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Because of Brad.
Even without trying, she remembered the feel of the wheel beneath her hands that night. It had been in a truck the same model as the one she drove now. Matt had let her drive his extra truck since her second year working for him. Since she had often had to drive out to his ranch where he had animals boarded occasionally. Or would have to drive to meet him at times.
If she had been in her own car that night, she and Nikki might not have made it out of the car in the first place.
Brad had rammed them hard, with his rental truck. Then he had come for Dusty. He’d slammed her head into the steering wheel before she even realized he was there to hurt and not to help.
And then he had turned on Nikki.
Dusty was so consumed with memories that she almost missed the man waving her down from the side of the road.
Then she recognized him—panic hit her,hard.
He shouldn’t be out there like that.
She threw the truck into park and opened the door. “Uncle Gerald! What happened? Where are you hurt? Uncle Gerald? Where’s Rhea?”
She had just left him at the inn two hours ago. And he’d been with his wife. Where was Rhea? Rhea was a retired physician.
She would have been helping Uncle Gerald with the blood—if she’d been able. Terror for her family slammed into her. Her aunt…
Her uncle had his hat over his head. There was blood all over his light-blue parka. “Uncle Gerald! What happened? Where’s Rhea? Were you in a wreck?”
She hurried to his side.
He met her halfway. That’s when she realized.
The hair beneath that hat was dark brown. Uncle Gerald’s waslight.It would be light under that hat.
“You’re not my uncle Gerald—”
“No. I’m not.” His hand wrapped around hers before she could back away.
“What?”
His arm, the one not covered in blood, slipped around her waist. “I’m sorry to do this, but you are coming with me. I need help. And…my wife panics when there is blood. This is about to send her over the edge, and I need an extra set of hands. Fast.”
He sounded so much like her uncle.
Just like that, he lifted her off her feet and muscled her to the white van, fifteen feet away.
Dusty tried to fight. He was six five and strong. Wiry, even though he was in his midsixties. He was so strong. She tried. She really did. She even bit him. “Let me go!”
She knew who he was. Who hehadto be.
That was confirmed when a woman met him at the door. “What are you doing? You can’t just take a woman off the highway. You’ll bearrested.”
“Get the door, honey, and hurry.”
“Who is she? What if the shooters are still out here? What if they see us and try again? What—”
Dusty could hear the total panic in the woman’s voice. Her own fear tripled.
Dusty bit his hand. He yelped. “Damn it, young lady. Stop that biting right now!”
“What are you going to do? Ground me?”
“Get in the van! Hurry! Before they shoot again!” the woman said, sliding the door open. “Hurry!”
