Hot Protector(8)
He shot her a look. “Really, you have to ask that? You can’t figure it out for yourself?”
It was hard to think when they were flying down the road and she could die at any minute, either from Grigori’s men killing her or from this car crashing and erupting in a ball of flame.
“You barely talked to me when you visited us—and when you did, it was mean. I thought you didn’t know I existed most of the time.”
He snorted. “Oh, I knew. Sophie Nash.” He emphasized the last name. “I’m his only biological child, did you know that? The only one, and he always acted like he’d rather I didn’t exist. Gives his name to you, raises you as his—and you wonder why I never liked you?”
Her chest ached. “It’s not my fault, Chase. I was a kid.”
“So was I,” he ground out.
She wanted to reach out and touch him, squeeze his arm or something, but she knew he wouldn’t welcome it. She sucked in a breath, hoping to find some words, but he spoke before she could.
“We’re going to have to ditch the car.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact.
She was almost relieved for the change in subject, no matter how serious. “Ditch? But how will we get away?”
“We’re under heavy tree cover at the moment. The helicopter can see the glow from the headlights, but they can’t pinpoint to the exact degree where we are until we emerge again. Which we aren’t doing—though you’d better pray they don’t have thermal-imaging capabilities.”
Sophie gulped. “What would that do?”
“It means they can find us by our heat signature. We can’t hide that. But take heart, I doubt Androv’s men have access to a military helicopter on such short notice. It’s probably a local job, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”
Wouldn’t worry too much? Was he crazy?
He turned off the road and drove into the grass, and she began to think he definitely was crazy when she saw the bushes up ahead. He switched off the headlights and kept going. Branches scraped and slapped the car as they passed into a cluster of foliage.
Sophie cringed. If he hated her already, he’d want to murder her with the way his car was getting beaten and scratched. He didn’t say anything as he came to a stop and killed the engine.
It was eerily quiet, like that strange calm right before a storm.
“What now?” she asked in a whisper that hurt her throat because it was so tight.
He turned to her. “You ever take a survival course, Sophie?”
5
He knew the answer to that question already, but even if he hadn’t, the way her breath shortened would have told him she’d never taken a survival course. No way had this little princess ever roughed it a night in her life.
She shook her head in the darkness, and he could feel the fear emanating from her. A twinge of guilt speared him. He hadn’t helped her just now by telling her he’d always disliked her. Of course he had, but he’d been a kid. So had she. They weren’t kids now, and logically he knew she wasn’t to blame for the actions of his father.
Didn’t mean he didn’t resent her though. Or resent the mess she’d just landed him in.
“No,” she finally squeaked out. “Why?”
“We’re going into the woods, Sophie. There will be no hot showers or soft beds. No room service.”
“All right.”
He blinked. “All right? You’re good with that?”
“I don’t think I have a choice, do I? Tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it.”
He reached into the back of the car and grabbed his pack. “All you need to do for now is follow me—and keep your mouth shut.”
He got out of the car, wincing at how hard he had to shove the door. He’d buried them good in the bushes, which meant his Vette was probably scratched to hell. Couldn’t be helped though. Getting out alive was more important than a car, no matter that he’d worked hard to buy the damn thing or that he’d done some of the restoration work himself.
He’d learned growing up that things were just things. His mother had taught him that with quiet dignity and hard work.
Sophie stumbled out of the car on the other side. She had nothing but the clothes on her back, which was good for his purposes. He thought of that scene in Romancing the Stone, a movie his mother loved, where Jack Colton took Joan Wilder’s suitcases and threw them over the side of a cliff. At least he didn’t have to do that to Sophie. She hadn’t had any suitcases.
“We’re going to have to do this in the dark,” he said. “No lights to guide the way.”
She laughed, which surprised him, even if it was nervous laughter. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”