I stepped on the brake, and the SUV overshot and went past me, onto the bridge itself. I couldn’t stop in time, either, so I ended up following him. And had to wait until we’d gotten past the bridge and out on the other side before I could wrench the wheel to the left and turn the Volvo onto the grassy median that would take me to the other side of the road, going in the opposite direction, where there were more cars and where maybe someone would notice what was going on and would intervene.
The SUV followed, though. And its higher chassis and bigger wheels traversed the bumpy ground easier than I did, in my sedan that was much closer to the ground. When I made my way into the lane going the opposite way—back toward Donelson again—he was right behind me.
I had to dodge another car that was zooming by on its way toward downtown. The driver shot me a middle finger out the window.
“Yes, yes. Same to you.” I straightened up and headed back onto the bridge, on the north side this time.
But behind me, the SUV was doing the same thing, and hadn’t been hindered by the pickup truck with the finger. By the time we made it to the other side of the bridge again, he was up on the side of me. And nudged me into the small parking lot that’s there, at the trailhead of the Donelson Greenway that runs along the river.
It isn’t my part of town, so I wouldn’t have known that if I hadn’t seen the signs.
Because the SUV’s blue lights were still flashing, nobody stopped to inquire what was going on. Everyone who went by swung to avoid our two cars as we made our way into the small parking lot. I cursed myself for not being able to keep the car on the road, for not just driving straight into the ditch and at least taking my lumps in plain view of everyone driving by—that had to be better than being back here, in the dark above the river—but I still kept going. That need to try to flee, to get away from danger, is quite powerful.
And then the edge of the bluff came up, and he kept pushing me closer and closer. One of my wheels left the ground and went out into nothingness, and then another. And then the car tipped forward and started rolling down the incline to the dark river below.
* * *
We ended up going about twenty feet before the front of the car fetched up against a tree trunk, and we stopped sliding.
It might be a momentary respite, but I’d take it. Up at the top of the incline, the blue lights disappeared. I strained my ears, but it was hard to hear anything above the water. Even with the window down, it was hard to discern whether the SUV was leaving, or whether the driver had just turned off the lights and was waiting to see whether I’d keep going into the river before he left. Maybe he was planning to come down and give me a hand. Not up, but farther down.
I was afraid to even breathe. One wrong move, one redistribution of weight, and the Volvo might lose its tenuous grip on safety and start rolling again. I moved very slowly when I turned the key in the ignition. There was no sense in keeping the engine running, after all. That wouldn’t help me. There was no way I could reverse back up an incline like this.
I did keep the lights on, just in case someone happened to see me. I could use some help. Both to get away from here, and to get away from the man who might, even now, be on his way down the incline to finish me.
I risked a look in the mirror. There was no one coming.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t still up there, waiting. Hoping the car would start rolling again on its own, so he wouldn’t have to come down here and push it.
Before that could happen, maybe I should try to attract some attention, and some help. If someone came, they might not be able to haul us up and out, but if they were paying attention, they could at least keep the man in the SUV from finishing us.
I moved my hand to the horn and pushed down. And kept it there.
The sound cut through the silence like a tornado siren. It startled Carrie into silence for a moment. Until she started screaming again, louder than ever.
“Sorry, baby. Sorry.” I moved my head—only my head, while I kept my hand on the horn—to look into the back seat. She seemed to be fine. Still strapped into her carrier, but at a very awkward angle now. The blanket I’d put over her when I strapped her in had fallen when the car tilted, and was almost covering her face. Maybe that was why she was screaming.
She wasn’t in danger of suffocating, anyway, or she wouldn’t be able to make the noises she did, so I could afford to not worry about it. We had bigger concerns. Any second the skinny tree holding the car in place could decide to bend or break, and we’d fall forward toward the water. And at that point, a blanket would be the least of our troubles.
I wondered whether I dared to open my door and get out. Maybe I could make it around the car to Carrie’s side, and could save her. I couldn’t do it from where I was. She was too far away, and the angle was awkward, and I didn’t want to contort myself too much, or redistribute my weight too far, for fear that I’d upset the gentle equilibrium of the car and we’d skew sideways, off the tree, and end up in the water.
And then the loveliest thing happened. A pair of headlights appeared at the top of the incline, and a dark figure started scrambling down, sliding in the scree.
My first thought was that it was our pursuer, who had gotten tired of waiting for the Volvo to make the final trip into the Stones River. But a quick look in the mirror told me that no, this was a young man in jeans and a green jacket, and no one I’d ever seen before.
The window was still open from earlier. I’d never taken the time to close it after the cop—who I now knew wasn’t a cop at all—had pulled me over in Donelson. All my attention had been focused on driving the car. I don’t think I’d even noticed the cold wind slapping my cheeks.
My rescuer slid to a stop a couple of feet away, his eyes wide in shock. “You OK, lady?”
He was Hispanic, and his accent reminded me of José’s. I nodded shakily. “There’s a baby on the other side of the car. Get her.”
