Ghostwalker 09 - Ruthless Game

not trusting her now. She pul ed away from him and put both hands protectively on her swol en bel y. She was trembling, but her eyes met his steadily, even defiantly. They stared at one another.
    “We don’t have al night,” he reminded.
    “No, we don’t. But I’m not moving until you throw away the tracker. I’m more scared of Whitney getting my baby than I am of a drug cartel. I’l go down fighting, Kane.”
    He clenched his teeth. Damn, she was stubborn. He could tel by the set of her jaw, her raised chin, and the flash of fire in her eyes that she wasn’t bluffing. She planned on staying right where she was..
    “You are aware these people like to chop off heads.” That should make any woman reasonable, let alone a pregnant one.
    “I’ve seen them do it. It’s not a pretty sight,” she answered, her chin raising a notch.
    Okay. Maybe pregnant women weren’t reasonable. It wasn’t like he’d ever been around a woman about to give birth. It could be they were al nuts. And every good sense he had was flying out the window. He should have put her over his knee and taught her a lesson, especial y after she had the audacity to pul a gun on him, but instead, he wanted to kiss that little chin.
    “Rose.” He used his most logical and sensible tone. “If I toss the tracker, and something goes wrong, we aren’t going to have a ride out of here.”
    “I’m used to relying on myself. Don’t worry, if you’re afraid, I can take care of both of us. I know you surround yourself with that big, bad team ...”
    She broke off when he took a step toward her, the taunting laughter fading from her eyes. He noted one hand had slipped inside her jacket, fingers curling around the hilt of her knife.
    “Don’t piss me off any more than you already have,” he snapped and ripped the tracker out of the lining of his shirt. He threw his lifeline into the ravine.
    “Let’s get the hel out of here.”
    “There’s none inside your body?”
    He gave her his blackest scowl, and this time, he real y was on the edge of losing his temper. “You’l just have to trust me.”
    She had the grace to look ashamed. Rose turned and walked out into the night, head up, body confident. They were walking away from any road he could see. He fol owed without comment until he reached the top of the first rol ing dune. Turning back, he raised his hand to the sky. It was incredibly difficult to move air when there was little breeze to “push,” but he’d done it a time or two. Rose had remembered from their conversations in her smal prison room.
    The wind tugged at the grains of sand, fil ing in their footsteps and the places where they’d both landed and rol ed. He took his time, making a thorough job of it. The tire tracks were smudged in places, but it certainly would look to the world as if they’d gone into the ravine with the sedan. If anyone went to recover the bodies—and he was certain they would—their ruse would be discovered, but it would be too late.
    He turned his head to look at the woman carrying his baby. She had continued walking, trusting him to get the job done. There was some satisfaction in that. She didn’t want him, but she needed him. He stretched his legs a little to catch up, but her shorter strides made it easy. Every now and then he sent the air skimming over their tracks, just to ensure their safety.
    Rose walked briskly at first, her spine stiff, but after the first mile, she eased the pace, glancing back at him. “I’m sorry about the gun, Kane. I didn’t know what else to do.”
    His heart twisted. Damn her anyway. She was tying him up in knots, and he was in grave danger of buying into her feminine frailty al over again. He thought it best not to look at her. Instead, he studied their surroundings. She wasn’t in the best of shape; he could hear her breathing begin to grow heavier. She stopped on the pretense of looking around as wel , but he knew she needed to rest. He didn’t make a comment on her lack of physical fitness, after al she was pregnant. But surely even pregnant women could walk a mile without breathing hard.
    She shot him a glare he couldn’t fail to catch even in the dark without his night vision. She breathed in and out twice as if trying to remain calm when he was annoying her. “You’re shouting your thoughts, and rather rudely too.”
    His eyebrow shot up. “I’m not the one breathing like a racehorse at the end of the race. Aren’t women these days supposed to