Read Online Hunted by Jaycee Clark - Free Book Online Page A

of husband and wife. She twirled the band on her finger. Ashbourne. She had to remember that. Not Reyer. Ashbourne.
    “You should try and get some sleep,” he said, his voice low.
    Had it only been over two hours ago since they’d left Prague? Thank God the border crossing at Děčín had gone smoothly. The scenery along E55 didn’t change in a blur of shadows, trees and snow. Ashbourne had hardly spoken a word to her since she’d come downstairs, other than “Let’s go.”
    She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. They’d made it over the border. That was one more step away. Fears that Mikhail would be waiting at the border crossing, or have someone there looking for her, had twisted her stomach with nausea. She hadn’t voiced those fears, but they had been there all the same. Other than a couple of tour buses, several trucks and the handful of college kids in front of them, the border had been desolate.
    She glanced at Ashbourne. Who was this man who could so easily kill and change his appearance? Dressed in dark chinos and black sweater. The man had apparently been wearing a disguise when she met him, or maybe he was wearing one now. How could she know what was real? He was the same, yet different. For a moment, she studied him, saw more than the fact he was only a male. His dark hair, a bit long, brushed the top of his collar. His eyebrows were more defined and arched than the blond ones she’d seen on him when she’d walked into the club’s office. The eyes . . . Too bad the man hadn’t worn contacts. His eyes were the same, straight jet black. His cheekbones bladed. He had a long face, but there was nothing soft or apostolic about it. Well defined and—unforgiving.
    Beethoven played on the speakers and fit her mood. Morose and edgy. Her hands trembled and she fisted them on her thighs.
    Berlin. Would they make it? Would someone be there waiting? Looking?
    The only sound in the car was the tires whirring over the asphalt mixing with “Moonlight Sonata.”
    “Been to Berlin?” he asked, his voice as gentle as the wind, yet there was power in the simple tone. She couldn’t readily define it, but she heard it, sensed it.
    She just wanted to listen to the music. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve listened to Beethoven?” she asked, not looking at him.
    He didn’t answer her.
    “So long, I’d forgotten how wonderful, how complex, how moving the sounds of a symphony can be. For months all I’ve heard is whatever band is playing at the . . . club.” Or crying. Or screaming. Or . . .
    A car passed them.
    “What else have you missed?” The question was asked in the tone one might ask for the time.
    “Everything.”
    “Such as?”
    “Peace. Safety. Privacy. Me.”
    A low chuckle danced across the space from him. His laughter whispered over her like warm fog. “I was thinking something a bit more specific.”
    What had she missed?
    “I don’t know,” she said, shifting in her seat. “I’ve tried not to think about it.”
    “Why Dusk?” he asked. He downshifted as a car cut in front of them, his legs moving on the pedals.
    The question caught her off guard. She said, watching him, “Mikhail gave me that name.” She swallowed and looked away.
    “Does he know your real name?” She felt more than saw him look at her.
    She thought about answering him, but remained silent.
    “Why did Mikhail give you that name?”
    “He didn’t know my real one.” She twisted her fingers together. “He never knew.” And now he never would.
    “Did he want to?”
    She took a deep breath, remembering the first days, the long endless days when she’d still hoped someone would come to rescue her. The leather of her seat sighed as she shifted yet again. “Oh, yes. He tried very, very hard to get me to tell him my name.”
    A moment passed. “But you never gave it to him.”
    “No.”
    She sat up again and looked at the man who drove the car as easily as he seemed to do everything