He didn’t hesitate, and didn’t ask any questions, just scrambled down the slope far enough that he could go around the front of the car. Maybe it was easier, or maybe he thought it would be safer than trying to go around the back, in case he accidentally slid into us and started us moving down the slope, or something. If we’d moved forward while he was in front of the car, we would have pushed him ahead of us into the river, but it worked. He got around to the other side and started making his way up toward Carrie’s door. It was hard work—one foot back for every two he gained—but he got there. I pushed the button—carefully—to unlock the doors, and heard the locks disengage.
The young man said something. I couldn’t hear him over the roar of the river with the doors closed and all but my own window closed, so I powered down Carrie’s window, as well. She glanced up at him, a stranger just outside her window, and fell silent with a startled squawk.
“Excuse me?”
“I said,” the young man said, “that the car could tilt when I pull the baby out. Maybe you should get out at the same time. Keep the weight even.”
Maybe I should. I nodded and reached for my door handle. “On three. Two.”
He pulled Carrie’s door open, and I pushed on mine. And threw myself out of the car on my side while he yanked Carrie’s seat out on his.
I landed on my hands and knees, and scrambled up the scree a few feet, the hard pebbles biting into my knees through the soft pajama pants. On the other side of the car, Carrie’s seat swung in an arch from the momentum, and then settled down. The car shifted. Pebbles rolled. Metal screamed against wood for a second as the tree decided whether to stay on the job or not. And then everything calmed down. The tree stayed where it was. The car did, too. My rescuer glanced at me across the back of the car. “Can you make it up?”
I nodded. It would be on hands and knees the whole way, but I could make it. Especially if the alternative was to fall into the rapid current below me.
* * *
I won’t claim it was an easy trip. It really was two feet forwar
d and one back, and it felt more like two forward and two back, climbing the whole way with the sound of the river below. My rescuer was having an even worse time of it, having to haul not just himself but the seat with Carrie up the hill. But at least she’d stopped screaming. All we could hear, apart from the river and the occasional sound of a car going by on the road up above, was our own labored breathing. My rescuer would mutter occasionally in what I assumed was Spanish. He was probably cursing me, and himself for stopping to help me.
“I appreciate it,” I told him breathlessly. “We would have probably ended up in the river if it hadn’t been for you.”
He glanced over at me. “I saw you trying to get away from the other car. At first I thought he was a cop. The blue lights. But he didn’t act like a cop. When I pulled in to see if I could help, he took off.”
Good. At least he wasn’t still up there, waiting for me to stick my head over the top of the incline so he could shoot me.
“I don’t know who he was,” I said, since it was more or less the truth. “He stopped me down the road. I thought he was a cop at first, too. But when I realized he wasn’t, I tried to get away from him. And this happened.”
It was a fine story. It made sense. And was mostly true. Or all true, really, if you disregarded a few omissions.
We climbed another few minutes in silence. The top of the hill did get closer, but not as fast as I’d like.
“I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from work,” I added.
“They’ll wait.” He lifted the carrier with Carrie and put it down two feet farther up. And scrambled up until he was even with it. And did it again. “Save your breath. Climb.”
Good advice. I saved my breath, and climbed.
We were a few feet from the top when there was the sound of a car taking the turn into the small parking area on two wheels. My heart skipped in my chest, sure he was back, ready to kill us.
But then I heard the sound of a car door opening, and a familiar voice. “Savannah!”
I pulled myself the last couple of feet to the top of the hill and stumbled into my husband’s arms.
Chapter Twenty-One
”How did you know where to find us?” I asked a little later. It was the second time in just a few hours that I was feeding Carrie al fresco, still in my pajamas, after a traumatic experience. It had, not to put too fine a point on it, been a hell of a night.
“I knew where you’d been,” Rafe said, leaning an arm on the top of Wendell’s car and looking down at me, “and I figured he wasn’t gonna let you get far. So we started back there—” He gestured toward Donelsen, “and came looking.”
He glanced around, at the steep hill and the empty parking lot and the water rushing below us. “I figured we’d end up here. It’s where I’d go, if I wanted to get rid of somebody.”
Good to know. Or maybe not.
The young man who had rescued Carrie and me had disappeared. He just handed Carrie to Wendell, who had come with Rafe in the Town Car, and got back into his truck and left. He never even told us his name.
“He saved us,” I told them both later, for the second time, as we stood and watched the tow truck Wendell had called haul the Volvo to safety in the predawn light. “I might have made it up myself, and I might have been able to get Carrie out. But the car might have tilted, and she would have ended up in the river. He got her out and got her to the top of the hill. He saved her.”
Neither of them said anything. There was nothing to say. We could advertise for the young man, I supposed, and maybe find him, but he obviously hadn’t wanted any attention.
“Mighta been illegal,” Rafe said, and I nodded.
“Might have. And that makes it even nicer of him to risk stopping. Especially considering the guy who pushed me off the road was sporting blue lights.”
“Did you get a good look at him? Or the car?”
