Deadly Rumors

by Jeanne Foguth

What would she remember?

  "Hey, don’t cry.” Scalding tears poured down her cheeks. “Oh, hell.” Doran wished he could yank out his tongue, but all he could do was try to perform damage control. “Ma’am, your car might catch fire.” He made his voice as gentle as possible. “I need to get you away, from it. Do you hurt anywhere?”

  “Ev-ery-whe-re.”

  Hands moving over her body, he searched for broken bones, but found none. He whipped off her safety harness, picked her up and sprinted around the back of her car, to place her on the pavement near the curb, then he raced back to her car and grabbed the navy and black buffalo print fleece blanket off the floorboard. "Talk to me," a voice bawled.

  He jerked in surprise, then saw her cell phone lying on the car mat. He snatched it. "Hello?"

  "Who the hell are you? Where's Kel?"

  "Devlin Doran. The lady just rear ended me."

  "Aaaaaaaaaaaaoh, God. She's dead. She wouldn’t listen. First Abby and Jen, now Kel." The sounds of misery emanated from the phone. Doran held it away from his ear.

  "She's not dead," Doran shouted. She couldn’t die.

  "If you're lying,” the voice said, “I'll have your guts for garters."

  "We're at the corner of Dunkirk and Monroe. Call an ambulance." Doran cut the connection and started to toss the phone back into the mustang, then realizing he’d be wasting a prime opportunity, he slipped it into his pant’s pocket.

  He wiped away the blood on her forehead with a corner of the blanket, then finished tucking it around her shivering form. The gash was still bleeding profusely, as head wounds generally did. It would need stitches, but her hair should hide the scar.

  She should only have gotten scared, not hurt.

  Sitting back on his heels, he studied the face he'd only seen in photos and watched on surveillance footage or from a distance, through binoculars and from under her vehicle. She looked more human. More vulnerable than she had looked the night before. More innocent. More tempting. He winced at that unwanted thought. Beauty and wholesome looks were a great camouflage for a felon and he couldn’t afford to forget that fact.

  He told himself that his only concern was what he’d feel for any other fellow human. But he didn’t completely believe it and he knew he couldn’t let that feeling grow. He gritted his teeth and counted to ten, then twenty.

  Doran touched her wrist, trying to count the racing beats of her pulse, but his attention kept coming back to her blood-streaked face. She should have followed her normal morning pattern, been on time and putted along five miles below the speed limit, instead of playing Indy 500 and scaring the shit out of him.

  Doran took a deep cleansing breath and began a calming routine that had helped him through far worse situations. As a bit of serenity trickled in, he pressed the skin at her temple into place and applied gentle pressure; the flow of blood slowed to a seep. Once the head wound stopped bleeding, her shivering intensified. He had to salvage this dismal beginning and recoup the situation. For the case and the lives of future victims; not because she looked appealing lying on the hard asphalt between the back bumper of her totaled mustang and the front bumper of Quinn’s van. With his partner watching every move and listening to every word, Doran controlled his reactions as he sat on the ground with his back to the Quinn's van, picked Kelsey up and cradled her on his lap.

  ooo

  Kelsey didn’t know how long she stayed in the peaceful midnight velvet place, but when she left its cozy cocoon, heat scorched her. With difficulty, Kelsey opened her right eye. A gentle golden luminescence surrounded her.

  I’m dead.

  In the distance, a man’s angry voice shouted, but it took too much effort to listen to him. Instead, Kelsey focused on the featureless haze enfolding her. She'd expected to end up in heaven, not this odd nowhere.

  It was worth it, if no one else got hurt.

  Air moved across her left shin. Strange. She'd never thought of the afterlife having wind. Abruptly there was a fetid whoosh and the airbag crumbled. Too startled and sore to do anything else, she stared through at the cracked windshield through her eyelashes. The guardrail for Dead Man’s Gulch had broken free, curled up over her car and pierced the Mustang’s hood. That sight could only mean one thing: she was alive.

  It hurt to breathe.

