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“We need to get out of here.” He passed her the gun. “Gimme the knife.”

She lifted her shaking hand and passed it to him. He braced his legs on the dash and sawed through the seatbelt holding him in place. He kept one hand on the roof of the car to prevent him from landing flat on his head. Gingerly, he maneuvered through the tight space until he was kneeling on the ground.

“I could cut through your seatbelt too, but releasing it will be easier. Brace your knees on me and push your weight into the seat.”

Nodding, she placed her knees on his shoulders and pushed herself back. Dallas put the handle of the knife into his mouth then used one hand to secure her hips, pressing her back even further. His free hand hit the red button and the belt retracted.

All the pressure that had been binding her chest and abdomen released. She exhaled, and gravity pulled her body downward. Dallas’s hands caught her ribcage, breaking her fall. She curled her legs away from his shoulders, letting him hold her until she got her footing on the roof of the car beside him.

He took the knife from his mouth then gestured to his window. “We’ll have to get out that way one at a time because of fuckface in the way.”

She didn’t look at the dead man again. Instead, she swallowed. “Do you think there’re more people out there?”

“Only one way to find out.” He took the gun from her and handed her the knife. “Don’t crawl out until I clear the area first. Once you’re free, we need to move fast.”

“Okay.”

He got down on his elbows, pushed his head through the slightly crunched window space, and slithered through. His feet disappeared from sight.

Anxiety twanged in her chest. She propped her hand on the dash and lowered herself to her belly so she’d be ready to army crawl the hell out of there when he gave the signal. She wiped her arm over her forehead, mopping up sweat, tears, blood, and whatever else away from her eyes.

Breathe, Gemma. Breathe.

They’d almost died. She’d almost died. But she hadn’t. And she had to lower her cortisol levels and put one foot in front of the other or she’d be no good to anyone.

A scuffling of boots against rock sounded and Dallas poked his head through the window. “All clear.” He extended his hand.

She placed her hand in his and he guided her through the hole. Dust from the gravel kicked up into her face as Dallas pulled her out. She squeezed her eyes shut and coughed, pushing herself to her knees.

Dallas took the knife from her hand and folded it closed. “Hang on to this.” He slapped it back into her palm, cupped her under the armpits, and heaved her to her feet. His fingers went straight to her cheeks, smoothing away dirt and god knew what else. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Fine. I’m not the one with a concussion.”

Blood still ran in a steady stream down the side of Dallas’s face. Despite the urgency of their situation, she needed to inspect his injury. He’d been unconscious for several minutes and the dangers of that made her pulse slow.

“I’ve been hit worse.” He used his sleeve to wipe away the blood. “We’ll have to make a run through the bush—”

She held up her hand. “Uh-uh. Been there, done that. We’ve got his ride,” she said, nodding at the huge truck that had nearly been their demise.

He scoffed. “His friends will be looking for it.”

“Not yet,” she countered. “We can use it until we can find something else.”

He swallowed. “All right. I guess we don’t have far to go.” Dallas rounded the vehicle to where the body lay.

Gemma kept her distance but watched as Dallas methodically patted down their assailant. He confiscated a gun and stomped on a cell phone. “Keys must be in the vehicle still.”

He returned to her side and took hold of her elbow. They climbed the steep ditch. The truck had been parked so it didn’t appear as though it’d rammed them off the road but instead had pulled over to check on them.

She got in the passenger seat. Sure enough, the keys were still dangling from the ignition. Dallas adjusted his seat and started the truck. It revved to life and he shifted into drive.

He sent her a long look. Pain and angst tightened his features, making his jaw look angry. Maybe his fury was directed at the assholes who wouldn’t stop trying to kill them—or maybe he was mad at her. “You’d better call your agent friend. Let her know you’ll be late.” His tone was terse. Resentful, even.

Gemma pressed the seatbelt into place and her stomach bunched with regret.

That glare had been for her.

But he didn’t realize she was more upset with herself than he could ever be with her.

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