Rules of Survival(12)

I had an overwhelming urge to hit him—or kiss him. I wasn’t sure which. With lips like those, a girl would have to be dead not to notice. Mortal danger or not. “Did you miss those men storming the hotel? I’m telling you. They work for the guy you’re trying to hand me over to. This Jaffe person. He was involved with what happened to my mom—and now he wants me.”

“How do you know for sure? Because I have a feeling most people who have met you get the urge to kill you at one point or another.”

I glared at him. “Now who’s being mean?”

He sighed, but didn’t apologize. Instead, he squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?”

Seriously? He was going to play the hero here? “Until you fork me over to die, you mean?”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re guilty of murder—and I think the police will see that.”

“But you’re not handing me over to the police, remember?”

“That’s true, but I swear I won’t do anything unless I’m positive you’ll be safe.” He bent down a bit so that we were eye to eye. “You can trust me, Kayla.”

I thought about it for a moment. Without the key to the shackles, we were stuck with each other for now. At least until we could get the damn cuffs off. I needed to deal with this one step at a time. First and most important at the moment—warmth. Further planning would be pointless if I froze to death or ended up dying of pneumonia.

Next would be freedom from Shaun. Then, escape. There. A plan. It wasn’t much of one, but it soothed my nerves a little.

I held up my left hand. The now constant shivers racing along my skin made my spiffy new metal accessory jingle. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, is it? We need to find some dry clothes.”

“We need to find a phone. Call Patrick.”

“What good will calling him be if we’re frozen solid?” I countered. Really. This guy’s priorities were way off. His survival instinct? Zippo.

“He was meeting with someone from Jaffe’s camp,” Shaun said stubbornly. “To see if they knew anything about the guys from last night. We should call him first, then find dry clothes.”

“That’s stupid!” I snapped, grabbing a fistful of my soaked T-shirt. “The fact that it’s less than forty degrees and we’re dripping wet is the priority. Clothes first, then a call.” And as an afterthought, I added, “And, naturally, if they say they weren’t trying to kill me, we’ll just take them on their word?”

“Suck it up. I know what I’m doing here,” he said with a sneer. “And it’s not that cold out.”

“Says the guy who’s shivering like a leaf in a tornado!”

He ignored me. “Pat has the best bullshit meter I’ve ever seen. If they’re lying, he’ll know.”

I was about to make a snide comment, a phrase that no doubt would have dazzled him silent, but something occurred me. Or rather, the lack of something. “Ohmygod.”

Shaun was immediately alert, scanning the area for trouble. He reminded me of a cartoon dog I’d seen once. He was cuter though. Slightly. “What? What is it?”

“The hotel. My bag…” I’d been through some sticky situations. There were plenty of times I had to up and leave a place in the middle of eating, sleeping—once even during a shower—and I’d never lost the bag. My entire life was in there. Irreplaceable items. Pictures, trinkets…a lifetime of memories. “My keys…”

He watched me for a moment before holding out his jacket. “Check the left pocket.”

Fingers numb and shaking, I took the coat and dug into the left jacket pocket. Silky smooth material brushed the tips of my index finger. I thought it was the lining, but when I pulled out a pouch instead, I could hardly believe my eyes.

“Are those the keys you’re talking about?”

The smooth, familiar material made all my worries fade in a way that seemed somehow wrong from an inanimate object. It was stupid, really, how something so benign could make me so happy. But it was like an old friend. Reassuring and safe. I opened my mouth to thank him…then closed it with a snap.

He’d just returned my keys.

Which had been inside my bag.

Pouch clutched between my shaking fingers, I stepped forward and poked him hard in the chest. “You stole these from my stuff?”

He swatted my hand away, glaring. “Pat went through your bag—not me. He thought they might be important.”

“So the answer is yes then! You stole these from my stuff!”

“Hey.” He had the nerve to poke me back! “If he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have them right now. And since they seem like they’re pretty important to you—you’re practically drooling on them—how about a thank-you instead of biting my damn head off?” He held up his uncuffed hand. “Oh, and speaking of biting, I f*cking owe you for this.”

I hadn’t broken the skin, but the palm of his hand was beginning to bruise. A small sense of satisfaction washed through me. “Go ahead and bite me back then,” I snapped.

He grabbed my arm, fingers digging into the skin. His eyes blazed, anger and something I didn’t quite understand. “Don’t tempt me.”