Page 39 of Thunder Pass

All of these thoughts were running through his mind, but his body wasn’t quite getting the message. His lips hovered over hers, his arm came around her, pulling her closer, while an uncomfortable bulge grew in his pants. She moved against him, whether innocently or not, he couldn’t tell. Her hip brushed his groin and his erection grew hot and hard.

“Let’s…get to the truck,” he muttered against her lips. If he could even remember where they’d parked. For a moment, he went completely blank, oblivious to everything except Ruth’s upturned face, the “yes” in her eyes, the soft warmth of her body against his.

And then his head jerked up at a very familiar sound—his engine. He’d recognize the way the cylinders of that 2005 Toyota Tundra V-8 engine fired in a lineup. Sure enough, it was rocketing around the corner from the side lot where he’d parked.

“Hey,” he yelled, ready to run after the thief. But the truck screeched to a stop right in front of them, and the driver leaned across the front seat to open the door for them.

“Get in,” he said urgently.

Gunnar felt Ruth tremble against his side, but he was too shocked to move, either to obey or to run the other way.

“What’s going on?” she asked in a tremulous voice.

He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t find the words. Just kept staring at the man in the truck. He knew him. But how?

“Now,” said the man. “We’re running out of time.”

19

Ruth sat in the tight spot between the two men, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She and Gunnar had been on the verge of something world-changing, and then suddenly the world had changed around them.

“I know you,” Gunnar said. “You came to Firelight Ridge once.”

“I came a couple of times. My name is Jim Kelly. Friend of your dad’s.”

Next to her, Gunnar’s body vibrated with tension. “Did something happen to him? What’s going on? Why are you stealing my truck?”

“I’m not stealing it. But someone was tampering with it. I stopped him, but he got away, and it wasn’t safe for you or the truck or me to be there anymore. I’m…delivering it to you.” He focused intently on the city streets before him, weaving a pattern of sudden turns into side streets, and occasionally checking the rearview mirror.

“Is someone following us?” she asked. She reached for Gunnar’s hand and found that it was ice cold. Where were his gloves? She interlaced her fingers through his, trying to send him strength and support through skin contact

“Doesn’t look like it, but I need to make sure. Hang tight.” He yanked the wheel to the right and crossed two lanes to exit onto a street that went into a park. There were no streetlights here, and he turned off the headlights of the truck and pulled to the side of the road, to a spot shaded by overhanging tree branches.

He held up his finger for silence. They all sat stone still and watched the street. After what seemed like an absurdly long amount of time—not a single other vehicle came down the street—he relaxed and turned toward them. “Sorry about that. I know this must be a shock to you. Like I said, I’m friend of your dad’s. I’m helping him…take care of things.”

Gunnar stared at him. “You were in Florida with Bridget, weren’t you? You turned up in her car, too.”

Ruth gave the man another look, and sure enough, he fit the description that Bridget had shared—a burly, gray-haired, balding Black man.

“Yeah, that was me. Gave her a scare. Apologized for that. Part of the job.”

“What job? What are you doing here?”

“I know you have a lot of questions?—”

“You think?” Gunnar burst out. “You show up here in the middle of the night stealing my goddamn truck?”

“I wasn’t stealing it, I was?—”

“Okay.” Ruth intervened, since it was clear that Gunnar wasn’t thinking straight yet. “Obviously, we’re very confused about what’s going on. Maybe you could fill us in a little? I’m Ruth?—”

Kelly didn’t let her finish. “I know who you are. You’re a Chilkoot on the run. A pretty one, too.”

“Don’t talk like that to my girlfriend,” Gunnar growled.

Ruth wanted to pause the entire conversation and grill Gunnar on what he meant by “girlfriend.” But he kept his focus on Jim Kelly, who shot him a hard glance in return. Tension coursed between them, with her trapped right in the middle.

That used to happen a lot at the compound. Men were always getting mad at each other, and she only rarely understood why.

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