Chapter 2 #2
He looks at the mangled metal, then at me. “You getting out?”
“Uh, yeah,” I mumble, aware that my cheeks are warm.
I unclip my seat belt and immediately regret it when pain shoots across my chest.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
I swing my legs out. The ground seems steady until I put my weight on it, and then my knees buckle.
His hand closes around my arm.
I jerk away.
He lets go immediately. “Sorry.”
That catches me off guard almost as much as falling did.
“I’m fine.”
He looks unconvinced but doesn’t touch me again.
I straighten carefully and take stock. My face hurts. My chest hurts where the seat belt caught me, and tomorrow I’m probably going to be one enormous bruise, but everything seems to work.
A drop of blood lands on the front of my dress. The stranger’s eyes follow it, and I wonder what I must look like to him—a woman in a wedding dress, driving alone through the mountains at this hour. His eyes move over me again, slower this time. His nostrils flare. “You’ve been at East Ridge.”
My stomach drops. So, I was right. He can smell them on me.
“Are you with them?”
“No.”
I look back at him. “You know them, though?”
His mouth hardens. “Yeah. I know them.”
He doesn’t seem particularly pleased about it.
“Are you going to tell them I’m here?”
“No.”
Again, no hesitation.
“Why not?”
His eyes meet mine. “You want me to?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t.”
I blink. Usually, every conversation I have with a man contains a trap somewhere, a price I haven’t spotted yet or a threat dressed up as concern.
This man just gives me an answer.
He glances back at the truck. “You got a phone?”
“Yes.”
“Call whoever you need to call. You shouldn’t be driving that thing even if you could get it off the tree.”
“I can’t call anyone.”
His gaze returns to me, and I immediately wish I hadn’t said it quite like that.
“I mean, there’s no signal.”
He holds out a hand. “Let me see.”
I hesitate before passing him the phone. His fingers brush mine, and a sharp little current runs through my hand.
I snatch it back.
“What was that?”
Gold flares in his eyes again. His gaze snaps to mine, something fierce and startled in his expression.
“Static,” he says.
I look at my phone, then at him. “Static.”
“Must be.”
That is plainly bullshit.
He nods toward the screen. “Your map still working?”
I unlock it. The route is still there. “Yes.”
“Where were you headed?”
I hesitate.
“I don’t need an address,” he says.
“It’s not an address.”
“What is it?”
“Coordinates.”
His gaze shifts briefly to the phone. “How far?”
I check. “Just under six miles.”
“Road gets rougher from here.”
Of course it does.
“I can walk.”
“No.”
I look up at him.
“You’ve just been knocked out in a car crash.”
“I said I might have been knocked out.”
“That better?”
I almost smile. “A little.”
“I can sleep in the truck and walk in the morning.”
The trace of humor disappears from his face. “You’re not sleeping out here.”
“Why?”
“Because this is bear territory.”
I look pointedly at him.
“Yes,” he says. “Exactly.”
I glance into the trees. Until now, the truck has felt like a problem. Suddenly it feels like an extremely thin metal box in the middle of a forest full of things considerably larger than me.
“What’s six miles down that road?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
“A house?”
I shake my head.
“Cabin?”
After a moment, I nod.
“And you can get inside?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” He looks back toward the forest. “I’ve got a truck. I’ll take you.”
“No.”
His attention returns to me.
“I appreciate it, but I’d rather not get into a truck with a strange man.”
I brace for an argument, or at least a flash of wounded male pride.
Instead, he looks faintly amused.
“What’s your name?”
“Hannah.”
Something shifts in his expression at the sound of it.
He holds out his hand. “Torin.”
Considering what happened the last time we touched, shaking it seems like a questionable idea. But after a second, I put my hand in his.
His palm closes around mine, and warmth rushes up my arm so fast I suck in a breath.
Torin’s fingers tighten. His eyes lock onto mine, and that strange, charged look is back—the one that makes me certain he knows something I don’t.
I pull my hand free.
Torin looks away first. “Stay in the truck and lock the doors. I’ll bring mine here, then you can decide whether you want the ride.”
I stare at him. “You’re just going to leave me here?”
“I’ll be back.”
“How long?”
“Twenty minutes. Maybe less.”
He looks at my dress, then toward the cab. “You have better clothes?”
“Yes.”
“Put them on.”
There’s an authority in his voice that should irritate me. Strangely, it doesn’t.
He steps away, then pauses. “If you hear anything outside, don’t get out to look.”
I glance toward the forest. “Anything like what?”
“Anything.”
Wonderful.
He turns away.
“Torin.”
He looks back.
“Why are you helping me?”
Something shifts in his expression.
“Do I need a reason?”
“Most people have one.”
His gaze holds mine for a second longer than it needs to.
“Maybe I’m not most people.”
I narrow my eyes at him. That doesn’t really answer my question.
He watches me for another second, then shifts. I take an involuntary step back as his body changes with startling speed, until the enormous dark bear is standing where the man was.
It looks at me once before turning and running into the trees.
I climb straight back into the truck and lock the door.
Maybe Torin really is going to get his truck, or maybe he’s going somewhere with cell service to tell East Ridge exactly where I am. I can’t do much about either possibility.
What I can do is get out of this fucking dress.
I climb awkwardly into the back seat and reach for my backpack before remembering the files.
Shit.
I climb out again, keeping one eye on the trees as I go around to the rear of the truck. The crash has twisted the tailgate enough that the latch sticks, and I have to wrench it twice before it finally gives.
The files are exactly where I left them.
I slide the package into my backpack and take it into the cab with me before stripping off the dress. The fabric catches around my hair and tears somewhere near the side seam, but I yank it free and throw it onto the floor.
I’ve never been so happy to put on a pair of panties in my life.
I pull on jeans, a shirt and a sweater, and by the time I’m dressed, the cold has started creeping into the truck and exhaustion is catching up with me. My face throbs, my chest aches and even my hands hurt.
I look through the windshield at the place where Torin disappeared.
I have no idea whether he’s coming back. Six miles isn’t that far, and I’ve hiked farther. But I’m not setting off alone through unfamiliar bear territory at midnight after a car crash with nothing but my phone as a flashlight.
I check the time.
I’ll give him twenty minutes.