by Marta Perry
Trent paced from one end of the formal living room to the other. If he wanted to walk, he could do it more effectively outside, but the advantage of the living room was that he’d see Sarah when she returned.
It wasn’t that he believed her visit to Lizbet Jackson would resolve anything. If the woman had anything to tell, she’d long since have done so. Still, for his own sake, he had to keep tabs on Sarah’s investigation.
That was all it was—the need to keep Sarah under control. He certainly wasn’t motivated by personal interest. If he told himself that often enough, he might begin to believe it.
Headlights pierced the darkness, and he moved closer to the window to watch the car pull up. He frowned. Odd, that she was leaving her car in front. Normally she pulled around to the garage. A breath of apprehension touched his skin.
She stumbled out of the car, and apprehension vanished in a wave of panic that propelled him to the door. She was disheveled, dirty, limping. As he flew down the steps he saw that she held her left arm close against her side.
“What is it? What’s happened?” He reached for her. She seemed to sag, as if her feet could carry her no farther.
“Sorry,” she murmured, stumbling against him.
“You’re hurt.” He scooped her into his arms. Time enough for questions later—right now he had to take care of her.
In a few steps they were inside, and he kicked the door closed behind him. “Geneva!”
His shout brought the housekeeper running from the kitchen. Not surprising. He didn’t think he’d shouted in this house more than two or three times. That wasn’t his style, but his fear for Sarah overwhelmed other considerations.
“Dear Lord, what’s happened to the child?” Geneva’s words were as much a prayer as a question. “Here, bring her into the family room where she can be comfortable.”
“Call Dr. Sam. Tell him to get here now.” He strode back toward the family room as Geneva rushed to the telephone.
Sarah stirred in protest at that. “You don’t have to bring Dr. Sam rushing here at this time of night. I’m fine.”
He lowered her gently to the sofa. “Of course you are,” he agreed. “Just because you’re white as a sheet and you seem to have broken your arm, that doesn’t mean anything is wrong.”
“It’s not broken.” She moved, searching for comfort, he supposed, and winced, cradling her arm against her.
“You’re the doctor. I’ll have to take your word for that.” He slid a cushion under her arm, moving it slowly, alert for any sign that he caused her pain. “Is that better?”
She leaned back, sighing. “Better.” Her eyes closed for a moment, the curve of her lashes dark against her pale skin. “I don’t need Dr. Sam.”
“You’re getting him anyway,” he snapped. If a more stubborn woman existed on the face of the earth, he had yet to meet her. “Tell me what we can do to make you comfortable. Do you want aspirin? An ice bag?”
He thought she’d argue, but she didn’t. “Ice would help. Not the aspirin—Dr. Sam might have other ideas.”
“Geneva—” He raised his voice, and she appeared in the doorway, clutching something wrapped in a kitchen towel.
“Dr. Sam’s on his way. I brought an ice bag for Sarah’s shoulder.”
“You’re way ahead of us.” He put his arm around Sarah to lift her so Geneva could slip the ice bag into place. “What about some of that herbal tea you foist on people for everything from headaches to hives?”
“Coming right up.” She bustled out.
“She doesn’t have to go to any trouble.”
He pulled the ottoman over so that he could sit next to Sarah. “There’s nothing Geneva likes better than taking care of someone. Let her enjoy it.”
She nodded, eyes closing again, as if even the slightest effort exhausted her. She turned her head against the pillow and he saw the bruise, extending from her neck to disappear under her shirt at her left shoulder.
The passion he felt to smash whoever had done this shocked him. “What happened?” It took an effort to keep his voice low.
“I was going through the cemetery toward Lizbet’s house. Someone attacked me.”
Fury pounded along his nerves. “Did he take your bag?” Sudden fear washed over him. “What did he do to you?”
“He wasn’t trying to rob me. Or rape me.” A shudder went through her. “He swung at my head with a heavy branch. If he’d connected, I wouldn’t be here.”
He grappled to get his mind around it. “You’re saying someone tried to kill you.”
“I don’t know what he intended, but that’s what would have happened. No warning. Just a blow coming out of nowhere. If I hadn’t turned at that moment—”
The phone was on the end table. He grabbed it, hitting the button for Chief Gifford.
Gifford picked up almost immediately, and Trent cut through the man’s pleasantries.
“Dr. Wainwright was attacked tonight out at the old Ebenezer cemetery. Get some men out there now. I want to know who did this.” He turned away from the squawking phone to look at Sarah. “What about Lizbet? Was there any sign of her?”
Her green eyes darkened until they were almost black. “I never saw her. Do you think he’d attacked her first?” She started to move, and he pushed her gently back down.
“Have them check on Lizbet Jackson. She was supposed to meet Dr. Wainwright. Get back to me immediately.” He clicked off while Gifford was still assuring him he’d take care of it.
He turned to Sarah, covering her hand with his. “Tell me the rest, before we have everyone here. Did he run away?”
She shook her head, pupils still dilated with what he realized was shock. “He chased me. Through the cemetery.” She swallowed, the muscles in her neck working. “If it hadn’t been so dark, I’d never have gotten back to the car—” She stopped.
