“My father is different.”
“You’re too right about that, but it doesn’t make him less dangerous.” Enzo filled water bottles at the sink and put them into the backpack. “Oh, and although your offer is tempting, I’mgoing to pass on the baby. I would never abandon my child to be raised by some whacked-out cult. I’ll have our marriage annulled when I get back to the city. That way, you won’t have to worry about it.”
The words stung, made her cheeks burn in humiliation. She’d been so eager to believe he cared about her, so easy to fool. “Do you not think something bad will happen if you leave now, or do you just not care?”
He added a kitchen knife to his stash and shut the backpack. “Neither. I believe something worse will happen if I stay.” He checked the computer screen by the door with all of its views of the surrounding area. They must have been clear. He placed the handcuff’s key on the floor by the door. “Better luck on your next marriage.”
Then he was gone.
22
Before heading down the dirt road, Enzo paused and looked back at the cave entrance. He automatically made note of the trees, the rock outcropping, and the distinctive bits of rubbish scattered in the area. An old tire lay off in the distance. A shredded plastic bag fluttered in a bush, all markers of its location.
He didn’t know which way to go on the dirt road. It tilted downward to the left, but for all he knew, that was a temporary dip, and the road actually headed upward into some lonely mountain pass.
Charity’s parents would no doubt return and search for him. He’d have to leave the road eventually to avoid being seen by vehicles, but he could follow it for a while. That way, he wouldn’t leave tracks in the undergrowth that showed which direction he’d gone.
He marched down the road, fast-paced. The air hung hot and humid. Gnats flew in pointless, annoying circles.
Leaving the cabin was the right decision. The only decision he could make in the situation. So why did he feel so horrible about it?
It was best not to think about Charity. He needed to keep his mind on his surroundings. He didn’t know nearly enough about wilderness survival—where to get water or how to make a shelter for the night. The police academy had spent a total of one day covering that sort of information. He couldn’t remember most of it.
Charity would, eventually, see that he’d made the right choice to go. It was just a shame she was determined to be loyal to her family. Otherwise, he could have convinced her to leave them and come with him.
He had to stop thinking about her.
Bears, wolves, and mountain lions roamed the wilderness, but the biggest danger was always raiders. Judging by the amount of time the Huntingtons had taken to drive here, he was deep in the wilderness. Raiders probably wouldn’t be around until he got closer to civilization.
His gaze continued to sweep the area, searching for anything that shouldn’t be there. He hiked for about half an hour and had barely left the road when he saw them. Three men at a makeshift campsite. A camouflage tent perched behind them, and they were stacking a pile of sticks for kindling.
Men out by themselves. Probably trouble. The layer of dirt on their clothes and faces indicated they hadn’t washed in days.
Enzo paused, intending to backtrack, but he was too late. One of the men spotted him, a tall man with greasy blond hair and the thin, gaunt look common among drug users. “Hey,” he called to Enzo. “We’re lost. Can you help us out?”
Not even if Enzo wanted to. And he doubted they were lost since they’d set up a tent. The other two men were already moving toward him—a shorter, stocky man whose brown hair had been shaved on the sides, and a man with huge biceps and rows of black tattoos on his face. That man was the muscle in the group, the one to watch out for.
Enzo gripped the knife and moved his hand behind his back. Let them wonder what sort of weapon he held. If they thought he was dangerous, they’d let him pass. “That depends. Where are you from?”
“What’s left of Paris,” the stocky one said.
Enzo forced a smile. “You don’t have much of an accent for Frenchmen.”
“Paris, Arkansas,” the blond said. “If you were from these parts, you’d know that.”
Arkansas. Good to know. “I was just joking. Sorry, I can’t help you.”
Enzo stepped to go around them, but the tattooed guy moved to intercept him. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”
“I’ve been out here hunting with some friends.” Perhaps if they thought he had a gun, they would step aside.
None of them moved. “I haven’t seen anyone in these parts today ‘cept for you,” Blond Guy said. He was probably the leader since he talked the most. “You get separated from your friends?”
“They’re around here.” Enzo really didn’t want to fight these men. He could take one of them, possibly two. His backpack would slow down every move, but he couldn’t take it off.
One of them would grab it, run off, and Enzo would be stuck in the woods, trying to catch small woodland creatures so he didn’t starve to death.
The blond man rubbed the back of his hand against his beard. “I don’t think you’ve spent a night outside. There’s not a speck of dirt on you. That pillow ain’t never seen the ground. What do you think, Bast?”