He vaulted over the gravel slope of the road’s shoulder and slid in the loose shale to the water’s edge. He followed the current, hopping rocks, clambering on boulders, slogging through water. He had to swim through cliff-lined channels, prying himself out of the current’s grip just before he got sucked into rapids. He finally spotted her, across the river. Spread out on a rock as if she’d washed up on it. Facedown, wet hair spread around her. He screamed her name, over and over. She did not move.

He dove back in, fighting the water. Got across, God alone knew how. He crawled up. Rolled her over gently, with shaking hands.

Her eyes opened, looked into his. He was so relieved, he burst into tears, and dropped his face against her chest. Her skin was ice cold.

She was alive. His soul shook.

It took them a long, staggering time to get back to his truck. He would have carried her if he could, but they couldn’t go back the way he’d come, not with those channels, those sheer cliffs. He couldn’t dump her into that current again, and the only alternative was to climb straight up, to the road far above them. They had to scramble and claw their way up slippery rock faces, and Vivi could barely keep upright.

Jack’s relief at finding her alive was undercut by growing fear. Her face was so white, her eyes so shadowed. She couldn’t stop shaking, kept falling down. She could hardly speak. When they finally crawled onto the asphalt of the highway, he picked her up.

She protested, weakly, but her voice was slurred.

He sped to town, squealed to a stop outside the emergency room at the hospital. They caused a big stir, and things moved with gratifying speed as the EMT techs got Vivi squared away. He was annoyed, afterward, to find some of the EMT techs wanted to fuss over him, too. Fucking waste of time. He’d prefer if they left him alone and concentrated on Vivi.

He begged a cell phone off one of the EMT techs, and called a guy he knew in the local cop shop. “Hey, Tim? It’s Jack Kendrick.”

“Holy shit, man!” Tim exploded. “Where the hell are you?”

“Later for that. That son of a bitch who was lying in Unit 42 of Evergreen Acres. Do you guys have him in custody?”

Tim hesitated. “Uh…are you okay, Jack?”

“I’m fine. What about the guy in Unit 42? He’s a serial killer.”

“There was no guy in Unit 42,” Tim said. “Just a trashed room, blood on the floor, and a bunch of bullet holes. Whatever happened in there, we missed it. Would have been really helpful if you’d been around to clue us into the serial killer thing, because he didn’t hang around, either. And the chief was unthrilled with you for fucking off before you could give a statement. What were you thinking?”

Jack blew out a long shuddering sigh, feeling the cold sink more deeply into his bones. “You have no idea,” he muttered.

He hung up, passed the phone back, and ripped the IV needle out of his arm, ignoring the shouts and scolding lectures. He grabbed a chair and situated it outside the curtained cubicle where Vivi lay, a vantage point that gave him a clear view of both ends of the corridor plus the lobby entrance. Almost hoping the guy would make a move.

So he could fucking finish this, already.

Vivi drifted in and out of consciousness on the drive into Portland. She shifted in the seat, keeping her eyes closed. She didn’t have the nerve to talk to Jack and ask him how he felt. What it all meant. If he had changed his mind about the two of them, or if he was just being righteous and heroic. A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do, yada yada and all that. His grim, taut face discouraged confidences.

He’d bullied the hospital into letting her leave after only twenty-four hours, and there had been a big kerfuffle. Lots of shouting about security and danger and attackers. The angry doctors made her sign a waiver accepting responsibility, which she’d been glad to do, though her fingers barely felt the pen, as she floated in a Demerol cloud. Even stoned out of her mind, she knew which side her bread was buttered on. When it came to the Fiend, EMT techs and nurses weren’t enough protection, not by a long shot. Jack Kendrick was the man. Hands down. She’d stick with him.

Margaret had come by that morning, bringing Jack some clothes, and one of her own warm-up suits for Vivi. Eggshell blue, spattered with yellow daisies. Wow. Very special. But still, she was grateful.

“I’m flying to New York,” she announced, bracing herself.

“That’s the last place you should go!” Jack exploded. “John told you he’d hired an army. We’ve warned your sisters and their men. Do you want to face an army? Those guys weren’t enough of a challenge?”

“It’s not that,” she said. “I can’t live like this. I have to resolve this thing. No matter what. You do what you want. I’m flying to New York.”

Jack muttered something foul under his breath.

The earliest flight they could find with seats available left the following morning. Too long to wait, but no choice. They checked into an airport Ramada. When they were locked in their room, Jack laid his pistol on the kitchenette counter. “I’m taking a shower,” he announced. “I’m still cold, from that river. You all right out here?” He waited for her nod, his eyes still doubtful. “Don’t open the door to anyone,” he added.

As if. She rolled her eyes. He disappeared into the bathroom.

She felt like a puppet with the strings cut. Limp, now that she didn’t have his hot, vital energy to struggle against. She curled up on the bed and thought it through.

She had to be realistic. She had nothing to offer Jack except a crushing burden of danger, financial drain, and constant, grinding stress. He’d already risked his life. Dodging bullets and knives, diving into wild water. A man couldn’t marry a risk like that. Or have children with her. She’d be stupid to demand promises from him now.

This, however, did not mean she was going to deny herself the comfort of his body. Life was short and uncertain.

She listened at the bathroom door to the shower hiss. She caught a glimpse of herself, in the prim, daisy-spattered warm-up suit, and sputtered with laughter. Whoo-hoo. Seductive. She stripped it off, and waited for the shower to stop, shivering in the air-conditioned chill.

When she opened the door, his startled face made her smile, catlike. She laid the gun on the counter by the bathroom sink. The room was a fragrant fog of steam. The bruises on his face were taking form.

Maybe she was presuming too much. Maybe he was too stressed, too injured and exhausted—or, um…maybe not. His cock was pointing straight at her, in seconds flat. “What’s this, Viv?” he asked.

She touched the dripping, gleaming contours of his body. “Just living in the moment.”

He flinched. “Don’t throw that in my face. We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t,” she said quietly. “No past. No future. Just now.”

He looked worried. “How long do we have to play this game?”

“How long is irrelevant, when you’re in the moment,” she said. “Only now exists. You should know that. Aren’t you the expert?”

He stared at her. “You’re a real hard-ass, Viv D’Onofrio.”

“I’ve had tough teachers.” She gazed into his face, and relented. “Look, if I ever have a normal life again, with no axe hanging over me, and you still want to have a conversation about our future, we can have it. Until then…” She reached out, stroked his cock.

“Until then, you just want to fuck me?”

Her mouth twitched at his sulky tone. She sank gracefully to her knees. “I ask it…respectfully,” she purred, trying not to smile.

He vibrated with laughter and pleasure as she swirled her tongue around his cockhead. “Oh, God. I’ve never gotten respect like this.”

“It’s about time,” she murmured, then sucked him into her mouth.

With difficulty. He was so thick and broad and hard, but she was inventive, and hungry for his every shudder and gasping sigh. She used her hands, her tongue, and, bit by bit, pulled him deeper into her throat, long suckling strokes that made him quiver and groan.