  Judging by the furious gray eyes glaring at her, survival might be temporary. The dark, angry man leaned into the car and stared at her. He had the hardest, angriest expression she’d ever seen. Had she hurt him? Anyone he loved? She tried to form the question, but he started talking. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “I’m s-so s-s-sorry,” Kelsey said. It hurt to look at him, especially since he was so furious.

  “You should be.”

  “Th-the brakes failed.”

  Intense emotion snapped deep within his gaze. “I’ll just bet they did.”

  The dark haired man leaned closer until his broad shoulders blocked the door. He had a lethal looking switchblade in his hand and every rugged plane of his face seemed to be etched with fury. “The way you were speeding, you could have gotten us both killed.”

  Tears burned her eyes. Kelsey looked from the man’s blazing gray eyes to the knife and couldn’t hold back a sob.

  He jerked back out of the car, as if he’d been slapped. “Ohfuckme." For the first time, the man sounded human. "Hey, don’t cry.” She couldn’t help it. Scalding tears poured down her cheeks. “Oh, hell.”

  Kelsey felt for the steering wheel, then laid her aching forehead against it and sobbed.

  “Ohfuckinghell, I’m screwed.” She sensed frantic movement over her body, something that should have concerned her. But it didn't.

  “I’m s-sorry,” she whispered when the verbal barrage ended.

  Dizziness overcame her and again, her world turned dark.

  Kelsey didn’t know how much later it was the next time she tried to open her eyes, but they felt glued shut. She smelled hot metal mixed with gas and blood. She tried to regain her grip on reality without throwing up, but she started shivering so hard that she thought her bones would rattle free from her skin. A warm spot grew across her back. She envisioned a bone protruding from her body and blood saturating her beige linen jacket.

  “Lady, I’m sorry, too,” a gentle baritone voice said. “You scared the shit out of me. I’m checking your back for injuries. Okay?” Soothing heat melted over her.

  “How bad is it?”

  “It doesn’t seem like there is anything is broken.” She could listen to this wonderful man’s voice, forever.

  “Smell blood.”

  “You hit your head. It’ll need stitches, but the scar shouldn’t show.”

  A lump of tears blocked her throat, but the sweet man didn’t seem to mind. “Lungs burn.”

  “Probably from the air bag.” He held her close. “What’s your name?”

  “Kelsey.”

  “Pretty name for a pretty lady.” He cleared his throat. “Well, Kelsey, I don’t feel anything fractured in the spinal area, but your left shoulder might be dislocated.”

  If it had been, he had a magic touch. In fact, everywhere he placed his hands tingled with health, vitality and something more, but his hands never stayed anywhere long enough for her to identify the elusive element.

  “I’m checking your arms and legs." The lovely, intimate, comforting warmth migrated over Kelsey and settled around her like a soothing sensual haze. She moaned with pleasure. “Please don’t cry.” She couldn’t focus on anything, except the man's tender touch and tone. Thank God that horrible angry man had left.

  A distant wailing reached a crescendo. Kelsey burrowed deeper into the reassuring heat and prayed that the deep, protective drum, which resonated against her ear, would stay there forever.

  The siren suddenly stopped. She breathed a sigh of relief and cuddled closer to the steady, enduring beat that seemed to enfold her in a tender embrace and shield her from the background pandemonium.

  Running footfalls
became louder. “What happened?” a woman's high-pitched voice asked.

  “She lost control,” the gentle voice crooned. “I think she’s in shock.”

  “Lucky she didn’t jump the guardrail and kill herself in Dead Man’s Gulch,” the woman said. “Last month, we lost three people there.”

  “I heard,” the man said.

  Ramsey, had crashed in The Gulch. As fear coiled tentacles around her, Kelsey began gasping for breath.

  Something cold clamped over her face.

  “Place her on the ground. Flat on her back," the woman ordered. The safe, secure bond melted away and hard roughness replaced soothing warmth. Kelsey moaned in protest. "Now, step aside and let me examine her.” Kelsey had never heard anything as irritating as that high-pitched tone ordering her comfort away.

  A cold, hard surface replaced the soothing warmth and something frigid was pressed over her heart. Again, Kelsey moaned in protest. But instead of receiving relief from the harsh treatment and the return of the wonderful warmth, her right arm was yanked sideways and pressure began increasing around it. Though she knew help had arrived, she missed the sweet man's warm, soothing support.

