Page 52 of To Curse A Knight

There weren’t any notable markers out here in the mountains—it would be impossible for someone to have their bearings without the help of a phone or GPS.

My FBI tracking training kicked in; research showed that when faced with a fork in the road, the brain was more likely to choose a right turn than a left turn.

So, right it was. I sure as fuck hoped the Bureau’s data was up to date, and that this woman wasn’t an anomaly in her thinking.

I hunched my shoulders and lowered my body, racing along the shoulder of the road to appear smaller; the moonlight guided my way. The only vehicles driving this segment at this time of night would be long-haul truckers. A truck stop was just a few miles from here.

If she’d already hitchhiked with a well-intentioned trucker, we were fucked.

I upped my pace, determined to find my Killer’s captive before she could ruin the woman I so desperately needed in my life. Instinct took over, and I abandoned every cynical thought in my head, pumping my legs as fast as they’d take me, while still scanning both sides of the road for any signs of life or disruption.

Rounding the bend in the road, I came upon the lit-up parking lot of the trucker’s diner and refueling station. Luckily, it wasn’t a large rest stop. If she was here, I should be able to find her easily.

Unluckily, that meant I wasn’t able to hide well, either.

I slowed my pace and nonchalantly strode through the pumps, heading toward the diner itself.

A bell chimed as I entered through the glass doors. I offered a friendly smile to the attendant scrolling through their phone at the convenience counter, but she barely looked up to give me a second glance.

Good—the less anyone paid attention to me here, the better. I scanned the diner to the right of the doorway. Only two tables had patrons, and none of them were women. I was about to head back to the washrooms when the conversation of a mid-fifties trucker and the server at the front cash caught my attention.

“I’ll need two cups of coffee and two of your breakfasts, Brenda.” His graying brows knitted together before he added, “And a doughnut, too. I’ve got a straggler on board and she’s going to need some medical attention, so I’m taking her into the city. Gave her my phone to call her family in the truck.”

Fuck. I’d bet my entire cartel fortune the woman he was being a Good Samaritan for was the same woman I was after.

Theman waited at the counter while Brenda got busy with the order. It was now or never. I turned on my heel and assessed the parking lot. Three long-haul trailers.

Crouching low, I ran between them, hauling myself up quickly on the step plate to peer inside each cab. The third truck, the one parked farthest away from the diner, was the ticket.

A haggard blonde woman wrapped in a blanket peered back at me, her eyes wide with fright. I held a finger to my lips, and took out my FBI badge, holding it to the glass of the window. She stared at it, her face lighting with recognition. Frantically, she opened the door to speak to me.

“Sorry to scare you, ma’am.” I put the badge back in my pocket. “Your friend called the FBI, and I was already in the area tonight. Are you okay?”

Anyone with two brain cells would know the scenario was unlikely—why would an FBI agent be in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night?—but she was scared, vulnerable, and desperate.

If there was a hell, my actions tonight would absolutely cinch my invitation.

Her teeth chattered violently, but she spoke through them.

“F-fr-fro-frozen.” She shivered enough to mimic an epileptic seizure and fell into my arms when I offered her a hand.

“Come with me.” I issued the command in my most soothing tone, the one used to coax confessions out of trained killers. “I’ll get you somewhere safe and then we can talk.”

I was running out of time. Breakfast didn’t take long to cook, and if the trucker was a good guy, he’d be rushing to get back to make sure his damsel in distress was okay.

She took my hand. I guided her down the steep step of the truck, leading her to the other side of the diner building where I wouldn’t be in sight of any cameras. The steep incline to our right looked like my only escape option, and I cursed at the stupidity of the plan forming in my mind. My body would be wrecked tomorrow.

Without warning, I bundled her in my arms, cradled her head, and clamped a firm hand over her mouth to muffle her scream. I threw us off the side of the hill, our bodies bouncing and rolling into the thick brush below.

Agony ripped through my right thigh where a sharp rock punctured through my pants and into the muscle tissue, but I didn’t let go. I’d suffer a thousand puncture wounds to secure this woman if it meant keeping Hillary safe.

When we came to a full stop, I wrapped my hands around her neck in a sleeper hold, knocking her unconscious before she could attempt to run away. Under the blanket, she was wearing barely anything at all—a thin cotton t-shirt and pajama pants—and her toes were already turning purple with frostbite.

I bundled her into the blanket like a sausage roll and carried her over my shoulder. My thigh ached with sharp pain with every step. At six miles away from Hill’s warehouse, it would take me over an hour to return in these conditions.

My companion wouldn’t be unconscious for an hour. I had another few seconds, at best. I dropped her to the snow and hovered over her body, waiting for her to return to the land of the living.

The thick tree line protected us from view, so even if the friendly trucker were to look over the cliff side, he wouldn’t be able to see us. I hoped he’d think she got scared off and simply disappeared.

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