She’d woken to complete silence, cradled in the arms of a tall fir tree. Contrary to expectations, landing in a tree hurt like hell, but probably not as much as hitting granite from a height of seventy feet. She’d been so surprised she was still alive, like an eagle had swooped and plucked her to safety. There was a gash on her right arm and something bad had happened to her knee, because it had swelled to the size of a cantaloupe inside her jeans. Her arm was still bleeding, a steady drip that wouldn’t stop, probably because of the cold. Inexplicably the blood trail gave her hope. It marked her path. Maybe someone with a bloodhound would eventually search for her and find her. Hopefully she wouldn’t be dead.
It was nighttime, but the moon reflected off the snow so brightly she could easily see where she was going—she just didn’t know which way to go.
She sucked in a hoarse breath. Her tongue was numb, the back of her throat raw from drawing in icy air that settled deep into her lungs.
She hacked out a cough and had to pause for a moment, leaning heavily on the stick, her heart racing as it adjusted to another obstacle to survival. When the coughing fit was over she straightened. She seemed to be in some sort of gully that was winding its way slowly downhill.
The snow had melted on her jeans and, even though she was wearing good winter boots, her feet were numb.
Keep going, Rachel, you don’t need those toes anyway.
The sound of crows cawing in the trees drew her toward them. She was so tired and thirsty and hungry. How could she have walked for hours and still found no sign of human life?
Because you’re going at about a quarter of a mile an hour, idiot, and probably walked in circles all day. She stumbled through the trees and came upon a ribbon of ice. At first she didn’t know what it was, but then she realized it was the river.
She eased to her bottom and slid down the bank, testing the thickness of the ice with her stick. It felt solid. The snow seemed less deep here, the wind scouring it off the surface.
A loud groan made her glance nervously around. Then she realized it was the creak of the ice responding to the supercooled water that raced beneath it. She’d studied ice formation in one of her classes. There was more going on beneath the surface than most people realized. Then another noise caught her attention. A weird, rushing hum.
She edged toward the sound, taking small uncertain steps, using her stick to probe the way. She reached a curve in the river and peered into the darkness ahead. Headlights swept in front of her, and her heart stuttered. A bridge. She hobbled toward it, her right leg not really bending as it should. She forced herself to keep moving, through the pain, through the exhaustion. Don’t stop. She was too close to salvation to stop now.
Sweat was frozen on her back, her body wracked with fierce tremors. Slowly, slowly, she made it the quarter of a mile to the bridge. She dragged herself up the rise and crawled on all fours until she was clear of the bank. It took forever to find her way through the forest onto the road. She was almost there when the hum of tires caught her attention. A car. She stumbled and dragged herself upright using the trunk of a tree. The car was getting closer. She started running. She was so close to safety. So close to telling everyone what had happened to her, to the others, to Drew. She clambered over a pile of snow and stumbled out into the road. The car coming toward her slammed on the brakes, but Rachel skidded to a halt just as the vehicle did.
She screamed as it hit, pain exploding through frost-deadened nerves even as darkness engulfed her.
* * *
Erin’s head throbbed so viciously she thought her skull was going to burst. The TV was on in the background, running a bunch of stories around a large oil tanker that had been freed from hijackers near the Panama Canal. She must have seen the footage five hundred times.
Harry Compton stood at the end of her bed, his woebegone expression mixed with underlying resentment. “Can you describe the vehicle?”
“Not really.” She frowned, eliciting fresh slivers of pain that sliced into her skull. “Big SUV. Dark color. They had their full beams on. I couldn’t see the driver.”
“Pretty bad conditions on the roads out there tonight.” His pencil hovered over his notebook, but didn’t connect with the page. Obviously she hadn’t said anything useful yet.
“Especially when someone rams into you and forces you off the road,” Erin grated.
“I’m just saying that considering the amount of strain you’ve been under, what with the disappearance of this girl and all—”
“You suggesting I pretended to get run off the road so I don’t have to admit driving through the guard rail like a fucking moron?” She flicked off the news. This was all she needed.
