-Caleb-
I was getting tired of trunks. Fed up to my eyeballs, really. Exactly how many times and by how many nefarious organizations could a person reasonably be expected to be kidnapped? I was sure Jacey and I were approaching some kind of record.
Jacey.
My stomach churned at the thought of having left her in the crossfire at the sheik’s hacienda. Was she okay? Was she with the sheik?
Maybe Masterson had just punked me and had sent someone to go grab Jacey after. A man could hope.
After a long stretch of what I would have called highway, by the feel of it, we were suddenly bumping along worse than on the cobblestone in Spain. I rolled around the trunk, knowing I was getting the ever-loving hell bruised out of me, but not able to do a whole lot about it.
One particularly deep rut act
