He turned her in his arms, with surprising gentleness, tilting her chin up so he could look at her throat. His face was expressionless but his fingers were gentle. “You’ll have some bruising,” he said. “But you’re in one piece, and that’s what matters. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
She looked up at him dazedly. “You didn’t answer my question. Did you leave the gun behind on purpose?”
There was no change in the emotionless face, but his eyes darkened, and her brain woke up enough to regret her words.
“I promise you one thing, Jenny,” he said, and she’d never heard him call her by her name before. “If I decide you’re going to die I’ll kill you myself. I don’t leave things to fate.” His words were cold, clipped. “Either come with me now or take your chances with the rest of the Guiding Light when they show up.” He stepped away from her, removing his protective warmth.
She couldn’t summon any words, so she simply nodded, following him out into the bright, cheerful sunlight, leaving the house of death behind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The ride down the mountain was made in complete silence. Ryder had commandeered an ancient jeep, in worse shape than the one they had first used, but it bumped its way over the barely perceptible roads without complaint, splashing through deep channels of water that sent sprays of mud up the sides and over Jenny, bouncing over gravel and stones and small tree trunks without hesitation. She’d managed to unearth a seat belt, but Ryder was driving like a bat out of hell, and if she didn’t know better she would have suspected he was driving fast more out of rage than necessity.
It wasn’t until they were down on level ground that she noticed the fresh blood on his hand as he shifted gears, the blood that had accumulated all around the stick shift. “You’re hurt!” she said involuntarily, startled.
“Yeah, so what?” he snarled, stomping on the accelerator. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing? You’re bleeding.”
“What the fuck do you care?”
She was emerging from her horror-filled thoughts to stare at him. “If you bleed to death, then chances are I’ll die out here as well,” she shot back furiously. “Pull over and let me see how bad it is.”
“It’ll be a cold day in hell, gorgeous,” he muttered. “It’s just a through and through in the fleshy part of my arm. A couple of Band-Aids will fix it.”
“In that case stop and we’ll find the Band-Aids,” she snapped.
“This jeep doesn’t come with a first-aid kit.”
“Then I’ll find something to bind you up. Stop the fucking jeep!” A distant part of her brain wondered at her language. Her father had always hated it when she swore, and she’d never dared use anything stronger than damn and hell in his presence. But right now it was a holy fuck of a day.
Ryder slammed on the brakes so fast that Jenny would have gone through the windshield if she hadn’t been wearing her seat belt. He was wearing a loose jacket, and if she hadn’t been so caught up in her own horrors, she would have noticed the dark patch of blood on the upper arm. She unfastened her seat belt with shaking hands, then started rummaging through the front of the jeep. “Take off your jacket,” she ordered, coming up with a beer-can opener, a bandanna, three oily rags, and a roll of duct tape.
“You think you’re putting any of those filthy rags on me and you can guess again. Unless you’re trying to kill me. Which I suppose would serve me right since I deliberately left the gun with Soledad, hoping she was strong enough to shoot you before she died.”
It sounded absurd when he said it. “Shut up,” she muttered.
“But why? I thought you wanted the truth. Of course I left the gun with Soledad. I should have known three bullets center mass wouldn’t kill the bitch, but then I thought I’d spare your tender sensibilities by leaving her as she lay rather than turn her over and finish her off with a head shot. Of course I was hoping she’d be able to reach the gun she fell on and take care of you, but things don’t always work out as we plan, now do they?”
“All right, I’m sorry I asked!” Jenny said. “It’s just that you never make mistakes, and leaving that gun behind . . .”
He sighed. “Leaving that gun underneath Soledad’s body was the very least of my mistakes in the last week.”
“What was the worst?”
“You.”
Okay, she was a glutton for punishment. She knew that answer was coming long before he said it, and she didn’t even flinch. “Are you going to take off that jacket?” she said in a dangerous voice.
In answer he shrugged out of it. He was right—the bullet had gone through the fleshy part of his upper arm, tearing across the skin. “That’s not harmless,” she said. “You’ve got muscles there.” She could feel a sudden warmth in the pit of her stomach. Of course he had muscles in his arms—he’d held her, carried her, rocked her when he’d killed the snake.
“I’ll live,” he said dryly.
“There’s a stream up ahead. Do you think it
’s safe to wash it off?”
He shrugged, and the gesture didn’t seem to cause him any pain. “I’ll take antibiotics when we get back to town.” He slid out of the driver’s seat and stalked toward the stream, and Jenny followed after him, bringing the bandanna and the duct tape. He was kneeling by the stream, splashing water up his blood-streaked arm, and she could see the tear was still oozing blood. Coming down beside him, she began to wash the bandanna in the stream, hoping to get some of the dirt off it.