and coffee in my truck.”
“Dangling a carrot, eh?”
That might’ve been a smile, but it was so dark she couldn’t be sure. “Whatever works.”
“Um … exactly where
is
your truck?” The shock had worn off enough now that she could think a little. Obviously Gabriel hadn’t flown there, so he had to have wheels somewhere.
“About half a mile farther. The ice was so bad I had to stop.”
Questions tumbled in her mind, questions like: why was he here? It wasn’t as if she and Gabriel McQueen were close friends—or even
friends
, come to that. Ofall the people in the world, what was
he
doing at her house? None of this felt real, and somehow his presence was the most unreal part of it all. Being knocked around, terrorized, almost raped, and held captive were all shocking enough in their own right, but the fact that he, of all people, had appeared out of the night to help her escape was simply dumbfounding—either that, she thought wryly, or this was her brain’s way of helping her cope by shoving all that other stuff to the side until she could cope.
If concentrating on Gabriel McQueen was a coping mechanism, then she’d go along with the game plan; that was much better than thinking of the violence, of everything that could go wrong, of how dangerous walking for miles in weather like this could be. The odds were so heavy against them surviving the night that only sheer desperation made her willing to try.
The darkness in the woods was almost complete; they both stumbled over obstacles, feeling their way along. Her eyes had adjusted somewhat, and still she could barely see. If Gabriel had a flashlight he didn’t produce it, and she didn’t ask; much as she wanted to see where she was going, she seriously didn’t want the equivalent of a spotlight pinpointing their position for Niki and Darwin.
In spite of the poncho Gabriel had given her, before long the cold cut through all the layers of clothing she wore. Her jeans and sweatpants were wet from falling on the ice, and the wind went right through to her skin. She would have liked nothing better than tostop and hunker down so the poncho draped around her and blocked the wind, but if she stopped moving she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to start up again. Knowing what waited behind her, in the warmth of her own home, spurred her to keep up. She’d walk all the way to Portland if that was what it took to get away from those two.
She’d even put her life in the hands of Gabriel McQueen, who had been the bane of her teenage years. He’d been everything she wasn’t: popular, outgoing, self-assured. And she’d had the most horribly painful crush on him all through junior high and high school. The flip side of that was she’d hated him, too, for all the times he’d made fun of her, all the times he’d taunted her and laughed at her, and she’d never passed up an opportunity to slip a verbal knife between his ribs. When he’d graduated two years ahead of her, she’d been relieved, yet she’d still caught herself watching the hallways for that proudly held dark head.
She should probably count herself lucky he’d bothered rescuing her. The teenage Gabriel wouldn’t have bothered—though, to be fair, if she’d still been a teenager she’d probably have slammed the window on his hands anyway.
Thinking about the past could occupy her mind only so long before her physical misery began to push its way to the forefront. The rain was coming down harder now, coating the trees, the underbrush, even them. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel theweight of it crusting her wet pants and shoes. At least her feet didn’t seem to be quite as wet as her legs, thanks to the Vaseline … either that, or they were so cold she couldn’t feel the moisture. The wind soughed through the tree limbs, making them rattle like bones in their ice-coffins. The sound was eerie, ghostly, and she was glad for the big, hard hand that gripped hers.
Then Gabriel pushed
“Dangling a carrot, eh?”
That might’ve been a smile, but it was so dark she couldn’t be sure. “Whatever works.”
“Um … exactly where
is
your truck?” The shock had worn off enough now that she could think a little. Obviously Gabriel hadn’t flown there, so he had to have wheels somewhere.
“About half a mile farther. The ice was so bad I had to stop.”
Questions tumbled in her mind, questions like: why was he here? It wasn’t as if she and Gabriel McQueen were close friends—or even
friends
, come to that. Ofall the people in the world, what was
he
doing at her house? None of this felt real, and somehow his presence was the most unreal part of it all. Being knocked around, terrorized, almost raped, and held captive were all shocking enough in their own right, but the fact that he, of all people, had appeared out of the night to help her escape was simply dumbfounding—either that, she thought wryly, or this was her brain’s way of helping her cope by shoving all that other stuff to the side until she could cope.
If concentrating on Gabriel McQueen was a coping mechanism, then she’d go along with the game plan; that was much better than thinking of the violence, of everything that could go wrong, of how dangerous walking for miles in weather like this could be. The odds were so heavy against them surviving the night that only sheer desperation made her willing to try.
The darkness in the woods was almost complete; they both stumbled over obstacles, feeling their way along. Her eyes had adjusted somewhat, and still she could barely see. If Gabriel had a flashlight he didn’t produce it, and she didn’t ask; much as she wanted to see where she was going, she seriously didn’t want the equivalent of a spotlight pinpointing their position for Niki and Darwin.
In spite of the poncho Gabriel had given her, before long the cold cut through all the layers of clothing she wore. Her jeans and sweatpants were wet from falling on the ice, and the wind went right through to her skin. She would have liked nothing better than tostop and hunker down so the poncho draped around her and blocked the wind, but if she stopped moving she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to start up again. Knowing what waited behind her, in the warmth of her own home, spurred her to keep up. She’d walk all the way to Portland if that was what it took to get away from those two.
She’d even put her life in the hands of Gabriel McQueen, who had been the bane of her teenage years. He’d been everything she wasn’t: popular, outgoing, self-assured. And she’d had the most horribly painful crush on him all through junior high and high school. The flip side of that was she’d hated him, too, for all the times he’d made fun of her, all the times he’d taunted her and laughed at her, and she’d never passed up an opportunity to slip a verbal knife between his ribs. When he’d graduated two years ahead of her, she’d been relieved, yet she’d still caught herself watching the hallways for that proudly held dark head.
She should probably count herself lucky he’d bothered rescuing her. The teenage Gabriel wouldn’t have bothered—though, to be fair, if she’d still been a teenager she’d probably have slammed the window on his hands anyway.
Thinking about the past could occupy her mind only so long before her physical misery began to push its way to the forefront. The rain was coming down harder now, coating the trees, the underbrush, even them. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel theweight of it crusting her wet pants and shoes. At least her feet didn’t seem to be quite as wet as her legs, thanks to the Vaseline … either that, or they were so cold she couldn’t feel the moisture. The wind soughed through the tree limbs, making them rattle like bones in their ice-coffins. The sound was eerie, ghostly, and she was glad for the big, hard hand that gripped hers.
Then Gabriel pushed
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