers. In hers.

  Thoughts of having sex with her recluse rescuer kept her adrenaline pumping, and the fear at bay, as they started out. “I can do a fifteen-minute mile,” she told him. Wanting him to know that while she’d pretty much fallen apart after the truck went over the cliff, she had the strength to take on whatever lay ahead.

  Sex with him, or another tangle with death.

  “Stay close,” Devon’s response came quietly. “At night like this, we’ve got wildlife to contend with as much as anything else.”

  She’d known that. Wasn’t going to panic over it. “Most shy away from humans,” she said aloud, something he’d know. Energized by the connection with him. “And we have guns.”

  Something else he clearly knew.

  Making her contribution little more than jabber, she figured.

  “You’re one of a kind, you know that?” He turned his head, giving her a glance, and their lips were almost close enough to kiss again. If they both leaned in far enough.

  Neither did. She caught a glimpse of the moonlight’s glint in his eyes and shot her attention straight forward again. “Why do you say that?”

  She’d rather talk than not.

  And would much rather the conversation be about something other than danger and death. They had to talk about who’d followed them. At the moment, she needed her emotional strength for all of the steps immediately in front of her.

  He climbed up a hill of rocks. “No matter the trial, the constant threat, you seem to focus on whatever little positive might be there.”

  Right beside him in the rocks, she tried to shrug off the warmth that flooded her at his words. Suspected she’d only managed to shrug. “Growing up with a father in Special Forces who was always leaving to fly off into danger, I learned that the best way to be happy and get good grades until he came back was to think about how strong he was, how well trained. And remember that he was surrounded by people who were equally qualified. I couldn’t make him stay home. But I could control my own head. Replace thoughts of fear with knowledge of the strengths I had around me to combat the bad stuff.” She was definitely rambling, but didn’t much care. Whether he was taking in her words, or not, she needed their reminder.

  “I can relate to that,” Devon said, surprising her. “My father’s work with the high-powered rich and famous in Las Vegas had his associating with some scary guys. But at least he came home every night.”

  Until he didn’t, based on what he’d told her earlier.

  As hers hadn’t.

  She’d tried to find anything on the internet that talked about a Mr. Miller, associated with the former mayor of Las Vegas and who’d died in a car accident, or had been suspected of anything ten years before, but she’d found nothing. “Did you have siblings?” she asked him.

  “No.”

  “I’m lucky that I had Kyle. All through school, it was like I was never really alone.”

  Mention of her brother made her stomach clench, so she quickly turned her thoughts back to Devon. “Did you play sports in school?”

  “Nope.” She should be put off by his one-word responses. Should stop asking questions.

  The dark of the night, their solitary trek through miles of desert that held unseen dangers, drove her on anyway.

  “Have you always liked to raft and kayak?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you learn to cook?” She threw out the next question almost as a challenge to get him to give at least two words in response.

  “My parents,” he said. And then added, “And the internet.”

  Okay, so innocuous was the way it would go. “What’s your favorite food?” she asked next.

  Discovered that they both shared an affinity for Asian and Italian dishes, liked to try new things and disliked the same greens. Spinach and Brussels sprouts.

  He hadn’t been to a movie theater in years. He didn’t watch much television but occasionally streamed old sitcoms. Or Westerns—the gunslinging kind.

  It was kind of like a first date.

  A surreal one. Encased in constant danger. Where the guy didn’t know he was on it.

  And he got a text right in the middle of it. Kacey stopped talking as soon as he pulled out his phone—figuring that since it was after eleven, and they’d left her apartment so abruptly, that the communication was from Rachel whatever-her-last-name-was.

  Knowing full well she had absolutely no ownership of feelings for Devon Miller, rights to his time, or even a place in her real life for the lottery-winning rafter, she pushed against the twinge of jealousy she felt when he read from his phone, and then dialed.

  Jealousy? Seriously? She’d never been jealous over a man she’d dated.

  And she wasn’t even dating Devon.

  Had to be the trauma. Her near death. Having to stay out of sight. Kyle’s betrayal.

  Just like the paranoia she’d been experiencing. Some kind of stress syndrome taking effect. If she didn’t get over it when she returned home, she’d get some therapy...

  Devon’s conversation consisted of one-word responses. Kacey was hit by another ridiculous thought as they walked, arms bumping into each other on occasion. The Rachel woman, if it was her, didn’t elicit any more of a response than Kacey had. No reason to take it personally, then.

  “The bar doesn’t close until two,” he said as he hung up the phone, confirming her suspicion that he’d been talking to the other woman. “Rachel’ll be sending footage over shortly after that.”