Page 12 of The SEAL's Runaway
Caleb closed the door. He wasn’t going to engage in a debate about women’s rights in the middle of the forest, not with armed assailants on the loose. Sometimes practicality took precedence.
By the time he cranked the engine back to life, Grace had already fastened her seatbelt. Good.
Warm air blasted from the heater vents and he turned the dial to maximum, then slung his hand over the back of the passenger seat, as he always did when he reversed.
He didn’t miss the tiny jerk of her body, the way she arched her spine to avoid any contact. What had frightened her so badly, and why had her ex hired a gang of thugs to hunt her down in the middle of the forest at night?
So many questions. But they could wait. For now, he needed to get her warm and back to his place, where he could protect her.
As he pulled out of the forest and back onto the road, the familiar hum of the blacktop under his tires eased his nerves. He pressed down on the accelerator.
Time to head home.
8
He has a dog.
He had to be a good person, right? Grace closed her eyes, grappling with the weight of her newfound criteria for trust. Was this what she had descended to, deciding if someone was good based on whether they had a dog? Because a dog would only choose to live with a good person, wouldn’t it?
His gaze remained fixed on the road, occasionally flicking to the rearview mirror to check for any signs of pursuit. Black ink flexed on his muscled forearms as he drove. He had shown her nothing but kindness and protection. Made sense. He was a Coast Guard—a protector—and if he’d wanted to, it would have been easy to give her up to Alex, but he hadn’t.
Maybe, just maybe, there were still good men in the world, despite the darkness she had endured with Richard.
Hot air from the heater soon permeated her chilled bones, and combined with the rhythmic hum of tires on the road, Grace found herself fighting the pull of sleep. It had been over twenty-four hours since she last slept, and now, on the road, moving, where no one could hurt her, sleep didn’t beckon. It dragged her under.
She had lost sense of time when rough motion jolted her awake. They were on an unsurfaced track, with trees on both sides like silent sentinels. A sliver of moonlight barely penetrated the darkness, casting eerie shadows.
“This isn’t a garage.” She laced her fingers together so their tremble wouldn’t give her away.
Caleb glanced at the chunky watch on his wrist. “It’s almost two a.m. You planning on waking up Mitch and asking him to work on your car in the middle of the night? Mind you, he’ll probably be awake. His ulcer keeps him up most nights. He won’t be cranky at all if you knock on his door at this hour.” He pulled on the handbrake. “It’s your funeral.” Long fingers flexed on the steering wheel. Frustration or patience. She couldn’t tell.
When she didn’t answer, he killed the engine, plunging them into a sleek silence that pressed against her ears, amplifying her sense of solitude.
“You could have taken me to a motel.” Her heart raced with a mixture of gratitude and doubt. She sounded ungrateful. This man had shielded her from Richard’s men, but the reality was she still didn’t know who the hell he was. And in her experience, men were not to be trusted. They came from a place of darkness and pain—a place she had fought so hard to escape.
A wet nose nudged her hand. Dolly. Grace tentatively reached out, her fingers sinking into soft fur. Did serial killers own dogs that enjoyed ear scratches?
He hissed air between his clenched teeth as he side eyed her. “You can have the bed. Or you can sleep in here. Your call.” With that, he jumped out of the cab and slammed the door so hard it made her teeth connect with a snap.
He showed her the impossible width of his back and stalked on powerful legs toward a painted two-story cabin with steps that led to a wrap-around porch. Lights clicked on as he opened the front door, illuminating a painted rocker and a dog basket on the porch. In different circumstances, she might have described it as idyllic, but right now…
Dolly nuzzled her hand, disturbing her reverie.
“Hey girl. Sorry, no treats.” Grace patted Dolly’s head absentmindedly.
She reached down to her boot, searching for the hilt of her knife. Her fingertips brushed the cool metal. Still there. Caleb had left the front door open, inviting her inside with a cozy, yellow light.
Grace took a deep breath and opened the truck door. Dolly hopped down, waiting patiently for Grace to join her.
“I’m trusting your judgment in men, Dolly,” Grace muttered, as she followed the dog toward the house.
Dolly gave a soft woof of agreement.
Okay. Dolly says he’s trustworthy.
Grace approached the house, night air crisp in her lungs as she stepped onto the porch. The moon bathed everything in a soft, luminous light. The porch rocker was weathered, the paint peeling in spots. Someone had folded a soft-looking blanket on the chair along with a book. Woodworking for Beginners. She skirted around the chair, but her leg caught the arm, causing a small wooden ornament to tumble to the floor. Grace picked it up, examining it closely. It looked like some kind of animal, but unlike anything she had ever seen before. Definitely not from this universe.
“Grace.”