Page 5

A calm, mechanical woman’s voice crackled from the dashboard speakers. “A crash has been detected. Emergency services are being notified of your GPS location. Help will arrive shortly.”

The car shifted, settling deeper into the muck. The movement sent my purse—my oversized, leather tote containing my wallet, my passport, my phone, and the three hundred dollars that were the only funds I had at the moment—sliding across the passenger seat.

It hit the open window.

"No!" I lunged for it, flinching as pain flooded my leg and chest. My fingers brushed the strap, but gravity was faster. The bag tipped over the edge of the door frame and vanished into the black water outside.

I heard the splash. A heavy, final plunk.

I froze with my hand outstretched toward the empty window, staring and blinking in complete disbelief. My ID. My credit cards, even if they were tracked and being closed one by one. My phone. My connection to Mindy. All of it, gone. Cold, sharp panic pierced through the shock. I was trapped in a ditch in the middle of nowhere, in a torrent, with no money, no phone, and no name.

Get out. You have to get out.

The oily water seeped around my ankles. When I reached for the seatbelt release, the mechanism remained locked, a heavy bar of polyester pinning me into the seat. I tried to shift toward the open window, but a white-hot spike drove through my right leg, anchoring me in place. I let out a jagged sound—half-gasp, half-sob. My ribs groaned against the pressure of the belt, every shallow breath an agonizing mistake. I was trapped in a sinking Hyundai, and the swamp was already claiming my sneakers.

"Help." The word was pathetic in the small space. I was a person who sold out stadiums, a woman who had the world at her feet, and now I couldn’t even reach the glass.

Then the world turned blue and red.

Flashes of light cut through the trees above and behind me. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. The strobe effect made the rain look like stop-motion animation. A siren wailed, cutting off abruptly as a vehicle pulled onto the shoulder above me.

"Down here! I’m in the water!" I tried not to cry at the pain that flared with every breath as I yelled as loudly as I could.

A beam of light swept down the embankment, blinding me, and I threw my hands up and cowered against the driver’s seat. Boots crunched on the gravel slope, followed by heavy, fast footsteps sliding in the mud.

"Driver! Can you hear me?" The voice was baritone and commanding. A presence appeared at the slightly open driver’s window, and a hand, gloved and massive, gripped the top of the door frame. "I’m going to pull the door. Watch your hands!"

There was a grunt of exertion, a sound of metal groaning, and then the door wrenched open as if it were made of cardboard. I peered up and saw a giant standing in the rain. He was backlit by the ambulance lights, a towering silhouette in a heavy canvas-looking coat and helmet. He looked like a mountain that had decided to walk. My instinct wasn’t relief—it was terror.

I had been here before, on a smaller scale.

I knew the script by heart.

This was the moment the cell phone cameras came out. This was the moment the frantic, unflattering photos were snapped—Pop Star Found in Ditch. Sutton Vale’s Breakdown.

I tried to tuck my head toward my knees, throwing my arms over my face and ignoring the pain.

"No cameras!" I shrieked, my voice cracking as I peeked at him from under my arm. "Please! No cameras!"

The giant froze. He didn’t reach for me immediately. He stood there in the pouring rain, the water sluicing off his helmet.

"Please," I sobbed into my arms. "Don’t take my picture. Just... don’t."

Chapter Three

SUTTON

The silence lasted for a heartbeat, then two.

"No cameras," the deep voice said. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact. "Just me."

He moved but not toward me. I peeked under my arm again. The giant had shifted his position. He had moved his body, expanding his stance, effectively becoming a human wall between me and the road above. He was blocking the line of sight from the other responders, from the passing cars, from the world.

He leaned in and shined his light into the cabin. I caught sight of a strong jaw covered in dark stubble and eyes that were calm, green, and completely devoid of recognition. "I’m a paramedic. My name is Ben. You’re safe. Nobody is taking your picture." He reached out a hand. "Can you move?"

I shrugged, trembling. "My ankle. I think... I think I hurt my ankle. And my ribs hurt from the seatbelt."

Someone on the road shouted down and Ben responded that he had it handled. I was grateful for small mercies. The paramedic placed one hand on the back of my neck and the other under my jaw, stabilizing my head with practiced strength. “Any pain in your neck or back?”