The road narrow and the shoulder nothing but loose gravel, Kincaid never had a chance. The right rear fender caught the last two feet of rusted guardrail, sending up a shower of sparks before the car plunged over the edge and disappeared from sight.
Standing on the Denali’s brakes, Chase felt the Mazda’s rapid descent echo in his chest, and he hoped like hell the woman had nine lives—because this was the second he’d seen her cash in today.
The silencein the aftermath of the crash was absolute.
Move.Slow to rise to the surface of consciousness, Gray’s brain came back online, one painful neural pathway at a time.
Move.Despite the urgency of the situation, her body refused to comply. However, her hearing did start to come back by degrees, individual noises registering first. The hiss and tick of the cooling engine. The wind rustling through the trees. The clack of rocks continuing to slide in the wake of the car’s plunge.
Move.At this command, she opened her eyes. Big mistake. Big. The world spun, and the shattered windshield spiraled in and out of focus in front of her. Surprised to find she was alive, and as far as she could tell, still in one piece, she concentrated on reconnecting with one body part at a time.
Heart hammering against her rib cage, she took a deep breath. Yep. She hurt all over. Shoulder. Chest. Hip. Everything throbbed, but nothing appeared to be bleeding—or broken. Thank fuck for the airbag.
Thank fuck for Rusty Eyes too.
“Safety first,” he’d said in the parking lot when he reached over Gray to fasten her seat belt. He hadn’t bothered with his own, and an idea for escape had germinated. All she had to do was pick the time and place to bust out some Hail Mary moves.
The steep drop on her side of the road had been the perfect opportunity.
After a bumpy descent, the driver’s side had taken the brunt of the impact. The hood now crumpled like an accordion against the trunk of a tree, the driver himself remained slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious but still breathing.
Safety first, dickhead.With a groan, Gray released her buckle and tried the door handle. No go. Even if she hadn’t been in a world of hurt, no amount of force would convince the twisted metal to give way.
Good thing her side window was busted. Using the sleeve of her jacket, she brushed off the glass and started the extrication process. Soreness aside, it took her a full minute to get herself half out the window.
In the end, she had to sit on the bent frame while trying to free her extra-long legs, one limb at a time. In the midst of detangling herself from the wreckage, she squealed in shock when strong arms surrounded her, lifting her clear of the car.
“Are you insane? You could’ve killed yourself.” The newcomer set her down gently, but his voice sounded urgent and harsh in her ears.
Ignoring the twinge of a sore ankle, Gray spun in his arms. Jesus Christ. Did men drop out of the trees around here? Mad as hell, she wanted to knee the stranger in the nuts. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the necessary requirement of two solid pins to perform the maneuver successfully.
Besides, one quick look was all she needed to keep both feet planted firmly on the ground. It wasn’t the broad shoulders, ramrod-straight spinal column, or even the fully equipped, heavy-duty gun belt preventing her knee from satisfying her base desires.
Nope.
It was the clenched jaw and disapproving expression that did it.
Thanks to her father’s thirty years of military service, Gray could spot his kind a mile away. Andthisman had armed forces practically tattooed on his face. Based on the too-long hair and dark beard stubble, she’d bet her freedom he was part of a special ops unit.
Who he belonged to and what he was doing traipsing about the Canadian wilderness were the real questions.
Also, why the hell did he still have his hands on her waist?
Just as it occurred to her he should be letting go—anytime now—he lifted the offending appendages to sweep her hair from her face. Brushing his fingers over her scalp, he hit a sore spot, and she winced, sucking in air through her clenched teeth.
“Your head is bleeding,” he said, tilting her chin down and leaning in for a closer look.
“No shit, Rambo. What gave it away?” Lacking appreciation for everyone’s concern about her coconut, she planted her palms on the soldier’s chest to push some space between them. The distance she managed to gain proved to be less than negligible. Soldier boy wasn’t moving unless he chose to. “Let go of me.”
“Fine.” Finished with his exam, he dropped his hands and took a half step back. The sudden absence of his support left her swaying on her feet. “We have to go.”
Gray snorted. A command in the form of a statement. Predictable. Rambo practically vibrated with the need to control her and the situation. No doubt, action had been hardwired into his DNA, as much a part of his genetic makeup as his brown hair and nearly black eyes.
His gaze held hers, searching, penetrating, looking for weakness. God, she was tired. For an instant, she was tempted to give in to him. Almost. If she gave him the inch, he would take the mile. Then she’d be fucked. Straightening her spine, she marshaled what little strength she had left.
Time to get her crap together.
Gray stumbled the three steps back to the car to retrieve her pack from the pile of glass on the dash. She didn’t have any hope the old-fashioned camera inside had survived being turned into a missile, but it had sentimental value. Her brother, Adam, had given it to her before he left home. She’d been ten at the time, and she considered it her good luck charm.
