Her Mating Scheme

Chapter 6

She'd been uneasy, but she wanted to be with him more than she wanted to stay comfortable. So she'd worn her jeans and boots like he'd told her to, and let him drive her out there.

Now they were deep enough into the forest that even though she could see the light from the sun overhead, when she looked around it was only trees. Trees and shadows, bushes and dirt. She couldn't hear anything except birds and, somewhere nearby, water.

He was smiling broadly, his shoulders low and relaxed and he breathed deep, like he liked the smell of the air.

While she enjoyed the pine and wet earth smells—because they reminded her of him—there was also something that she didn't want to investigate further.

But he held her hand and he talked excitedly about the strange little things he noticed—the bird in the tree that watched them pass, the insects that climbed the trunks, the tiny flower pushing between the roots of a big tree.

Then they reached a little gully—a stream had cut through the earth and eroded the banks. It was probably only six or eight feet across, but the earth was soft and she was nervous. She didn't think she could make the jump and was afraid of landing in the water.

He'd stood on the edge, grinning at her. "Get on my back," he said easily. "I'll carry you across."

Her mouth dropped open. "You aren't making that jump with me on your back!"

"Sure I am."

"Tryson —"

"I'm serious, Diane. Easy… Don't you trust me?"

He smiled easily, but his eyes locked on hers and the words fell between them like a grenade, hitting the ground and ticking down to the moment it would explode, or not.

She'd swallowed hard. The truth was, she trusted him far too much. He made her feel safe. She couldn't explain it. But when he was close she just wasn't afraid.

"I… I do," she'd said, knowing she was saying so much more than that.

He nodded seriously. "Good." And he'd opened his hand to her, palm up, left it there, waiting for her to slide her fingers over his until he gripped her arm and stooped and swung her onto his back.

And he'd made the jump, of course, even carrying her. He hadn't even grunted with the effort.

And he hadn't put her down right after either, but cradled her thighs, holding her to his back, his thumbs stroking the sides of her jeans in a way that made her breath come faster.

Trust me? It had become a thing between them. And whenever he said it, it was always with that open hand—giving her the choice. She didn't have to put herself in his hands, but he would take care of her if she did.

That day in the forest was the first time he'd given her that choice. The first time he'd let her know that he wanted her trust. The first time of many.

For the next year and half, he offered himself that way more and more, until she didn't even hesitate. Until the moment he opened his palm and gave her his eyes, she'd slide her much smaller hand into his and she'd follow without fear. Every time.

Every time.

Except the last time.

She blinked back to the present and Tryson standing in front of her, his hand out again, waiting.

"I'd never let you fall," he breathed.

She felt her face fall, then. "But you already did," she insisted.

His throat bobbed and he lifted his hand—the first time she'd ever left it empty—to rub his stubbled jaw. Then he raked that hand through his hair and shook his head. "I have to get you out of here, Diane. Whether you trust me or not, I can't leave you here for them. They're ruthless."

"What—"

"So, forgive me," he said, gruffly. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

She blinked, frowning. "What?"

Then he moved so fast she didn't even see it happen.

~ Tryson ~

He'd kept her eyes on his face by touching his jaw, raking a hand through his hair—something she'd always liked—while with the other, he got the beanie out of his back pocket.

He apologized because he wasn't giving her a choice, and he'd always given her a choice before. But she hadn't yet realized that she would likely die if they didn't get away. So… he prayed she'd forgive him later.

She peered at him, unafraid, but wary. Then he moved.

Faster than she could see, he whipped the hat out and over her head, down over her eyes, her nose, until her entire face was covered by the thick, black, clinging fabric. She squeaked, but she couldn't grab it because he'd taken both her hands and held them as he turned, stooping, to pull her onto his back and lock her hands on his chest, under his throat.

She was the only human being he'd ever allowed to touch his throat and there was a flash in his gut—a spear of fear that if she didn't trust, she couldn't be trusted. But he shook it off. This was Diane.

He trusted no one the way he trusted Diane.

