Page 172 of Sugar & Shadows

The snow was waist deep by the time I got down over the shoulder, but the roof of the car was visible. Around it, broken branches and bits of cracked black plastic and metal were scattered everywhere. Fuck, she was here, and she needed me.

The farther I got, the deeper the snow was. Behind me, the sound of engines and sirens were barely audible over the howling wind.

“Sabrina,” I screamed, my voice cracking against the bitter wind. “Sabrina.”

I didn’t know if I’d even hear her if she called. Not over the sound of my breath sawing in and out of my lungs.

But as I approached, I heard her voice.

My legs propelled me through the last of the snow and I used my hands to dig out the driver’s side door. She sat on the other side, her face covered in blood, looking terrified.

Eventually I wrenched the door open and lunged for her.

“Sabrina,” I said, holding her to my chest.

“You came,” she said softly.

“Don’t ever do this to me again.”

My hands shook furiously as I tried to unbuckle her seat belt.

“I’m fine,” she insisted weakly.

“The blood on your head says otherwise. The entire Maplewood first response team is up there waiting for you. Oh my God. I’m so happy you’re okay.”

“I think I almost solved a murder,” she said, her speech a little slurred. “But then I crashed. No, wait. Someone hit me.”

My heart plummeted to the snowy ground. “Someone hit you?”

Before she could respond, a blinding light shone over us.

Jasper was coming down the hill with a rescue sled with a harness. At the top of the road, several large lights had been set up.

“Don’t move,” he instructed. “I need to assess you for injuries.”

“I’m fine,” Sabrina called.

“Don’t fucking move, Monroe,” I growled.

She stared up at me, her eyes watery. Fuck, I wanted to grab her and kiss her until she promised to never leave my sight again.

Jasper shooed me away and checked her pupils and used the flashlight to give her a cursory inspection, asking about abdominal pain and movement and instructing her to wiggle her fingers and toes.

“Patient alert,” he said into his radio. “Going to get her onto the sled. Full range of motion, but a minor head injury. Need to review concussion protocol.”

The radio crackled. “Understood. Ready to pull her up when you are.”

He pushed the seat back and gently lifted her, then secured her to the rescue sled.

“You,” he said, pointing at me. “Need to be assessed for frostbite.”

“What?”

“Man, you aren’t even wearing a coat and you’ve been digging in the snow with bare hands.”

I looked down at my hands, discovering they were red and cracked, and for the first time, I started to feel cold. “You’ll ride up with me. Just let me get my patient up first.”

I nodded and let him work. He and his team were careful and efficient and got her up to the ambulance relatively quickly.