by Sheila Kell
Only after a moment’s hesitation at the scene, she sped up to bring herself to the embankment near where the vehicle had left the road. “I have to go, Rylee. The car in front of me just crashed.” She hung up without waiting for a response from her sister and hit the SOS button on her rearview mirror. Never using it before, she had no idea if it even worked, but BMW was renowned for their quick response. “Come on, come on,” she muttered, ready to physically help the occupants of the car in the water, but she knew she had to get help to them. Thankfully, it was a small creek and didn’t look deep. But still….
After she relayed the accident to the calm voice that boomed over the car speaker, Madison stepped out of her car then, as an afterthought, reached in and grabbed her emergency tool from the glove box. Her mind briefly flittered to when she’d purchased it from a department store some time ago. It guaranteed an emergency escape from your vehicle with six different options including a seat belt cutter and a glass breaker to name a few. With it in hand, she left the vehicle and skidded her way down the incline by the creek. Her high-heeled boots weren’t the best footwear, but she refused to go barefoot in the underbrush. Hell, there could be snakes for all she knew. She shuddered at that thought of confronting a snake. With her determination to assist the passengers, something as small as a snake wouldn’t stop her.
No one had exited the overturned vehicle, and with its tinted windows, she couldn’t tell how many occupants it held. Her pulse raced at the thought of someone injured. She had no medical training.
Had their tire blown? That would explain the loud noise. Then, the driver must’ve lost control and hit the small bridge railing that boasted “Bridge ices before road.”
Sliding down the last of the slope, she landed in the cold water. Her jeans automatically soaked up to nearly midcalf. Thank God it wasn’t deep where the car had landed. Making her way to the upturned vehicle, her stomach lurched at what she was doing and what she might find. She could only hope emergency vehicles hurried. It wasn’t like they were in the city. The two cars had been on a long stretch of country highway. A shortcut she’d learned from Rylee to get to her sister’s house in Baltimore.
When she reached the vehicle, Madison internally crossed her fingers and yelled, “Hello. Can anyone hear me?” There was no response. She rushed to the driver side door and tried to open it. It didn’t budge. Stupid, she told herself. She’d watched enough television to know that the door wouldn’t open when partially submerged in water. That’s why she had the emergency tool.
As the blood pumped fast through her veins, her heart pounded loudly in her ears, adrenaline rushing through her, giving her strength.
Madison held the tool in her right hand. Turning her face away, she bent down, even with the window, then swung hard at the glass on the rear-door window and hoped the tool did its job. Pain reverberated up her arm at the impact of the metal tip on glass. She knocked at the spider-webbed glass around a small hole to clear the window for access, fear and dread pulsing through her. She didn’t know what she’d find, but her heart beat faster hoping the occupants weren’t terribly injured.
Ignoring the biting cold, she knelt, shivering as the water covered her legs to nearly midthigh, and peered through the opening. Her eyes landed on an unconscious woman in the back seat, hanging upside down, her seat belt holding her in place. A sweep of the front showed the only other occupant was the driver, who was also unmoving.
The water lapped to over the top of the woman’s head, her hair lost in the current, but not high enough to interfere with her breathing. Yet. Well, Christ. Should she move her? She had no idea if that would make any injuries worse. But what about the water? That couldn’t be good. If Madison waited and the water rose, she wouldn’t be able to help both the woman and the man, and then one would drown. She wouldn’t allow that.
With an uneasy breath, she crawled toward the woman and froze. Her heart skipped a beat when the car skidded further into the creek. She searched frantically, listening hard for sirens, but there was nothing but the lap of water filling her ears. That and her still pounding heartbeat. Once the car settled again, she exhaled shakily and focused on the woman. With a trembling hand, Madison released the woman’s seat belt. “Shit,” she gasped, when the unconscious passenger dropped into the water. Madison hurriedly turned her to keep her face out of the water, praying there’d been no injury. Not daring to think of anything but making the woman safe, Madison refused to acknowledge her achy muscles or her shaking limbs as she tried to keep the woman from drowning.
