Navy Seal Security. Liz JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
my time.”
* * *
By the time they asked CHP to check for any evidence Mandy’s attacker had left behind on her car, said goodbye to the officers and arranged for the wrecker to pick up her vehicle, Mandy was ready for a hot bath and a full night of sleep. Neither seemed plausible, though. Even if she could get into a bath, she was pretty sure that she hurt too much to get out of it. And every time she closed her eyes, she felt that sickening lurch of her tire catching on the gravel, nearly flinging her off the road.
“Do you want me to take you to the ER to get that checked out?”
She jolted at the nearness of Luke’s voice, right next to her in the car, then groaned as she cradled her left arm across her chest.
Everything. Hurt.
And that ache was beginning to surpass the stinging on her head. Flipping down the visor of the passenger seat in his car, she opened the mirror and pulled the shirt back to reveal the wound. The hair right above her forehead was matted and brown, but the red stripe wasn’t oozing. She prodded it with a tentative touch. “I don’t think so. It’s not very deep. I just want to go home and get some rest.”
“Classic head wound.” Luke carefully positioned his injured leg below the steering wheel and closed the driver’s side door. “Those usually bleed like they’re going to kill you, even if they’re just a scratch.” He followed the motion of her hand with his eyes as she pulled her fingers away to confirm the bleeding had stopped.
The tips were clear, save for the dirt caked in every knuckle and embedded under every nail. She looked as if she’d been in war rather than simply doused in sand and grime. Maybe she could swap the bath in favor of a hot shower.
When she was clean and rested, then she could face whatever—whoever—was out there.
“Where am I going?”
She pointed him down the hill in the direction of her house, thankful for the telltale jerk as he tapped his brakes, pulling back onto the deserted highway. Still, her heart beat just a little harder with every swerve in the road and change in the slope.
They sat in silence for several minutes, her eyes glued to the edge of the reach of his headlights.
“You want to talk about it?”
“What, exactly?”
He lifted his right shoulder and dipped his head to the far side. “I don’t know. Anything. Like when you knew you were in trouble. How you’re feeling.” A hitch in his voice suggested that he wasn’t any more eager to talk about her feelings than he was to lose the brakes in his car.
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