She’d won. For now. She was leaving Rockhaven—
not for a brief mission in the company of a Guardian, but truly
She trudged after him, her shoes squelching and slipping in the mud and grass. At the top of the bank, he waited and offered his hand.
She didn’t need his help to get up the slope. She must not depend on him. They were as different as . . . as air and water.
But they were al ies now. She would help him find his people. And maybe in the process she would find herself.
She grasped his lean, strong hand, a flutter in her chest like hope.
*
*
*
“Where are we going?” Lara asked.
Good question. Iestyn took her elbow to help her over the ditch at the side of the road.
Right up there with
And
He glanced up the long, curving driveway flanked by stone columns—the kind of driveway that promised a big house at the end. No gate. But this close to Rockhaven, he was taking no chances. “You know who lives here?”
She shook her head.
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“Then that’s where we’re going,” he said.
He could tel from the look on her face that she had more questions, but she kept them to herself. Maybe she realized he didn’t have any answers. Or maybe she was out of breath.
She pul ed her arm free. “I’m okay.”
His jaw tightened. “You look beat.”
She was soaked and shivering, the angles of her face too sharp, her lips too pale. But for the past three miles, she’d put one foot in front of the other without complaint like the angel she was.
He’d heard sirens tearing up the night ten minutes ago.
He should have left her on the riverbank to be rescued by some gung ho fireman. Some smitten volunteer who’d wrap her in blankets and take her back to Rockhaven. Back to that cold, control ing son-of-a-bitch Axton and a lifetime of cleaning out birdcages.
He felt his lips pul back in a snarl and adjusted his expression.
Not his problem, he recited silently. Not his responsibility.
She was a grown woman. Barely. She could make her own choices.
And she’d chosen him. He just wished he didn’t feel so damn good about that.
She pointed to a circular sweep of brick and concrete, where skinny trees in black pots were placed at intervals like sentinels around a castle wal . “Don’t we want to go that way?”
“Nope.” He steered her down a gravel path off the main drive. “Big house in the country, probably has a security system. What we want is . . .”
The smel of mulch and gasoline. A low roof-line against the trees.
“There,” he said in satisfaction.
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An open-sided shed sheltering tools and a wheelbarrow, a riding mower, and a rusting ragtop Jeep. He leaned in the open side, searching for keys. In the glove box, under the floor mat, over the visor . . .
The keys jangled as they fel onto the driver’s seat.
He held them up to Lara. “Magic.”
Her eyes widened before she caught herself. “Guesswork.”
And then, “How did you know they were there?
That any of this was here?”
He shrugged. “Owners usual y like to hire somebody else to do their dirty work. This is probably the caretaker’s Jeep.”
“And we’re just going to take it?”
He slanted her a look. “Unless you want to drive the lawn mower.”
The engine chugged to life. He checked the gas. Half a tank. Good enough.
Lara’s teeth chattered as she climbed in beside him.
“Are you okay to drive?”