There was a dark, heavy weight in his chest—even darker and heavier now that she had admitted she didn't trust him. But there was nothing he could do about it right then except prove to her that he was still the male she knew—and he would keep her safe. No matter what. So he stood and was running, forcing her to hold on or fall, blind.

"Tryson , what are you doing?!"

"Hold on, Diane," he muttered. "Just hold… on."

He launched them off the side of the roof and she sucked in to scream as her stomach went into free-fall. But by the time she'd got her voice, he'd already caught the edge of the parking garage on the other side of the alley and was crawling them over the wall and swinging them both over, safely onto the cement of the parking lot.

But he couldn't stop, because he heard the footsteps on the roof they'd just left and he had to get her out of sight before they made it to this side and figured out which floor he'd jumped to.

Had he been alone he wouldn't have taken such an obvious route—and that might work in his favor. Mark would assume he was smarter than that. At least for a minute or two.

But carrying her and without her knowing everything… he was on the back foot. Just not as badly as they would expect. Because he'd planned for this. Just in case. He'd always planned ahead—and now he was grateful that he hadn't been strong enough to stop himself.

Over the past two years he'd slowly, step by laborious step, placed an escape within two blocks of all her most frequents haunts—her own apartment, Rob's, her office, and even near the university where she'd graduated but still met friends occasionally.

He'd told himself it was just habit. That he was only taking precautions for the day that Mark decided to use her as leverage. But now he could see… he'd been protecting himself. Deep down he'd known he wouldn't stay away. He'd known the day would come when he had to be near her again. And that they'd likely have to flee when that happened.

He just prayed the car hadn't been stolen. He hadn't checked it in a couple of weeks.

With a glance up to the roof to make sure the Handlers hadn't seen him yet, and with Diane still on his back, he sprinted across the parking level, then shoved through a door and into the stairwell to pound as fast as he was able, thanking God that Diane was still blinded, to the lowest level—one below the street, where there was no natural light, and several dark alcoves and unused maintenance closets and rooms.

He kept one hand locked around her wrists in case she got the idea to throw herself off his back, but she didn't. She made squeaking noises whenever he took a corner fast, but other than that she just clung and buried her face where his neck met his shoulder.

It wasn't until he made it to the shadowed corner at the back of the parking lot, the narrow space between the old van and the stairwell maintenance closet that he slowed and let go of her hands.

She slid down his back and he shivered feeling her softness plastered against his body for a moment before she stumbled back and yanked the beanie off of her face and glared at him—but even as she opened her mouth, her eyes went wide and she looked around, taking in the dark parking lot, and the tangy smell of gasoline.

"How—"

"Not now," he said. "They know we're here, so we have to leave. Now." Ignoring the shock and disbelief on her face, he turned and yanked the van door open, revealing an interior that defied its dirty, industrial body.

She squawked when he hurried her into the back, but she didn't fight him, letting him strap her into the only seat, right next to the door and slamming the door closed while she looked around the back of the van, her mouth making a little "o."

He opened the driver's door and yanked off his leather jacket, throwing it to the floor on the passenger side, then digging around for the gray work overalls with the nametag "Luke" stitched on it in red, and pulled them on over his jeans and tight, long-sleeved shirt.

His eyes hooked on hers through the window before he clambered in and heat sizzled down his spine, but he ignored it, pulling himself into the seat and starting the engine with a roar.

This would be the test of his planning and the intelligence of the men following him.

If Mark was physically here, he was screwed.

"Hold on," he said quietly, his voice deeper and darker than it had been since his last job.. "This could get hairy."

~ Diane ~

The van was a marvel. Like something out of the bat cave. Behind her seat a platform was raised to the ceiling that she suspected was a bed. But that was where any kind of normal upgrades ended.

The outside of the windows had been sprayed with logos and signage, like it was a real maintenance vehicle. But that only stopped the interior from being visible to anyone looking in from the outside. And this interior needed to be hidden.

The entire opposite wall was little more than a bank of computer screens and technology, with a tablet slipped into a holder alongside headphones and several pieces of technology that she couldn't identify. There were small grips and hinges at various spots that told her this was more than just a vehicle wall. And at either end, secure lockers almost big enough for her to crawl into were welded in, with number pads to open.