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A woman, he realized.
She thrust her arms out in front of her. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
Duke raised his hands in the air and took a step back when he saw the gun in her hands. He reminded himself to stay calm.
He was former Army CID—Criminal Investigative Division.
He could grab that gun from the woman and take her down in three seconds flat.
But he’d try other methods first.
Clearly, this was a misunderstanding.
This woman . . . was she a trafficking victim?
Why else would she be in a semi right now? But, if that were the case, where was the driver? Had he run?
Scenarios collided in Duke’s mind as he tried to make sense of the situation.
What if his theory was correct? What if the missing women of Dalton Highway had been abducted by a truck driver? Was this woman one of the victims?
His heart pounded harder.
Duke kept his hands raised as he murmured, “I don’t mean any trouble.”
“I repeat, who are you?” A slight Texas drawl drew out the woman’s words as her voice trembled.
She was scared, Duke realized. She had good reason to be afraid out here.
“I was passing by,” he explained. “I saw you swerve off the road and thought you might need help.”
What had happened exactly? Based on the way the woman was reacting, it seemed like more than a simple accident.
She was fearful of . . . someone or something.
Duke observed the woman a moment.
She was tiny—almost reminding him of a teenager at first—with white-blonde hair that came to her chin. Most of it was concealed by a colorful knit hat. Even in her heavy coat, jeans, and boots, he could still tell she was the half-pint type.
“I’m fine. I can handle myself and my truck just fine.” A touch of fear quickly appeared then disappeared from her gaze.
Hertruck?
Duke tried not to generalize, but he hadn’t expected this petite woman to be a truck driver. Maybe because she was younger and prettier than most of the truckers he encountered while traveling this lonely highway.
Actually, Duke mentally corrected himself, she wasdefinitelyyounger and prettier than any truck driver he’d ever run into.
Her eyes, as they’d flashed at him, showed intelligence—at least of the street-smart variety. But his instincts told him there was more to her than that. Something about this situation felt unnatural.
“Of course, you can handle yourself,” Duke finally responded, keeping his voice calm. “I didn’t say you couldn’t.”
The woman stared at him, a mix of spitfire and angel. Finally, she lowered her gun.
“You scared me,” she admitted. “I thought you were . . .”
She didn’t finish her statement, but Duke desperately wanted to know what she’d been about to say.
What had she thought?