With a grunt, Madison dragged the woman to the opposite bank, pulling her up on mud and rocks, ensuring she was fully out of the water. Dropping on her butt, Madison breathed hard and steeled herself for what it would take to remove the driver. He had to outweigh the woman by a good eighty pounds. She had no idea if she could she even manage it; her muscles were already screaming. Knowing she had no choice, Madison stood on her shaky legs. Then taking a deep breath, she looked at the car and took a determined step forward.
“Anyone else in the vehicle?”
Madison spun at the firm, deep voice. When her eyes fastened on the dark-haired, jean-clad man, panic skittered through her, and her breath caught. “You.”
BRAD HAMILTON SLIPPED when his foot hit the muddy embankment. He then wrenched his ankle trying to regain his footing. When he looked up, he did a double take at the woman dragging someone through the water. He needed to make sure he was right. For far too many nights he’d been wishing to be near her. Realizing his eyesight hadn’t failed him, he tightened his jaw against the sudden rush of anger at her. Of course the fucking cosmos would throw her in his fucking path.
Madison Maxwell. Even though he hated doing that “talking thing” women wanted, they had a lot to discuss, but first, he had a more pressing matter to deal with than the woman who’d run away from him.
With a tire iron gripped in his hand, he hurried past her into the water. His body reacted sharply to the freezing cold of it. Water slid into his black tennis shoes, immediately soaking them and his socks. The lower parts of his jean-clad legs followed behind, making them heavy to lift. He considered a moment if the water was too deep for a passenger to survive. Come to think of it, when he’d called out to Madison, she’d never responded, apart from her surprised “you.”
He raised his voice and asked her again, “Was there anyone else in the car?”
Madison nodded, her face pale and dirty. “Yes, the driver.”
With a nod, Brad turned and smashed the front passenger window with the tire iron. After using the tool to clear the space, he got down on his hands and knees and crawled into the vehicle and cursed at the cold water soaking the arms of his shirt. At least the water hadn’t risen over the driver’s head.
With the sharp black suit the man wore, Brad surmised that he must be a chauffeur. Not that that mattered in a rescue operation, but it registered in Brad’s mind. A curious snip wondered what had happened for the car to end up overturned in the muddy water.
Assessing the man, he reached out with two fingers, searching for the driver’s pulse at his neck. When he didn’t feel that steady beat, Brad adjusted the position of his cold digits, despite knowing he had the spot right the first time. Still, he checked. This wasn’t something to be wrong about. After a minute, he removed his hand and sighed. Nothing.
He turned the driver’s head toward him, and Brad’s blood ran cold, but it had nothing to do with the temperature of the water. A slice of fear crawled through him. He’d left the women on the creek’s bank—alone and undefended. With dread urging him on, Brad backed out of the vehicle faster than he thought he could move.
As he exited the vehicle, he yelled to Madison, “Get down!” Sloshing his way through the water to the bank, he cursed at how heavy his steps had become. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. His pulse rate accelerated as adrenaline spiked through his system. He didn’t have his weapon. Although, if he happened to be competing against a sniper rifle—which was
what he suspected since the driver had been shot cleanly in the forehead—his weapon would be useless at that range. Plus, there was no cover on that side of the bank.
When Madison didn’t move, he pushed through the creek faster, screamed and waved his arm at her. “Get the fuck down!”
It took her a moment to react, and those few seconds felt like a lifetime to him. After the confusion left her face, she dropped into a squat and looked around. Her paleness seemed more of fear than that of a few moments earlier. Before Brad could reach the bank, he heard the sound of shots reach them through the air just as mud flew on the bank from the bullets. Who the fuck were they shooting at? Madison? The passenger? Him? It had to be the passenger since the shooter had already targeted the driver. Then, who the hell was the passenger?
