The Dangerous Protector

by Janet Chapman

  What in hell had happened? She hadn’t noticed any car lights coming up behind her; she hadn’t noticed anything until that black pickup had suddenly appeared beside her and cut her off. Come to think of it, the first time she had seen any lights at all had been his taillights, blinding her.

  Had the guy run her off the road on purpose? Had he nearly killed her just to steal her laptop? And what was his pouring liquor down her throat all about?

  Willow spit out the burning taste in her mouth and suddenly remembered her cell phone. She’d been talking to Duncan. She groped around the passenger seat, then leaned over and blindly searched the floor. She found her purse floating in the accumulating seawater, but no phone. She sat back, having to cover her face as another wave crested over the hood and into the truck.

  Duncan would realize she’d been in an accident. He had already called for help, Willow assured herself, and was probably on the way here himself.

  God bless troglodytes. They could always be counted on in a crisis.

  Duncan shouted Willow’s name into the phone, then listened in horror to the sound of her second scream, brakes squealing, metal crunching, and finally the chilling sound of glass shattering. And then the phone went dead.

  Duncan ran an unsteady hand over his bloodless face, staring down at the phone. He hit the OFF button, hit the ON button, and dialed 911. “There’s been an accident,” he said the moment he connected. “On Route 321, someplace between Walker Point and Puffin Harbor.”

  He listened to the dispatcher tapping a keyboard. “Are there personal injuries, sir?” the woman asked. “How many people involved?”

  “Only one that I know of,” Duncan replied. “I’m not at the scene. I was talking to the driver on her cell phone when I heard the crash and the line went dead.”

  “So you’re not sure exactly where the accident is,” the dispatcher said.

  “She mentioned she had just passed Walker Point,” he repeated, running to the door and grabbing his jacket. “On the Puffin Harbor side. Just send the bloody ambulance!” he shouted, throwing down the phone and rushing to his truck. He was out the driveway and headed toward Walker Point before he pulled his own cell phone from his belt and punched in Kee’s cell number.

  “Where are ya?” he asked when Kee answered.

  “Home.”

  “I think Willow’s been in an accident just this side of Walker Point,” Duncan said, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he snapped his seat belt into place. “I was talking to her when I heard a crash and the phone went dead.”

  There was a heartbeat of silence on Kee’s end before he said, “I’m on my way.”

  Duncan ended the call and punched in Luke’s number. “Find Ahab and get him to Kee’s house,” he said when Luke answered. “Willow’s been in an auto accident, and Ahab needs to babysit so you can drive Rachel to the hospital.”

  “How’s Willow?” Luke asked.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten to the accident yet. It just happened. She’s near Walker Point someplace. Find Ahab.”

  “I’m on it,” Luke said, hanging up before Duncan did.

  Duncan tossed his phone on the seat and let back on the accelerator as he neared the center of town. He noticed the doors of the fire station were open and that the ambulance, one fire truck, and the rescue pickup had already left. He slowly sped up as the town street turned to wooded road again, his gut churning with worry and self-reproach. Dammit, he shouldn’t have called her cell phone.

  In minutes that seemed like hours, Duncan spotted the red and white strobes of the fire trucks ahead. He slowed down and fell in behind them, watching as they scanned both sides of the road with powerful floodlights. They suddenly pulled over, and Duncan stopped and was running toward the skid marks before his own truck had quit rocking.

  Nearly blinded by the floodlights and ignoring the shouts of the firemen, he scrambled over the bank and came to a sliding halt beside the driver’s door of Willow’s SUV. He ducked in through the broken window, his eyes trying to see in the beams of waving flashlights coming down the bank.

  The truck was empty.

  He was roughly pulled out of the way. “Get back,” one of the firemen shouted. “Let us in.”

  In seconds Willow’s SUV was surrounded by rescuers, all finding the same thing he had—nothing. Duncan grabbed one of the firefighters by the arm. “Train yar light down here,” he said, stepping onto a boulder beside the truck. “She may have been thrown out. It’s Willow Foster,” he added, loudly enough for the others to hear above the pounding surf, hoping her name would get him—Hell, he didn’t know what it would prove! Where the bloody hell was she?

