I yawned and took another swig of my coffee, trying to suck the lukewarm mixture down in a single gulp. I grimaced at the candy-bar mixture. I preferred it black, but there were only so many cups of mud a person could drink before it started to feel like your stomach lining was about to peel off. In my case, that number was six.
Jeff was the one who had shown me how vital it was to load the mixture with enough cream and sugar to turn it into slurry. And he still hasn’t answered my text. It wasn’t like him. Maybe he didn’t get it? Should I send it again?
I made a note to call him when I got the chance, and then I rounded a bend and went blind. The driver coming from the opposite direction—a jeep, or maybe a lifted truck, I couldn’t tell—had his high beams misaimed, and they were blasting me straight in the face. Grateful for the low traffic, I stared down at the white line and tried to keep my truck straight.
And then, the lights started flickering and dancing in the lane. The glow alternately brightened and dimmed as the car moved, and I realized the driver was swerving. He or she was either drunk or having a heart attack, and neither one of those was very good.
Like so many other times in my short career, I did the only thing I could do. I eased off the fuel and prayed to whoever might be up there. Please keep this truck safe.
Finally, the headlights whizzed past me. I had enough time for a quick second of relief as the sudden darkness made spots dance across my vision—and then I heard it, an awful, thumping groan, and I felt the truck shudder. I glanced in my mirror and saw the trailer swing. I whipped the steering wheel to correct the motion, but it had already gone too far. Fifty-three feet of aluminum bucked like a sidewinder crossing the desert. I steered right, trying to take myself off of the road, but by then, the trailer had started to tip.
If a trailer rolls, the truck goes with it. Jeff had told me that a thousand times. Now I’d get the chance to find out if it was true.
The trailer turned in slow motion, with a groan I could feel all the way to my bones. Gravity shifted, and the world swiveled through my dash as the entire cab filled with the sounds of every item I owned falling at once.
Over the crashes, I heard Diesel’s whine, and there was just enough time for a ping of regret.
I’m sorry, boy. I didn’t know it was going to be this way.
And then the side of my head exploded into a cascade of pain and fire, and everything went dark.
Where . . .
I tried to blink, but my eyes were caked shut. My head was thumping with a techno-beat of pain and nausea that made me doubt my own ability to move. Gradually, I lifted my left hand to my forehead and touched my fingers to my brow, before working them down to brush off my eyelids.
I blinked and almost threw up.
I had known from the feeling of the seat-belt cutting into my side that I was sideways, but seeing my whole world turned ninety degrees was too much. I could even see the grass through the side windshield, a dark verdigris line that ran up what had once been the right side of the glass.
Okay. So I’ve tipped over. As horrible as that was, I was alive, and I hadn’t gone into a full roll-over. That was something to be grateful for. My own engine would have squashed me flat.
The right headlight was out, the beam from the left forming a narrow cone. I glanced back at the cab. There was just enough light to make out familiar shapes, some of which must have flown forward from their rightful places in the accident. There was my hairbrush, my shower bag—a few bras—
I blushed, even though there was nobody to see.
In the corner was the carafe of coffee. The stainless steel had held up well, but in the dim glow reflected back from the headlight and instrument panels, I could tell the plastic top had broken off. The puddle of coffee was a dark stain slightly shinier than the shadow that cloaked the rest of the cab.
Fuck. That stuff gets into the mats and then—
I broke out laughing, pain spiking colors through my amusement. The mats? Really? My tractor was totaled. The mats were the least of my worries.
Far below me, I saw a little circle of moment, and I realized it was Diesel. My stomach clenched again.
“Hey, buddy.”
He cocked his head at me and whined, his eyes glinting.
“Give me a second, okay? I’ll be there in a second.”
I glanced around, unsure of how I’d be able to do that, exactly. Suspended as I was, I’d have to find a way to brace myself. After a brief glance around, I settled on the steering wheel. I grabbed it as tightly as I could, wedged my dangling legs up onto the dash, and unhooked my seat belt.
Wait—the light. My arms screamed from the effort of holding me in place.
There were only two ways to turn on the light. There was a switch here on the dash—which I just might be able to reach now but probably couldn’t get once I had hit the floor—or the switch all of the way in the back, in the bunk—also on the left hand side. I wouldn’t be able to reach that damn thing, either.
I leaned forward as far as I dared, my fingers straining for the button. It was so close I could almost feel it under my fingertips.
Damn. Just an inch shy.
With a deep breath, I tried again, and then my foot slipped. There was the horrible sensation of falling. I smacked into the other side of the truck in a starburst of nausea and agony.
Inches away from my head, Diesel barked once and settled into a whine. I heard a series of odd, repetitive clicks and tried turn toward the source of the noise.
My tiny dog was frantically scratching at the glass, as if he wanted to go out, and there was a shadow—
I raised my head slightly, trying to focus my eyes on him.
Through the windshield, the cone of the remaining headlight just barely caught the edge of a dark, human-sized shape.
Maybe somebody is here to help me.
