Page 16 of Inexplicable

That was our normal procedure so the victim was protected from the front and back.

Everyone voiced their agreement, and I bent to scoop up Jenna as soon as I’d stored my pack on my back.

“I’ll walk,” Jenna said in a startled voice as I picked her up.

“Not possible,” I shot back. “They’re bringing the helicopter closer, but it’s still a hike in your condition.”

“Put me down,” she squeaked softly as she fought my hold.

I set her on the ground, knowing it would be the fastest way to get her cooperation.

Damn. Stubborn. Woman.

She took one step and immediately started to sway on her feet.

“Dammit!” she cursed. “I’m so dizzy.”

I picked her up again. She kept one hand on her injured head and looped the other around my neck.

“You have a concussion,” I informed her. “You were hit hard earlier.”

“You’re not going to tell me that you told me so?” she asked wryly.

“Would that help you in any way?” I asked as I moved toward the door.

“No,” she answered.

“Then there’s no point in telling you that. You’re hurt. You’re traumatized. And I’m sure you’re still scared out of your mind. You’re trying to keep your head together, and I’m grateful for that. You had no way of knowing that you couldn’t walk until you gave it a try.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. “I really just want to get out of here. What did you say your name was again?”

“Brock Miller,” I stated as I left the building and nodded at Nate to take the lead.

“I thought that was what you said, but I thought I heard you wrong. You share a name with one of my favorite authors. He writes these amazing suspense novels about a special forces team that’s operating on their own in a postapocalyptic world.”

For a brief moment, I considered lying, but she might recognize me the second she could see my face. My publisher insisted on having a large picture of me on the back of the dust jackets of all my books.

That was another reason why I always kept my distance from victims.

“I’m surprised you recognized my name. A lot of my readers are male,” I told her in a bemused voice.

“Seriously?” she whispered. “You’re really Brock Miller the author? The same guy who writes the Brady Savage series?”

Brady was the main character in all my books, the narrator of the adventures of my fictional special forces team.

“I really am,” I confessed.

I wasn’t recognized often. I’d gained a big readership, but someone would have to be a big fan of my books to actually recognize me. That rarely happened.

But she hadn’t really recognized my face. She’d recognized my name.

Hell, maybe I should have just given her my last name.

“What are you doing here rescuing me?” she questioned in a puzzled voice. “I’ve read your bio. You’re not in special forces anymore.”

“Long story,” I said as I moved as quickly as possible away from the compound. “We’ll explain all of that later.”

She’d be completely debriefed and asked to keep our secrets.