The SUV falls out from under us, and the crash when it lands? Fuck. I’m back in Afghanistan as the building explodes. I can smell the smoke. The burning flesh. The blood.
Until Murphy starts barking like his life depends on it. My best friend. He needs me. Cold fingers dig into the back of my neck. Blinking hard, I meet the woman’s gaze. She’s half frozen, and now that I can see her whole face? I’m back in the present in a heartbeat.
A black eye at least a week old. A scraped cheek, less than a day. Bruises around her neck. We’re losing the light, but I wouldn’t be surprised if those were finger marks.
Move, asshole. Get her onto solid ground.
“Almost there. This next bit’s not gonna be fun.” With the car gone, I brace my feet against the cliff face, bend my knees, and push off. We swing twenty feet to the right, and I absorb the worst of the impact as we come to rest before I lower us the last fifty feet.
Murphy runs back and forth, waiting for us, and as soon as we touch down, he presses himself to my legs. “It’s okay, pal. Settle.”
The command word calms him, and he sits patiently, waiting for my next order.
“What’s your name?” I ask the woman in my arms. “I’ll get you up to the highway. There are call boxes every mile, and you need an ambulance.”
She shakes her head, tears shimmering in her eyes. “No...hospitals,” she whispers.
“You’re bleeding, darlin’. And half frozen.”
“He’ll...kill...me.” Her voice fades, her eyelids flutter closed, and she collapses against me.
“Fuck.” What the hell am I supposed to do now?
3
Wyatt
I stumble up the cabin steps with the woman slung over my shoulders in a fireman’s carry. The whole trek, I was sure she was going to wake up and lose her shit, but I couldn’t cradle her in my arms for two full miles. Not over rough terrain, in the dark, with the snow falling hard and fast.
Murphy sits patiently next to the wood stove while I lay the woman on the rug, stoke the fire that almost died out, and retrieve my first aid kit from under the kitchen sink. Now that I can see her in the light, I curse under my breath. I should have spent more time assessing her condition before hiking back here.
She’s too pale. Her fingers are almost blue. I wrapped her in my heavy flannel before we set off, but she was already soaked to the skin and down a hell of a lot of blood.
“Can you hear me, darlin’? I have to get you warm, and that means taking these clothes off.”
She’s out like a light. If I thought I could wait until she regained consciousness, I would. The idea of stripping a woman down to her skivvies without permission doesn’t sit well with me, but it’s a hell of a lot better than watching her die.
Get your shit together, Wyatt.
Boots. I can handle taking off her boots. They’re new. Expensive. As is her sweater. Hell, everything she’s wearing screams luxury.
With every inch of skin I uncover, my anger ratchets up another dozen notches. Under the lights, it’s painfully obvious she’s been someone’s punching bag for quite a while. Bruises cover her torso and upper arms, a handful of long, thin scars cross her back, and the wound to her left arm? It’s not one gash, but two.
The deep slice was definitely from a blade, but just above the makeshift bandage she fashioned from a strip of cotton is a jagged hole. A bullet.
“He’ll kill me.”
Looks like whoever he is came damn close. I call up my memories of the SUV. One of the tires was flat. No glass in the passenger side window. The back window…at least three small holes.
Fuck me. Did they force her off the road too? I glance up at Murphy. “You heard the shots, didn’t you, pal?”
He whines and nudges the woman’s bare foot.
“I know. I’m workin’ on it. No one’s goin’ to hurt her now.” Not even me, if I can help it. But the bullet’s still lodged in her arm, and I don’t have any anesthetic. Now that her clothes—everything except her bra and panties—are in a heap next to the stove, her cheeks start to flush. Resting the back of my hand against her forehead, I mutter, “Shit.” If she’s this feverish after less than ten minutes inside…I need to get the slug out of her ASAP.
“Murph? Protect.”
He knows hundreds of commands, and protect tells him to use his entire body to cover his target. Stretching over her, he rests his muzzle on her right shoulder. If she does wake up, at least she won’t feel alone.
