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Killian lay sleeping, his jet black lashes sealed against his sun-darkened skin. His mouth was parted just enough to see a hint of the strong white teeth beneath. The blue chambray of his shirt was stretched taut across the broadness of his back. Grayed linen humped in a wrinkled mass across his buttocks and covered his long legs.
Lainie gazed down at him. She got a sudden, fleeting image of him sprawled on rumpled sheets, cropped black hair in sharp contrast to the stark white pillow beneath. He looked young and boyish and breathtakingly handsome.
She backed away from him, frowning. He didn't look anything like the man she'd just imagined. Nothing. It was as if she was seeing Killian as she'd seen him before, somewhere. . ..
Soul mates. The words filled her with longing, then regret. She backed away from the bed, as frightened as she'd been a second ago with Mose.
But she wouldn't let fear stop her. Not then, with Mose, and not now with Killian.
If Viloula was right?and Lainie prayed to God that she was?Lainie had to make Killian take her to the rock.
At the thought, longing moved through her. God, 221
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she'd give anything to be able to walk up to Killian, smile up at him, and say, 'Take me to the rock." If she could believe in him, trust him, maybe there wouldn't be this painful ache in her chest. She wanted? needed?to trust him.
Yet she couldn't. Getting to the rock was too important. Maybe in a perfect world, she'd spend more time with Killian and find out what invisible strands bound them together, discover why anger and fear were so close to the surface in him and why he was so afraid to help her.
But God knew, this wasn't a perfect world, and she didn't have the time to do that. She had to be at the rock by sunset on Sunday, and she had to be there with Killian.
She went to the bedpost, where his gun belt hung limply over a knot in the wood. Taking the gun out, she eased the gun belt off the post and set it on the floor. Then she retrieved the canvas sack she'd filled earlier. Adding a double supply of everything and a change of clothes for him, she swung it toward the door. It hit the floor with a muffled thwop.
She went to the bed and stared down at Killian.
A moment's hesitation paralyzed her, made her hand shake slightly. The gun wobbled.
Stop. She gripped the handle more tightly.
For this to work, she had to be as strong as steel, as determined as ever in her life. She had to be ready to shoot him, otherwise the gun was more of a liability than a tool.
Could she shoot him? Her heart clutched at the thought. If only she could trust him, she thought again. God, it would be so wonderful. . ..
Dreams. She forced herself to think of Kelly and the
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empty house. Memories hurled themselves at her, sickened her.
Yeah, she thought. She could kill anyone to keep Kelly safe.
"Killian. Wake up."
The words came at him through a hazy cloud of sleep. "Lainie," he murmured, smiling. A surprising warmth seeped through him. It had been so long since he'd wakened to the sound of a woman's voice.
"Get up."
He frowned. Her voice was cold, angry. The momentary warmth vanished, left in its place a cold chill. He tried to push all thoughts of her from his mind, tried to remind himself that he felt nothing for her. Nothing.
Blinking hard, he rolled onto his back and sat up. The dark cabin curled around him. It took his bleary eyes a minute to focus. When he did, he saw the gun.
The sight of her standing in the center of the room like she was Wyatt Earp made him laugh. He thanked God for it; the ridiculousness of the moment made his fear seem insubstantial and irrelevant. "You're going to shoot me, Lainie?"
"Not if you take me out of here."
She was serious. Jesus. He frowned and ran a hand through his hair, eyeing her warily. "I gave that job to Skeeter. Shoot him."