“Actually, I do. There’s a deer stand in this tree. And there’s a ladder up there. Just have to go up and get it.”
She peered into the tree but didn’t see anything. “How do you know that?”
He was scowling, but even his scowl made her heart skip. “I’m from Tennessee, darlin’. We like to hunt—and I know the guy who owns this land. He put a stand in this tree, and I’ve used it a few times.”
He dropped his bag on the ground and eyed the tree. Then he started to climb. She watched him—and realized with a start there was a small wooden structure up there. It was camouflaged so well that it wasn’t easy to see at first.
“Better step back,” he called down. “Don’t want to get hit by the ladder.”
She did as he said and then a rope ladder unfurled and slapped the side of the tree. Chase came back down and dropped to the ground.
“You first,” he told her.
She looked at the rope ladder doubtfully. But it had held him when he shimmied back down on it, so she gripped the rope and put her foot on the first rung. It was a shaky climb, but she made it up. She pulled herself into the stand and looked around. It wasn’t quite what she’d expected—in fact, it was more like a tree house than a deer stand. It was dark inside, but there were windows with screens and what appeared to be a twin-sized Army cot. In one corner, there was a stack of bottled water and some boxes that she hoped contained food.
She stepped into the little room, wary for the sensation of swaying with the tree, but nothing happened. The room was solid. And surprising as hell.
She turned as Chase came through the opening. He threw his bag and it slid across the floor, hitting the bed. Then he turned and pulled the ladder up, rolling it and leaving it near the entrance. He tugged a door down and latched it, then faced her.
That’s when she realized he could stand up in this darned thing.
“Who in the hell builds a tree house and calls it a deer stand?” she asked.
Chase laughed. “Guy who owns the land is kind of a doomsday prepper, but on a smaller scale. I don’t think he really expects doomsday—but he likes being ready for anything. He stockpiles supplies, weapons, and ammo in various locations on his property. Kinda nutty, but a nice enough guy.”
Sophie turned around to look at the space. With Chase inside, it was suddenly a whole lot smaller than it had been. And the only surface to sit on besides the floor was the cot.
“Now what?” she asked, chafing her arms as if she were cold. She wasn’t, but her skin prickled from the circumstances. Or maybe it was just Chase’s nearness.
He shrugged and retrieved his pack. “We eat and rest. Tonight we’ll head out again.”
“Where are we going?”
He speared her with a look. “Somewhere safe.”
She hated the way he was so cryptic with her, but she knew it was no good to press him. She rubbed her arms again. His gaze followed the motion, and then he turned away and went over to the boxes in the corner. He ripped one open and started rummaging through it.
“I need to let my mom and Tyler know I’m okay,” she said and then immediately regretted it when he stiffened. She knew that any mention of Tyler made him angry.
But when he came back over to her with a pack of peanut butter crackers and a bottle of water, he looked cool, at ease. He thrust the food and drink at her and she took it.
“No can do, sweetheart. No contact with anyone outside. It’s too dangerous.”
She wanted to protest, but there was no point in arguing. She didn’t have a phone anymore, and she doubted there was a pay phone on a tree trunk somewhere. Besides, she’d asked for his help and she had to trust that he knew what he was doing.
She sank onto the edge of the bed and ripped open the crackers. She was usually so careful with food, but she was starving right now. Chase retrieved crackers and water for himself, then reached into a dark corner and produced a folding chair. He proceeded to sit down and tear into his food.
“How will we get to Paris?” she asked when the silence stretched uncomfortably.
“The usual way, I’d imagine.”
“My passport is in my apartment and my ID was in my purse.” She spared a pained thought for the Louis Vuitton bag that was nothing but ash by now. “I lost the tracking number for the package as well.”
She’d had the receipt with the number on it. She hadn’t sent it signature required, but she’d been comforted by the fact she could track its progress if she needed to.
“Doesn’t matter. You know when it’s getting there. That’s enough.”
She finished a cracker and blew out a frustrated breath. “You’re becoming very terse, Chase. Am I bothering you or something?”