Searching through her pockets for some form of identification, he found a cell phone. It was dead. Figured.
He cursed and tossed the phone onto the dashboard, swiping a hand down his tight jaw. They were stranded in a snowstorm in the middle of a mountain at dark with no way to reach the outside world because his own phone didn’t have service. And she was hurt. Things couldn’t get any more screwed—unless she died and he wouldn’t let that happen.
Looking over at her, he touched her chin to bring her head toward him. The bleeding had stopped, although she’d have a nasty bruise. Shrugging out of his wet coat, he tossed it into the backseat, feeling claustrophobic in the small space.
Opening the glove compartment, he found nothing but an owner’s manual, not even a registration. He searched the console and again found nothing that would help him identify the woman. The backseat was empty except for his jacket. What woman would leave from where she came without a purse or identification?
Someone who was running from something…
Was she a runaway bride?
Sliding his hand into the other pocket of her coat, he found a key attached to a plastic ring. He read the address on the label. Now they might be getting somewhere.