I can’t.
And I’m pretty sure he knows it.
Welp. We have to wait for him. Currently, we’ve stopped in Skyway Park, a thirty-plus acreage of greenery in the shade of the old Pulaski Skyway. Following Maverick’s map and compass east, he had the idea that we could follow where Route 1 and 9 meet up and take the Pulaski Skyway over the Hackensack and Passaic rivers.
It was a good idea, but that’s before we discovered that the Department of Transportation had been doing rehab and renovations to the bridge right before the Turning. While it’s sturdy enough for us to walk on, we made it about halfway to the other side only to discover that there’s a gaping hole spanning the whole center of the bridge. The edge is charred, splattered with burn marks.
As wide as the bridge and more than twenty feet across, there’s no way for us to cross it. We had to backtrack about a mile all the way to the mouth of the highway and jump down from our bridge to the truck route below. Chase, determined and still obviously in some kind of one v. one with Maverick, jumped before we were even sure it was possible. He called for me to jump next, and I did because if he could do it, I would, too.
Too bad it was a way higher jump than I anticipated. I was still a few feet away when I decided that this was the end. I was going to break my neck.
Chase caught me in his arms, stealing my breath as I landed more than a foot off the ground. I barely had enough time to offer a quick thanks before he sat me on the asphalt and started off with Maverick still on the Skyway above us.
He’s had a stick up his ass ever since.
Maverick’s no help, either. Ever since Veronica vanished on him, he’s put his guard back up. We’re travel companions with the same murderous goal, not friends, and the older cop has made that perfectly clear.
And that’s that. The three of us are still traveling together but, really, each of us is on their own.
“What do you think is taking Chase so long?” I wonder out loud.
I’m curled up in front of the fire, arms wrapped around my legs. Earlier, Chase took close to an hour to find a path down to the river, fill up our bottles, and lug them back to where Mav and I were waiting for him.
By then, Maverick decided to get a better look at his map, plotting another way from our side of the river to New York.There are plenty so we’re not worried, and I left him to it while helping Chase build the fire so we could boil the water.
The was shortly before sunset. We’ve camped in a small clearing that’s about a hundred yards away from the shore of the Hackensack River. If lurkers pop their hooded heads out of the water, my sensing ability should give us enough of a head start to retreat if the roaring campfire isn’t enough to send them lurking in another direction.
My stomach is nervous. I can’t tell if it’s because there’s a lurker out there or if I’m just worried that Chase said he was going to find a quiet spot to take a shit in the woods, then take a peek to see if there are any signs of lurkers making a stand in this park before our arrival.
It’s been about twenty minutes. Part of me wants to go looking for him. The other part doesn’t want to give him hope that I’m coming around. I’ll deal with Chase when we get back to the Grave—but that means, first, we have to get back there.
Still, despite the way I’m doing my best to keep my distance, it’s impossible. Chase is on my mind, twenty-four/seven, and it twists my insides to have him out of my sight for so long.
That’s it.
I stand up. “I’m going to go looking for him.”
Maverick opens his revolver, checks to see that his last bullet is chambered, then snaps it shut. “He has his taser. He’ll be fine.”
“That only works against rogues,” I remind the cop.
“He took matches, too. Don’t worry about him, kid. Your sister’s man is a good hunter. He knows what he’s doing.”
Thanks, Mav. Like I needed the reminder that Chase belongs to Hallie.
I shake my head. “I’ll be right back.”
Maverick blows air through his nose. “Then I’ll come with you.”
“It’s fine. Keep the fire roaring. We’llbothbe right back.”
I’ll make sure of it.
Maverick doesn’t argue again, and I start in the direction I remember watching Chase take. Not like I expect to find his footsteps and follow them. Nope. My plan is a lot simpler than that. Hoping like hell that we don’t have any rogues camping nearby, I’m going to just head toward the river, calling his name.
Turns out, that’s not necessary.
I find Chase stumbling toward our firelight almost immediately. His eyes are wide. His face is panicked. His hand is clutching his upper arm, and instead of walking with the athletic grace I’m used to, he nearly trips between one step and the next.