Page 11 of Undone
Chapter Five
About twenty minutes later we came up on a big sign reading Meadow Ridge Campgrounds. The sign had a log cabin appearance and the letters were big, bright, and red. Jasper turned into the campgrounds.
The woods were dark and seemed to be endless, as though we’d wandered into the black reaches of some giant creature’s belly.
Somewhere out there, my stalker was doing exactly the same thing, laying in wait, anticipating the moment when he could strike.
We pulled up to cabin number six. Jasper drew his gun and stepped outside. I waited in the cab until he made his way round the truck and let me out. Jasper hovered over me like a sentry, his eyes darting from one spot to another, never lingering on any one spot for more than a few seconds at a time.
I led Jasper up to the front door, and he stopped me, placing his hand on my hip, and unlocked the door. Popping the knob open, he leaned in to survey the cabin, then turned on the lights. After he gave me the go-ahead, we stepped inside and shut the door behind us.
Jasper locked the door. “Close the drapes,” he said. “Make sure the windows are locked. Keep an eye out for any bugs.”
“I thought you said this place was safe.” I felt protected with Jasper, but it wasn’t me I was worried about.
He would throw himself in the path of a bullet for me. I was certain of this. That was what I was worried about.
I didn’t want him to bleed for me.
“It should be,” Jasper replied, heading to the window next to the door and pulling the curtains shut abruptly. “Then again, nowhere is entirely safe. If this place is compromised, I want to know about it.”
I made my way around the edge of the cabin, pulling the drapes shut and making sure the doors were locked. Jasper unplugged the phone. In the corner of the room was a wood stove. While I took in the rest of the cabin, Jasper set about making a fire.
It was a pretty straightforward place. I could tell it had been used, that it was one of those cabins that got rented a lot. The cabin was a straightforward single living room with two bedrooms along the back wall, a built-in kitchenette in one corner, and a bathroom in the other. The floors were wood, polished oak from the looks of it, and the furniture was arranged in a square in the center of the room. The furniture itself was wicker. The wicker, as well as the pillows, bore the stains of previous use—spilled wine, soda, and food gave each piece of furniture and accoutrement a distinct personality and appearance.
At first, the cabin seemed empty and cavernous, but as Jasper got the fire going in the stove and the cabin started to warm up, it developed a more homey feel. I settled into one of the couches as Jasper rounded the cabin, peering out through the curtains. As he moved to the center of the room, he produced his gun, taking the time to disassemble it and lay it out on the table.
“You seem restless,” I said after a moment.
“I am,” Jasper said. “I don’t like this waiting around.”
“We should have gone back to my room,” I said. “If you want our guy to make a move, that is.”
“No, it’s not that,” Jasper said. “This is necessary. Getting away from the situation, getting perspective. We’ll get a bird’s-eye view of everything going on, and in the end, that’s how we’re going to beat this. It’s necessary, I just don’t like it.”
The minutes ticked by. Jasper cleaned his gun until it was spotless, then reassembled and holstered it. A clock hanging in the kitchen counted the seconds. The fire in the stove crackled away, the temperature in the room rising in increments.
Jasper cleared his throat, looked at me, glanced away. He tapped his foot against the floor, drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.
Seeing him so agitated was strange. This was a man who could stand sentry for hours on end without so much as blinking an eye, and yet I could tell the lack of activity, the seclusion, was driving him a little bit crazy.
“I spy with my little eye something…green.” I batted my eyelashes at him when he turned to look at me, a hint of incredulity on his features. “What? I’m bored.”
“My T-shirt,” he replied drily, striding to the window and peering through the slit in the curtains. “Trust me, you’ll never beat me at that game. I see everything.”
“Arrogant much?” He didn’t reply; I sighed. “I have some cards in my purse. Want to play Go Fish?”
He huffed out a breath.
“Snap?”
No change.
“Strip poker?”
Finally, a flicker of interest, a change in the stiff lines of his posture.
“Aha.”
