Page 2 of Kiss Me if You Can
The instant I see Fields’s pistol glistening in the sun and pointed right at me, I bolt. A gunshot echoes behind me. People scream. Someone shouts my name but I don’t stop running. I dodge trees, trying to avoid the congested paths so there’s no one caught in the crosshairs. Only when I’ve crossed half the park do I glance back without slowing down.
I don’t see anyone hot on my heels, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe. I have to—
I collide with something hard, grunting as pain radiates through me on impact. Whatever I hit—whoever—they fall with me. We both tumble through some shrubs and down a hidden hill in a tangle of limbs until we land in a heap at the bottom of a heavily foliaged ravine.
I groan, struggling to free myself so I can keep running. That wasn’t fun. At all. “Sorry.”
The woman beneath me doesn’t move, her blonde hair obscuring her face.
I swear, forcing myself to ignore my own pain as I check her for injuries. “Miss? Can you hear me?”
My heart stops for a fleeting moment when I only find one leg, thinking the other is bent beneath her or something and definitely broken, until I realize the end of her thigh doesn’t continue downward. I breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. It’s just missing.”
“Most people don’t see that as a good thing.”
My eyes snap to her face to find her glaring at me. “You’re okay.”
She narrows her bright blue eyes. “No thanks to you. Were you a linebacker in a past life?”
I can’t stop the single laugh that rushes out of me. This is not the time for laughing! “Why couldn’t I be a linebacker now?”
Her gaze slides down my body as she lifts her head to get a better view. “Uh, because you probably weigh a buck fifty? Which is still more than I want on top of me, thank you very much.” She shoves her hands into my chest with impressive strength, pushing me to the side to free herself.
Yeah, I’m not a big guy. I do yoga before bed and occasionally hit the gym if I’m feeling particularly frustrated. I care more about flexibility and health than strength. Still, her assessment stings. Why this matters when I was almost executed just now, I have no idea.
“I hit you pretty hard,” I mumble, brushing leaves and dirt from my sleeves as I try to calm my heart rate so I can think clearly and figure out my next move. “Sorry about that.”
As she sits up, she looks through the vines and weeds around her as if searching for something. “Aha,” she says and picks up a phone. Then her eyes lift to the hill we just tumbled down. “You wouldn’t happen to see my leg up there anywhere, would you? I might need that if I’m going to—”
I grab her, wrapping my palm over her mouth and dragging her against my chest as I press myself into the side of the hill to hide. Three men, none of them familiar, just appeared at the top with frantic looks in their eyes, and I’m not keen to be murdered today. Whether they’re FBI or with Hadley, they’re going to be out to get me.
“Stay quiet,” I hiss to my sudden captive, “and I’ll make sure you live through this.”
Chapter Two
Isla
Go to Sun City,they said.It will be fun, they said.
What they didn’t say was how likely I would get tackled and then kidnapped by a madman in a suit that wasn’t made for him, so I think they need to change the city slogan from “where the sun never stops” to “make sure you bring a Taser and a change of clothes.” And here I thought today was going to be a great day.
If I hadn’t lost my prosthesis in the tumble down the hill, I would be more inclined to try to fight my way out of this, but what am I going to do if I get out of his hold? Crawl away? Hop to freedom? He’d probably kill me before I got two yards along the ravine.
I try to twist enough to see what he’s doing, maybe figure out why we’re just sitting here, but he holds me too tight. It looks like he’s looking up the hill where we came from, but beyond that I’ve got nothing.
Nothing but a ruined outfit and my own wits, which seem to have abandoned me the moment I got tackled but are slowly making their way back. Why am I just sitting here waiting? I have my phone in my hand, and all I have to do is make a call.
Trying not to move, I slowly shift my phone to get to the fingerprint lock, doing my best to keep it out of sight of my captor.
Darn. My hands are too dirty, and it won’t take my thumbprint. Why did I have to make my pattern lock so complicated? With no way to hold my phone in my other hand, I have to awkwardly try to reach all the dots with my tiny thumb. Curse my impulsive self for buying the latest and greatest phone! This thing is a brick, and I should have known I would one day only have use of one hand.
I remember when phones were being designed smaller and smaller, and then smartphones happened and now they just keep getting bigger again. In a few years, we’ll all be carrying tablets around unless they get around to inventing holographic screens.
Finally I get through the lock screen, but now I’m not sure what I can actually do. I could call the police, but there’s nothing I can say with my captor’s hand pressed over my mouth. I can text my brother-in-law? But sending a text is risky and might take too long. I’ve sent too many “emergency” texts to Cam for him to properly interpret “911” if I try that. Same with “help” or any form of telling him I’m in danger.
He says I’m dramatic. He’s right. No matter what I send him, this is going to be a “boy who cried wolf” situation. Yay. Besides, he’s two hours away in Diamond Springs, so even if he came it wouldn’t help me much in the immediate.
I don’t think anyone can help me except myself.