Then the shadow shifted, unfolding until it stood twice as tall, and it was somehow wider—
One of its limbs passed into the fullest part of the headlight beam. I glimpsed black fur and an arm that ended in wicked claws, and my heart stopped. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t human.
Diesel howled like a banshee and threw himself at the glass. His shrill cries filled the cab, and the creature on the other side of the dash jumped backward, so that its entire body passed into—and then out of—the glow of the headlight, too fast for me to fully register more than the impression of black fur and its size—it was massive, at least as large as a bear.
I heard a snarl, and something flashed in the low light—fangs—and then there was a rush of motion as it leaped forward and rammed its dark muzzle up to the glass. Again, I couldn’t catch any details—it was just too fast—
Another flurry of motion, and then it was gone, and Diesel abruptly stopped barking.
What in the hell was that? I need a weapon—a knife, something! Why aren’t truckers allowed to carry guns?—
But the truck was a horrible mess. I crawled around on my hands and feet, trying not to run my head into anything and failing miserably. Finally, my hand closed around something solid, and I brought it up to my face. It was a thick dowel, a little thinner and smaller than a baseball bat. My tire-thumper.
It wasn’t much, but I could jam it into that thing’s eyes or throat if I had to. I felt better for having it. Still, I wasn’t going out there, no-how, except—
Shit. My mind filled with the image of a burnt-down shell I had seen on I-96 a while back. Another truck had rolled in an accident, and the reefer had caught fire. There had been nothing left of the whole rig.
How cold was it outside? Would the reefer come on soon? Was I leaking fuel or fluids on the ground?
My mind started to swirl.
Go out? Stay in?
Another thought hit me. Could I even open the door? The damn thing was already so heavy, and with the truck on its side now—
And then I heard it, two loud cracks that I knew from countless movies. Gunshots.
; I threw myself back onto the ground, and a spot on my collarbone flared. Had I cut myself? Shit—there must be glass everywhere.
I smelled something, a thick, cloying odor, with an odd sweetness. It wasn’t fuel, but there were so many other fluids—and how many of them were flammable?
And what if there was someone out there with a gun—someone who could protect me, and I’d miss my chance by not going out?
Fuck it. I am getting the fuckety-fuck out of here.
My tire thumper tucked into my armpit, I grabbed Diesel and started to scramble up the dash. Every so often, I’d put him down somewhere and tell him to sit, and then scramble up a little higher, before grabbing him again. He sat like a good boy, giving no indication of the fact that I had recently found him by the side of the road.
Every inch cost me, and by the time I was edging my way to the top of the driver’s seat, one foot and one hand looped inside of the steering wheel, the other trying to gain purchase on the seatbelt, I was starting to wonder if I should just lay down and wait for the truck to roast me alive.
As soon as I stopped moving, though, Diesel started to whine. The pitiful, high-pitched noise made me want just give up, but instead, I picked him up and kept moving. As stupid as it sounded, I knew I couldn’t just leave him to be eaten by a monster or burned to death.
I pushed the button for the window and held my breath. It opened, a miracle if there ever was one. I shoved Diesel through, almost losing my grip with the other hand. His tiny claws clicked on the metal surface of the door. I hoped he wouldn’t fall and tried to get a good grip with the hand I had used to push him through.
My arms quivered. I pulled as hard as I could, but I couldn’t get myself to move anymore. I was stuck.
Unbelievable. My muscles were going to give out and drop me back to the ground, and it was all because of some goddamn hamburgers. And maybe the wings. I felt the doorframe slip out of my fingers. My heart lurched as I fell—and then something strong and firm clamp around my wrist and hauled, and I was pulled through the window.
“Are you all right?”
My mouth fell open. I knew this guy, but from where?
I blushed and gasped as I took in his outfit—the work shirt, the tight jeans. It was the hottie from the Glass Hitch, the one I had been spying on with Rhonda.
“Yes.” I swallowed. “I think so.”
“I’m Shawn. You’re safe now.”
Chapter Five
I tried to swallow against the pressure building in my chest. Shawn had been sexy before, but now, with adrenaline and hormones racing through my body, I was struck by the force of his physicality. Everything, from his stance to the way he held his hands, spoke of confidence, of a man used to being obeyed. And he had just saved me from falling back into the truck and hauled me out without breaking a sweat.
Yes, niggled a little voice at the back of my mind. But how did he climb up the side of your truck without you noticing?
And then I saw the dark splotches on his shirt—splotches that looked an awful lot like blood—and I realized that something wasn’t right here.
I shivered and took a step back, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“You’re not going into shock, are you? Are you bleeding? Let me help you down.” He indicated a shining contraption that ran down the floor of the truck, next to the tires.
My God. The man had brought a ladder. How had he known I would need one? How had he gotten here so fast? My mind was spinning.
It could just be luck. Maybe he’s a passing repairman?
“I have a blanket for you down there, and a first aid kit.”
I eyed the ladder, and then my mind flipped back to the creature I had seen through the dash. I glanced around, trying to spot some sign of it.
Which of the two was the larger danger?
