Bad, Phyllis had said, a euphemism the department and the news media sometimes employed when fatalities had occurred. He climbed into his pickup and stomped the gas, roaring through the sleeping town and heading up the incline to Bald Gap.
The strobing red lights of the Jackson County rescue trucks flickering through the trees on the switch-back above announced the accident site long before his arrival. When he reached the scene, deputies had the road blocked in both directions, and paramedics were unloading equipment.
Only one thing was missing. The wreck.
“Where’re the cars?” He approached the deputy and flashed his Casey’s Cove Police Department ID.
“Only one,” the grim-faced deputy replied. “It’s over the side.”
“Survivors?”
The deputy shrugged. “Won’t know till we reach them. And that may take a while.”
Dylan approached the narrow shoulder of the road and noticed another vehicle parked back from the rescue van. Ben Morgan, looking green around the gills, slouched against the side of his late-model gray Cadillac. He raised his head, saw Dylan and managed a feeble wave.
Dylan joined him. “You okay?”
The Realtor pushed shaking fingers through his silver hair. “Paramedic says my blood pressure’s spiked, but that’s to be expected. I arrived just after the car went over the side. Called 911 on my cell phone. Can’t say I was totally surprised, though.”
Dylan jerked his head toward the ravine where the car rested. “Were they speeding?”
Ben shook his head. “Not that I know of. But the darn fool teenagers who passed me earlier and almost ran me off the road were driving like bats outta hell.”
“You think it’s one of them?” Dylan asked.
“The teenagers were in pickups. The car down there’s a Mercedes.”
“Mercedes?” Dylan rushed to the edge of the overlook and peered into the darkness. Miss Bessie Shuford owned a Mercedes, but so did a dozen or more seasonal visitors to the area. As he looked, a rescue worker switched on emergency lighting that illuminated the area below, and Dylan recognized the vehicle by its color and tag. “Good God, it’s Miss Bessie’s car.”
Ben Morgan joined him. “Miss Bessie wouldn’t be driving. She suffers from night blindness.”
Dylan glimpsed a tumble of blond curls pressed between the inflated air bags and the driver’s window, and his heart stopped. “It’s Jennifer Reid, Miss Bessie’s assistant. And Miss Bessie could be with her.”
“I can find out quick enough.” Ben jogged back to his car and picked up his cell phone.
Dylan sprinted to the rescue van. “What’s the holdup on getting them out of there?”
The paramedic, Gary Patterson, a native of Casey’s Cove, was assembling a harness and rope, rappelling equipment. “Good news is the car struck that shelf twenty feet down from the road. That kept it from plunging all the way into the valley.”
“And the bad news?”
“There’s one old hickory holding that Mercedes from going over the edge. The trunk’s about rotted through, and one wrong move could bust that car loose and send it flying. We’ve only got so much time before gravity pulls it over the edge.”
“I’m trained for mountain rescue,” Dylan said. “Got another harness?”
Patterson handed Dylan a set of equipment, and as he donned the harness, Ben Morgan approached.
“Talked to Miss Bessie,” he said. “As far as she knows, Jennifer is alone in the car.”
“Thanks.” Dylan looked to the paramedic. “It’ll make it easier with only one to rescue. You ready?”
The paramedic nodded. The two men secured their lines at the top of the cliff and rappelled down the rock face to the ledge where the Mercedes teetered precariously.
Although it was less than twenty feet from the road to the shelf, to Dylan it felt like hundreds and seemed to take forever to descend. With every push off the rocky cliff wall, he thought of Jennifer Reid with her tousled blond curls, impish smile and compassionate heart. He refused to believe someone so vibrant and spirited could be dead. With all his strength, he willed her to survive and rejected any other possibility.
Finally his feet hit the ledge, and he edged his way toward the driver’s door. The rotten wood in the trunk of the ancient hickory splintered and cracked, sounding like gunshots echoing across the dark valley.
“It’s slipping,” Patterson yelled.
