Page 3 of August

He’d curled his fingers into the pocket of her pants and tucked his switchblade there. “Don’t trust anyone. Call me if you need help.”

Then he’d turned away.

Well, August. I need help. I need you.

The snap of a twig caught her attention. She froze, her mind suddenly a million miles away from where she’d left her heart. Her gaze panned the skinny giants around her. Angst buzzed through her like a drug she couldn’t shake.

A dark figure crossed the yard. He moved slowly, like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. He hadn’t spotted her yet. His body was angled toward the part of the thicket she’d entered, about forty feet behind her.

The road wasn’t far. She could almost smell the asphalt.

If she ran, she might make it.

If she stood still, he’d spot her.

Indecision warred through her. A honk sounded in the distance. A semitruck. Often, they honked to warn wildlife. She wet her lips. That was her sign. If she ran fast enough, she might be able to flag down the driver.

Tightening her fingers around the switchblade, she summoned every ounce of strength from the Universe and sent a prayer skyward.

She took off.

The branches swished and snapped as she weaved through the trees. Her breath hissed in and out of her nose, the scent of dirt and pine heavy in the air.

A glance behind her showed the man in hot pursuit. His left hand gripped his wound but his legs moved like a cheetah’s.

The road came into view. Gigi let loose a powerful scream as she broke through the foliage—damn Joe’s advice when the killer had her in his sights.

Bright headlights barreled down the pavement, but she didn’t slow. She leapt onto the road and jumped and waved her arms over her head. “Help!”

The semi driver laid on the horn and the brakes screeched as the truck came to a roaring halt. A man poked his head out the window. “Lady! You okay?”

“Help me, please!” Her voice trembled almost as much as her limbs.

The older man nodded. “All right, then. Get in.”

She ran around the front bumper, which was almost as tall as was, as he shoved open the passenger door. Gigi jumped in and slammed the door. The scent of cigarette smoke and onions permeated the air, but sheer desperation made the smell sweet to her senses. “Go! Please. Someone’s after me.”

The driver’s eyes widened. “Who? Do you need me to get out?”

“No. Please.” Delerium sent tears streaking down her cheeks. “Drive. He’ll shoot us both.”

“Okay, okay,” he muttered. He shifted into drive and the vehicle lurched forward.

Gigi stared past the driver, out his window, searching the darkness. There he was, the killer, standing there like a dark monster with a willowy army behind him.

He lifted his hand and dragged his thumb along his neck.

He’d find her again.

***

August Hick stretched out on the hotel bed. What a fucking week. A few hours ago, he’d dropped off Boyd Sommers in Denver, and he still hadn’t recovered from the senseless time spent with that guy. If he ever got stuck bodyguarding Boyd again, he’d gladly put a bullet in his own head. Dude was beyond annoying, and if August didn’t value his job and reputation, he’d have happily hand-delivered Boyd to the drug dealers he’d pissed off in Seattle.

Instead, he’d done the impossible work of not killing the man himself while driving him across several states. August didn’t have the heart to tell him that if the drug dealers wanted him badly enough, they’d find him here. All Boyd had was enough cash to cover the fees and expenses of Backcountry Protection Services. Not enough to keep a bodyguard around permanently.

Ah, well. Not his shitshow.

It was almost 1:00 a.m., and after driving all damn day he was wiped. He’d showered and polished off his room-service meal earlier. Now all he wanted was to get some shut-eye before he made the trek back west.

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