Savage Vandal (82 Street Vandals #1) - Heather Long Page 0,101

of the truck he drove. Truck, not car. There was an old camper cap on the back, but it was still a truck.

Doc.

Relief flooded me.

Concern filled his face, and he reached over and shoved the passenger door open. “I thought that was you,” he said. “Get in here.”

“I don’t want to go back,” I argued, even as I stared longingly inside what had to be the heated confines of his vehicle.

“I promised I’d help you,” he said. “Remember?”

Tears burned in my eyes, and I headed toward his vehicle almost blindly. “I—”

“I know,” he soothed as soon as I was in. The heat was on, but he cranked it all the way up and pulled my hands over toward the vent, then paused. “What the hell?”

“I had to get out,” I admitted. “I can’t really feel them right now.”

My nails were broken. Two were down all the way to the quick. The skin was ragged and raw in a few places. The heat felt so good.

“Seatbelt,” Doc ordered, then didn’t wait for me to do it. “Keep your hands there, I got it.” He snagged the seatbelt and drew it across me, then clicked it in, clucking his tongue the whole time. “Those assholes need to take better care of you.”

“No,” I argued. “They don’t. I need to get out of here.”

He let out a sigh. “Okay, have you eaten?”

I shook my head. “Well, I did. I had some protein shakes. But I’d kill for coffee.”

He plucked his cup from the holder on the other side of the steering wheel and held it out to me. I wrapped my icy fingers around it. It was only half-full, but it was hot. I took a long drink and nearly had a mini coffee-gasm. It was black as my soul and twice as strong.

“So good,” I murmured. The warmer it grew in the truck cab, the more I shuddered.

“I’m getting you more.” He pulled out into the light traffic, and at first, I thought he was turning around, but he just took the next left and we were going north again. “Where do you want to go, Little Bit? I can get you some cash.”

“Where am I?” Maybe that was a stupid question, but… “I should have paid attention, I know. I was staying at the Harbor North Hotel, that much I remember. But I don’t remember the city name. We’ve been on tour.”

“Braxton Harbor,” he told me and the name meant…nothing. I had no real memory of this place. Not that I’d seen much of it. I’d been at the hotel. Used the dance studio. Then been at the theatre. And for last couple of months, I’d been in their warehouse place with its absolute lack of windows and too many hot, attractive guys.

I finished his coffee almost too quickly, but we were pulling through a drive-thru for a popular chain, and I swore my mouth watered.

“What do you want?”

“A big black coffee, strongest brand they have, and then one of those raspberry lattes.”

He shot me a look.

“I know, I’m complicated.” One was bitter and harsh. The other sickeningly sweet.

I craved them both.

“Food?”

“I don’t care.”

That earned me a scowl, but I really didn’t want him to spend money on me. Then again, I could pay him back. He had a clinic, right? I could donate money to it. I just needed the name.

Ten minutes later, I had drained over half the latte and I was tearing into the hot croissant breakfast sandwich. The interior of the truck smelled like a coffee shop.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Did you put anything in the safe at the hotel when you were there?”

I paused mid-bite, then shook my head. I always traveled light. While Kestrel had picked up all my things, the wallet, credit cards, and ID had all been conspicuously absent from the bag. Maybe I should have hunted for it in their rooms before I left.

“Okay, but would the hotel know you?” He gave me another careful look.

“I’m all over the news, Doc,” I said. “What do you think?”

He winced. “Yeah. I should have called and let them know…” The apology lingered in between the syllables.

“But the guys are your friends.”

“Not…exactly, but close. Little Bit, I wouldn’t have let them hurt you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” I reminded him. He’d been there for me when I’d woken up scared, alone, and hurting. He’d stripped down to show me his scars so I wouldn’t be shy about showing mine. He’d stood up to the