Every fiber of his being thatwasn’tfocused on the road and the patchy pavement that came part and parcel with living in the upper Midwest where the snowplows and salt trucks wreaked havoc on all things asphalt was centered on his passenger. On the feel of her thin arms locked tight around his waist. On the pressure of her lithe legs clamped like a vice around his hips. On the feel of her shaking so hard he worried she might shatter her own bones. And then…
Shewasn’tshaking. She was still.
And that was so,somuch worse.
He needed to put more miles between them and the feds. He needed to duck down more side streets to convolute any trail he might be leaving behind. And hedefinitelyneeded to get her back to BKI where he could wrap her in a million blankets.
But the miles and the trail and the destination would have to wait. Because she couldn’t wait any longer.
Hypothermia was no joke. Left unchecked, it could quickly lead to heart failure.
Cutting the engine so he wouldn’t wake the people living in the buildings on either side of the alleyway he’d found—thelastthing he wanted was the CPD shoving a nose up his ass because someone had called in a noise complaint—he coasted the bike past a dumpster, an empty paint bucket, and a stray pizza box. When he was assured they were out of sight of any passing cars, he squeezed the brakes and brought them to a gentle halt.
Out went the kickstand. Off came his helmet. And within two seconds, he’d shrugged out of his winter-weight coat to carefully drape it over Hannah’s hunched shoulders.
Her skin was as pale as death. Her lips were so blue they were almost purple. And her eyes were glassy looking when she lifted her chin. “I didn’t do it, Sam,” she whispered hoarsely. “What they say I did, I didn’t—”
“I know you didn’t, sweetheart. I never believed it for a second.” He threaded her stiff arms into the sleeves of his coat because she seemed incapable of doing the job herself.
And no wonder. She was a human Popsicle. One-hundred-twenty pounds of frozen flesh and icy blood.
After zipping the jacket to her chin, he turned his attention to his boots. She watched him numbly, seemingly unaware of what he was doing orwhyhe was doing it when he unlaced the first one. But when he tackled the laces on his second, she blinked and shook her head. “No. You need your shoes to—”
“If we don’t get something on your feet, you’re gonna lose a fucking toe,” he interrupted. “I’ll be fine in my socks.”
Notfine, fine. He was already feeling the effects of the icy air when he planted his soles against the frigid concrete. But his socks were wool. And they only had another fifteen minutes to ride before they’d be inside the heated halls of BKI. So he’d survive.
“Come on.” He motioned for her to extend a leg. “I’ll help you get ’em on.”
He nearly cried out when he grabbed her foot and saw the condition it was in. Her toenails were painted with the same sparkly blue polish she wore on her fingernails. But that didn’t hide the fact that the skin all around the nails was ashen.
He’d said that thing about her losing a toe so she’d shut up and let him do what needed to be done. Now he worried his words might turn out to be portentous.
With as much care as he could muster, he slipped her foot inside the dark mouth of his steel-toed biker boot. Her trim ankles required him to cinch the laces as tight as they would go. Even then he wasn’t sure the boot wouldn’t slip off.
Her opposite foot was in even worse shape. She’d cut the end of her pinky toe during her escape, and the entire sole of her foot was covered in frozen blood.
She didn’t whimper when he shoved the boot over the mess. Which told him her feet had lost all feeling.
Not good, he thought in alarm.Not good at all.
At eighteen below zero, frostbite could set in in as little as fifteen minutes. It wasn’t quite eighteen below. More like three. But close counted in hand grenades, horseshoes, and hypothermia.
“Last thing.” He gently placed his helmet over her head and tightened the chin strap until the metal clasp couldn’t cinch any more.
“Thank you, Sam.” Her dark eyes were so full of gratitude, he almost wept.
“Anything for you, kiddo.” He chucked her on the chin before flipping down the helmet’s visor.
When he stepped back to view his work, he decided she looked like a little girl who’d played dress up in her daddy’s closet. Everything was huge on her. But at least she was no longer completely exposed to the elements.
He wasn’t calling it a win. They were far from finished playing the night’s game of cat and mouse. But he was calling it a goal. Major points for getting her covered.
His nose and ears already stung from the cold when he straddle-walked the bike to the mouth of the alley. By the time he cranked the engine and gunned them back onto the street, it felt like someone was shoving needles into his exposed cheeks.
How Hannah had kept from crying out in pain during the first part of the ride, he’d never know.
Except…hedidknow.
