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swaying bushes surrounding her probably blocked her—both of them—from the view of whoever was approaching.
    Until now.
    Desperation sent her heart pounding against her rib cage like it was trying to beat its way to freedom.
    “Gotcha,” a man called back.
    Her rescuer crouched beside her again. Jess caught his hand.
    “The paramedics are almost here,” he said before she totally panicked.
    Of course. Paramedics were coming. He wouldn’t be yelling like that at anyone else.
    But her thundering heart wouldn’t be calmed.
    More footsteps, drawing closer and closer. Rustling branches. Crunching grass. As a spotlight found her in the darkness she couldn’t help it: She cringed. Half-blinded, she felt like a small animal in a trap, helpless to save herself. All of a sudden she was ruthlessly exposed, visible to everyone, vulnerable. Her pulse pounded. Her heart raced. Her hand tightened on her rescuer’s fingers. He glanced down at her. She saw the dark gleam of his eyes shift so that they were once again focused on her. Though the spotlight was on her, the glaring white beam pin-ioned her , the shadows enshrouding him receded slightly so that he was more visible, too. Her vision was all blurry—her contacts, she must have lost them—and he was still mostly in darkness, but she was able to absorb the broad strokes. He was a big guy, wide chest, broad shoulders, thick neck, short, thick, fair hair. White dress shirt, no tie. Black suit coat . . .
    One of them.
    Recognition flew through her consciousness with the swift, fierce speed of an arrow. She gasped—gasping hurt—and dropped his hand.
    “So, what’ve we got here?” It was a new voice, another man, and, contrary to the terror she’d felt a moment before at the idea of being discovered by anyone else, Jess welcomed it now. Welcomed him. There was safety in numbers—right?
    Safety from what?
    “She’s conscious. She must have been in the car.”
    He moved back, out of her line of vision, as paramedics bustled around.
    “Hi, there, what’s your name?” Another man crouched beside her. Fingers found her pulse.
    “Jessica.” She closed her eyes against the light. “Jessica Ford.”
    “We’re going to take good care of you.”
    “Get a cervical collar on her,” someone else said.
    Then she stopped listening, stopped thinking, stopped doing anything, really, except feeling, or trying not to feel, the pain that came in waves. Her attitude was fatalistic: Whatever happened happened, and there was nothing she could do to change any of it now. There were two men, both EMTs, she thought, both seeming dedicated to making sure she would survive. The man who had found her stayed back, mostly just out of her sight, although she caught the occasional glimpse of him with her peripheral vision as the EMTs stabilized her, then loaded her onto the stretcher and carried her up the hill.
    “Keep her away from the press.” The drawl in his voice was unmistakable. He had found her, and stayed with her. He was with them still, walking near the stretcher. She was afraid of him now. One of them. That was the thought that kept darting through her mind. But she couldn’t quite justify the fear.
    He hadn’t hurt her. And he didn’t feel like a threat.
    But still she was afraid.
    Waking up in the ambulance as they were threading an IV into her vein, Jess realized that she must have lost consciousness sometime during the latter part of the ascent.
    Not that it mattered. Now that she was out in the open, now that they knew where she was, now that she was hurt and helpless and trapped in her own body, there was nothing she could do to help herself even a little bit. Except maybe . . .
    “Call my boss.” With what she feared were her last few seconds of clarity before sedation claimed her, she summoned every bit of strength and determination left to her and spoke to the paramedic securing the needle to her arm with tape. At first her voice was a mere thread of sound. She