Free Hunted by Jo Leigh Page A

Mike’s mask to believe she’d seen the truth in an isolated cabin in the middle of the night so very far from home.
    She pushed back her chair and stood up quickly, collecting her glass and putting it in the sink. It was time she went to sleep and stopped thinking. She turned off the light and went into the dark living room. There were still embers in the fire, but they would soon die. The unfamiliar shadows made her uneasy.
    As she stepped on the stairs she saw a wide band of light from Mike’s room. She wondered if he was going to come back out to the living room, but after a few moments it was clear he wasn’t. She retied the belt on her robe, and walked over to his room. It wouldn’t hurt to make sure he was okay. She’d been pretty brutal with him.
    She reached his door and looked inside. At first, she didn’t see him, but a movement from the closet caught her attention. Mike was pulling himself up on a chinning bar that had been mounted in the doorway. His shirt was off, and the body she saw shocked her. It wasn’t his. Not her Mike. Every bit of softness was gone. He was muscled and hard. She could see his ribs as he pulled himself up, his biceps bulging and straining. Even from this distance she heard the rhythm of his deep breathing.
    His jeans rode low on his waist; they didn’t fit this new body. The only thing familiar about his chest was the dark, curly hair that tapered to a thin line at his waist and below. His legs were together, slightly angled in front. He wore no shoes, and even his feet showed tight lines of sinew and muscle. He let himself down again, him, not gravity. He controlled the move and made it slow and specific. She stared at his right arm, the swelling muscle, the cords of steel beneath the skin. He paused, and she looked up again. He caught her gaze.
    His face was as finely chiseled as his chest. Hard lines and curves, as if he were made of granite instead of flesh and bone. His eyes were hardest of all. Unblinking, steady, unforgiving.
    He lifted himself again, his chest expanding with his breath. His gaze never moved from her face. He went up slowly, inch by inch, with the control of a machine. A machine. That’s what he’d become and why she couldn’t love him. It had begun the night Amy died, bit by bit, piece by piece. He was the Tin Man. And everyone knew the Tin Man had no heart.

Chapter 5
    M ike reached for his bag and took out the stack of letters. A drop of water from his still-wet hair fell onto the upper right corner of the page, and he wiped it away with his thumb.
    It was nearly nine. He’d had a lousy night’s sleep. He didn’t remember his dreams; only the feelings of loss lingered. He’d gotten out of bed when he heard Becky and Sam in the kitchen.
    He didn’t want to see her. What he wanted was to be in the field, tracking down Mojo. Doing something he knew how to do. Instead, he would have to go through another day of watching Becky, remembering when she was his.
    For his own sanity, he had to concentrate on finding Mojo, and all he had were the letters. As far as he knew, the bastard was still free and heading this way. Cliff would have called if they’d caught him. The letters would tell him something, reveal a weakness. Mike had no delusions about Mojo. He knew if he made it to the cabin, he would try to kill them all. So Mike had to stop him first.
    He unfolded the top page. Same stationery. Same typewriter.
    Dear Mike,A priest came to me today. An old man with bad teeth. He asked me if I wanted to confess my sins. It’s never too late to get God’s forgiveness. At least that’s what he said. I don’t know about that. I don’t believe that some things can be forgiven. But who knows, eh? What if all it takes is one good session on your knees to be absolved? Of course, I can’t kneel, you took care of that, and what kind of a God would listen to a man who wasn’t kneeling?
    Have you been absolved, Mike? Did God forgive you for your sins? No, of