Mia broke their stare and focused on the empty parking lot. So much for getting into her head, learning anything about her. He rounded the hood and hopped in the truck.

If she didn’t look like saccharine personified, he’d assume she was just checking him out. But nah. Not this one. This one didn’t cross men like him, and he didn’t hang out with women as soft and touchable as her. He shook his head clear. Soft and sweet, rather. Touchable wasn’t something he needed to ponder.

He pulled the truck to the rear lot and unlocked the doors and disengaged the child safety locks, then gave her a nod. Her clothes were dirty. The cardigan set was dingy. Very unlike a librarian. Bruises grew darker on her otherwise flawless complexion. He should have killed those fuckers in that motel room instead of tying them to a table. But there wasn’t a point in focusing on the past. Training should have kept regret from his head. But he continued to think of ways those men should’ve paid for hurting her.

She got out, ignoring him. He grabbed his box of Dots and dumped a handful into his palm, downing them with a mind-clearing gulp.

He threw open his door, got out, and locked the truck behind him, then he leaned on the hood. Mia stood there, feet planted amongst the parking lot weeds. He lofted the key over the truck hood. She grabbed it from the air, surprising him, and looked at the room number. Her fingers played over the plastic card, and she gnawed on her swollen lip without moving from him.

“Go there. Room 102. Right at the end.” He held up the bucket. “I’ll get some ice.”

Mia nodded with a half-hearted smile and turned toward the room. The way she walked, the way she swayed... He noticed. Big time. His pulse beat faster, and his eyes tracked her movements. Nothing to do with watching out for her, and everything to do with taking in the sight. He rubbed the scruff on his face and stalked to the ice machine.

With a full bucket of ice crooked in his elbow, he knocked on the door and pushed it open with his steel-toed boot. She sat stock-still on the bed, palms flat against the floral comforter, ankles locked, knees pinched together. Her face was paler than when he left her. Now that her adrenaline had worn off, it looked like shock wanted to take its place.

Shit. Shock. Something else he didn’t want to handle.

He trained one eye on her and fashioned an ice pack from a bathroom towel, then moved close to the bed to examine her cheek and lips. Vacant eyes stared to the blank wall in front of her.

As gentle as he could manage, he turned her face upward for an inspection. Mia’s skin was velvety but bruised and scratched. Broken and damaged. Winters pressed the makeshift ice pack against her cheek with his softest touch. Soft wasn’t his thing, but she didn’t flinch. Maybe he did okay.