Uncaring if the shooter struck out again, Brad left the water and launched himself on top of Madison, knocking her flat on her back. He registered her “Oomph” before covering her body with his, her wet sweater soaking his long-sleeved T-shirt. Christ, she could’ve been shot, and he hadn’t been there to protect her. His gut wrenched into knots at the thought.
She clawed at his arms, panic lacing her muffled words.
“Shh. Someone’s shooting. Be still.” Brad could only hope the passenger didn’t suddenly wake up and sit. Although something told him that was what the shooter hoped would happen. He and Madison had just been in the way. Now they were caught, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it at this point.
Madison stilled underneath him, but her body shook. Her fear broke his frigid heart. Was she shaking with fear of the shooter, her cold clothing, or of the closeness to him? He’d never done anything to make her fear him, but she’d been pretty pissed at him when they’d parted. Both times, come to think of it. As for the second time, he’d never had an opportunity to apologize—not that he was sure an apology was due, but the man should always apologize because chances were he’d done something wrong at one point in time—but now didn’t seem the time to rehash their brief history. Although it might be the only time he could pin her down.
“What about the driver?” she whispered, her words trembling.
“He’s dead.”
“What do you mean he’s dead? The accident wasn’t that severe, was it?”
How much to tell her? Hell, they’d already been shot at, so there was no use pretending. “He was shot.”
Her breath caught, and she paled even further.
Instinct told him to hold her tighter, but reason told him to leave her to deal with it. He wanted to be there for her even though she’d been the one to walk away, and it was difficult not having her in his arms while she dealt with what was happening.
When no further shots were fired, he lifted his head and scanned the woods surrounding the creek once again. Would the shooter come closer to make sure he made his kill? He had to have noticed they were unarmed. Brad weighed how long it would take him to retrieve his weapon from his truck, but that would leave the women alone, and he couldn’t do that.
Blessed sirens sounded as emergency vehicles approached, and Brad took a deep breath of relief. He didn’t, however, get off the top of Madison. Not until he was sure it was safe.
When the first sheriff’s deputy arrived, Brad relayed there’d been an active shooter, which sent the deputy quickly back to his car, squatting behind the open door with his weapon drawn.
“You can get off me now,” Madison whispered.
“Not yet. We don’t know for sure the shooter left.” Although his gut told him he’d departed before the police arrived.
The unconscious woman moaned lightly. Fuck. That was all he needed, another person to try to cover. Thankfully the woman didn’t wake. She obviously needed an ambulance, but they wouldn’t come through until the shooter was neutralized or confirmed on the run. The last was where Brad’s money sat.
Whoever the shooter was, he was a professional. He’d hit the bulky driver right between the eyes while the car had been doing, he’d guess, at least seventy miles per hour. No one just cruised on this stretch of highway. Then again, the shooter had missed hitting them on the bank. Had that been a warning to them for protecting his target?
Time slowly passed while Brad and Madison waited for the next move by either the shooter or the police. The seriousness of their situation brought the Maryland State Police into the mix. After what seemed like forever—with the sheriff’s office and the nearby city police—they pieced together a four-man team and sent them into the woods to check for the shooter. Brad guessed they didn’t have much choice unless they just all stayed in their positions forever. While the thought of Madison underneath him again was something he’d hoped to happen someday, he didn’t want it because of these circumstances.
Feeling her trembling beneath him, he silently tried to reassure her that it wouldn’t be much longer before they could safely move. When his eyes met hers, he almost fell in deep. Even frightened, she had the most gorgeous eyes he’d ever seen. He’d love nothing more than exploring the connection between them. The strong connection he felt in their gaze. But, now was not the time or the place. “It’s going to be okay,” he quietly reassured her.
She nodded, and he couldn’t tell if her daze was from the situation or their shared moment. Either way, he was there to soothe her and protect her. Being in the water and not able to cover Madison had ripped at his inner being. He’d never felt so helpless, and he’d been in plenty of tight situations.