He backed up a step as she pushed herself upright in bed.
“The road hadn’t been plowed. It was dark, you maybe hit an icy patch—”
“My truck can handle a patch of ice, and I can handle my truck. That is until someone smashes into me on a sharp bend in the middle of a fucking snowstorm.” She dragged a hand through her hair. Losing her temper with Harry wouldn’t get her anywhere.
He shoved his notebook in his pocket. “Jesus, Erin. I’m just doing what you’d do if the situation was reversed.”
She grunted. She hated that he was right.
“I’ll put out a BOLO for someone with a damaged front fender or passenger side door. Forensics should be able to find paint on your truck and give us a make and model of the one that hit you.”
Erin nodded. The fact she was damn near naked except for some paper-thin hospital gown didn’t help matters. Darsh had disappeared after the doctors had taken her for a CT scan, and it was foolish to feel disappointed. They still had a killer to catch and a lost girl to find, and she didn’t need anyone holding her hand.
Someone came into the room, hidden behind a large bunch of carnations. “I heard about what happened.” Roman Huxley appeared behind the flowers. “I just helped Search and Rescue get ropes and lines on your truck to winch it back onto the main road. From the state of it, I’m surprised you’re alive.”
She forced a smile even though it hurt. “Thanks, I’m fine. I’m not even being admitted overnight.”
Harry’s eyes widened.
“But I appreciate the thought. You poor S&R guys must be exhausted.” She hoped this didn’t mean they’d be too tired to search for Rachel tomorrow, but as she looked out of the window into the sub-zero night, she knew it was hopeless. Without shelter, Rachel would freeze to death. Erin would have, too.
“Tell the other guys ‘thanks,’ and I appreciate the flowers.” She pressed the buzzer to call the nurse. “Now you two need to get out of here unless you want to see me naked.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was bruised and battered but by a miracle hadn’t broken anything. She’d thrown herself from the truck about a second before it hit that tree. It had felt like ten lifetimes.
Neither man moved.
“That’s your cue to leave, guys.” She didn’t soften the bite in her tone and thankfully, they both jerked into action. Jesus. She was busy searching the cupboard for something to wear when the door opened again.
“What the hell are you doing out of bed?”
Darsh.
The flutter in her chest both warmed and scared her. She’d decided to stop running from relationships, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t terrified of letting anyone past her defenses. “Getting outta here. What do you have in the bag?” She eyed it hopefully, thinking it was something she could wear.
He walked up to her, tossed the plastic bag on the bed, and caught her face in his hands. Then he kissed her, thoroughly, and although her lip stung she kissed him back, stretching her aching body against his because she’d so nearly lost her life today and the need to reaffirm she wasn’t dead was overwhelming. He cradled his big hand at the back of her nape and angled his mouth, taking the kiss even deeper.
A noise behind them had them both freezing in place before guiltily moving apart. “Is th
ere a line-up? Because I’m game.” Ully Mason’s tone was scathing.
Erin stepped away from Darsh. “Don’t be a jackass.” She grabbed the bag off the bed. A pair of flannel pajamas. Not exactly a pantsuit, but they beat the hell out of a paper dress with a slit from ass to neck.
“What do you want?” she asked Ully.
“Just came to see a fellow cop who got hurt on the job today—”
“To give me a hard time?” she snapped back.
He had the grace to look ashamed. “No. You just caught me off guard sucking face with a fed only a couple hours after totaling your truck, that’s all. Didn’t know you guys were involved.”
“Fuck you, Mason,” Darsh bit out.
She gritted her teeth. As much as she planned to give a relationship with Darsh a go, she hadn’t wanted it to be public knowledge before they’d wrapped up this investigation. Now she was going to be the subject of every piece of gossip in the department for the next month. She already knew how awful that felt.
