Page 89 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

He angled the beam at the low ceiling, searching for fishing line, pressure switches, anything waiting to punish the first man through the hatch.

Clear.

His flashlight landed on a figure curled against the far wall beneath a filthy blanket. A woman.

He checked the space around her. No weapon within reach. No one concealed behind the shelving. No second exit.

Her hands were bound in front of her with zip ties. Her shoulders shook, hair obscuring her face in tangled strands. Her lips were blue with cold, her skin waxy beneath the grime. Her bare feet were tucked under her as if she’d been trying to make herself smaller to survive.

Fuck. Nora.

Her eyes caught the light and flew wide with terror. Hudson dipped the beam immediately, keeping it on the floor between them as he holstered his gun.

He held up his empty hands, making sure she saw them before he took a single step closer. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re safe now.”

Her eyes stayed locked on his face, wide and unseeing, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts that fogged the cold air between them.

“Sarah,” Hudson called up. “She’s here. She’s alive.”

Sarah’s boots moved on the floor above him, and then she was at the hatch. “I’m coming down.”

“Sarah—”

Her legs swung over the edge.

Arguing now would waste seconds Nora didn’t have. He caught Sarah by the hips, gently lowering her to the floor.

“Thanks.” She moved past him to crouch in the dirt beside Nora.

“Nora.” Her voice came out low and warm. “Remember me? I’m the sheriff. Sarah Meyer. It’s over.”

Nora kept her gaze locked on Sarah, tears welling in her eyes.

“Hudson, your knife.” Sarah held out her hand without taking her eyes off Nora.

He placed it in her palm. Sarah leaned in slowly, letting Nora see every movement as she sliced carefully through the zip ties around her wrists. The plastic fell away, leaving angry red welts around skin so cold it looked almost translucent.

“There we go,” Sarah murmured. “You’re doing so well.”

A small sob escaped Nora, her fingers clawed with cold. Sarah peeled off her own gloves and eased them over Nora’s hands, careful of her raw wrists.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” she said. “Deputy Marshal Kane’s going to help. Is that all right?”

Nora looked uncertainly toward Hudson, then back to Sarah. When Sarah smiled, she gave the smallest nod.

Hudson crouched beside her. “Can you stand up for me?”

Nora planted one gloved hand against the dirt floor and tried. Her arms trembled violently. She barely made it halfway before her legs gave way beneath her, and she slumped back against the wall with a frustrated, broken sound.

“It’s all right,” Sarah said. “Don’t fight it.”

Hudson kept his voice low. “I’m going to carry you.”

Sarah didn’t hesitate. She gathered the filthy blanket from around Nora’s shoulders, tucking the loose edge beneath Nora’s arms so it wouldn’t slip once Hudson lifted her. Then she rested one steady hand on Nora’s shoulder.

“Hudson has you. I’ve got you too.”

Nora’s breathing eased by the smallest fraction. Only then did Hudson slide one arm behind her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. Sarah supported Nora’s head and kept the blanket tucked around her until Nora’s weight was secure against Hudson’s chest. The weight pulled across his ribs, but he locked down his breathing and rose.