“You’re helping me, that’s what.” Those frightened eyes stared straight at him, her terrified gaze boring into his soul. “And you’re saving my life, and maybe getting a damned medal of honor or bravery or whatever it is they hand out to citizens doing a good deed. But we have to leave now! He’s . . . he’s after me. And he’s got Chloe! I mean, I think so. Oh, Jesus, we have to go! Now!”

“Who’s Chloe?”

“My sister! Where have you been? Under a rock?” Without any assistance she grabbed hold of the interior handle and, with a squeal of pain, hauled herself onto the passenger seat. Automatically, from years of being warned about the evils of peering up a girl’s skirt, he turned his head so that he wouldn’t see her privates as she hoisted herself up.

This is crazy, he told himself, but slammed the door shut behind her and hurried around the truck. How the hell did he know she wouldn’t manage to climb into the driver’s seat and take off? He’d left the keys in the ignition, engine running. And even if she wasn’t going to take off and drive, there was his rifle, in its rack. It was secured, yes, but not locked. She could grab it and point it at him and—

Oh, shit!

He hauled himself inside, settled behind the wheel, wondered how hopped up she was.

Biting her lip, she peered out the open window and scanned the horizon. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

“Okay, okay. Just calm down.”

She whipped her head around and stared at him. “I am not calming down. There’s a murdering psycho out there, and he’s coming. So what the hell are you waiting for?”

Something had scared her. To her core.

What, he didn’t know.

But he yanked his door closed. An announcer on the radio was trying to sell him a new car. He snapped off the squawk box. “There’s . . . there’s a jacket in the back,” he said, keeping his eyes averted. Jesus, her tits were right there. Streaked with mud. Skin flaming around her nipples, burned, he guessed, as that part of her hadn’t ever seen the sun. Where the hell were her clothes? Why was she running naked? How’d she hurt herself? And Christ-A’mighty, was there really a homicidal maniac chasing her, or was she just completely out of her mind? For the love of God, her sunburned breasts were so close he could touch them. But he didn’t even look, just stared straight ahead and tried to figure out what kind of crap he’d just stepped into. Was she a psycho? Or on the run? Maybe from a bad home life?