presence.
J.?J. frowned. God, that voice. Deep. Sure. Beyond incredible. Something about it called to her, making awareness spike and her interest turn. She wanted to hear it again. Needed the rich timbre to ground her in the here and now. Maybe then her mind would clear. Maybe then coherence would return. Maybe then she would remember.
Concentrating hard, she chased the soft sound of his murmur through her mind, hunting for the truth. Recall played a cruel game of keep-away. She dug deeper, needing to know. Fragmented pieces bubbled to the surface. J.?J. shook her head. None of it seemed real and yet she couldn’t dismiss him. He’d been so warm. So powerful. So present and potent that the impression he left clung like seaweed in sun-warmed shallows. He’d done something to her. Saved her somehow. Soothed her while he took the pain away. And, hmm, that had been nice. The rush of sensation. The warm curl of comfort. The intense heat of his body along with his scent as he carried her away.
J.?J. drew a soft breath.
A low curse interrupted her train of thought.
The scraping sound came next, then the bumping thump over something big.
She cracked her eyes open, and… wham! Instant recognition. Not to mention full-on alarm. Holy moly. She wasn’t in the hospital anymore, but in the front seat of an SUV. The backrest cranked all the way back, she lay curled on her side, snug inside a leather jacket with a blanket covering her legs, facing…
An angel. A man she now remembered with total clarity.
Odd, to say the least. With the drugs mucking up her mind, she’d doubted he was real when she saw him in the corridor. Now, with the effects of the Demerol gone, lucidity returned, helping her catalog the details. J.?J. licked over the cut splitting her bottom lip. Tall. Strong. Amber-gold eyes set in a too-handsome face. Big, bad, and brawny. He owned them all, sporting each one like a junkyard dog wore spikes, razor-sharp teeth at the ready.
Ignoring the discomfort, J.?J. swallowed past her sore throat. “Wick.”
“Shit.” He glanced sideways at her. “You’re awake.”
“Not an angel.”
His mouth curved. “Not even close.”
Good to know. Better to remember. Why? Something about him wasn’t quite tame. He was too intense to be considered safe. But even as instinct squawked, warning her of the danger, J.?J. couldn’t muster an ounce of fear. He wouldn’t hurt her. Crazy to believe it? Probably. But for some reason, the observation didn’t change a thing.
She wasn’t afraid of him.
“Where are we?” Excellent question. One that needed answering—fast—considering her companion and his lead foot. Jeez, he was driving at breakneck speed… heading God only knew where. Glancing out the side window, J.?J. forced her eyes into focus. Tree trunks raced past, galloping in the opposite direction. The engine roared. Wick cranked the wheel, spinning the truck around a tight corner. Dirt flew, spraying the undercarriage. Moonlight pierced the darkness as branches raked the SUV like gnarled fingernails. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe,” he said, eyes on the road, big hands on the wheel, expression set. “Go back to sleep.”
“Can’t.” More insistent now, anguish throbbed against her side, working its way down her leg to beat on her broken ankle. “I’m hurting.”
“I know. Hold on,
Not soon enough. It wouldn’t be soon enough. She needed something right now. A something she knew from experience he could give her. “Can you…”
He arched a brow. “What?”
“Hold my hand?”
Throwing her a startled look, he shook his head. “No.”
“Please?” She hated to beg—she really did—but touching him would help. Or, at the very least, get her through. Did it matter he was a stranger? Or that he didn’t want to touch her (yeah, that came through loud and clear), but… no. Forget logic. Only one thing mattered. She needed him, for some bizarre reason. So like it or not, he was going to hold her hand. “It’s getting worse, and I think touching you will help.”
A muscle twitched along his jaw.
“Please, Wick?”
Agony tightened its grip, snaking around her rib cage. As she gasped, silence stretched, one second lengthening into the next. J.?J. drew her knees closer, curling into a fetal position, tucking her face into the collar of his leather jacket as she struggled to waylay the pain. A no-go. Brutal sensation told her all she needed to know. The last of the Demerol had worn off, leaving her unable to do anything but feel. Fighting the onslaught, her teeth started to chatter.
“Fuck.”
The growl swirled in the cab a second before his hand left the steering wheel. He held it aloft a moment, poised in midair, then laid his forearm across the SUV’s center console. J.?J. didn’t hesitate. She reached out and, with a whispered “thank you,” slid her hand into his much larger one. Skin on skin, his unbelievable heat spread. Warm prickles ghosted up her arm, chasing her chills away. She sighed in relief. Wick flinched and, white- knuckling the wheel, cursed again.
“Sorry,” she said, trying to sound convincing.
She didn’t pull it off. Lying wasn’t her forte. Neither was faking it and—
A warm curl of sensation swirled through her. Something clicked, opening a channel deep inside her. Relief rolled in, breaking like a wave against a beachhead at high tide. The siphoning rush picked her up, blissed her out, relaxing her completely, and… oh wow. Thank you, God.
Her eyes grew heavy-lidded. His fingers twitched against hers. “Am I hurting you?”
“No.”
“But you don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
True. Then again, he didn’t say much of anything. He liked short answers, one to three words at a time. Not a problem for her. Quiet by nature, she appreciated silence—along with concise answers—more than most people. She’d learned that skill in prison. The more silent she became, the less others noticed her. An excellent skill to embrace when surrounded by violent offenders with impulse-control issues. Dum-Dum Daisy was proof enough of that.
And speaking of which? The whole jailbreak thing wasn’t a great idea.
“You should take me back, you know,” she said, her mind working better as the pain subsided. Which meant… no more room for denial. The dash and dodge through the forest told her all she needed to know. They were on the run. No doubt from cruisers with SPD’s logo plastered along the side. And once the cops caught up with them? Forget about parole. It would be bye-bye freedom, hello extended sentence. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m up for parole in a month and—”
“Forget it, Jamison.” His grip tightened as he glanced over his shoulder. His gaze narrowed on the back window. “I’m not taking you back to that shithole.”
Well, would you look at that? More than three words in a row. They were making progress. “But if the police catch us—”
“Fuck the cops.”
“Don’t swear at me.”
He huffed, the sound half-snort, half-laugh.
And she knew what he meant. Her reaction was ridiculous. She was accustomed to prison life, for goodness sake—the land where harsh language abounded. Still, his attitude annoyed her. He’d given her the brush-off, dismissing her problems, asserting his control, making her feel… well… helpless, for lack of a better word. Yes, he controlled the play, no question. Was behind the wheel, calling the shots, roaring down some stupid dirt road in the middle of nowhere, but this was her life.
