A burst of adrenaline sent fuel to her muscles. She lurched forward, tried to run faster still.
Her feet hit pavement.
She glanced around. Saw the green street sign.
Couldn’t read it. Had to be Calderwood Lane.
She lunged left.
Not daring to slow down, she dug her cell from her pocket.
Bars glowed.
Relief burst inside her.
Full service.
All she had to do was put through the call and hide until help arrived. She ducked for cover under a thick evergreen. Pulling up her contact list, she hit Conner.
The slap of soles on the pavement in the distance sent fear throttling through her.
He was coming.
Don’t even breathe.
12
Kale drove like a bat out of hell along Calderwood Lane. What in God’s name was she doing out here at this time of night? It was twenty degrees! As soon as he found her he would damn sure ask.
This only confirmed his conclusion: People from New York were crazy.
A dark figure appeared in front of his headlights.
He slammed on his brakes.
The Jeep skidded to a stop.
She stood in the center of the road.
Didn’t move.
Shit.
He shoved into park and flung his door open.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
She still didn’t move.
He stepped between her and the front of the Jeep. His gut roiled at the idea that a few more feet and he would have run her down.
“Thank you for coming.” Her voice sounded small and way more humble than usual.
What the hell had happened to her? Before he could shout that and the other questions bombarding his brain, she walked, her movements unnatural, around to the passenger side of the Jeep and climbed in.
Kale threw up his hands, then dropped them to his sides. This was not what he’d signed on for. He was supposed to be a tour guide, not a freaking search-and-rescue service.
Or a peace mediator. Or whatever the hell else she needed.