She dragged on the pants under the hospital gown and then turned her back on them both. Pulling the T-shirt from the bag, she checked to make sure there were no windows or glass doors to give them a happy reflection and tore off the gown, letting it fall to the floor before she slowly eased the long-sleeved shirt over her head. She heard a sharp inhalation from Ully, and Darsh swore. If her bruises looked like they felt, she was sure they were spectacular. Tomorrow she was going to look like a punching bag.
Once she’d pulled the top down, she turned and picked up a pair of fluffy white socks, Darsh had bought. There was no way she could bend down to put them on.
“Here. Let me.” Darsh held out his hand, and she sat on the edge of the bed while he rolled the material gently over her cold toes.
When he was done, he held back the covers, but she carefully shook her head. “Doc says that I’m fine to go home.”
Darsh eyed her. “He told me he’d advised you to stay in overnight. You have a minor concussion.”
“Same thing.” She shrugged.
Ully started smirking. “I just decided you two being together has actually made my day.” He crossed his arms. “Not that locking lips with Erin Donovan isn’t on every guy in the department’s fantasy list—aside from the chief,” he grimaced, “but putting up with that sharp tongue and smart mouth? Definitely not for the faint of heart.”
Erin blew out a noisy breath. “Thanks for the approval. It means a lot.” She rolled her eyes and found her boots on the opposite side of the bed and eased her feet into them. Darsh just shook his head. He reached up into a tall locker and pulled out her clothes.
“Why didn’t you tell me they were there before?” she asked in exasperation.
He held up her parka so she could slide in her arms. “Because I didn’t want you disappearing before I got back.”
Her cheeks flamed, because she would have left an hour ago if she’d known.
“And I already knew there was no way you’d stay in here overnight.” He shot a grin at Ully, who grinned back. They both thought they had her number. “This way I got you to walk out of here in pajamas and intend to make you go straight home to bed, unless you want me to call your parents.”
“Oh, I’m definitely liking this.” Ully scratched the back of his neck.
Darsh handed her her Glock from his pocket. The reassuring weight made her feel a lot better.
She wanted to bitch at them, but she was too tired. She gathered up her belongings, including the flowers Professor Huxley had brought, and walked to the door without a word. As they headed down the corridor, Darsh stood on one side and Ully bracketed the other. A bunch of patrol officers were milling around the waiting room. When she appeared, they all swarmed her, wanting a hug.
Ully shouted at them not to squeeze too tight. “Careful guys, I’ve seen her naked, and it wasn’t a pretty sight.” Erin was so grateful for her colleagues’ well wishes that she thought she might start crying.
There was a sudden buzz of activity when a gurney was rushed past them.
“What is it?” she asked Darsh. She had to hold on to his sleeve to stand up straight, and she knew he wanted to carry her. If he tried in front of these guys, she’d kick his ass.
“Wait here, and I’ll go find out,” Ully told them. Two minutes later, he ran back across the waiting room and kept his voice low. “They found Rachel Knight.”
Erin couldn’t speak.
“Alive?” Darsh bit out.
“Yeah,” Ully exclaimed. He was holding his jacket shut as if hiding something. “She made it onto the highway only to be run over by a Honda Civic. Driver realized who she was and didn’t waste time waiting for an ambulance. He brought her straight in.”
“How is she?” Elation filled Erin. “Can I see her?”
Ully shook his head. “She’s unconscious and in bad shape. Hypothermia on top of all her other injuries. They’re going to induce a coma and warm her up slowly. Going to be a few days until she’s able to talk. They just stuck a tube down her throat.”
“Do her parents know?”
“On their way.”
Erin felt suddenly like she was made of glass and might shatter at any moment. “Does anyone know what happened to her?”
“Well, it wasn’t an accident.”
Her eyes snapped to his.
“What makes you say that?” Darsh asked.
“The rope gag I just watched one of the doctors cut from around her head.” He opened his jacket, and Erin saw a piece of blue climbing rope coiled in an evidence bag. Ully shut his coat again as he scanned the crowd. He was right. If the press got hold of this story, there’d be hell to pay.
“Get guards on her door. She needs protection at all times,” Erin ordered. From the press and the killer.
