Windshield wipers beating back the melting snow, Adam punched the gas and the F-250 accelerated smoothly. Heavy-duty all-season tires gripped the road sending rocks pinging off the undercarriage and spitting out the back end.
He’d planned to come alongside the other vehicle, gesture to the driver to pull over, if need be, force the smaller truck to the side of the road. Unnecessary. The brake lights flared, the Ford slowed, lurched, sputtered, and lurched again before rolling to the shoulder and dying.
Out of gas would be Adam’s guess. Idiot. He didn’t have time for this shit. Plane on the tarmac at Glacier Park, his window for getting his ass in the air before the storm shut down the airport appeared to be closing rapidly.
Pulling over and easing the transmission into park, he waited, watching for any signs of aggression from the other vehicle. Nada. No doors opening. No movement. No signs of life. What the fuck was this prick up to?
Out of habit, Adam did a mental weapons check and made a quick tactical plan as he shrugged out of his coat and shouldered open his door. His boots on the ground, the storm embraced him, wind whipping through his shirt to chill his skin. Regardless, he left his coat behind, better cold than dead, easy access to his guns preferable to catching a bullet to the chest.
He scanned his surroundings as he approached the driver’s side, keeping his body out of the line of sight. Open fields on the left and right, but no threats as far as he could see through the gathering dusk and blowing snow.
As he drew close, the lettering on the door didn’t come as a surprise. A-Bloom Landscape and Design made sense given the assortment of long-handled tools standing sentry against the back of the cab.
The open window, however, raised his suspicions, and with a hard rap of knuckles against metal, he announced his presence while keeping his back against the truck bed. “Hello?”
Nothing.
He risked a quick peek, and then another. The sole occupant lay curled in a ball, facedown on the bench, a curtain of long tangled hair obscuring her features. Passed out by all appearances. Adam poked his nose into the cab and caught a distinct whiff of hamburger but no scent of alcohol. So, drugs then. Up the nose. Injected into a vein. Swallowed by the handful.
Motherfucker, he really didn’t have time for this. But he couldn’t leave her. She’d freeze to death, in the truck or outside if she wandered off, too high to know she was succumbing to hypothermia and slipping into an early grave. Either way—a frozen corpse would bring the kind of attention to the area the JTT wanted to avoid. Police. Media. Spectators.
He had no choice. Neither did she. Sleeping beauty was coming with him whether she liked it or not. Zander could deal with the truck later. Drop it off close to wherever Adam left her.
Annoyance getting the better of him, he yanked open the door. “Hey.” He tapped two fingers against her shoe. He expected some moaning and groaning and got none. “Hey.” He shook her foot a little harder. Still nothing. “Hey!”
Two things happened in rapid succession, neither of which he’d anticipated or prepared for. The woman’s leg shot out like she held a black belt in karate, her hard-soled Adidas connecting with his privates as if they were made of wood and she was determined to snap him in half.
The impact sent him stumbling backward while the mother of wrecking balls to the sac blew by him, running full tilt through the shallow ditch and into the field on the opposite side of the road.
Pain white hot and throbbing to the accelerated beat of his heart doubled him over. Hands moving in slow motion, he cupped his jewels. An act of self-defense that was too fucking little and too fucking late.
Deep breath.
Deep breath.
Deep breath.
Annnd fuck…
One more deep breath.
Adam attempted to stand upright. Nope. Too soon. Goddamn it. Okay. Focus. Another deep breath before he performed a manual equipment verification. Set of swelling nuts. Check. One limp dick. Check. Proper working order?
Probably fucking not.
Jesus Christ! Caught off guard, he hadn’t seen the full frontal bushwhack coming. Impressive work. Not too many people got the drop on him, and this woman had managed to incapacitate and escape with one well-placed kick to the gonads. He straightened with a groan, and using the greatest of care, he adjusted things, placing his personals back into position where he liked them.
A quick scan of his surroundings gave him the direction he needed to go in, the ball-buster’s tracks on the snow-covered ground an easy arrow to follow. They wouldn’t be visible much longer, however. Wind kicking up, he needed to move now, or he’d lose her trail, and despite the assault on his lower unit and the injury inflicted to his pride, he still couldn’t let her die out here alone in the cold.
He crossed the road, hopped the ditch, and set off into the field at a slow jog. His first clue the woman was in serious trouble? The abandoned shoe. He picked it up, and on closer inspection, realized he held a man’s size ten. Not exactly Cinderella’s glass slipper, and too big for her foot going by the knotted laces, but definitely the shoe that had crushed his manhood.
The second indicator, droplets of red on white, put a little extra giddyup in his step. He followed the trail of blood and found the other sneaker fifty yards due east, still attached to the occupant, and sticking out from behind a large juniper.
She lay on her side, not moving, body tucked in as close to the overhanging branches of the evergreen as she could get. His soothing not-here-to-hurt-you platitudes garnered no response from the seemingly unconscious woman, but lesson learned, Adam approached with caution, his balls protesting as he crouched beside her.
A quick visual scan and he discovered the source of the bleeding. Lifting the edge of her black-and-white-checkered flannel, he revealed a gray T-shirt soaked in blood. Beneath the cotton, a large bandage had come loose, the medical tape holding it in place unable to find purchase on her blood-slicked skin.
He gently rolled her onto her back, and fuck, the knife wound was long. Wider and deeper near her belly button, the cut ran across her lower abdomen before thinning and curling toward her hip at the end. Despite an obvious attempt at first aid, she needed medical attention, and given the amount of blood lost, she needed it fast.
