He opened his eyes and saw nothing but white in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. Right. Snow. It had poured in through the broken windshield and coated the console, where it was splashed with red.He whipped his head—bad idea—to see Carl slumped away from him, a gash slicing from his temple to mid-cheek, deep. Marcus watched for the rise and fall of the other man’s chest, but didn’t see it.Brylie.He pivoted toward the backseat, nearly strangling himself with the seatbelt. She was out, her head lolled to one side, but no blood, and he could see she was breathing.Thank God.He fumbled to release his seatbelt and lunged toward her. “Brylie.” He worked her seatbelt free and she went limp against him. “Oh, hell, no.” He reached beneath her jaw to feel her pulse. There, and strong, and now she stirred in his arms. Those reddish-blonde eyelashes fluttered and she looked up at him. “Marcus?”“The helicopter went down. Are you hurt?”She frowned and shifted on the seat as if testing herself out.