“Ully’s got it handled.” Darsh pressed a card into the patrol officer’s palm. “Call that number if you need anything. Time for you to get home to rest, Detective.”
“She needs protection, too.” Ully spoke to Darsh as if she wasn’t there.
“I’m on it,” he answered.
“I don’t need protection.” She patted the Glock in her pocket.
“Some good that’ll do you if you’re seeing double,” Ully snorted.
Erin rolled her eyes and winced from the way it hurt. Dammit.
Darsh’s hand tightened around her upper arm. “Courier that evidence to Quantico. Tell them to run a match on the other rope. Call me as soon as Rachel wakes up. I’m going to catch a few hours’ sleep while I can.” Erin opened her mouth to argue, but he spoke over her, which would have made her crazy, except she was so exhausted she was swaying on her feet. “And so is she.”
Ully nodded as Darsh helped her out of a side exit. She hid her face as she realized the press had already caught wind of a good story and were waiting at the front. Or maybe she was the story. Darsh wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her to his vehicle.
She turned to him when he got inside and started the engine. “I can’t believe she survived.”
The look on his face was grave. “I can’t believe you survived.”
It hit her then, how close she’d come to dying. She reached out and clutched his fingers. “Did I thank you for finding me?”
He drove slowly out of the parking lot, keeping as far from the reporters as possible. “Thank me by getting into bed and sleeping through the night like a good girl.”
Her ribs hurt when she laughed. “No crazy monkey sex?”
His features were stark when he turned toward her. “I thought you were dead, Erin. I thought I’d never get to hear your voice again.” His mouth was a grim line. “I know you don’t like anyone thinking you’re weak or vulnerable, but all I want to do is wrap you up in cotton wool and keep you safe.”
She bristled.
His eyes swept over her features. “Because that’s what decent men do,” he said, clearly reading her disgruntled expression. “But I know your ex fucked you up when it comes to
normal relationships, so I’ll content myself by making sure no one else hurts you tonight. It’s not just about sex.”
There was hurt in his tone. And anger. It was a combination she knew well, but maybe she had to stop comparing everyone to Graham. Graham had been sick. She touched Darsh’s arm, felt his muscles coil beneath her fingers. “How about you just hold me while I fall asleep?”
His mouth twitched. “I can do that.”
She closed her eyes, wondering if he knew what a big step this was for her. Trusting him. Trusting anyone.
* * *
Erin fell asleep in the car, and Darsh didn’t want to wake her, so he lifted her out and carried her. She didn’t stir. It reminded him of when he’d been a child, falling asleep somewhere and then magically ending up in bed. An echo of his mother’s voice singing him to sleep came to him and, for the first time in years, he felt a little of her love cross the barriers of time.
He used keys he’d found in Erin’s pocket to awkwardly unlock her back door while still holding her in his arms.
She trembled, and he wished he could wipe the terror that must have overwhelmed her when her truck had been forced off the road. He pushed the door closed with his heel, flipped the lock, carried her up the stairs and eased her onto the bed before removing her boots. Gently he tugged the parka off her shoulders, grabbing the Glock and putting it in the drawer beside her bed. She lay watching him with tired eyes. Not asleep, but too exhausted to protest.
There was a bruise on her cheek. A cut on her lip. Her back when he’d seen it earlier had looked like a two-year-old had gone crazy with purple and red paint. Darsh had wanted to hit something. Had wanted to shout and yell and pound, but he held onto his temper. You didn’t yell around people who’d been abused. He wasn’t a dick.
“I’m going to make a hot drink. Want something?”
“Just water, please.” Her voice was croaky.
He covered her up with the bedclothes, kissed her, then systematically cleared every inch of the house. Maybe he was paranoid, but he sure as hell wasn’t taking chances. An asshole had run her off the road and when they found out she was still alive, they might try something else. Was it the killer, or just another member of Erin’s fan club taking advantage of an opportunity? Or just some fuckwit too inebriated to realize what he’d done?
Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) Page 26