  “Sir,” a man with a rough voice said, “did you witness the accident?”

  “Yeah," the nice man said, "I felt it, too. She lost control about two-thirds of the way down the hill."

  “Curt,” the woman said, “keep everyone out of my way.”

  As if through a thick layer of water, Kelsey endured her body being pushed, prodded and pricked. Though it was uncomfortable, it became easier to breathe.

  There was a soft click. “Laceration near the hairline.” Even when the woman murmured, her tone was harsh as splintered glass. “No major loss of blood, possible concussion, low blood pressure, clammy skin, rapid heartbeat, shallow breathing, and dilated pupils. Definite shock.” Another click then the woman said, “Ma’am, I’m going to elevate your feet. Tell me if this hurts.”

  “Mmmmm,” Kelsey agreed.

  “Steady, now. Try not to move.”

  The hard pavement stank of tar. Kelsey fought nausea.

  “No apparent broken bones,” the woman said.

  The sunlight burned hot against her face and she saw red blobs of movement through her closed lids. When she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, she tasted blood. “Am I going to die?” she whispered.

  “No." The conviction in the woman’s voice helped Kelsey regain a measure of control.

  “Why did my brakes fail?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think he tried to kill me?”

  “Who?”

  “I saw tire tracks on the sign.”

  “This may sting.” Kelsey felt another prick. A moment later, she returned to the impersonal darkness.

  ooo

  The Mecklenburg County Officer motioned for traffic to continue moving, but people seemed more interested in rubbernecking than in getting to their destinations. Finally, backup arrived. Relieved of traffic control, the cop stalked toward Doran and flipped his notepad open. “Okay, you ready to start?” Doran nodded. The cop scowled at his pad. “Name?”

  “Doran. Devlin Doran.” He handed over his driver’s license to the officer. “I need to make a phone call.”

  “This will only take a minute.” The officer began scrawling down information.

  “I have a mobile in my car.” He gestured to the Suburban.

  “Make it fast.” The tip of policeman's tongue protruded between his teeth, while he concentrated on writing Doran’s height of 6’ 2” in the correct slot.

  Under weight, the officer wrote 180.

  As Doran walked toward his Suburban, he assessed the damage. Long skid marks marred the asphalt where he’d braked for both vehicles. A slash of deep hunter green smeared his rear quarter panel, and the right side of his Suburban’s rear bumper was bent down into a scowl. Underneath, the ragged corner, laid a red shard from his taillight.

  In contrast, the Mustang looked like a trash compactor had mauled it and then the guardrail had tried to pummel it to death. Kelsey looked as bad as her car and grayer then the concrete curb. Worse, her blood saturated hair and the tiny lines of pain near the corners of her eyes and mouth made her appear close to death.

  She shouldn't have gotten hurt. Wouldn't have, if she'd followed her normal, methodical pattern instead of acting so erratic. Perhaps she'd gotten a snoot full of her product. He shook his head in disgust, but wasn’t certain if he was more dismayed by the suspicion that she was a user, or by his lack of anticipation of her unpredictable behavior. In truth, he was most appalled by the intense sensation of protectiveness he’d felt when she cuddled against him and the loss, when he’d been forced to lay her on the pavement.

  He sighed. Thus far, nothing had gone as predicted. He’d certainly never expected to feel compassion and guilt for anyone who was part of Ling’s cartel. Doran straightened his spine and turned away from her. "You might look angelic, but I know what you really are," he whispered. Infatuation, his mind supplied. A dealer, he corrected.

  He turned his back to Quinn’s van, pulled Kelsey's cell phone out of his pocket, and dialed. “What is it?" Quinn snapped.

  “Well, good morning to you, too."

  “She looks dead. You get ahead of yourself and kill her?"

  "She has concussion, so they'll probably keep her in the hospital for observation.” He grimaced. “That’ll put us behind schedule, but a couple days shouldn’t matter. We can use the time.” Quinn made an indecipherable noise. Doran pinched the bridge of his nose to forestall the threatening headache. “I’m speaking to you on her mobile phone. Think you can bug it before I give it back?”

