Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
By the time JR returns, I’ve worn down the floorboards even more than decades of use and have chewed off all but three of my nails. They’re not even real, yet I gnawed them down to nubs, and I see the situation worsening when I spot a trail of blood left in the wake of JR’s step.
“What happened? Why are you bleeding?”
He snaps away my hands before I can discover the source of the deep scratch-like wounds on his left wrist and right arm before he snatches up my medical bag. The shock that rendered me mute hours ago comes back full force when he stuffs the antique bag full with an assemblage of personal products and food, fixes it to my back, then pulls one of the deer skin rugs off the mattress.
I’m a little lost when he walks me through the cabin’s door instead of bobbing down so I can jump onto his back, but my disappointment doesn’t get the chance to register. I’m too fuming mad about him pushing me headfirst into the mud pile the runoff from his earlier shower caused to let a little bit of disillusionment bombard me.
“What the hell, JR!” I scream at the top of my lungs when he scoops up chunks of mud in his hands so he can get the parts of my body my topple missed.
Within seconds, I’m covered head to toe with mud, and I am the angriest I’ve ever been. I look like a swamp monster, and I smell even worse than that.
When I say that to JR, the moon bounces off his teeth a mere second before he plucks me from the mess with a tug on my arm, tosses me on his back, then races for the heavily treed section of the woodlands.
Images of Bella on Edward’s back in Twilight flash before my eyes. JR isn’t as fast as Edward, obviously, but his ability to weave us through ancient trees without stopping to gather his bearings exposes this section of Cataloochee is as much in his veins as Forks was to the Cullens.
My heart beats as wildly as JR’s when we reach an opening almost an hour later. Even with my stay brief, I recognize the wooden structure in front of us. It’s the first cabin where I woke up dazed and confused.
It no longer looks warm and inviting. How could it with every piece of furniture on the front verandah destroyed beyond repair and the window smashed in? This place has been ransacked, and the heated disappointment it fires through JR’s veins announce it wasn’t done by him.
When JR presses his lips to his fingers for the second time today, I nod without hesitation. A million thoughts are bombarding me, but the damage to the cabin looks fresh enough to suspect the culprits may still be inside.
Worry fills me more than anger when JR places me down onto a stump just outside of the clearing before he sneaks toward the ransacked cabin. I don’t want him to get hurt, but the odds are stacked against him when he leaves his gun in my possession.
He’s only just crawled beneath the wood slats of the floorboard when an accented voice steals my devotion. A man with inky black hair, a scarred face, and a shiny shirt is exiting the cabin by its only entrance. When I notice his cell phone is a satellite phone, unease trickles through my veins, but before I can work out why relief wasn’t my first emotion, any chances of my head overruling my libido fly out of the window.
This man isn’t hunting JR because he’s confused him as Big Foot.
He wants me.
“What do you mean there was no body in the driver’s seat? Perhaps she incinerated in the blaze. That’s what happens when you get around in a soft top with no care for your safety.”
Even with distance against me, I hear his caller’s reply. That’s how loud the stranger has his volume set. It has me wondering if the scars on his face affected his hearing as well. “There’s no evidence to indicate Jae was in the car when it exploded.”
“Fuck!” The dark-haired man shouts. “We can’t call the coroner in without a body. The last thing we want is another seven-year delay.” After dragging a hand down his face, he asks, “What did Sheriff Michaels suggest?”
My throat works through a hard swallow when his caller responds, “To bring in sniffer dogs. They caught a scent around an hour ago, but it went cold not long after that.” My eyes shoot back to the crack JR squeezed through when the mannish voice adds, “Shouldn’t take long to re-establish a trail. One of the dogs nicked him up pretty good when he tried to steer them away from Jae’s scent.”
I thought JR’s wounds were scratch marks, but the jagged edges and deep indentation are more fitting of a bite mark.