“Doesn’t matter.”
“Okay... Jane.” He held out his hand. “I’m Rob Valdez, and I’m gonna help you out.”
She folded her arms. “Not by taking me to the hospital and calling the police. That’s not going to help me.”
“We’ll figure something out. Let’s get you out of this desert. I have water in the truck.” Locking his gaze with hers, he ducked to pick up his badge and ID.
“Water?” Her body swayed to the side and she braced a hand against a branch of the paloverde tree.
“That’s right. You must be parched.” He inched closer to her, shuffling his boots in the sand.
“Water?” As the word left her lips, she crumpled to the ground.
Rob lunged forward. He placed one foot on top of the knife, driving it into the dirt just in case this was some kind of scam.
He crouched next to her and whistled as he touched the wound on the side of her head. No scam.
He swept his light across the ground to see if she had anything besides the knife and the clothes on her back. She didn’t.
He pocketed the knife, placed the flashlight between his teeth and slid his arms beneath Jane’s lithe frame. He pushed up, clasping her to his chest, and picked his way over the ground.
Trooping up the incline carrying dead weight, even though that dead weight was as light as a feather, was proving to be a challenge. He pumped his legs, digging his feet into the sand with each step. When he reached the top, he placed Jane on the ground and scrambled over the ridge. He scooped her up again and placed her in the passenger seat of the truck, snapping the seat belt across her body. He reclined the seat and checked her vitals.
He wouldn’t call her pulse strong, but it beat steadily beneath his fingers. Her parched lips parted, and she released a soft sigh. Her dark lashes fluttered.
He held his breath, willing her to come to. He’d rather have her conscious and threatening him with that knife than out like this.
Reaching into the back seat, he grabbed the first-aid kit every Border Patrol vehicle carried. He flipped it open and snagged some gauze and antiseptic from two compartments. He lifted the top tray and pinched a clean cloth between two fingers. He soaked it with water from his bottle and dabbed the cut on Jane’s head. Head wounds always bled all out of proportion to their seriousness, but this nasty gash had him worried.
He should just drive her straight to the hospital and let a professional take care of her. Even if her ex found her out, the cops could protect her.
His hands froze and he snorted. He knew better than anyone the fallacy of that misplaced belief. He finished cleaning the dried blood from her cut and applied some antiseptic.
Her breath quickened and her eyelids squeezed tighter.
“Jane?” he whispered in her ear, but it probably wouldn’t do much good. If her name was Jane, his was Tarzan.
He wrapped some gauze around her head like a hippie headband to cover the injury in case her movement caused it to bleed again. Then he dumped some water on another clean cloth and pressed it against her lips.
She moaned and shifted in her seat.
“I’ve got you. You’re safe. Wake up and drink some water.”
She mumbled something and moved her arm.
“That’s it. Come out of it.”
Her eyes flew open, and she stared at him. Panic flooded her face. She jerked forward against the seat belt and lurched back against the restraint.
“You’re all right. You’re all right. Remember? I’m Border Patrol agent Rob Valdez. You passed out down there, and now you’re in my truck.”
Her hands flailed for a few seconds. “No police.”
“I didn’t call the police. I didn’t call anyone.” He held out the bottle of water. “I cleaned your wound. I did the best I could, but...”
“No hospital.” She shook her head, gasped and then cradled one side of her face with her palm.
“Okay, no hospital, either, but you need to take it easy.” He held the water to her lips. “Drink. You’re dehydrated.”
Closing her eyes, she gulped back the water, finishing almost half of the liquid. She shoved the bottle between her knees and wrapped both hands around it, denting the plastic.
Rob cleared his throat. “Is there someplace I can drop you? A friend? Relative? Bus station? I can drive you up to Tucson, if you like.”
She opened one eye. “Tucson?”
“Isn’t that where you were headed when you had the crash?” He’d just assumed that. Jane hadn’t told him a whole helluva lot outside of the story of her abusive ex. He tilted his head. “Where were you headed? How’d you wreck that car?”
He should’ve been asking these questions before he got her in his truck.
“I wasn’t running toward anything or anyone.” She put a hand to her throat, and her voice hitched. “I was just running away.”
“You don’t have any friends or relatives in this area? No bags? No money? No car?”
“Everything burned up in that inferno.” She swept her hair, clumped with blood, from her cheek where a single tear sparkled. “I’m so tired, so weak.”
Rob patted her knee and pushed up to his feet. What kind of brute was he, interrogating her on this desert road when she needed food and meds and rest?
“I can take you back to my place for now, so you can get your bearings. Is that all right?”
“How’s your family going to feel about it? I don’t want to put anyone out.”
“I don’t have a family—at least not one I live with. If you’d rather stay with a family, I can probably drop you off with my buddy and his wife.” He scratched his chin. “I think that would be okay.”
Whom was he kidding? Clay Archer played by the rules, even if his wife, April, didn’t. Clay would call the cops for sure.
“Your buddy? Is he a Border Patrol agent, like you?”
“He is.”
She held out a hand.