Dylan lunged for the door handle, and the car shifted slightly. Rocks spun from beneath the tires and fell into the abyss, so far below he couldn’t hear them hit bottom.
“Careful,” Patterson called. “It can take you over the side with it.”
Dylan signaled his acknowledgement, but his attention was focused on the blond curls visible through the window. For an instant, he thought he saw movement.
The Mercedes shifted again, sliding closer to the edge.
Dylan waited only a millisecond before hastening into action. With one swooping movement, he yanked open the door, pushed away the side air bag, and unfastened the seat belt. He scooped Jennifer into his arms and jumped back from the car—just as the hickory trunk gave way and the Mercedes followed it over the edge.
Breathing heavily, shaken by their near brush with death, Dylan cradled Jennifer in his arms, grateful for the warmth seeping through her clothes that indicated she was still alive. He’d covered dozens of accidents in his years as a cop, but this one was different. At the sight of the injured woman in his arms, he felt his objectivity slipping away and panic threatening to set in. He took a deep breath. The best way to help Jennifer was to remain professional. Calm and detached.
The paramedic approached and checked her over while Dylan held her, all three flattened against the cliffside to keep from pitching off the mountain into the darkness below.
“Vital signs are weak,” the medic said, “and she has a concussion, probably caused by that gash on her head.”
Rescuers above lowered a stretcher, and Dylan and Patterson strapped the unconscious Jennifer to it. The only relief from the stark white of her face was the nasty welt on her forehead, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the dark smudge of her eyelashes against her pale cheeks. More than anything, Dylan wanted her to open those magnificent green eyes and assure him she was all right, but she lay so still, he feared for her survival.
“Haul her up,” he shouted.
Within minutes, deputies and paramedics above pulled the stretcher up the rock face and lifted it onto the road. They were loading Jennifer into the rescue van when Dylan and Patterson climbed over the edge of the cliff onto the narrow shoulder.
Patterson climbed inside, and with a scream of sirens, the van started immediately toward Sylva and the hospital. Dylan checked with the deputy in charge to see if he was still needed, then jumped into his pickup and followed the ambulance toward town.
SHE WAS FALLING…falling….
Jennifer awoke with a jerk.
“Whoa, take it easy.” Dylan Blackburn stood beside her bed and pressed her back against the pillows with firm but gentle hands.
Sunlight poured through a window half-shuttered with mini-blinds. From outside the unfamiliar pastel-colored room came the sounds of hushed voices and muted footsteps.
The last thing she remembered was soaring off the road into the darkness, believing she was going to die.
Now, standing beside her, Dylan looked like an angel, backlit by sunlight from the window behind him. Was she dead? Had she gone to Heaven? And if so, what was Dylan doing there?
“Where am I?” she asked.
“The hospital in Sylva. You’re going to be fine.”
As he leaned closer and her vision focused, she noted the stubble on his chin and cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes.
“What about you?” she asked. “You look terrible. Are you okay?”
“He’s fine, but he won’t go home and rest like the doctor told him to.” A stranger, dressed in a p
aramedic’s uniform, stood in the doorway.
Dylan motioned the paramedic into the room. “Jennifer, meet Gary Patterson. He helped me pull you from the wreck—”
“Oh, no!” Realization flooded through her. She tried to sit up, but was too weak, and collapsed onto her pillow. “Miss Bessie’s car!”
“No need to fret,” Dylan said. “Miss Bessie was here earlier to check on you. The Mercedes is fully insured, and she said you’re not to worry about it.”
“You’re a lucky lady,” Patterson said. “If Dylan hadn’t grabbed you when he did, you’d be at the bottom of the ravine with what’s left of that Mercedes.”
She turned to Dylan. “You saved my life?”
He shrugged, obviously embarrassed by Patterson’s praise. “To protect and serve. That’s my job. Besides, Patterson did more. He brought you here in good condition.”
Patterson smiled. “Just wanted to see how you were doing, Ms. Reid, before I start my shift. Do what the doctors order and you’ll be out of here in no time.”
