in her chest, and then he kept looking.
One grouping looked like it held concession stands, and an old sign, hanging crooked from only one hook, said, SHANTY FLEA MARKET and below that, PRETZELS. One stall had a pile of old trophies in the corner, another had a rusty BBQ grill that still smelled like smoked meat, but most were empty. Her stomach twisted when she saw a roach run across the grate.
She paused, listening and watching the woods. Cardinals sang their loping call and a breeze stirred the pines, but nothing sounded like a human—or whatever he was—coming after them. She made her way toward Eric, who was circling back.
He pulled out his cell phone and made a call. “Hey, it’s Eric. I saw that you tried to call me a few times . . .”
He listened, his eyebrows knitting together at what he was hearing. She caught the sound of a female voice that sounded frantic.
He leaned against one of the sturdier beams, pressing his fingers to his forehead as he listened. “I think I know why. Someone’s been after us.”
Fonda heard the “Us?” on the other end.
He looked at her, his mouth twisting into a smile. “Yeah, guess who I happened to run into? Fonda Raine . . . Yeah, that Fonda. Long story, but there’s some dude after us. And he’s got powers. I think that whatever he does with his hands, he can do with a psychic ability. He’s too old to be an Offspring, probably late forties. We ditched him for the time being, but we need to get out of here. We’re at some . . .”
“Shantytown flea market,” Fonda supplied, stepping closer so she could hear the other side of the conversation. He hadn’t told the woman that she’d tried to kill him. Interesting.
He repeated what she’d said, and added, “It’s just off a highway.” He gave them a general idea of where they’d started from. “Can you come out and get me? Once everyone’s together we can figure out our next move.”
Fonda heard the woman ask, “Lucas saw you and a woman dead. It must be Fonda. Is she joining up with us?”
Eric looked right at her, and she felt an odd twist in her chest. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with her. I’ll figure it out by the time you get here.” He disconnected, sliding down to the wooden floor, arms draped over his bent knees. He tilted his head, his gaze still on her. “What am I going to do with you?”
“ You are not doing anything about me. I’ll be gone before they get here. What did she mean, Lucas saw me dead?”
“He gets storms of images, glimpses of the future. He probably saw us being attacked back at the motel.”
She stepped closer. “Why didn’t you just leave me behind? You could have—should have—left me to fend for myself.”
“Is that what you wanted me to do?”
“Yes.” She didn’t want to think about him saving her. “That’s what ruthless people do.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah.”
While they were on the run through the woods, they were united against an even deadlier enemy.
“Besides the fact that you had every reason to kill me.”
He laughed softly, shaking his head. “You know, I might have felt that way once.” The humor in his eyes, thin as it was, faded. “But as I said, I don’t want a war with you. You’re free to go.”
For some reason, that left an empty feeling inside her. She knelt down in front of him. “Why? You’re a cold-blooded killer.”
“Not when I needed to be.”
“With me?” Because she’d seen the rage in his eyes, when he had the knife at her throat, before it was replaced by resolve. She touched the cut and felt the sting, but it wasn’t bleeding. Resolve that he couldn’t do it. Fear at his failure to kill when it was necessary and justified.
She knew exactly how he’d felt. In those minutes before she returned to the room, she’d been battling that same thing. While straddling Eric’s limp body, she had lifted her hand, ready to bring the knife down . . . and she couldn’t do it. Nausea
One grouping looked like it held concession stands, and an old sign, hanging crooked from only one hook, said, SHANTY FLEA MARKET and below that, PRETZELS. One stall had a pile of old trophies in the corner, another had a rusty BBQ grill that still smelled like smoked meat, but most were empty. Her stomach twisted when she saw a roach run across the grate.
She paused, listening and watching the woods. Cardinals sang their loping call and a breeze stirred the pines, but nothing sounded like a human—or whatever he was—coming after them. She made her way toward Eric, who was circling back.
He pulled out his cell phone and made a call. “Hey, it’s Eric. I saw that you tried to call me a few times . . .”
He listened, his eyebrows knitting together at what he was hearing. She caught the sound of a female voice that sounded frantic.
He leaned against one of the sturdier beams, pressing his fingers to his forehead as he listened. “I think I know why. Someone’s been after us.”
Fonda heard the “Us?” on the other end.
He looked at her, his mouth twisting into a smile. “Yeah, guess who I happened to run into? Fonda Raine . . . Yeah, that Fonda. Long story, but there’s some dude after us. And he’s got powers. I think that whatever he does with his hands, he can do with a psychic ability. He’s too old to be an Offspring, probably late forties. We ditched him for the time being, but we need to get out of here. We’re at some . . .”
“Shantytown flea market,” Fonda supplied, stepping closer so she could hear the other side of the conversation. He hadn’t told the woman that she’d tried to kill him. Interesting.
He repeated what she’d said, and added, “It’s just off a highway.” He gave them a general idea of where they’d started from. “Can you come out and get me? Once everyone’s together we can figure out our next move.”
Fonda heard the woman ask, “Lucas saw you and a woman dead. It must be Fonda. Is she joining up with us?”
Eric looked right at her, and she felt an odd twist in her chest. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with her. I’ll figure it out by the time you get here.” He disconnected, sliding down to the wooden floor, arms draped over his bent knees. He tilted his head, his gaze still on her. “What am I going to do with you?”
“ You are not doing anything about me. I’ll be gone before they get here. What did she mean, Lucas saw me dead?”
“He gets storms of images, glimpses of the future. He probably saw us being attacked back at the motel.”
She stepped closer. “Why didn’t you just leave me behind? You could have—should have—left me to fend for myself.”
“Is that what you wanted me to do?”
“Yes.” She didn’t want to think about him saving her. “That’s what ruthless people do.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah.”
While they were on the run through the woods, they were united against an even deadlier enemy.
“Besides the fact that you had every reason to kill me.”
He laughed softly, shaking his head. “You know, I might have felt that way once.” The humor in his eyes, thin as it was, faded. “But as I said, I don’t want a war with you. You’re free to go.”
For some reason, that left an empty feeling inside her. She knelt down in front of him. “Why? You’re a cold-blooded killer.”
“Not when I needed to be.”
“With me?” Because she’d seen the rage in his eyes, when he had the knife at her throat, before it was replaced by resolve. She touched the cut and felt the sting, but it wasn’t bleeding. Resolve that he couldn’t do it. Fear at his failure to kill when it was necessary and justified.
She knew exactly how he’d felt. In those minutes before she returned to the room, she’d been battling that same thing. While straddling Eric’s limp body, she had lifted her hand, ready to bring the knife down . . . and she couldn’t do it. Nausea
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