This was Wendell’s question, and I had to admit I hadn’t. “The car was a dark SUV. I already told Rafe that. And I described the man after I saw him the first time. I didn’t get a better look at him later. He didn’t bend down to look into the car when he pulled me over, so I never saw his face. I was talking to his gun belt. I didn’t actually recognize him until he was walking away again, back to his car, and I watched him in the mirror, and I realized I’d seen him walk away before.”
They nodded. “And you took off,” Rafe said.
“And he followed.” We’d already been over this once, but I guess it couldn’t hurt to go over it again. “He tried to force me off the road on the other side, before we got to the bridge. I got away from him then, and crossed the median to this side. But then he followed and got me down into this little parking area and over the edge of the hill. And after I’d sat there for a bit, the young Hispanic guy showed up. He said the SUV left when he pulled in to see if he could help.”
And by now it could be anywhere. “He knows you’re still alive,” I added. “I told him about the fire and how we got out. I was trying to explain why I didn’t have a license. That was before I realized who he was, obviously. And that was why he sounded funny and excused himself to go back to his car. He found out you weren’t dead.”
“But then he tried to kill you.” Rafe’s voice didn’t bode well for this guy whenever we found him.
I nodded. “And Carrie. Although I’m not sure he knew she was there.”
Rafe glanced at her, at the back of her dark, curly head as she was nestled against my chest, and the look in his eyes didn’t bode well, either.
“My money’s on Grant,” Wendell broke the silence. He was standing in front of the door Rafe was holding open, with his back against the car as he watched the movements of the winch. Careful not to look at me. “Hammond and McLaughlin have kids. They wouldn’t try to kill a baby. No matter how much they wanted her father dead.”
Rafe nodded. “Once we get the Volvo up outta this predicament, I say we go back to the TBI and kick some ass.”
“Can I come?” With everything that had gone on, I didn’t like the idea of being left alone again. Besides, I wanted to watch.
He glanced at me. “No way I’m leaving the two of you alone again till this is over. Yeah, you can come.”
Good. I went back to watching the tow truck slowly winch the Volvo up the hill while Rafe and Wendell discussed how best to approach the situation once they got to the TBI. What they’d do if he was there, how they’d handle it if he wasn’t.
The front of the Volvo crested the hill, and the truck started driving forward to get the whole of the car safely onto the pavement. That done, we all moved to the edge of the scree to inspect the damage. Rafe directed a glower down the hill, where the tire tracks of the Volvo, coming and going, were very obvious in the slight dusting of snow we’d gotten last night. That small tree, looking a little the worse for wear now, had shown up in the nick of time. Just a yard or two below that point, the edge of the hill crumbled away to an almost straight drop into the water.
I shuddered and turned my attention in the other direction, to the Volvo itself.
My car looked perhaps a little worse for wear, too. It had a small dent in the middle of the hood, where it had made contact with the tree and been held by it. Other than that, it didn’t look bad. As I’d said once, the safest car on the road.
“See if she starts,” the tow truck driver called out of his window.
I was still holding Carrie, so I let Rafe do it. “The key’s in the ignition.”
He walked the couple of steps to the door and yanked it open. “It’s safe,” I asked Wendell, “isn’t it? The car isn’t likely to blow up, or anything like that?”
He shook his head. “It’s fine.”
The car started right up, with maybe a slightly louder than usual purr of the engine—something a little out of alignment under the hood, probably as a result of the meeting with the tree—and the tow truck driver hopped down from the cab to unfasten the big hook he’d used to pull the Volvo up the incline. “Y’all
got it from here?”
“As long as it drives,” I said, “we’ll just take it to a shop ourselves.” No need to incur the towing fee on a car that would make the trip on its own. This little excursion to pull the car up the hill would cost plenty. We didn’t need to add to it unless it was necessary.
The driver nodded and went back to his cab. The tow truck executed a neat three-point turn, and exited the lot. Rafe executed a turn of his own, with more than three points—more to see how the car would handle than because he needed all those points, I thought—and then nodded. “She’ll do. We’ll get her to a body shop when we get to Sweetwater.”
“We’re going to Sweetwater?”
“Later,” Rafe said. “First we’re going to the TBI.” He nodded to Wendell. “We’ll see you there.”
Wendell nodded back, and headed for his own car, while I put Carrie back into the car seat, and the car seat back into the car, before I buckled myself into the passenger seat next to Rafe.
Who just sat there for a second without saying anything.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I coulda lost both of you. Just like that. This ain’t worth it. I’m going into home renovation when we’re done with this.”
“You’d be bored out of your mind,” I said. “Just go to work for Grimaldi. It’s nice and quiet down there.”
Not exactly true, since we’d gotten into plenty of trouble in Sweetwater, too. But for now it seemed to do the trick. He nodded, and put the car into gear. And followed Wendell’s Town Car out of the lot and back onto Lebanon Road just as the sun peeked over the horizon behind us.
* * *
The trip to the TBI went quickly and painlessly. It was still early enough that there were very few cars on the roads, and Wendell had a blue light of his own, that he stuck out the window and onto the top of the Town Car. We followed in its wake the whole way to Inglewood.
Wrongful Termination: A Savannah Martin Novel (Savannah Martin Mystery Book 16) Page 25
