Chapter 5

Ethan went weak-kneed with relief. “Oh, the shirt. Here you go, then.” He’d never liked the orange-and-green plaid anyway, which was why it’d been his choice for yomping through the forest. He held it out to the convict, who reached for it—and then all hell broke loose.

There was a shout of “What the fuck?” in Logan’s deep, menacing and above all welcometones. Ethan’s relief was short-lived, however, as he found himself in the escaped convict’s arms, plastered against a soft belly in a greasy vest that reeked of sweat and cabbage. If this was real life, Ethan reflected with mounting hysteria, he really needed to get himself some scarier nightmares.

“Drop that gun or your boyfriend gets it!” the convict snapped.

Logan loomed at the edge of the clearing like an overlarge militaristic statue from a Communist dictatorship. He didn’t appear to be making any move towards dropping his shotgun, Ethan couldn’t help but notice.