  Quinn snorted. “You called me to ask such a dumb question?”

  “No.” Doran casually glanced back at his partner and gave him a subtle smile. “I called to remind you that you agreed to cover my meeting with Frederickson.”

  Quinn growled something that sounded suspiciously like bigoted jackass.

  "Look," Doran said, "I know you don't like our esteemed senator, but he pays on time and he's on the committee that keeps Wes funded." An uncomfortable coincidence, which he’d never fully accepted. But one that made him suspicious enough to try to keep the senator’s trust. At very least, if he was a happy client, he’d help give validity to their cover op.

  "I did say I’d do it,” Quinn grumbled.

  Doran made a sound of sympathy. "Break the contract, if he bothers you so much." Quinn snorted at the thought. “Or we could send Trent.”

  “The prissy turd would love Trent's redneck Confucius routine,” he said sarcastically.

  “Particularly if he introduced himself like he did to our Vegas connection.” Doran cleared his throat and mimicked Trent’s ‘aw-shucks’ accent, “Have you ever noticed that the severity of an itch is inversely proportional to your ability to reach it?”

  Quinn laughed out loud. "You're bad."

  “Of course, you’ll have plenty of time to scratch any little thing you want before you take my appointment,” Doran promised. After a few more comments, he turned off the phone and slipped it back into his pocket, then adopting a concerned expression, he went to give his version of the accident to the trooper.

  Chapter Three

  The Mac-truck of a nurse pushed Ramsey aside and thrust a thermometer in her mouth. Her brother’s lips flattened with anger at the disrespect, but instead of protesting, he hobbled around the bed and sat on the mustard colored vinyl seat of the visitor’s chair. Hoping her brother would forget the point he’d been harping on, Kelsey smiled at the woman.

  The nurse slapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm and pumped it up. Then, she wrote numbers on the chart and without so much as uttering a word, the door swooshed shut behind her. “Obviously a descendent of Attila the Hun,” Ramsey said.

  Kelsey adjusted her uncomfortable I.V. then smoothed her faded yellow hospital gown before she turned to Ramsey. “Just because she keeps her ste
thoscope frozen doesn’t make her Asian.” Whispering made her head throb.

  He snorted. “You know what I meant.” Vinyl squawked as Ramsey rose from the chair. His shoulder brushed against the vertical blinds, thrusting the ivory vinyl ribbons against the glass shrouded night scene. Their sound mimicked the tapping of his cane. “Sure is different when you’re the one in the bed, isn’t it?”

  She inclined her head.

  He squared his shoulders, staring at her over the footboard. Ramsey preferred a position of power while delivering blistering lectures and undoubtedly, the foot of the bed was one. He straightened the knot of his maroon tie. This wouldn't be good. After the horrible gray-eyed man, she didn’t think she could survive another angry verbal assault. Kelsey held up her hand. “Before you start, let me point out that I didn’t realize how unpleasant some nurses were. Sorry for anything unsympathetic I said, while you were in this position.”

  He glared at her. The uncompromising set of his jaw confirmed that a belated apology wouldn’t be enough. “We’re both lucky to be alive.” Ramsey used the conciliatory tone he favored when delivering closing arguments to juries. Whatever her brother was about to pontificate on would probably be self-serving. Kelsey stifled a groan by clamping her teeth together. A jolt of blinding pain swelled inside her skull, so she quickly relaxed her jaw.

  "Now that you know how it feels to be the injured one,” he gave her a penetrating look, "you’ll have a lot of time to lie there and think. At least you don't have to bear the guilt of injuring anyone." Trust Rams to bellow so loud that thought became impossible. ‘Or killing your loved ones’ hung unsaid in the antiseptic air.

  Kelsey exhaled a breath of relief when he did not continue the expected tirade. “I’m thankful for that.”

  "Now that you are the one in their sights,” he tapped the metal top of his cane against the hospital bed for emphasis, “do you still think I should continue to run for office?"

  She blinked in disbelief. "Why do you really believe my accident has anything to do with your election campaign?"

  He stared at her as if she had become impossibly stupid. Kelsey plucked at the thin blanket, which would not protect her aching head from the rant she saw in his eyes.