  All but two of the flashlight beams turned and started searching the area around, above, and below the mangled truck. “Listen,” Duncan shouted over the howl of the wind, grabbing the closest man’s arm. “Did ya hear that?”

  “I’m here,” came the weak voice again.

  “There,” Duncan said, pointing and then moving up and away from the truck. “She’s up this way.”

  The beam of a flashlight moved ahead of him, landing on Willow’s tiny shivering body balled up against the trunk of a pine tree. Duncan tore off his jacket as he made his way up the steep bank, going down on his knees the moment he got to her. “Where are ya hurt?” he asked as the others approached, several beams of light falling on her. “Willow, you’re okay now. We’ve got ya.”

  Instead of answering him, she reached out and grabbed his jacket, making a sound of distress when she couldn’t slide it over her wet, shivering shoulders.

  But before Duncan could help her, one of the paramedics did. “You’re Ross, aren’t you? From The Rosach?” he said, glancing quickly at Duncan. “You’ll have to move back while we check her out.”

  Duncan stood up and stepped back, but not very far, and watched as the paramedics went to work checking Willow for broken bones, pupil response, and bleeding.

  “Have you been drinking, Willow?” one of them asked.

  With the penlight shining in her eyes, she nodded, stopped and shook her head, then nodded again. “T-two beers, hours ago,” she whispered, blinking against the bright light.

  “That’s a bit more than beer I’m smelling,” the guy said. “What’s my name, Willy? Do you recognize me?”

  She smiled past pale blue, shivering lips, and waggled her fingers at him, the movement causing her to sway slightly. “Hi, Danny.”

  “How many fingers am I holding up?” Danny asked, turning his light so the beam hit his hand.

  “Two. No three. Stop moving them,” she muttered, hugging her belly. “Oh, God, I’m going to be sick again.”

  The men quickly scrambled out of the way just in time for Willow to lean over and empty her stomach onto the ground, her pitiful gags carried away on the wind.

  Duncan went to step forward when a strong hand landed on his shoulder. “Let them work,” Kee said. “She’s talking and puking; she’s going to be okay.”

  “They think she’s drunk,” Duncan growled softly.

  “It certainly looks like she is,” Kee said.

  “The inside of her truck smelled like bourbon,” Duncan told him. “But Willow hates bourbon.”

  “Nor does she drink and drive,” Kee added as they both watched the paramedics finally ease her onto a rescue litter and strap her in, Duncan noticing they were being careful of her right arm and left leg.

  “She said she had some beer this afternoon,” Duncan said.

  “That’s what she told Rachel when she called,” Kee agreed. “But that was over a four-hour dinner at least two hours ago. She’s not drunk, Duncan. She’s just disoriented from the crash.”

  Duncan looked over at the tangled remains of her SUV, seeing four firemen milling around it, tying a rope under the rear axle to anchor it from sliding into the sea. The entire area was flooded with light now, and Duncan’s own gut twisted.

  It was at least a forty-foot drop from the road to where her
truck had landed, and the vegetation was untouched for a good twenty feet, which meant she’d been airborne at least that far. Duncan guessed the landing had been rather violent, and that he’d probably be acting drunk himself if he’d been in that truck.

  “Come on,” Kee said, pulling on Duncan’s arm. “We’ll follow the ambulance to Ellsworth. Luke called me to say he’ll bring Rachel once he gets Ahab. Willow is going to be okay,” Kee assured him when Duncan didn’t move. “That’s all that matters right now.”

  “Aye,” Duncan said, rubbing a hand over his face. The rain had let up but the wind was still fierce. He took one last look at the SUV, specifically at its front bumper sitting in the churning surf, and shuddered when another wave broke over the hood and washed through the interior all the way to the back seat. He finally followed Kee up the steep, boulder-strewn bank, and was waiting at the back of the ambulance when they carried Willow over and set the litter on the waiting gurney.

  Kee said something to the paramedic Willow had called Danny, then turned and nodded to Duncan. Duncan stepped forward and smiled down at Willow, running a trembling finger along the side of her bloodless cheek as he leaned close and whispered, “Ya picked a hell of a way to get out of our date, lady.”

