Every Girl Needs A Hero (Escape To The Bitterroot Mountains Book 2) Page 4

  He didn't want to know. Whatever had gone on inside the trailer was Katelynn's business.

  Knowing, however the accident happened, he wouldn't want a woman to go to prison, or be put through the hell of living with her crime. He'd traveled that road himself.

  "Let's get rid of the body," he said.

  "We'll need to take him away. You don't want him on the property." Anders pulled his keys out of his pocket and looked at Mark. "Do you have your truck?"

  "Yeah, I'll pull it over." Mark glanced at the nearby campers. "Are we going to have problems?"

  "No. We'll keep the lights off. It's late enough, the campers won't notice a thing unless they're questioned tomorrow." He grimaced. "They might remember the noise of someone rolling around the loop, but that's all."

  He hated the risk it put on him having a crime committed on his property. He'd worked at the campground since he was nineteen years old after his return from Mexico. For the next ten years, he worked side by side with the previous owner, learning the business. Saving all his money, he was able to buy the place for cash when ol' Sawyer retired and moved to Arizona.

  His past and present were never supposed to touch.

  "Let's do it," he said.

  Somehow, he'd need to convince Katelynn that his decision to bury the body on the mountain and not let the authorities know what happened was for the best. He gritted his teeth. She'd adapt. If she needed help adjusting, he'd be there for her.

  Living with the truth would be her new normal.

  He looked at Will and Anders. Since they were fifteen years old, they'd rallied together more times than he would've liked. When they'd escaped Mexico, they went searching for freedom away from those who'd had control over how they lived their lives.

  In different forms, they'd all found their future. Each one of them owned a business which supplied others with a way to enjoy the Bitterroot Mountains.

  But that freedom had cost them.

  The upkeep to stay alive added darkness to their lives, and that shadow would forever follow them.

  THE DOOR OPENED. KATELYNN flung off the blanket wrapped around her and stood from where Quint had set her hours ago. The whole time he'd been gone, she'd expected the sirens of an ambulance to arrive or the police to come and question her.

  Instead, she'd sat alone not knowing what was happening.

  She shivered without the blanket to cover her. "What's going on?"

  Quint grabbed his jacket off the hook by the front door. "Right now, I'm going to take you back to my house. Then, we're going to talk."

  "But, what about Cord?" She wiggled her toes, knowing his dried blood remained on her skin.

  "It's best if we wait to discuss everything until we're back at my place." He stepped over and grabbed the blanket off the chair behind his desk. "It won't take long to get there."

  He covered her whole body, except for her head. Wrapped in warmth again, she stared up at him. She couldn't tell from his expression what was going on. His beard covered half his face.

  "I don't know you," she blurted.

  "No, but you can trust me. That's about the only thing you've got going for you tonight." He walked to the door and waited for her.

  She followed him outside. The darkness wrapped around her. She wanted to hide in a box and never come out to face what'd happened with Cord.

  Tonight felt like a never-ending bad dream. One that'd gone on for six months.

  Most of the time, she disassociated herself from her surroundings. This couldn't be happening to her.

  She would wake up and be back in Vancouver, looking forward to Friday and having the weekend off work. The most significant stressor in her life would come on the fifteenth of the month when her electricity was due. The last two weeks of the month were always tighter, money-wise, and she wouldn't be able to get her morning Starbucks.

  Quint stopped beside one of those motorcycle thingies with four wheels she'd seen others ride around on in the campground. She stood with one foot on top of the other, trying to warm her toes.

  "Are you okay to sit on the back of the ATV and hold on to me?" His blue eyes studied her.

  She looked at the machine again. "I've never ridden on one or any kind of motorcycle."

  His gaze dropped to her toes and back up to her eyes. Ashamed of what she'd done, she remained quiet under his inspection. There were reasons why she wore Cord's clothes.

  "You're small. You can ride in front of me. All you have to do is put your hands on the gas tank between your legs." He stepped away.

  He made getting on the vehicle look easy as his body made one smooth motion. Taking her prompt from him, she moved closer and raised her leg, realizing she needed to stretch and the oversized jeans restricted her movements.

  As if sensing her dilemma, Quint put his hands on her hips, turned her away from him, and lifted her up. She'd barely had her foot over the seat in front of him, and he plopped her down. He flipped a switch on the handlebar, turned the key, and the ATV rumbled to life underneath her.

  Caged between his two strong arms, she planted her hands on the oblong piece in front of her as Quint rode forward.

  The wind in her face stole her breath.

  The darkness in front of her immobilized her.

  The man surrounding her broke her out of the shock of killing Cord. His refusal to tell her what was going on screamed the truth. Nobody had to tell her. She'd seen all the blood and the blank look on Cord's face when he fell on the floor of the trailer.

  Quint was the only one around to help her. He was the only one who knew what she'd done. He'd taken charge when she had no idea what to do. She needed someone to tell her who she was supposed to call and what she was supposed to do next.

  She'd spent six months planning and failing her escape from Cord. For once in her life, it was nice that someone helped her. While she no longer trusted her judgment, considering her past mistakes, she was glad Quint was with her.

