Parallel Seduction (16 page)

Randy slipped the roll into his jacket pocket with a smirk. "Well, mister, for a thousand bucks I won't ask any more questions, but know one thing." Randy squinted up into his face, sun-weathered skin crinkling around his eyes. "If you're not back in three hours, I'm reporting the whole thing to the rangers. And it won't be that I got bribed; it'll be that you put a gun to my head."

Three hours from now and Jake would already be back in his own time. And Hope would be … back here in this time with Dillon. He shuddered at the thought, but shook it off.

"That works for me." He slapped Randy on the back, knowing that once he took off, he'd never see the guide again. Or Hope. This whole sojourn back into his memories would be just that—memories. Nothing more than a mist he'd tried to capture in his big, paw-like hands.

He was about to ask Randy to take care of Hope, to get her back into town, when her sexy, sultry voice interrupted their exchange. "You're not leaving without me, are you?"

Jake spun toward her, watching her boldly walk toward them as if she could see perfectly well.

"I'm on the back of that thing." She pointed toward their snowmobile, brushing right past Randy, taking confident steps that would never betray her visual limits. "Otherwise, Tierny, you're not going anywhere, plain and simple."

"Plain and simple," he muttered, watching her, amazed. She'd never backed down from any challenge, so why should this one be any different? Would he take her back with him? Maybe. Could he leave her outside the mitres, alone and in the cold, if he got what he wanted—a journey back to his own time? Never.

It was an insane decision, but the only one he could possibly make: He would take her to the mitres. "Come on, sweetheart." He grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the waiting snowmobile. "Let's head out there together."

She gave his back a light shove, making her point. "No other way. Nobody ever leaves me behind."

And that was exactly his thinking: that he would take her with him and steal her away, away from Scott Dillon before that man could make her his own. Whatever the risks, whatever the stakes, no matter how ruined the future: He would bring her through inter-dimensional space and back to his own time.

T
he bumpy ride suddenly
became smooth, the snowmobile zigzagging beneath them, certainly a far cry from the wild cross-country journey they'd been on for the past hour. At least now they weren't catching air and had reached a much more solid surface. Hope held tight to Jake, trying to decide whether her glucose levels were going low—she was feeling light-headed and strange—or if it was only the weirdness of the past few days finally catching up to her. Maybe she needed a snack, a few of the Smarties she had in her cooler bag strapped to the back of the sled, anything to even out her levels.

All at once they slowed, skidding across what seemed to be a smooth area. Perhaps it was a frozen lake; she couldn't be sure. Every direction she looked she saw nothing but white snow, piercing sunlight, her usual dark floaters, and blue sky. A big mass of confusion, basically, and it irritated the crap out of her.

They came to a stop, the motor going dead; she'd already figured out there wasn't a halfway point on these snowmobiles when it came to on or off. That thought reminded her of the one man she loved—who it so happened wasn't the man she'd followed into this crazy predicament. If only she could pinpoint how the two of them linked together in her mind, then she would understand her actions. But so far, no dice.

"We're here." Jake's naturally throaty voice was even raspier after hours' worth of exposure to wind and cold. "The chamber is up that cliff."

Hope followed where he seemed to be pointing, immediately wincing. "That's way the hell up there, isn't it?"

Jake made a low, almost growling sound, but didn't answer.

"How do I interpret that? Yes, it's far up there? No, it's right beside me? I don't know how to translate"—she growled in mimicry—
"
that
."

He stalked away, then circled back close, no longer wearing his helmet. She wondered if he'd jerked it off in a fit of frustration or emotion.

"What that means is that I should never—not ever in a million years—have brought you out here. I'm a fool, but I blame you."

She swung one leg over the bench and placed both feet on the running board. "Hey, hey, no fair to blame me. I'm in the dark here—literally and figuratively. I am just along for the ride."

In a heartbeat Jake swooped around, blocking out the sun and sky. His mouth was a breath away from hers. "I mean, Hope, that you have never given me free will. There's never been any way I could move, not in any direction, that isn't you. Don't you get it? Don't you understand how much you mean to me?" His voice cracked, and just as suddenly as he'd closed in upon her, he stormed away.

Ripping off her own helmet, she hurled it in the direction of his voice. "Then tell me. I don't know, because you haven't explained a damn thing," she shouted, lunging off the snowmobile's running board. "I know that I belong with Scott Dillon—I know how much I …  feel for him."