  “There—there was a man,” she whispered in broken shivers. “He ran me off the road and…and stole my briefcase. And he…he poured liquor down my throat.”

  Duncan showed no reaction to her news other than his free hand balling into a fist. He kissed her cold forehead. “Just be a good patient for them, counselor,” he whispered. “I’ll be at the hospital right behind you.”

  The paramedics shouldered Duncan out of the way and lifted Willow into the ambulance. One of the firemen closed the doors and pounded on them, and the ambulance took off toward Ellsworth, its sirens blaring and its strobes flashing through the darkness.

  Duncan headed to his truck. Kee followed.

  “What did she tell you?” Kee asked. “How bad is she hurt?”

  Duncan stopped by his truck door. “I don’t think she’s hurt that badly. Her new truck had front and side air bags, and they seem to have done their job. She said a man ran her off the road and stole her briefcase, and that he poured liquor down her throat.”

  Kee stiffened, the harsh planes of his face visible in the strobes of the fire trucks. “This was deliberate?” he growled. “And she said a man showed up, but instead of helping her, he poured liquor down her throat and then left her for dead?”

  Duncan opened his truck door and climbed in. “Aye,” he said, looking back at Kee. “After he stole her briefcase.”

  He shut the door, started his truck, then pulled onto the road around the fire truck when Kee headed to his own pickup. It was another eighteen miles to Ellsworth, and Duncan made it in twenty minutes, thanks to the fact that few people were on the road in the storm.

  Kee pulled into the hospital parking lot right behind him. They entered through the emergency room doors together, and were immediately stopped by Deputy Larry Jenkins, though he wasn’t in his sheriff’s uniform.

  “I was just headed home when I heard the call,” Larry told Kee. “They’re checking her now. I got here just as they were bringing her in, and Danny doesn’t think any bones are broken or that she even has a concussion.” He darted a glance at Duncan, scowled, and looked back at Kee. “They’re doing a blood alcohol test. She appears to be drunk.”

  “Willow doesn’t drink and drive,” Duncan snapped, drawing Larry’s attention. “She said a man was at the scene, and that he poured liquor down her throat and stole her briefcase. After he’d run her off the road.”

  Larry just stared at Duncan.

  “She wasn’t driving drunk, Jenkins,” Kee growled, adding his own endorsement. “You know that as well as we do.”

  Larry shook his head. “If that blood alcohol test comes back over the legal limit, and we don’t find anything to corroborate her story, then our knowing Willow won’t mean a hill of beans.”

  Rachel came through the automatic doors just then, pushing at them to open quicker, and rushed to Kee. “Where is she?” she asked, her face ashen white. “How bad is she hurt?”

  Kee wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “She’s going to be okay, honey,” he told her. “They’re checking her now, but she was conscious and talking at the scene.”

  Rachel buried her face in her husband’s chest with a quiet sob of relief, and Luke came through the door and stopped beside the men. His face was also as pale as snow.

  “She’s going to be okay,” Duncan assured Luke. He turned to Jenkins, nodding for the man to step away with him. “Willow told me she’d been run off the road,” he told Larry once they were a safe distance away from the others. “The inside of her truck smelled like bourbon, and Willow can’t stand the taste of it. And her briefcase was stolen. Surely there will be evidence of another vehicle’s involvement. Maybe paint on the fender or fingerprints on her truck.”

  Larry frowned, shaking his head. “Not if he was wearing gloves. But if another vehicle made contact with hers, we’ll be able to tell that.” He eyed Duncan speculatively. “Why would someone run Willow off the road and pour liquor down her throat?”

  “She’s an assistant AG,” Duncan reminded him. “Who knows who she’s pissed off.”

  Larry thought about that and slowly nodded agreement. “I’ll call the deputy who’s at the scene now, and have him look around for evidence of a second vehicle. But don’t hope for much. Everything’s likely been trampled by firemen and equipment.”

  “And if that blood test comes back over the limit, can ya keep it quiet?” Duncan asked.

