Ruthless Game (GhostWalkers, #9)(15)

She swallowed and blinked rapidly in an effort to dispel the tears. “Let me up.”

“Are you going to try to stick a knife in me next?”

“If you don’t let go, I’ll most likely consider it.”

He eased the pressure on her wrist, allowing her to get to her feet, but he was much more careful, not trusting her now. She pulled away from him and put both hands protectively on her swollen belly. She was trembling, but her eyes met his steadily, even defiantly. They stared at one another.

“We don’t have all night,” he reminded.

“No, we don’t. But I’m not moving until you throw away the tracker. I’m more scared of Whitney getting my baby than I am of a drug cartel. I’ll go down fighting, Kane.”

He clenched his teeth. Damn, she was stubborn. He could tell by the set of her jaw, her raised chin, and the flash of fire in her eyes that she wasn’t bluffing. She planned on staying right where she was..

“You are aware these people like to chop off heads.” That should make any woman reasonable, let alone a pregnant one.

“I’ve seen them do it. It’s not a pretty sight,” she answered, her chin raising a notch.

Okay. Maybe pregnant women weren’t reasonable. It wasn’t like he’d ever been around a woman about to give birth. It could be they were all nuts. And every good sense he had was flying out the window. He should have put her over his knee and taught her a lesson, especially after she had the audacity to pull a gun on him, but instead, he wanted to kiss that little chin.

“Rose.” He used his most logical and sensible tone. “If I toss the tracker, and something goes wrong, we aren’t going to have a ride out of here.”

“I’m used to relying on myself. Don’t worry, if you’re afraid, I can take care of both of us. I know you surround yourself with that big, bad team ...”

She broke off when he took a step toward her, the taunting laughter fading from her eyes. He noted one hand had slipped inside her jacket, fingers curling around the hilt of her knife.

“Don’t piss me off any more than you already have,” he snapped and ripped the tracker out of the lining of his shirt. He threw his lifeline into the ravine. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“There’s none inside your body?”

He gave her his blackest scowl, and this time, he really was on the edge of losing his temper. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

She had the grace to look ashamed. Rose turned and walked out into the night, head up, body confident. They were walking away from any road he could see. He followed without comment until he reached the top of the first rolling dune. Turning back, he raised his hand to the sky. It was incredibly difficult to move air when there was little breeze to “push,” but he’d done it a time or two. Rose had remembered from their conversations in her small prison room.

The wind tugged at the grains of sand, filling in their footsteps and the places where they’d both landed and rolled. He took his time, making a thorough job of it. The tire tracks were smudged in places, but it certainly would look to the world as if they’d gone into the ravine with the sedan. If anyone went to recover the bodies—and he was certain they would—their ruse would be discovered, but it would be too late.

He turned his head to look at the woman carrying his baby. She had continued walking, trusting him to get the job done. There was some satisfaction in that. She didn’t want him, but she needed him. He stretched his legs a little to catch up, but her shorter strides made it easy. Every now and then he sent the air skimming over their tracks, just to ensure their safety.

Rose walked briskly at first, her spine stiff, but after the first mile, she eased the pace, glancing back at him. “I’m sorry about the gun, Kane. I didn’t know what else to do.”

His heart twisted. Damn her anyway. She was tying him up in knots, and he was in grave danger of buying into her feminine frailty all over again. He thought it best not to look at her. Instead, he studied their surroundings. She wasn’t in the best of shape; he could hear her breathing begin to grow heavier. She stopped on the pretense of looking around as well, but he knew she needed to rest. He didn’t make a comment on her lack of physical fitness, after all she was pregnant. But surely even pregnant women could walk a mile without breathing hard.

She shot him a glare he couldn’t fail to catch even in the dark without his night vision. She breathed in and out twice as if trying to remain calm when he was annoying her. “You’re shouting your thoughts, and rather rudely too.”

His eyebrow shot up. “I’m not the one breathing like a racehorse at the end of the race. Aren’t women these days supposed to be in great shape even when they’re pregnant?”

She dropped her hand to her belt, and he stepped close, his fingers curling around her wrist with a loud slapping sound. She winced and glared at him again. “I might want to shoot you, but the noise might attract the cartel. Actually, I’m getting my GPS out just to make certain we’re on the right course.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“A while back I met an elderly man,” she said as she consulted her GPS and then turned slightly to the right to lead them more directly into the desert. “We became friends of sorts. He was ill and there was no one to help him, so I did.” She slipped the GPS away and began walking briskly again. “He had no family and was dying of cancer. He had moved to the apartment near mine. We talked all the time, and in the course of the conversation, he told me about the home he and his wife had built in the desert.”