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He arches an eyebrow. “You heard.” It’s not a question. A low growl emerges from the back of his throat as he tucks his phone into his pocket. “I didn’t want to scare you. Well, more than you already were.”
A sarcastic laugh escapes my lips. He didn’t know my insides were exploding like the finale of a fireworks show. “That wasn’t possible.”
“Truthfully, I doubt it was him. Sometimes, people hike over there. There’s no way he would find you here. You have a new phone, so he can’t be tracking you.”
“Unless…”
There was a movie I watched with Ted. Divergent. That was fiction. My subconscious tries to reason with me. But what if it can be done?
The idea detonates into panic and erases any shred of sanity. I tear off my top and drop my shorts and stand nearly naked in front of his surprised expression. “Search me.”
CHAPTER 18
Paxton
Don’t look.
I try not to. I really do.
But she’s almost naked, begging me to search her, and that’s like asking a dog not to eat a steak that’s laid down in front of them. Impossible.
My immediate response should’ve been professional. I should’ve kept my gaze locked on hers, resisting the urge to let them wander. Matching light pink lace bra and panties. Pull your shit together, Pax. Treat her like any other victim in panic mode. She’s not stripping for me. Pulling away when she tried to kiss me took inner strength I didn’t know I was capable of.
It was too soon. When she’s with me—and she will be—it won’t be under duress.
“What am I searching for?” I swallow hard.
Panic flickers in her eyes as she frantically examines herself, twisting her arms and legs, searching for something. “He drugged me, and since I was buried for only five hours means he had hours to do whatever he wanted with me. What if he implanted a tracking device somewhere?” She motions with her hands down her body.
It’s possible but not likely. I’ve read about things like that in sci-fi books, but I’ve never come across it in real life.
“You probably would’ve noticed a lesion.”
She looks up and blinks. “I had a million cuts all over.”
Fuck, I’m stupid.
I tug on my ear. “Just double-checking, would you rather have a female look you over to make you feel more comfortable. I can call a female officer.”
“Paxton. I don’t care who looks me over. You’re here. So, please, look.” Her blue eyes plead with me.
“If I find a lump, we are not digging it out,” I state firmly, staring at her until she agrees. I don’t need her freaking out and cutting holes in her body. “I’ll call a doctor friend if we find something.”
She draws in a long breath and blows it out slowly, nodding.
I start with one wrist, since she’s already holding them out, and run my thumbs over the veins. She flinches at my touch, and I glance up.
“Sorry. It tickled.”
Tell me to stop.
“Keep going.”
I nod and continue up her forearm, searching for any marks or lumps. Inch by inch, the struggle intensifies as temptation tightens its grip. This is torture, and I just started. Truthfully, I don’t know what it would look like, but I’m assuming there’ll be a mark. If it makes her relax, I’ll do whatever she asks. I pay extra attention to her upper arms, starting with the left and moving to the right. It’s where I would plant one on someone. Easy access. She has a scar on her upper right shoulder, but it’s not a new one.
“Did you know your scar looks like Florida?”
She shifts her shoulder forward, scrutinizing the scar with a thoughtful expression, and tilts her head. “Huh. I never noticed.”