  Again, Larry thought about that, then shrugged. “I can try.” He looked Duncan straight in the eye. “I don’t know whether to hate you or thank you for catching Willow’s interest. Trying to date Willow was an exercise in frustration for me.”

  “I haven’t caught her yet,” Duncan growled, looking toward the examining rooms, then back at Jenkins. “And I’m feeling some of that frustration myself.”

  Larry shoved his hands in his pockets. “Still, I placed my money on you,” he muttered, turning and walking out the automatic doors.

  Duncan had just rejoined the others when a doctor appeared, stopped at the desk, then walked over to Rachel. “Are you Willow Foster’s sister?” he asked.

  Rachel stepped away from Kee and nodded. “How is she?”

  “Remarkably, she’s in pretty good shape,” the doctor said. “Some cuts and bruises, a banged knee, and her right wrist has a hairline fracture, but there’s no concussion or anything serious. In fact, you can take her home tonight if you want.”

  Rachel leaned to see past him. “Can I see her now?”

  He nodded. “Sure. Your sister’s a lucky woman. According to the paramedics, her truck was totaled.” He frowned. “She’s still a bit drunk, so I didn’t dare give her anything for the pain. I’ll send something home with you for later.”

  “Drunk?” Rachel said in surprise, only to quickly shake her head. “She can’t be drunk. I just talked to her an hour before the accident and she was completely sober. She’d had a couple of beers, but she’d switched to soda long before she’d left the restaurant.”

  “Her blood alcohol was point-two-three,” the doctor said. “That’s high enough to make an elephant stagger.”

  Rachel gasped. “There’s been a mistake. Do the test again.”

  “We did repeat it,” the doctor assured her. “I’m sorry, but I have to report my findings to the sheriff. She was involved in an automobile accident, and she’s almost three times over the legal limit.”

  Rachel spun toward Kee, her eyes snapping in outrage. Kee silently shook his head at her, looked at the doctor, and nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “Can we see her now?”

  “Just two of you,” the doctor said, frowning at Duncan and Luke before looking back at Rachel. “And check with the nurse for instructions before you take her home.”

  Rachel t
ook hold of Duncan’s hand and led him through the examining room door with her, leaving Kee behind. They arrived to find Willow sitting up on a gurney, staring at her splinted right hand and wrist.

  The nurse beside her patted Willow’s arm. “This must be your sister,” she said with a warm smile. She stepped out of the way when they walked to the gurney. “She’s going to be just fine,” the nurse assured Rachel in a whisper, darting a worried look at Duncan. She stepped closer to Rachel. “She’s still a bit drunk, but when that wears off she’s going to be sore all over.”

  Duncan ignored the conversation, trying to decide where he could touch Willow. Her hair was still damp, there was a bruise on her temple and left jaw, her right wrist was in a plastic splint, and her left knee looked big under the blanket covering her legs.

  Willow blinked up at him, her huge hazel eyes glazed and teary, and smiled tremulously as she reached out with her good hand and touched his chest. “I’m okay, Dunky,” she whispered, wincing and quickly touching the cut on her swollen lip. “Please don’t look like you’re going to faint.”

  He carefully took hold of her left hand and gently held it against his chest. “I can see that, lass,” he said softly, his own wince of sympathy ruining his attempt to glare at her. “And troglodytes don’t faint.”

  “No, they come to a girl’s rescue,” she said, curling her fingers into his damp shirt. “I knew you’d find me, Duncan. I waited for you.”

  “Oh, Willy, now what have you done to yourself?” Rachel said, her scolding ruined by her tear-washed smile as she moved to the other side of the gurney and brushed the hair back from Willow’s face. “You wrecked your brand-new truck.”

  “I was checking out its air bags,” Willow answered, laying her cast-covered hand on Rachel’s arm. “It appears they work just fine.”

  Rachel swiped at a tear rolling down her cheek and choked on a laugh. She quickly sobered. “Why are they saying you’re drunk, Willy?”

  Willow darted a look at Duncan, and reached out and took hold of Rachel’s hand. “Because I guess I am. Duncan,” she said, looking at him. “Will you give me a moment with Rachel?”