She was relieved when Donovan shook his head. “I think the shelter’s been abandoned. I don’t see any signs of recent activity. It’s still too cool outside for agricultural activities, anyway.”
A sudden, exciting thought occurred to her, making her clutch Donovan’s arm. “There must be a road that leads to civilization from here. Whoever built this shelter had to have a way to get here.”
“There’s probably an old logging road or a rough trail of some sort nearby,” he agreed, looking as though he’d already considered that possibility.
“We can follow it out.”
“We’ll have to be careful, but that’s exactly what we’ll do.”
He moved toward the shelter and she started to follow, but he motioned for her to remain where she was. “I want to check the place out. You wait here until I’m sure it’s safe.”
“What are you expecting to find?”
He shrugged. “If we’re lucky—nothing. But there could be animals. Or booby traps.”
She moistened her lips. “Booby traps?”
“Drug farmers are notoriously paranoid about being raided by the feds. It’s not at all uncommon for them to rig primitive but effective security systems.”
“But what if you—”
“I know what to look for,” he interrupted, speaking over his shoulder. “Stay put. This won’t take long.”
Chewing her lip, she sank to the ground beneath the big tree, knowing she was fairly well hidden in the shadows. It felt good to sit again, but she couldn’t relax because she worried about Donovan blundering into a dangerous situation.
Not that Donovan ever seemed to “blunder,” she mentally amended. She’d never met anyone who seemed more competent, more fully in control. Though she hadn’t truly felt safe since they’d been kidnapped in that parking lot—was it really just over twenty-four hours ago?—she’d trusted Donovan to take care of her, and he had. Their captors had greatly underestimated him. She didn’t make that mistake.
What had he done, she wondered, to make him an expert on primitive booby traps? Or opening handcuffs with hairpins? Or hand-to-hand combat?
He had told her he entered the military straight out of high school, and there had been a gap between his leaving the military and going to work for Bryan. He’d been evasive about what he’d done during those years. Chloe couldn’t help but be curious now.
Donovan wasn’t out of her sight for long. Emerging from the brush-covered lean-to, he strode toward the shallow ravine that separated them. He looked satisfied, she decided. Apparently his search had revealed no dangers.
“It’s clear,” he said, still several yards away from her. “And even better—I found food.”
“Food?” She pushed herself to her feet, her stomach growling in anticipation. “Did you say food?”
Still making his way toward her, he nodded. “Some canned fruit, a few canned vegetables. The cans are dusty, but intact. They haven’t been here too long—probably since last summer. It should be safe to—”
The words were cut off when he stepped unsuspectingly into a deep hole just before he reached the crevasse. His right leg disappeared to the knee, and he went down hard. His choked cry of pain brought her heart into her throat as she ran toward him, her socks sliding on the damp ground. “Donovan? Are you all right?”
“It’s my leg,” he answered through clenched teeth, holding his right leg with both hands.
“Your leg?” She knelt beside him, one hand on his back. “Do you think it’s broken?”
“I think there’s a good chance. Damn it.”
Apparently he’d stepped into a sinkhole created by soft dirt being washed away from an area of rocks and tree limbs. The heavy rain that morning had softened the ground around the hole, letting it give way when he’d set his foot down. A sharp-edged rock had sliced into his pants leg, and blood made a large, dark splotch on the fabric.
“Oh, my God.” She helped him stretch the injured leg in front of him, and then knelt beside it to examine the damage. Pulling the torn fabric out of the way, she was relieved to determine that the cut wasn’t deep, though it was bleeding steadily. Nor had broken bone punctured the skin. She couldn’t feel a break when she ran her fingertips lightly over his shin, but that didn’t mean the bone wasn’t cracked. Without an X-ray, there was no way to tell for certain.
“We need to stop this bleeding first.” She pulled off her denim shirt, then reached for the hem of her coral T-shirt. “Turn your head.”
Though his face was pale and his mouth set in a tight line of pain, Donovan still managed a quizzical look at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“We need fabric for a bandage. I have an extra shirt, so turn your head.” No way was she stripping to her undies with him looking. He wasn’t hurt that badly.
When she was sure he was looking away, she pulled the T-shirt over her head. The cool, damp air swept her skin, tightening her nipples beneath her thin cotton bra and making goose bumps parade down her arms. She snatched up her denim shirt and shoved her arms into the sleeves, drawing it snugly around her. She’d lost a button at some point, but she fastened the ones that remained.