Free Shiver by Karen Robards

gave an impatient tug to the cord tethering her to him as she moved faster than Quasimodo could keep pace. Unfastening the sling was the work of only a few moments, but she was sweating by the time she was done. At any second she expected to see cars screeching into the alley after them. Waiting impatiently as the winch and sling swung back into place, she shifted from foot to foot while her eyes darted everywhere. Her captor betrayed no similar signs of anxiety. He leaned against the truck’s rear fender just a few feet from where she guided the winch back into position. His head was lowered, his shoulders slumped, and the foot of his wounded leg barely touched the ground. The gun was no longer aimed at her, but rather pointed down. His hold on the cable that served as her leash seemed slack. Was he still watching her? She couldn’t be sure: the shadows obscuring his face were too dense.
    As she shut the motor down and secured the winch and sling, she kept a covert eye on him. What was the likelihood that she could give the cable a hard jerk and successfully wrench the other end away from him? How was he holding it? She couldn’t quite see, but it was in his left hand, and she remembered that injured finger. How secure could his grip be? If she tried and succeeded, then maybe she could jump inside the truck and drive away. Or even just run for it. She was, she calculated, maybe seven miles from her duplex. On foot, it would take her . . .
    “Let’s go.” He straightened and tightened his hold on the cable even as she did the math. She wondered if something in her body language had given her away.
    Whatever, she had lost the chance. He now stood straighter, seeming fully alert. And he was definitely watching her. In response to his gesture, she walked around to the passenger door and opened it. A tiny glow deep in the recesses of the foot well caught her attention: her phone. Her eyes widened. Her heart lurched. His injuries made him slow, and he hadn’t quite caught up with her yet; she had still been contemplating the possibility of jumping inside and trying to slam and lock the door in his face when she had spotted her phone. Instead she used those few precious seconds to snatch up her phone, then slid it into the front pocket of her jeans as she clambered up into the truck and slid across into the driver’s seat.
    First chance she got she was calling 911. Whether they believed she’d acted in self-defense or not, she would way ratherdeal with the police than with whatever murderous criminals were on Quasimodo’s trail. At least with the police she wouldn’t have to worry about Tyler’s safety.
    Although if they put her in jail, what would happen to him? And if Quasimodo was telling the truth and not just exaggerating to scare her, and someone went after Tyler, how would she be able to protect him if she was locked up in a cell?
    Worrying the matter like a dog with a bone, she automatically started to untie the knot in the cord around her waist.
    “Leave that alone, and get us the hell out of here.” Quasimodo sounded short of breath as he hitched himself onto the seat beside her and closed the door. The other end of the jumper cable was not only held in his left hand, she saw; it was also wrapped around his left arm, which meant that just jerking the cord out of his grip and running wouldn’t have worked even if she had tried it. He wasn’t taking any chances on losing her, it seemed, and his forethought earned him a spurt of grudging admiration. The gun he had thrust into the waistband of his jeans. The butt protruded; he would be able to grab it easily. His wounded leg angled stiffly down into the foot well, so that he had to turn sideways in the seat to accommodate it. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather out through the passenger-side window. It was hard to be sure, but she thought his expression was grim. Sam followed his gaze, then stiffened, her attention riveted by the intermittent bursts of