She saw his dark head of hair, and determined that he had his back to her. When he spoke, she could tell for sure. "You love Dillon. Just say it. Tell me how much you love him—don't spare my feelings. Let me know every single thing he means to you; tell me every moment that the two of you have shared. I want to know all of it."

"Why would you want to know that?" He was obviously Scott's competitor, had even, it seemed, defeated Scott for her affections at some future date. Except there was that strange, unshakable connection that she felt between the two men. "What ties you to him?"

"You do love him." His voice was shockingly soft. "Don't you?"

"I hardly know him … we haven't had enough time."

"But do you
love
him?" His voice roared, echoing off the mountains and snow and pine.

Tears filled her eyes, and she pressed the heel of her palm against first one eye, then the other. "Yes. Of course I do. But you already know that; you totally know it." The tears came much harder, unstoppable. "Somehow, some way, he's the reason I'm here with you."

Jake began to laugh, a dark, haunted sound. "But of course." He still had his back to her; maybe he was staring at the cliffs beyond them, where the mitres supposedly was. Maybe he just couldn't face her.

"I don't want to hurt you," she offered softly, drawing in a staggered breath. "I just don't understand any of this."

He turned to face her, then took slow, methodical steps. "How about I explain it to you? The way it all weaves together? Would you like that? Do you want to know the sick twist of fate that ties Scott Dillon and Jake Tierny together for all time?"

She flinched, bracing herself; she was afraid of what he offered. More than that, she didn't like the sound of his voice, how low and threatening it had suddenly become, but she thrust her chin out in a show of bravado. "Absolutely. Lay it on me, Jake. I'm ready."

L
ay it on me, Jake. I'm ready.

But he wasn't ready, not even close. All he could do was stare at her, her wide-open gray eyes, her disheveled hair, and remember what had been between them. Once. Years ago. A part of him was prepared to explain the truth; another was the absolute coward he'd always been when it came to the idea of losing her.

"I'm still ready." She rubbed her eyes, looking weary and worn down. "I've come this far. You claimed you killed me, which, by the way, I don't believe." She gestured at the frozen landscape around them. "The least you can do is tell me what I've gotten myself into."

He bowed his head and began to laugh. It was totally like her to have come along with him, just going on instincts, trusting him. Why had she always, fucking always, trusted him so easily? It was that very trust that had ended up getting her killed, he thought, pressing his eyes shut against the onslaught of horrific memories.

Walking toward her, he closed the small distance that separated them. Overhead a piercingly blue sky created a surreal setting for this moment of revelation. In the future, the skies were never this pure shade of blue, always gray, always murky. Those were the skies of devastation, the ones of his world.

"I brought you to the mitres so I could transport you back into my own time," he admitted gruffly. "It's the only reason you're here: because I want to take you with me. I kept telling myself that wasn't my motive, but … there's no other reason you're here, Hope."

She held both of her gloved hands out toward him, keeping them suspended like some question that would never find its answer. "Are you even sure you can get back?" she finally asked after several long seconds.

With one step he had her in his arms, pulled tight against his chest. He never wanted to let her go; pressing his face against the top of her head, he drank in the scent of her, the taste. The very essence of his soul mate. "You need to know.…"

"Then just tell me. Tell me everything—I won't run away."

He pressed a chaste kiss against the top of her head; to kiss her, really kiss her, hadn't felt quite right from the beginning. "You're right: I am linked with Dillon. Always linked," he began, and was about to confess it all when suddenly the sharp sound of pulse fire rent the silence.

"Down, down, down!" He thrust her onto the ground into a protective cleft formed between his own body and the snowmobile. Reaching into his waistband, he retrieved his pulse pistol, scanning the perimeter for the source of enemy fire.

Another sparking series of shots ricocheted off the snowmobile, barely missing them both, and he dropped beside Hope.

"What's happening?" she cried, burrowing against the side of the machine for cover. Her unfocused gaze shot frantically around them, and he shielded her with his own body—so much larger than hers, he knew he could protect her. But only for a few moments. More pulse fire exploded into the sled.

"Something's burning!" She clawed at his chest. "Don't just keep me down here—I've gotta fight, too!"

