Right. That was exactly what she’d do.
Sage continued another few steps down the hill, but one thought stopped her: Vaughn hadn’t turned her over to the cop. A golden opportunity to complete his mission, and he passed it up like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. And if she called 911, that cop—who had obviously lead their attackers right to them—would be the first responder. Would he hurt Vaughn? Or worse, kill him to get rid of the witness?
Dammit.
She crouched behind a fallen log and waited until the flashlights disappeared and the voices faded. She’d been right—they had no interest in checking the car. She gave it another minute, let the forest settle around her into the usual rhythm of the night, then tiptoed toward the driver’s side. His door wasn’t jammed like hers had been, but when she opened it, the car slipped downhill a few inches. She jumped back, held her breath.
Please don’t fall. Please don’t fall.
The car groaned to a halt and she crept forward again. Vaughn was unconscious, held in place by his seatbelt. A nasty gash on his forehead dripped blood down his face. She had no idea how she was going to pull the big guy out of that seat without hurting him more, but the car wasn’t secure.
She had to try.
…
Vaughn woke to a pounding headache and the taste of powder and warm copper in his mouth. There was a bar across his chest, restricting his breathing, and something was tugging on his arm as insistently as a dog with a rope toy. It hurt. Actually, his whole fucking body hurt.
Had he been blown up again?
Felt that way but, seriously, how unlucky could a guy get to be blown up twice in one lifetime?
He blinked open gritty eyes and squinted into the darkness, made out the shape of a steering wheel and dashboard. He was in a vehicle, but he wasn’t on a road. The car was tilted nose down, the headlights illuminating nothing but dirt and dead leaves and a steep drop. What he thought was a bar across his chest was in fact the strap of his seatbelt holding him in.
In a rush, memories flooded back. The strange reappearance of the cop, then the SUV materializing like fucking magic and ramming them. Losing control of the wheel, spinning off the road into the ravine…
Sage.
Was she okay?
Wincing, he turned his head to search for her. The passenger seat was empty, and the windshield was broken. She had probably seen he was unconscious and taken advantage of the situation. At least, he hoped she had. He much preferred to think she’d pulled another Houdini rather than imagine her thrown through the windshield, lying somewhere downhill, broken and bleeding. Or dead.
Jesus, no.
She was alive and okay. She’d just rabbited again, and he had to go catch her… as soon as he figured out how to pull his busted ass out of this car.
And what the hell was with the insistent tugging?
He shifted his arm away from the annoyance, and finally, it stopped. A soft hand patted his cheek.
“Vaughn? Are you awake?” The patting turned into a light smack. “C’mon, you asshole! Wake the fuck up! If this car goes into the river, I’m not jumping in after you.”
Sage.
His heart did some incredible acrobatics behind his ribs, and he peeled his eyes open. She was perched precariously on a steep downhill slope, one hand on the car door to keep from sliding. Mud streaked her clothes and face and leaves were stuck in her hair, but she appeared to be in one piece.
And she was still here. She hadn’t run.
She. Hadn’t. Run.
“You’re here.” His voice sounded like gravel, but he couldn’t clear the roughness out of it. “You’re still here.”
She released an explosive sigh. “Thank God. The car’s not stable. Every time I try to reach in and unbuckle you, it slides farther downhill. You need to get out of there.”
His brain wasn’t working at full speed, and it took him several seconds to process what she was saying.
“Vaughn!” She tugged on his arm again. “C’mon! The car is going to crash into the river. You need to move!”
As if to prove her point, the car slid a few feet, and she jumped back with a yelp, landing in the mud on her butt. “Vaughn! Move!”
Yeah. Moving was a good plan. Now if he could just get his body to cooperate…
Slowly, he reached down and found the buckle, but it took several precious moments to find the button. When he did and the belt released, he poured out of the seat like two hundred pounds of half-melted Jell-O. The car slid forward again, and he banged his chest against the steering wheel.
Damn. She wasn’t kidding about the car crashing into the river. It was going down, just a matter of when.