Dex leaned across me to pull the seat belt down.
Every inch of me went aware.
His arm brushed my shoulder. His crucifix swung forward, close enough that I saw the worn shape of Christ on the cross before he tucked the belt across my ribs. The leather cord brushed his throat when he moved back. His knuckles grazed the bare skin above my knee as he clicked the latch.
The touch wasn’t quite an accident, and it wasn’t quite intentional.
It was proximity.
My skin warmed anyway.
“You good?” he asked.
“I’m handcuffed in your truck after a backroad pursuit. I’m going to say no.”
“Are the cuffs cutting?”
That question again. Practical. Decent. Harder to hate than it should’ve been.
I flexed my wrists. “No.”
He checked them anyway, sliding one finger under the chain. His hand was warm. Callused. Steady. My pulse hammered against metal.
Dex’s gaze met mine.
I smiled slowly because a woman should use every weapon she had, and sometimes a smile was sharper than a blade. “You’re very gentle for a man who chased me up a mountain.”
His expression didn’t move, but his voice roughened at the edge. “Don’t mistake gentle for distracted.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You already are.”
The words slid into the cab and stayed there.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Dex shut my door.
I watched him walk around the hood, and I let myself use the time. His keys were clipped at his right hip, not in his pocket. His phone was in his jacket. The cuffs key was on his belt. The truck had no cage partition, and the window controls sat on the armrest. My hands were cuffed in front, which meant he either trusted his own reaction time or didn’t intend to give me enough space to test it.
The phone in my boot pressed against my arch.
He hadn’t found it.
Crystal was still out of his reach.
I could work with that.
Dex got behind the wheel and started the pickup. The engine turned over low and deep. He shifted into reverse, backed us around in the tight clearing with clean movements, then eased past my disabled sedan.
I looked at it as we rolled by.
Dusty blue paint, one flat tire, and my escape route sitting dead behind a locked gate. My purse was gone from the seat and stowed somewhere behind me.
“You going to tow it?” I asked.
“Not tonight.”
