Chapter Three
WYATT HAD BEEN SILENT during the drive from his cabin into Portland. Gillian had tried to engage him in conversation a few times, even just by asking how his side was where he’d been stabbed, but he’d answered in grunts when he bothered to answer at all. Finally, she’d given up on communicating for the moment and had closed her eyes. Her body ached where that soldier had squeezed her so tightly, but she was convinced she was too keyed up to sleep.
She was wrong, coming awake abruptly as they entered Portland, joining the flow of traffic across the bridge toward the heart of the city. She assumed he was simply following the freeway, so she was surprised when he turned away from the direction that would take them to I-5 South. Once more, she attempted conversation. “What are
