CHAPTER TWO
Sprawled on his ass in a snowbank was not how Lovell had thought his run would go. The gunshot was an unexpected development, too. While the former was always a risk when running outside this time of year, the latter, well, he better get off said ass and figure out what the hell was going on. Or at the very least, find some cover. Again, not easy when six-foot-high piles of snow lined the roads, blocking easy access to the acres of forest beyond.
A car revved, and he glanced up. A beige SUV was nose-first in a snowbank, its front tipped downward, as if a ditch lay hidden beneath the pile of white. A second, larger, newer SUV barreled toward him, its front right bumper crumpled enough for him to quickly suss out that it had pushed the other car off the road. Whether that was good or bad, he didn’t yet know, but with it now less than twenty feet away and nowhere for him to take cover, he braced himself to find out.
The car screeched to a stop, rocking with the momentum and the sun glinting off the tinted windows. Lovell fleetingly considered this might be his last view of the world and felt a pang of regret that it couldn’t at least be the pristine beauty of the lake, or even the shrouded mists of the winter forests.
He sighed. Very few people had the luxury of choosing their last view; it seemed he wasn’t that special.
Pushed from inside, the passenger door flew open.
“Get in!” a woman barked. “We need to get out of here.”
He stared. The cold of the snow seeped through his running tights; the dirt, grit, and icy snow dug into his palms. Air heaved in and out of his lungs. He didn’t think he was already dead. He felt no pain, hadn’t been shot. Had he had a heart attack?
That was the only reason he could think of as to why the most stunning woman he’d ever laid eyes on, driving his dream SUV—a Bentley Bentayga—pulled to a stop in front of him and demanded he join her.
Hell, if this was death, maybe he shouldn’t have tried so hard to avoid it.
“Now!” she demanded again, her long black curls swirling around her shoulders. His gaze swept over her unusual brown-gray eyes, down her high cheekbones, noted her perfect nose, lingered on her full lips. He wondered if there was sex in heaven. If so, he really shouldn’t have tried to avoid it so long—heaven, not sex.
She huffed, a stray curl lifting on her exhale. “If I see my sister shed one single tear over you, I will personally kill you myself. Now get your ass in my car!”
He blinked. Sister? The word helped clear the fog from his head, and he once again cataloged her features. Her familiar features.
“Daphne?” he asked.
She shot him an exasperated look before glancing in the rearview mirror. “The one and only. Will you get your fine ass in my car now?”
Unease swirled through him, and he inhaled through his nose, the cold air bracing his brain. As it did, two thoughtscoalesced: Daphne Parks had saved him from being shot, and now she might be in danger because of him.
Leaping off the snowbank, he took two giant strides, then launched himself onto the passenger seat, grabbing the door as he passed and slamming it closed. Daphne didn’t hesitate and was rolling forward before it even snicked shut.
Despite the circumstances, he admired the smooth rumble of the powerful engine as he reached for his seat belt. Since he very clearly wasn’t dead, he very much wanted to stay that way.
“Thought you weren’t coming until the day after tomorrow,” he said as she took the next right.
Her gaze flickered to the street map on the display, then focused back on the road. She didn’t answer.
“You know where you’re going?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Town is the other way.”
Her eyes slid his direction and held for an uncomfortable amount of time given they were driving on winding mountain roads. He opened his mouth to suggest she keep them on the road when she turned back and spoke again.
“We’re taking Millers Creek to Poplar to Rogue Alley, to Shanthi Street. That will put us back on the highway closer to the Falcons’ clubhouse. Since the two men driving that butt-ass-ugly car knew your running schedule, I figure they probably know where you live, too, so taking you home seems like a bad option.”
There was a lot to unpack in that statement, so he pretended she hadn’t mapped one of the most complex routes back to the clubhouse. Or seemed to know the two men who’d taken a shot at him. Or figured out that his apartment was now off-limits if he didn’t want to become a sitting duck. Which he very much did not want. My, how a few seconds could change his outlook.
Instead of responding, he traced her profile with his gaze. Now that the shock was wearing off, he saw even moresimilarities between his rescuer and his sister-in-law. Same delicate jaw, same perfect eyebrows, same smooth brown skin, and same cheekbones. Although Daphne’s were set at a slightly higher angle.
“You and Callie look alike,” he said.
“Thank you. She’s stunning.”
“You were a supermodel.”