  "Duck your head," he said in her ear.

  Tree branches came closer to her as the trail narrowed. She let her chin fall to her chest and then Quint put his hand on the top of her head. The span of his fingers almost covered her from ear to ear. Limbs hit him, she could hear the slaps against the arms of his jacket.

  A couple of minutes later, he let go. She looked up and found they'd arrived at a clearing in the forest. In the headlight of the ATV, a log cabin with a full porch set against the base of a mountain came into view.

  He parked near the four steps and turned off the engine. His hands landed on her waist again, and she was ready when he lifted her. She put her feet on the ground.

  "You can come in, take a shower, and then we'll talk." He waited for her to move.

  She stepped forward. What he offered seemed like a dream come true. All she wanted was warm water to wash off Cord's blood and feel normal again. As normal as she could not knowing what was going to happen to her afterward when they talked.

  Afraid to walk into his cabin with dirty feet, she stopped on the rug on the porch. Quint reached around her and pushed open the door.

  "Go ahead," he said. "Everything is cleanable."

  She stepped into the dark room. Seconds later, a light came on, and she found herself transported to somewhere absolutely beautiful. His place reminded her of one of those cabins in magazines they show by a blue lake with a deer drinking from the bank. Bare, but rustic. A part of the mountain.

  She could tell his home was also bigger than she imagined from the outside. The open living room and kitchen combined was larger than her last rental house in Vancouver.

  Quint walked out of the main room, leaving her alone. She crossed her arms and cupped her elbows, wanting to run after him. Six months of being with Cord had made her desperate for companionship.

  "Katelynn," he called from the other room. "Can you come here?"

  She hurried and followed the sound of his voice, finding him in a bedroom. Her legs trembled, and she stood in the hallway, not
wanting to go in.

  She was weak, hungry, and exhausted. He was a stranger.

  "Will these fit you?" He stood in front of the closet with a Rubbermaid container at his feet, holding a woman's pair of jeans and a sweatshirt with the word VANDALS across the front.

  "I think...probably?" She looked around the room, trying to find out whose clothes he wanted her to wear.

  There was nothing on the dresser except a folded shirt and comb. No dresses hung in the closet. The plain brown comforter on the bed and dust on the ceiling fan gave her a hint that he lived alone. A woman would've added a softer touch to the room and paid attention to the details.

  "I'll set them on the counter in the bathroom. Then, you can go in and shower. There's towels, washcloths, and soap in there you can use." He went into a small room off the bedroom.

  She moved forward, peeking inside. Nobody else lived with him, female or male. The bathroom had the bare bones of a men's commercial with deodorant and a stack of towels.

  Quint walked out. She straightened.

  "Go ahead. When you're done, we'll talk," he said.

  She nodded and shut herself in the bathroom, locking the handle. Avoiding the mirror, she turned on the water in the shower and stripped off her clothes. Knowing she could grab a towel from the rack when she finished, she only took a washcloth with her.

  The water scalded her skin. She rubbed her foot against the other one as she shampooed her hair. The warmth stopped her shivers but failed to remove the tremors inside her. She couldn't prevent herself from falling apart.

  Scrubbing her whole body, she spent extra time on her feet trying to get off days' worth of stains she'd earned from running around with bare feet.

  The cleaner she got herself, the more worried she became. No ambulance came to the campground. Even if the paramedics turned off the sirens out of courtesy to the guests, she would've spotted them going past the office.

  Her stomach rolled, and she grabbed for the wall of the shower. Deep down, she knew Cord was dead. But where was his body?

  Chapter 6

  Katelynn walked out to the living room after her shower. Quint stood by the kitchen counter and watched for any sign of her going deeper into shock. While she looked better in clothes that fit her, he was worried about her mental state.

  "I made some coffee." He lifted the mug and approached her. "I thought I had some hot chocolate mix in the cupboard, but I couldn't find any."

  She took the cup from him and cradled it between both her hands. "Thank you."

  "Why don't you sit down." He motioned to the couch.

  She hobbled, and it wasn't because the jeans dragged on the floor. He could see the back of the heels of her feet. The soles were red. She wasn't one of those hippy types who walked around with no shoes.

  Instead of sitting, he walked into his bedroom and removed a pair of his winter socks from the dresser. The thickness would give her enough padding to help cushion her sore, tender skin.

  Returning to her, he put the socks on the couch beside her and sat in the chair across from her. There was no easy way to discuss murder, and he had to be careful about what he said. His need to protect Will, Mark, and Anders was higher on his list of concerns than the stranger sitting in his cabin.

  "Can you tell me how you stabbed a man in your travel trailer?" he asked, watching her for any sign that she'd lie to him.

  She lowered the mug from her lips. "His name's Cord Miller."

  As soon as she spoke the man's name, her hands shook. He dipped his chin in acknowledgment.

  "It's not my trailer," she whispered, peeking at him behind her blonde hair. "I stole it from Cord."

  He sat back in the chair. That wasn't what he'd expected to hear.

  "Was that why he came to the campground? Because you stole his RV?" he asked.

