Eva dragged her leg, the pain blinding. It shot up her thigh and settled in her hip. A car sped past, splashing a wave of dirty, gritty water over her legs.
She lost her balance and fell onto the muddy sidewalk. Her hands sank into the cold sludge. Her sketchbook, inside the backpack, dug into her spine.
She tried to stand, but her knee locked up. It was done. Her body had reached its limit.
She curled into a ball on the sidewalk, pulling her knees to her chest, shielding her face from the rain. She closed her eyes and waited. Maybe the cold would take her. Maybe it would be better than the harvest.
Headlights cut through the darkness behind her. Bright, white beams illuminated the rain.
A truck pulled up alongside her. The engine idled with a deep, throaty rumble.
The passenger window rolled down.
"Get in," Hoyt's voice barked out. It wasn't an invitation. It was an order.
Eva looked up, mud smeared on her cheek. She hesitated. Stranger danger screamed in her head. This man was aggressive, paranoid, and scary.
Hoyt leaned over the center console. "I'm not asking. Get in or freeze to death. Your choice."
Eva scrambled up. She grabbed the door handle and pulled. The heavy door swung open.
She climbed into the high cab. The interior was warm, blasting heat. It smelled of leather and old tobacco. It felt like a sanctuary.
She sat on the edge of the seat, trying not to touch anything with her muddy clothes. She was dripping wet, shivering violently.
Hoyt reached into the back seat and grabbed a rough, gray towel. He threw it at her. It landed on her head.
"Dry off," he grunted. "Don't ruin my seats."
Eva pulled the towel down and wiped her face. Her skin was pale, her lips blue. She dried her hair as best she could.
Hoyt watched her for a second, his eyes tracking the tremors that racked her small frame. He reached out and cranked the heater up to the maximum setting. Hot air blasted against her legs.
He put the truck in gear and pulled away from the curb.
"The motel is a dump," he said, staring straight ahead at the road. "I'm not leaving a kid there. I'm taking you to the shop."
Eva's eyes widened in alarm. The shop?
Hoyt caught her look in his peripheral vision. "Relax. I'm not gonna hurt you, kid."
Kid.
He said the word with a deliberate emphasis. He was drawing a line. He was the adult; she was the child. He was the protector; she was the charity case.
Eva relaxed slightly. The term made her feel small, but it also made her feel safe. Predators didn't call their victims "kid."
She pulled out her phone and typed: Thank you.
She held it up for him to see.
Hoyt glanced at it, then back at the road. He didn't smile. He didn't say "you're welcome." He just gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"Don't thank me," he muttered. "I'm just doing what Nana would want."
The rain hammered on the roof of the truck, a deafening noise, but inside the cab, Eva was finally dry. She leaned her head back against the seat and let the heat seep into her bones.
