Bossy. Demanding. Unyielding.
Her memory conjured eyes the color of storm clouds, and awareness ofhispresence centered her, his voice a tether pulling her out of the chasm. And good Lord, it was deep. The effort required to emerge from the depths next to impossible to sustain, were it not for the man who commanded her.
With a final shove for the finish line, she came back to her body in a rush, her nerve endings alive, her mind overwhelmed by sensory input she had no context for. Softness and warmth. A comfortable mattress, a plump pillow, blankets with weight.
The smell of clean linen mingled with cedar and his scent—sandalwood and a hint of leather. Sounds, normal and familiar, registered slowly, the rattle of a windowpane, the creak of a board, the hum of electricity.
Light.
A yellow glow, soothing and indistinct, seeped beneath her closed lids.
Open your eyes, princess.
She obeyed, and the room spun lazily.
An open door. A cloud of white. Shadows dancing over the wall.
Next to the bed, a metal pole wafted in and out of focus, complete with IV bag and plastic tube snaking its way toward her right arm. On the bedside table, dimly illuminated by the lamp left on, she discovered one road atlas, a tin of lip butter, a small stack of cash, and the knife Yolande had given her.
Her meager belongings. All within easy reach. A message. From him.
Her gaze floated to the door. He was out there. Not far. If she called—he would come. Shield her. Protect her. Keep her safe. Even if she hadn’t registered the guns holstered under his arms as the snow swirled around them, the fierceness in his eyes caught in the beam of his truck’s headlights had been unmistakable.
Good man or bad, he was a danger to his enemies, and without a doubt, he’d added hers to the list.
Well, she had a message for him too. Inch by infinitesimal inch she stretched her hand across her body, rolling onto her sore shoulder. When she was within range, she palmed the knife by the handle, taking it with her as she fell back onto the mattress.
Her enemies. Her safety. Her business.
From now on, this princess was all about rescuing herself.
“Play it again,”Adam ordered, his voice kept low even though he sat at the kitchen counter and sleeping beauty had been relocated to the bedroom.
After giving her a quick sponge bath, he’d dressed her in a spare pair of his shorts and a clean T-shirt before putting her under the covers of the only bed in the cabin.
His bed.
Well, the bed he’d been using since his arrival. Still, he’d claimed it as his, and she slept in it, her strawberry-blond hair feathered over the pillow, the white goose down duvet practically engulfing her.
God. She’d looked so fragile under the mountain of covers, and Adam had the urge to keep her safe and hidden for as long as it took to hunt down the person responsible for her condition.
A momentary break from reality.
He didn’t have time foras long as it took.
Proof of which he eyeballed on video now. “What the fuck?”
“Told you,” Grant replied over the three-way conference line. “No heat signature coming off this guy whatsoever.”
“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Adam asked.
“Nothing this advanced,” Jay replied. “You can see his head and hands were uncovered the whole time, so we’re not dealing with silicon heat-cloaking material or some other nanotech.”
“Wasn’t a signal jam either,” Grant added. “Or we wouldn’t have picked up everyone else’s image on the scanner.”
“Damn,” Adam said as the video showed Grant squeezing off rounds at the advancing man. “At that range, the slugs to the vest should have knocked him on his ass.”
“No shit,” Grant huffed. “Three bullets, center mass, didn’t even slow the bastard down. No clue what we’re dealing with here, but whatever supernatural shit this is, it’s not fucking normal.”