He hurried out the door before she could thank him. Dylan dragged a chair beside the bed, turned it backwards and straddled it with his arms folded on the backrest. She squirmed under his intense scrutiny.
“Am I under arrest or something?” she asked.
His eyes widened. “Why do you say that?”
“Do they place every patient here under police guard?”
He shook his head. “You’re not under guard. I…just wanted to make sure you were okay, and that you didn’t wake up alone.”
Her eyes teared at his thoughtfulness. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to. You almost died out there last night.”
The dark memories she’d been holding at bay suddenly inundated her. She drew a long, shuddering breath, remembering.
“What happened?” Dylan asked.
“I’m not sure. One minute I was alone on the highway, the next there was a car on my bumper. It hit my car, trying to get me to speed up, I guess. Then it tried to pass. It forced me off the road.” She held back her theory of Raylene’s stranger trying to kill her. That piece of information would invite questions she was unwilling to answer.
“Can you describe the car or the driver?” His inquiry was gentle, but she could hear the steel in his voice. She’d never want to be a criminal with Dylan Blackburn on her trail. The thought made her shiver.
He must have noticed her reaction, for he rose, grabbed a blanket folded at the foot of her bed and tucked it tenderly around her. “Better?”
She nodded, but her coldness wasn’t caused by the temperature. She couldn’t help but wonder if the stranger in the black SUV had tracked her down, followed her from Sylva last night and forced her off the mountain.
Dead women tell no tales.
“I couldn’t see the car or the driver. The headlights blinded me.”
He patted her hand. “Don’t worry. Ben Morgan was on the road not far behind you. He got a good look at the suspects and their vehicles, and the sheriff’s department picked them up this afternoon.”
She was afraid to ask the next question, but she had to know. “Who were they?”
“Couple of drag-racing teenagers from the university. In his zeal to win, one of them must have forced you off the road.”
She fell back against the pillow in relief. “Teenagers?”
Dylan nodded, his jaw set, his eyes hard. “They almost killed you. And it’ll take days to retrieve the Mercedes from the bottom of the ravine.”
“You’re sure it was them?”
He hesitated. “They swear they didn’t pass anyone except Ben Morgan in his Cadillac, but they could be lying to save their own hides. According to folks who live along the highway, there wasn’t anyone else on the road at the time.”
Her shivering eased. She was safe. It hadn’t been Raylene’s mysterious stranger set on murder, but a horrible accident. She’d have to consider all her options, but maybe she could remain safely in Casey’s Cove after all.
She looked at Dylan, his handsome face lined with fatigue, and felt suddenly guilty. “Have you been here all day?”
“Since they brought you in last night.” He sloughed off her question as if his presence was no big deal, but his obvious concern for her gladdened her heart.
She reached for his hand. “You saved my life, then kept watch over me. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“No thanks necessary.” He grinned, with a warmth that banished the tiredness around his eyes, and squeezed her fingers gently. “Just get better so you can break out of this joint.”
“On one condition.”
He raised an eyebrow and cast her a roguish head-to-toe glance. “Doesn’t look like you’re in a position to bargain.”
“Then think of it as a favor.”
“I can seldom resist doing favors for pretty ladies.”
“Now you’re being chivalrous,” she said with a laugh. “Thank God there’s no mirror in this room. I can only imagine what I must look like.” If her face looked as bad as it felt, it had to be black and blue.
The mahogany brown of his eyes darkened dangerously, and when he spoke, his deep voice was husky with emotion. “You look just fine to me.”
Flustered, she broke away from the intensity of his gaze. “It’s you I’m worried about. You need a warm bath, a hot meal and a good night’s sleep, or they’ll be checking you in here, too.”
His magnificent eyes twinkled with mischief. “Maybe we could share a bed.”
“I may have cracked my head, but I haven’t lost my senses.” She pretended outrage, but was surprised at how appealing she found his suggestion, the idea of lying sheltered in his arms.
