Stranded With The Detective

Piper Caraway was a very dangerous woman.

“Colby? Are you okay?”

No. He let out a shaky breath. “I’m...fine. My head isn’t bleeding.” At least he didn’t think so. At this point, he didn’t really care. He just wanted to get his breathing back under control before she realized her effect on him. Normally he was more disciplined than this. It must be the concussion. He was thinking crazy thoughts. Thoughts that were incredibly inappropriate given their situation.

“Oh, well, good.” She tugged her hands from his.

He had to force himself not to reach for her again. How insane was that? Just how hard had Palmer’s thug hit him?

“You didn’t really answer my earlier question.” He was desperate to tilt his world back on an even keel, to assess their situation. “Are you okay? Did Palmer or his men...do anything...to you?”

When she didn’t answer, he leaned closer until he could feel the delicious warmth of her skin radiating out. He cleared his tight throat. “Are you all right, Piper?”

He must have startled her because she jumped, her thigh hitting his. “A little, um, chilly, but otherwise fine.”

There was a lightness to her voice that made it sound like she was amused about something. He had no clue what. But she’d said she was chilly, and he didn’t want her to be cold. So even though touching her with his thoughts so scattered was about as dangerous as touching a match to a powder keg, he reached out to pull her close and offer her his body heat. When his hands settled around her bare waist, he froze. His mouth went as dry as dust.

“Piper?” he croaked, then coughed to clear his throat. “Are you...naked?”

This time she did laugh, a joyful, robust sound that was so rich and honest and so unexpected that he couldn’t help smiling. Everything about her surprised him. Maybe that was the problem. No one surprised him anymore. The fact that she did had him unbalanced.

“No,” she said when she stopped laughing. “But I did sacrifice my shirt for the cause.”

“The cause?” He raised his hand and touched his scalp more carefully this time, feeling the sticky dried blood. “You mean me? You said you tried to stop the bleeding. You used your shirt?”

“Did I mention the back of this truck is empty except for the two of us? There aren’t any first-aid kits lying around. I used my hands at first. But I couldn’t get enough even pressure that way. My shirt was the only thing I could think of.”

“You could have used my shirt.”

“And leave an injured man both cold and bleeding? I’m not quite that selfish.”

The words sounded flippant, but he detected an underlying hurt in them.

“Where’s your jacket?” he asked. “You had one the last I saw.”

“Apparently I smart-mouthed Palmer one too many times. He pulled over to check on us and I might have called him a few names. He took my jacket in retaliation. Leaving me to shiver in my bra and jeans was my punishment.”

Colby immediately shrugged out of his jacket, then tried to settle it around her shoulders.

She jerked back. “What are you doing?”

“You gave up your shirt for me. The least I can do is give up my jacket. I’ve got a thick flannel shirt on. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re wounded. I’m not taking your jacket.”

The sound of the engine subtly changed. Brakes squealed. The truck slowed. Colby braced himself against the back wall as the truck came to a stop.

They were both silent. The sound of voices carried to them from the cab. The driver’s door popped open, then the passenger door. Shoes crunched on dried leaves, coming toward the back of the truck.

“We’re about to have company.” Colby found her in the dark and pressed his jacket around her shoulders. “You want to face Palmer and his men again with or without a shirt? Your choice.”

She grabbed the jacket and he could hear the waterproof fabric rustling as she shrugged her arms into the sleeves.

A quick check at his waist confirmed what he’d already assumed. His gun, holster, everything he could have used as weapons or to contact his team were gone.

As the lock rattled at the back, he checked one more hiding place, his right boot. He slid his fingers inside the top edge. The cold handle of his hunting knife was still nestled in the built-in sheath. He wasn’t completely defenseless after all.

But bringing a knife to a gunfight wasn’t the best plan. It was the last resort of a desperate man. And he wasn’t desperate. Not yet. He needed to assess their situation before he showed all his cards.

He jerked his hand back, leaving the knife in his boot as the door was shoved upward. It slammed into the slot in the roof, bouncing against the top before settling.

Colby moved in front of Piper, shielding her from view. But her sharp intake of breath told him she’d leaned around him and saw what he was seeing—three rifles pointed directly at them.