Chapter Seven

Casting a worried glance at the face of the recently liberated but still unconscious Nina, Rory braced one knee on the rear bumper of the van. Sleazy Dr. Lopez hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said that Nina was kept under constant, heavy sedation. She hadn’t stirred once as he freed her from the leather restraints and carried her from her hospital cell.

He laid his precious cargo on the makeshift bed that took up most of the van’s floor and made her as comfortable as possible.

The coming trip was not going to be easy for her. He needed to stay away from busy areas, and take it slow. Their destination was an isolated, off-grid hunting cabin located in the Ozarks, belonging to a friend of a friend. It was a perfect safe haven for Nina’s recuperation, and the time it would take to get there he’d put to good use by assessing her condition more accurately. Once he was sure about the whys and the whos, he would set up a meeting with Morgan. He knew she would be eager to see Nina again, speak with her, and make sure that she was safe.

He studied her slack features, couldn’t help but think she looked totally vulnerable in the faint light. It was clear that her condition had deteriorated drastically since the last time. If he hadn’t seen her breathing, if shallowly, back in her cell, he would have thought her dead. Her skin had a sickly pallor, and the bruise-like shadows under her eyes had gotten worse. Feverish perspiration made the sheet he’d wrapped around her stick to her wiry frame, making her fragility even more pronounced.

The way she looked, it was hard to imagine that she could pose a threat to anyone.

His throbbing knee told him differently. He wasn’t taking any chances. As a precaution, he cuffed her wrist to a metal bar he’d bolted to the floor. It would keep her restrained but leave her some freedom of movement. He had considered foregoing the safety measure entirely, but in the end had decided not to risk it for both their sakes. From what he’d seen, she was as much a danger to herself as she was to him. Until he had a chance to talk with her, convince her that she could trust him, this was the safest route.

Gently, he tucked a blanket around her. Gazing at the curve of her cheekbone, the sharp cut of her jaw, he reached out without thinking and brushed a strand of dark hair from her closed eyes. Then, as if burned, he jerked back his hand. That gesture had been far too personal.

With one last glance at her frail figure, he got out of the van and closed the back door.

Seconds later, headlights off, he pulled away from the hole in the fence that had been his point of exit and headed for the Interstate.

And reminded himself he needed to keep his damn hands off the woman.

For more reasons than one.