"And who told him when you were going to rob the bank?"

"An information leak from my side." He shook his head. "I don't like the idea, I'll admit. But it's a damn sight easier to believe than time travel."

"I'm not Joe Martin's spy, Killian. I swear it." She looked up at him. "I know it sounds crazy, but I've got to get back to Fortune Flats. Nothing else matters. If you could just take me there ... please ..."

Suddenly, and for the first time, he was scared of her. Scared shitless. What he wanted to do was shove her away and run, run far and fast and put as much as he could between him and her pathetic eyes.

132

His jaw tightened at the quavering desperation in her voice. It flung him back in time, made him remember what he hadn't remembered in years. Maybe he had been the kind of man to help people, but that was ages ago, a lifetime. And there was no going back.

Since then, he'd made a choice with his life; he wanted to be alone, without responsibility for anyone except himself. That's why he was here, in The Ridge, living with ruthless outlaws and fools. No one expected anything of him here, and he never let them down. He never wanted to be responsible for someone else's life again. He wasn't any good at it, wasn't any good, period. People?women?who entrusted their lives to him ended up dead.

He stared at the walls, barely breathing, using everything he had inside to dredge up a dull, disinterested voice. "What's in Fortune Flats?"

It took her so long to answer that reluctantly he looked down at her. He knew instantly that it was the wrong thing to do.

She gave a tiny shake of the head. At the movement, a single tear fell down her cheek, and he had an absurd impulse to wipe it away. "I don't know, but it's where I landed. I thought maybe it would be the way out.'1

He blew an angry sigh. "Why are you telling me this shit?"

"I need your help."

Anger brought him to his feet. She stumbled back and fell on her butt. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her upper arms, and yanked her to her feet.

Her head snapped back. Tears glazed her eyes, made them look fathomless and dark. The expression in them, the sadness, hit him like a punch to the gut.

"What in the Christ do you want from me?"

133

"I need a guide back to Fortune Flats. That's not asking so much."

He shook her, hard, then drew her close. The words Fortune Flats flitted through his mind, but he barely heard them. All he heard were the pounding, impossible words / need. Fear and anger exploded in his chest. "It's too goddamn much from me," he growled, shoving her back. "And quit looking at me like that."

She stumbled back but didn't look away. Another tear slid down her cheeks, splashed on her throat. "There's no one else to help me."

"Too bad."

The look she gave him was hot, as vital as a touch, and it made his throat constrict. "Jesus Christ," he hissed, stumbling back from her, trying to put some distance between them. "Don't you understand? I can't help you."

"You mean won't," she said in a frayed voice that made him feel like shit.

And suddenly, as quickly as it had come, the anger was gone. Instead, he was filled with a cold, aching regret. Memories hurled themselves at him in rapid-fire succession, made him almost lift his hands to ward them off. "No," he said in a hoarse voice. "I can't."

She moved toward him. He heard each footstep, felt it like a blow to the heart. Right in front of him, she stopped. He stiffened, stared past her, seeing only the blankness of the walls, and the darkness of his memories.

"You were a hero once."

He drew in a sharp breath, backed away from her. "What do you mean?"

"Back when you were a ranger." She stared steadily up at him, her gaze unflinching in its honesty. "Some of that must still be inside of you."

134

Time slowed to a crawl. The cabin spilled away, left them standing toe to toe in a darkness where nothing existed except the two of them. He heard the slow, even strains of her breathing and the thudding of his own heart. Her words settled on his chest, cold and heavy and suffocating. "How do you know that about me?"

"I wrote it."

Tags: Kristin Hannah Fiction
Source: readsnovelonline.net