He shook his head, pushing her down again, checking his pistol. He could cover them long enough that they could make a break for the cliffs, where the mitres chamber was hidden. There he'd have to regenerate his pistol, at least two minutes when he wouldn't be able to offer any kind of protection. Here, though, they were open targets, and it was only a matter of time until they got taken out.

Hope shoved at his chest, trying to work her way from beneath where he'd wedged her between his body and the snowmobile. "Jake, don't you smell those fumes?" She writhed against him. "This thing's about to catch on fire. Or explode! We've got to get out of here—now!"

"I know, I know," he muttered under his breath, sweeping the frozen lake visually in an effort to see whoever was firing upon them. It could be Jared's crew, for all he knew, but something inside of him said otherwise. Narrowing his gaze, he looked deeper, stealing just a moment to determine the position of their assailants. His gazing ability revealed the source: Across the frozen lake, on the south side of the rim, three Antousian snipers were there. And the mitres was on the north side, the opposite direction.
Thank All!

Hope clasped his arm, squeezing hard. "Jake, if we don't move now, we're gonna be dead, and it won't be from those guys who are firing on us. I can't believe you don't smell these fumes!"

But he did smell them, the acrid, burning sting of them, but what she couldn't see—and he could—was the trained weapons of the three enemy snipers. In the balance of it all he was less worried about an explosion, and far more concerned about getting Hope across the clear expanse of frozen lake without making her an open target for the Antousian freaks who were aiming right at them.

An idea took hold in his mind. Turning to her, he clasped Hope by both shoulders. "You've trusted me this far, and I need you to trust me a little longer, okay?"

She leaned into the snowmobile, her eyes drifting shut. "I so need to kill you. You deserve it, you know."

He snorted. "There's my girl. We're going to do something that seems totally insane … but I think"—he glanced across the lake, zeroing in on the shooters—"it's our only way out. Those are Antousians out there, and they want just one thing, and that's us, dead."

"I really don't want to give them what they're after," she said.

"Good. Neither do I, and that's why I'm going to power up the engine on this thing." He slapped the side of the snowmobile with his open palm. "And we're going to make a run for it."

She shook her head. "It's going to fucking explode, hello?"

"Not before we get out of here."

"Terrible bet, and I say the odds are even worse."

Reaching over her shoulder, he found the button that would engage the engine. "Otherwise," he said, "we're going to die right here."

"Then I'll take that bet." She nodded. "How're we going to do this thing?"

He pulled the button that set the motor idling; immediately the gas fumes intensified, smoke pouring from the engine. "I'm getting on first," he shouted over the loud noise, "and I'm swinging you up in front of me. It'll be my back they fire against."

She began to laugh crazily. "What? You don't think I can drive us?"

"I'll steer it from behind." He bent, kissing her quickly on the cheek. "On my mark. Three, two, one … go!"

O
ne minute Hope was hunkered
beside a dying snowmobile, and the next she was hurtling through a blurry white haze, her face pressed down against a motor that was going to explode any minute. Jake had shoved her down in front of him so hard that her jaw slammed against a control, and now her mouth was bleeding. That hardly mattered; they were speeding so fast that her eyes were watering, and her head was bobbing against a whole array of controls—all the while there was the sound of sputtering gunfire erupting behind them.

"I …  hope … you … know … what …  you're … doing," she barely managed to get out, her head slamming against the windshield and controls with every bump they hit.

Jake didn't answer, and she heard him fire against their pursuers, turning back over his shoulder. The snowmobile lurched, spinning out. "Damn it!" she shouted, and reached for his pistol. "You need to drive. Stop shoving me down here and let me get in this fight."

Somehow, impossibly, she managed to wrestle the gun away from him, sat up straight even though he kept battling to shove her face-down, and began firing just past his head. She used his shoulder as a steadying force, and at first he did everything in his power to wrestle her back down. At last, he seemed to accept the fact that, semi-blind though she might be, he did have to drive the snowmobile. She, for her part, kept spraying the terrain beyond his shoulder with whatever this weapon contained—bright blasts of golden-red fire. And she tried to simply ignore the increasing smell of fumes and smoke that filled her nostrils.

"Faster, Jake." She twisted in the seat, leaning against his chest. The bad guys were definitely gaining on them; she knew that because their dark forms were growing larger and larger. "They're on snowmobiles …  or something. Black-looking things."

"Station craft," he yelled over the wind.