  She shook her head and then shrugged. "Maybe."

  He waited quietly for her to go on and explain her inconsistent answers. If she refused to talk about what happened, he'd need to somehow convince her to share the details with him. The facts were important. He needed to know who would be looking for her and Cord.

  "The truck is mine." She inhaled deeply. "The trailer belongs to Cord. I stole it to get away from him. I'm sure he found me at the campground because he wanted to take me back to his house."

  "Because you stole from him?" he asked.

  "I-I'm not the type of person who steals. Until I took the trailer, I hadn't stolen anything in my life. It was the only way I could think to get away from him."

  "You were trying to leave him?" He fisted his hands. "Did he hurt you?"

  Besides dogs, the other thing he couldn't stand was a man who abused a woman.

  "Over the last six months, he never physically hurt me..." She looked away.

  His head pounded. There had been a few times over the years that a male camper drank too much and got mean, usually with a girlfriend or wife. He'd stepped in, stopping the abuse. Most of the time, even when he'd tried to help, the woman excused the man's behavior and wanted to stay with her abuser. He'd made it a habit of walking away and letting them deal with their problems on their own while keeping an eye on their camping spot until the men sobered.

  Katelynn's story wasn't adding up. She wasn't making excuses for Cord, and she'd wanted to leave him. Now, a man was dead. He was missing a lot of the information about what happened in-between.

  "You do understand that you killed him?" he asked.

  She closed her eyes and nodded before meeting his gaze. "He was choking me. I couldn't breathe and thought I was going to die. I just wanted him to stop."

  He stood and grabbed the blanket at the end of the couch, and set it beside her. She put the ignored coffee mug on the coffee table and covered her legs.

  "I'm sorry for being such trouble," she said softly. "I planned to leave tomorrow. I had hoped Cord wouldn't find me."

  "You were running away from him," he said, understanding that part of her story.

  "Yes. He took all my money. I only had enough gas in my truck to drive an hour or so. When I saw a sign out on the road for Bitterroot Campground, I decided to stay here and use the money I..." She flinched and cupped the front of her neck with her hand. "I guess, I also stole money I found in his dresser drawer. It wasn't much. Fifty dollars."

  "Enough cash for two nights of safety or a few more miles worth of gas," he whispered, getting the gist of her problems.

  "I don’t even know where I am. I mean, where in Idaho," she whispered back. "I don't have anyone who can help me. I'm not from here."

  Flashbacks of being fifteen years old and shoved into a van, handcuffed and blindfolded, not knowing where he was being taken or if he'd die pushed in on him. "Did he kidnap you?"

  "No. Not really. Well, not initially." She pressed a hand to her chest and inhaled. "I met him online."

  He stared at her. Not one who believed in the new-age way of meeting someone, he had a hard time believing she'd fall for Cord Miller in person or over the internet. She looked smart. Nothing was wrong with her.

  Hell, she was a beautiful woman. There would've been plenty of men who'd want to meet her, wherever she lived, before traveling to an unknown area to meet Miller.

  "Your family?"

  "I don't have a relationship with them." She glanced at him. "It's mutual. No matter what happens to me for killing Cord, I don't want them to know anything about me."

  He grasped on to her need to keep things private. She apparently was used to keeping secrets.

  "I hope you don't think I..." She shoved her hands under the blanket. "I understand if you need to call the police."

  "Do you want to go to prison?" He paused. "Did you want him dead?"

  "No." Her brows wrinkled. "God, no. I wish this whole nightmare would go away. I wish I'd never replied to his Facebook message. I wish I never came to Idaho, thinking I was coming here to find love. I wish it would all go away."

  She claimed not to want to go to prison but what
about in a year when reality sinks in and guilt starts eating her up, causing anxiety and regret? What about when she finds someone to love—and she would, would she confide in her husband?

  There was no way to keep his involvement secret. She would retell what happened and who helped her. She would remember the others being in headquarters when she'd arrived and leaving with him.

  He'd buried the body. There was no turning back.

  "No one needs to know," he said quietly. "I'm not calling the police."

  "But—"

  "Nobody will find him."

  She blinked, her expression frozen. He gave her time to think about what he'd told her and run through the questions that popped into her head. Going off his experience, new worries would crop up every day for her, if not every hour for a while.

  He believed people had a greater need than love, and that was self-preservation. She would do anything to protect herself. He had, and he'd survived.

  "I-I don't know what to say." She inhaled deeply. "Why would you do that for me?"

  He had no idea. All he knew was the thought of her going through the process of being interrogated by the police and living with what she'd done bothered him. He wanted to ease her pain.

  And, maybe he'd helped her because when he needed someone the most, he had five friends who'd protected him and had proven over the last thirty years that he could trust them.

  Katelynn had nobody.

  Making the first excuse he could think of, he lied. "Because we look after each other on the mountain. You shouldn't have to pay for the rest of your life because of something that was an accident."

  She paled even more. "Someone will eventually find out."

  "Not if you don't tell anyone." He paused. "As for me, I have no reason to mention it again and implicate myself because hiding a dead body is just as big of a crime as killing someone."