He bent over her and cupped her cheek in his big, strong hand. In spite of herself, she leaned into his touch, reveling in how safe he made her feel, surprised by the stirring of her senses.
“The doctor says you can go home tomorrow.” He drew closer and brushed his lips against hers, the merest flutter of a kiss that sent lightning spiraling through her. “I’ll see you then.”
Breathless, she watched him leave, keenly aware of his absence before his shadow cleared the door.
Rubbing her lips still warm from his kiss, she lay back on her pillow and tried to assess her situation. From Dylan’s explanation, her accident hadn’t been an intended hit by Raylene’s mysterious stranger, but the careless result of teenage daredevils. Should she count herself lucky and flee Casey’s Cove while the coast was clear?
Or should she indulge herself and remain with her new friends who had come to mean so much to her?
Too much, in the case of Dylan Blackburn.
Every ounce of common sense she possessed screamed at her to avoid further contact with a lawman whose keen eyes and sharp intuition missed nothing, a man who hated liars and the damage their lies caused, an irresistably attractive man who threatened to make her forget her resolutions not to get involved emotionally.
Again she brushed her hand across her lips, still tingling from Dylan’s kiss. Her heart effectively squelched her common sense. Looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
DYLAN FINISHED his Tuesday shift at three o’clock, changed clothes in the station locker room, and headed up the mountain to Miss Bessie’s, anxious to see Jennifer again. He found her, ensconced in pillows on the chaise longue on the front porch. Spots of high color on her cheekbones relieved the former pallor of her face, and her extraordinary green eyes brightened at the sight of him, making his pulse beat faster. Only a thin red welt on her forehead and a dark bruise on her jaw remained as visible souvenirs of her accident.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
She seemed happy to see him, and he marveled at how good her reaction made him feel.
“Ben Morgan drove me home this morning,” she said, “but Miss Bessie refuses to let me stay alone at the guest house. She insists that she and Estelle take care of me.”
He
nodded toward the table beside her. “Looks like she’s keeping her word.”
She glanced at the table, laden with a pitcher of lemonade, a plate piled high with the infamous cinnamon rolls, the latest mystery novel and a massive bouquet of purple Joe Pye weed, goldenrod and frothy white Queen Anne’s lace.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked.
He accepted the lemonade and declined the cinnamon rolls.
“Please, can’t you take some back to the station with you?” she begged in a whisper. “I can’t eat them.”
“Nobody can,” Dylan said with a laugh, but he took pity on her and wrapped several rolls in a paper napkin to dispose of later.
“Now you’ve saved my life twice,” she said with a dazzling smile that made his knees weak.
He sank into a rocker beside her. “Any aftereffects from your accident?”
She shook her head. “Not even a headache. But I’ll die of boredom if Miss Bessie and Estelle don’t let me up soon.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“To use my own judgment. I feel fine, but Miss Bessie’s adamant about keeping me quiet.”
“How about a drive?” he suggested. “I can take you down to the elementary school. They’ve started preparations for the festival.”
“Please,” she begged with a rueful smile, “but you’ll have to convince Miss Bessie first.”
Whatever latent fear he’d seen in Jennifer’s eyes the first few days had disappeared, and he wondered at its absence. Maybe he’d misread her initially, and it hadn’t been fear at all, but a residue of the natural shyness she’d exhibited as a child. Or maybe she’d overcome the demons that had hounded her. Whatever the reason, he was happy to see her at ease and looked forward to spending more time with her. More than spend time, he wanted to hold her, to kiss her again. He’d known she was special that long ago summer. She was more than special now.
He found Miss Bessie in the kitchen, stirring up another batch of her famous apple butter which, unlike her cinnamon rolls, was a favorite in the cove. The rich, spicy aroma made him hungry.
She turned from the stove as he entered, and he suppressed a smile at the sight of the tiny woman covered chin to toe in a voluminous pinafore apron hand-stitched from cotton feedsacks. A pair of white sneakers tied with day-glo green laces peaked from beneath the hem.
Stranger In His Arms Page 6
