she could stow away on Ice Storm.
She bit the edge of her thumbnail. If she ran away from the row of trucks, she’d be out in the open again. She didn’t know if she’d make it to safety. What if she got shot, or fell into the hands of that police officer?
She chose the Ice Storm.
Her knees shook as she squeezed into the narrow slot and crouched down behind the cab. There was a metal bar to cling to, and electrical wires to avoid. Beneath her feet, a thin metal plate. It was a dangerous place to ride, but she was desperate. She hoped the driver couldn’t see her back here. The last thing she needed was an interrogation. He might call the police or leave her stranded.
She’d stowed away in a semitruck before. The day she’d left Duane, she’d climbed inside a trailer at a gas station on the outskirts of Carcross. She’d expected to go south to British Columbia. Instead, the truck had traveled north. And that was how she’d ended up in Alaska, with no money and no documentation. She’d used a stolen ID to find work and rent a room. Her biggest fear up to this point had been Duane hunting her down and dragging her back home. Now she had a whole new set of problems. The men she was running from made her ex look like a choir boy.
She tightened her grip on the metal bar as the semi moved forward. The gravel lot turned into a gray blur. Then it was smooth asphalt. Soon they were heading north on the highway. With the increased speed came a chill that penetrated her thin stockings.
Her jacket was no joke, made for arctic weather. She zipped it up to the neck and pulled the fur-lined hood over her head. But her exposed hands started to tingle and her feet felt like blocks of ice. She told herself to endure the discomfort, even though it was acute. She had to stay hidden for as long as possible. She also had to stay conscious. If she drifted into a hypothermic state and fell into the road...
Well. That would be a fatal mistake.
She closed her eyes and summoned the strength of her ancestors. She had the blood of Yellowknife warriors flowing through her veins. Her people had thrived in polar climates, with no modern conveniences, for centuries. She could handle a little freezing wind.
She held on tight, determined to ride out the cold.
Cameron Hughes deliberated for at least ten minutes before he started the engine.
He hadn’t planned on going to Walt’s Diner. He’d been avoiding Walt’s Diner. To be specific, he’d been avoiding one particular waitress at Walt’s Diner. Which was ridiculous, because she’d never acted interested in him. She poured his coffee and took his order with brisk efficiency. She didn’t flirt. She didn’t even smile at him. There was no reason for him to keep his distance from her.
Although she’d done nothing to encourage him, he felt uncomfortable in her presence. Her cool manner and pretty face unsettled him. The last time he’d visited the diner, he’d found himself staring at her. He’d realized, with a surge of guilt, that he was attracted to her. And he’d decided not to go to Walt’s again.
This morning, he’d glanced across the parking lot and studied the neon sign in the diner’s front window. He’d imagined strolling in for breakfast. He knew what would happen. He’d avert his eyes when she approached, and let them linger as she retreated. He’d think of her at night, instead of Jenny. Cam studied the picture of his wife that was affixed to the dashboard. Jenny smiled back at him, not judging.
Shaking his head, he fired up the engine and prepared to leave. Maybe Jenny wanted him to move on, but he wasn’t ready.
He left the truck stop and headed north on the highway. He had a radio app with more music than he could ever listen to and several audiobooks on queue. He enjoyed mysteries and true crime. He liked stories about bad guys getting caught, and hard evidence that led to convictions. If only real life mimicked fiction.
He’d forgotten to select listening material for this leg of the trip, so he drove in silence. Some days he surfed through the CB channels to hear the latest trucker chatter. This morning he didn’t bother. There was light traffic and good weather. He concentrated on the lonely lanes before him, feeling restless. He needed a workout. He’d stop at the twenty-four-hour gym in Fairbanks. Hit the weights, jog a few miles.
Stretching his neck, he continued down the road. He’d gone about thirty miles when he heard a strange thump. He checked his mirrors and didn’t see anything. Maybe one of his tires had kicked up a chunk of asphalt. His gauges looked fine. He kept going. A few minutes later he heard another thump, along with a rattle.
What the hell?
It sounded like something was banging against the metal plate behind the cab. His mirrors didn’t give him a full view of the space. A loose piece of wiring wouldn’t make that noise. The rattling started again, and then stopped. When he reached a long straightaway, he pulled over, shifted into Neutral and engaged the brake. It was still dark, so he grabbed his flashlight before he climbed out.
First he checked the back of the trailer, which looked secure. It was locked up tight. He dropped down to his belly to shine his beam underneath the rig. The wheels were intact. He didn’t see anything amiss.
He got up and inspected the space behind the cab. To his surprise, he caught a glimpse of gray fur.
Wolf?
He blinked and his eyes adjusted, making sense of the shape.
Not a wolf. A woman.
Holy hell. There was a woman in his hitch space. A stowaway. He’d never had a stowaway before, and he’d never expected to see one here. Any hobo with a lick of sense would climb into the cab or the trailer. He kept his trailer locked, of course, and there was no way to get inside his cab unnoticed.
“Come out of there,” he said. “It’s not safe.”
The woman didn’t move. She was crouched down like a cornered animal, shivering violently.
He attempted a softer tone. “Come on out. I won’t hurt you.”
She didn’t respond. Maybe she didn’t speak English. It was difficult to judge her ethnicity because most of her face was hidden behind a fur-lined hood. She appeared to have dark eyes.
Cam turned off the flashlight and pocketed it. She’d been here since he left the truck stop, or earlier. She might be hypothermic, unable to move. He reached into the space with both hands. She leaned sideways in a feeble attempt to escape his touch. He captured her arm and pulled her toward him. She didn’t fight, but she didn’t cooperate, either. He had to drag her out of the narrow space. As soon as she was free, she crumpled to the ground. Her legs were ghost-white. Other than the gray parka, she wasn’t dressed for the weather.
With a muttered curse, he scooped her into his arms. She was tall and slender, but heavy. He carried her toward his open door and climbed the kick-step, grunting from exertion. He skirted around the driver’s chair and deposited her in the passenger seat.
Now what?
He grabbed a wool blanket from his supplies to cover her trembling body. She had on white stockings, ripped at both knees. The sight triggered his memory. He knew those legs. Startled, he lifted his gaze to her face.
It