The law enforcement officers came back from the woods, frowning and shaking their heads. Brad was given an all clear, and he grudgingly lifted himself from Madison.
Before he could offer her his hand, on her hands and knees, Madison crawled to the passenger of the car. “She’s still out,” she said, with worry tingeing her voice.
Cupping his hands together, Brad shouted to the law enforcement parked on the road, “We need EMTs. We’ve got an unconscious woman.” Next, he knelt on the opposite side of Madison and felt the woman’s pulse. Although it could be stronger, he wouldn’t classify the beating as weak. On her temple, he noticed some drying blood. “Looks like she might’ve hit her head on the window in the crash.”
Madison leaned over to see the wound and frowned. “I think I know who this is.”
Giving the passenger’s face another once-over, Brad grimaced. She looked familiar with her short blonde hair, but he couldn’t place her. Maybe it was the wet hair or the slightly streaky makeup that he guessed came from her tumbling out of her seat into the water. “Who?”
“Senator Sharon Walden.”
Stunned, Brad remembered meeting her when he’d been a Secret Service agent. Her husband was a U.S. Senator and had needed protection for the presidential campaign he’d just kicked off. While the extra security wasn’t necessarily normal, it wasn’t unheard of. When an agent had been sick, the senator had demanded the position be filled, and Brad had been placed on temporary assignment with that detail. At the time, the senator’s wife had been a brand-new senator, but her popularity had already outshined her husband’s. It never made sense to Brad why she’d run a senatorial campaign when he’d been planning the presidential run so soon after. Supposedly, she would resign if he won and be just the First Lady.
Brad shook his head. He’d never understand how his father had navigated the craziness of politics for so many years.
Looking over his shoulder, his gaze focused on the car with the dead driver. “You mean the woman whose name is on the primary ballots for President?” he clarified. Her husband had lost his bid for the White House but had promised he’d run again. Word was his wife was running, and he’d willingly accept the post of First Gentleman should she win the presidency. Something about that niggled the back of his mind, but it remained out of reach.
“Someone was really shooting at us?” A nervous lilt lifted Madison’s voice as she asked the question.
“My guess is they were shooting at her.” He nodded to the senator.
/> EMTs made their way down to them, carrying a backboard and a large bag since the gurney needed to stay at the top of the bank. He and Madison moved away to allow the EMTs access and climbed the embankment, but not before informing them, the sheriff’s deputy, and the state trooper, who’d come toward them, of the dead body in the vehicle. At the top of the rise, they were met with more law enforcement and were obligated to remain and provide their statements. It wasn’t like it mattered. The shooter was long gone, and Brad would bet his next paycheck they wouldn’t find out who it was.
His blood boiled. The bastard had shot at Madison, whether she was his target or not.
“I heard a loud noise, like a tire blowing out, and then the car swerved off the road, hit the bridge incline and flipped over in midair, landing upside down in the water.” Madison spoke matter-of-factly, almost woodenly like she wanted to get it out and over with. He couldn’t blame her; he wanted to get out of here.
He still couldn’t believe of all the women to be put into his path on this trip, it’d be Madison. He wouldn’t complain about his luck. He just had to figure out how to use it to his advantage to get to know her better. Even if that involved just soothing her while the horror of the incident sank in for her.
“That was probably the shot that killed the driver,” Brad offered, as if the deputy couldn’t figure it out for himself.
The deputy, who’d been all but salivating over Madison, gave him an evil eye. What the fuck?
Because he liked to piss off people for no apparent reason, as his twin brother, Matt, liked to remind him, he said, “You can see none of the tires are blown out or flat, so it only makes sense.” He wanted to add dickwad, but thought that might be pushing it.
Uh-oh. The man turned on him. While that couldn’t be good for Brad, at least his eyes were off Madison. “How many shots were fired when you were”—he flipped back through his notes like it’d been an exhaustive interview—“in the water?”