When I looked back at Shawn, I flinched. He was observing me carefully, and I got the feeling he knew a lot of things he wasn’t telling me.
“Did you see . . . what happened?” I was stalling for time.
He nodded. “Yeah. I was in a Kenworth a little ways back. Drunk driver crossed the median and slammed into your trailer. Knocked the tandems right out from under it. That’s what caused the roll.”
I nodded, and my head swam. The explanation was logical and made sense, but I got the feeling that it was covered in tiny holes, too small for me to see—but they were there, if I could just find them.
“Well, I’m going to help you down, and then I’m going to go.”
I coughed. “You can’t go! That’s illegal, and what about the drunk driver—”
“He’s dead.”
I felt a rock drop in my stomach. Sure, there were lots of ways Shawn could have figured that out. He could have checked on the driver first, before me. He could have seen the wreck and just written the man off.
Or that could have been the gunshots I heard.
Which meant that not only was there a creature at large—but Shawn was a murderer.
“Oh.”
He stared at me for a second longer, and then he sighed. “Crap. What did you see?”
I swallowed. “What do you mean?” Something in his demeanor told me to act casual, but his haunted gaze was slowly morphing from drop-dead sexy to something far darker. I shuddered again.
“What did you see?”
I swallowed, trying to figure out how much to tell him. He rubbed at his chin. Even in the low light, I could tell it was covered with a shadow of stubble that only served to emphasize its strong lines.
“Something . . . ran in front of my truck. It wasn’t human.” I tried to keep it vague, but my voice trailed at the resignation that bloomed in his eyes.
He held my gaze for a long moment, and then he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I thought you could be spared.”
There was a slight click and a rustling, and he reached into his coat. When he pulled it out, I found myself staring down the barrel of a very large gun.
“What are you doing?” I could barely force out the words. Diesel’s ears went back, and he started to growl.
“I have a job to do.”
I saw his finger jump as it flexed slightly on the trigger. I tensed up at tried to remember the distance to the ground. If I jumped and rolled right, I might not hit it too hard.
My legs wouldn’t move, though. Maybe I was going into shock. All I could do was close my eyes.
Five second later—at least, I thought it was, but who can tell time in moments like these?—the shot had still not come. My heart beating in my throat, I opened my eyes. He had lowered his hand ever-so-slightly, and his face was turning white. He pointed at my neck. “Is that . . . real?”
My head swam. I followed the line of his finger with my eyes, bending my neck, so that I could see the spot he indicated.
Somehow, my shirt must have been torn in the fall. Half of the collar hung down at an awkward angle, looking sad and listless. The movement of the fabric had exposed my birthmark. No larger than a dime, it was a perfect crescent sliver, several shades darker than my own skin.
“What? That?” I swallowed again. “I’ve had it ever since I was born.”
“Does your father have one?”
Did my father . . . I tried to spin through my memories of the man, but they were sparse. Worse, I didn’t know which were real, and which my mind had constructed based on the stories of my mother.
And now that she was dead, it wasn’t like I could call her and ask her for details.
Is he going to shoot me or not? I mean, seriously, what in the hell was happening here, and what did my father have to do with anything? Was I unconscious and dreaming this all?
How hard had I hit my head?
I felt a slight, soft pressure at my ankles, and I knew Diesel was here, protecting me—which meant that this was real. “I don’t know. He left when I was still a kid. I don’t remember him that well.” I felt like an idiot for admitting something so personal to someone that was clearly insane.
And just like that, somewhere, in the midst of my fear, there was a spark, so sudden and so filled with emotion I thought I might fall over. Need. Longing. Curiosity.
Goddamnit. Luke had been right. I did have daddy issues.
“Yeah, although I don’t know who for. Like I said, he left when I was a baby.” I tried to figure out where this was going, but I had nothing. “That’s what my mother says, anyway. He left one day for a load, and he never came back.”
Something flashed over Shawn’s eyes, and the spark grew deeper. “Why . . . do you . . . do you know something?”
He was quiet, maddeningly quiet. And then he looked like he was going to say something, and my heart leaped—
“And what is your name?”
The hiss of a deflating balloon. I sighed. “Charlie.”
“That’s a man’s name. Is it short for Charlene?”
I cringed. Even here? Really? Were those going to be the last words I ever heard? Maybe they could put it on my headstone. “It says Charlie on my birth certificate.” I glanced down, trying not to move my head. This man was obviously deranged, and a ten-foot jump to the ground was starting to look really good. Was he sharp enough to hit a moving target?
Would I be able to stick the landing? Or would I just make it easier to shoot me? How would I bring Diesel?
“Shawn?”
In response to the call, the gun flew back up, level with my head. I glanced down at the other side of the truck. The newcomer was an old man. Was he a cohort, or my savior?
I decided to risk it. “Help! He’s got a gun!”
Shawn gave the new man the briefest of looks. “We got a situation here.”
Crap.
The man hustled up the ladder. He was surprisingly nimble, flying to the top in record time. “What’s going on?”
Shawn shook his head. “She saw the bubbler.”
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