Nightfall Read Free Page A

windows. Bolted and blackened. He climbed the metal extension ladder. His pulse kept the moderate rhythm of steady movement, amplified by the urgency of preparation. As he paused atop the roof, he inhaled. The nighttime forest breathed with him, the snap and spice of cold evergreen air.
    After making sure the barbed-wire screen and charcoal filter over the chimney were secure, he climbed down and collapsed the ladder. He shoved it into the tiny cellar with the rest of the ammo and supplies, then snapped the padlock.
    Next was Jenna’s car. He’d taken a chance driving so close to the cabin, valuing speed over stealth. Now he checked the ignition, harboring slight hope that it would flare to life. A turn of the key produced nothing—not even a click. The little hybrid was too new, too wired with computer-based circuitry. They might have used his ’78 Bronco, but not for long. The Fuel Wars would hit the west in time, and the Bronco would be harder to hide. Better to make a clean break with old luxuries.
    Accepting that the car was a useless relic, he grabbed the emergency gas can from the trunk. At least its fuel would still come in handy. He used his hunting knife to slice a three-foot length of garden hose and shoved it into the tank. Eyes closed, he sucked and sucked on the filthy green rubber, his lungs bursting. Gasoline filled his mouth. He sputtered and spit, then caught the flow of fuel in the can.
    When he’d completely drained the car, he popped it into neutral. One hand on the open driver’s-side door and the other on the steering wheel, he rocked the foreign compact back and forward. Sweat soaked the T-shirt beneath his camo field jacket. The car edged forward. Momentum took control. Grunting, pushing until his shoulders burned, he steered it into the woods, then dragged netting laced with branches over the gold metallic paint job.
    Good. Everything as he’d planned.
    Mason looked back toward the cabin. It stood small, squat, and blanketed in darkness. A shiver touched the nape of his neck, quickly followed by the primal call for safety. Get indoors. Now.
    Minutes later, arms laden with firewood and the rifle across his back, he kicked the cabin’s only door with his heavy work boots—and caught Jenna in the midst of a getaway. Her ass hung halfway out a window. His toolbox lay open beneath her dangling feet. A serrated kitchen knife had taken her place on the chair, with strips of dull silver duct tape scattered on the floor.
    Crossing the cabin with long strides, Mason flung the split logs toward the fireplace, where they crashed like bowling pins. He stripped off his work gloves and grabbed two handfuls of female. Hips, to be exact. That soft upper-thigh part of the hip where a little extra flesh tempted a man to squeeze. He tightened his fingers. Her surprised yelp sent a rush of blood to his cock.
    â€œLet go of me!” She kicked backward. He yanked her back into the cabin, her head smacking the window frame. “Ow! Shit!”
    Every instinct told him to protect this woman, but his nerves were already shot to shit after getting her out of town—and knowing what was to come. He’d seen it.
    He spun her and pushed her against the stout log wall. “Where would you go?”
    â€œHome!”
    Her knee came up between his legs. Mason deflected the desperate attack with his forearm. She twisted and tried to spin free, forcing him to let go of her hips. He settled for her wrists, still red from the duct tape, and pinned her hands above her head.
    â€œMy name is Mason,” he said, pushing his body flush to hers. That thump of blood increased. Fighting had always done that to him. Violence and sex together. “If you leave now, you’ll find yourself walking back to Culver. No water. No flashlight. No vehicle.”
    Pale green eyes widened. “What’d you do with my car?”
    â€œIt’s in the woods, and the gas from the tank is in a