He reached out to touch her face gently and realized that his hand was shaking. Now was not the moment to pour out his shock and horror. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”
She met his eyes, and he cradled her cheek in his hand. He wanted to do more—to draw her close against him and protect her from anything in the world that might harm her.
But Sarah, in spite of her current state, was no princess in a tower. She didn’t want to be protected. She wanted to be part of the fight.
“Sarah—” But what could he say? He didn’t have any rights where Sarah was concerned. He didn’t want any, did he?
“Now, you just drink this.” Geneva hurried in with a steaming mug. “It’s hot, and it’ll do you good.”
He used her fussing over Sarah as an excuse to get a safe distance away. The doorbell rang.
“That’ll be Dr. Sam. I’ll let him in.”
“She’ll be fine.” Dr. Sam rose from his position next to Sarah as Trent entered the family room a half hour later.
“You’re sure she shouldn’t have that shoulder X-rayed?” He couldn’t quite get all the worry out of his voice.
Dr. Sam stretched and cocked an eyebrow at Sarah. “Permission to discuss your case, Doctor?”
Sarah’s face relaxed for the first time since she’d stumbled out of the car. “Tell him I’m all right.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Dr. Sam’s face sobered as he turned to Trent. “It’s just a good thing—well, never mind. Torn ligaments, bruising, scrapes. All of that will heal, but I want that left arm to stay in a sling for a few days, at least.”
Sarah looked rebellious, but she nodded.
“I’ve given Sarah some medication for the pain and swelling. Make sure she takes it.”
Trent nodded, relief moving through him. Sarah would be all right. “I’ll sic Geneva on her if she doesn’t behave.”
Now the job was to catch the person who’d done this to her. The man would regret this night for a long time.
Sam picked up his jacket, and Trent clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Dr. Sam. I’ll walk you out.”
When they reach
ed the door, Gifford was strutting up the steps. Dr. Sam’s face tightened. “I’ll say good night.” He skirted Gifford and headed for his car.
Trent focused on Gifford. “Well?” He held the door, ushering him into the hallway. “Did you find him?”
Gifford shrugged. “If anybody was there, he was long gone by the time my people got there.”
“If?” He invested the word with the full force of his anger. “If you had seen Dr. Wainwright when she came in, you wouldn’t doubt that.”
The chief might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he caught a whiff of the anger. “Sorry. Didn’t mean I doubted the lady’s word. Just a figger of speech, y’know.”
Trent jerked a nod toward the family room. “In here. You’d better talk to her yourself.”
He might think Sarah shouldn’t be bothered with this tonight, but he knew she wouldn’t agree. Any attempt to soften things for her just made her fighting mad.
She pushed herself up as they went in, and he understood. She didn’t want to appear weak before Gifford.
“They didn’t find the man,” he said quickly.
“What about Mrs. Jackson?” Apprehension colored her eyes.
Gifford took off his hat belatedly and turned it in his beefy hands. “Well, Lizbet wasn’t there. The dogs had been fed, everything looked okay, but there was no sign of her.”
“You’ve started inquiries of the neighbors?” Trent said sharply, making it more an order than a question.
“Yessir. Trouble is, nobody’s house overlooks hers, so there’s no one to say she’s come or gone ’cept the folks in the graveyard, and they’re not talking.”
When his attempt at humor didn’t raise a smile, his look soured. “Anyhow, I’ve got my people trying to trace her down. She’s got kin all over these islands, and if she wants to disappear, ain’t nobody gonna find her.”
“Did you find any trace of the man?” Sarah adjusted the sling as if it bothered her.
He tensed, waiting for Gifford to imply this had been a figment of Sarah’s imagination, but Gifford just shook his head.
“Lots of grass trampled down in the cemetery—that was about it. We could see where your car had been parked, but no other trace. He’d be smart enough to leave it on the gravel.”
“It had to be beyond the house, then. I’d have noticed a car if I’d passed one.”
“We’ll look in the morning. Could be we’ll find something by daylight. You got a description of this fella, Doc?”
“I never saw his face. I’m not even sure it was a man.”
“To do that much damage to your shoulder—” Trent began.
“Plenty of women wield a tennis racket hard enough to do that,” she said. “My impression is that it was a man. Dark clothes, something dark over his head and face.”
Gifford shook his head disapprovingly. “Not much to go on. That’s not what we’d call the most salubrious part of the island.” He produced the word with a humorless smile. “Seems like you’d have better sense than to go out there after dark.”
Sarah’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “I had an appointment. Are you saying it’s my fault?”
“No, ma’am. I just figure—”
Trent caught Gifford by the arm, silencing him with a look. They didn’t need to know what Gifford figured. “Thank you, Chief. Check in with me first thing in the morning, please.”
Gifford nodded to Sarah and then lumbered to the door. “Will do. ’Night.”
Trent waited until the door had closed behind him before he turned to Sarah. She was looking at him disapprovingly.
“I suppose you agree with your pet police chief. This is my fault for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Actually, he was relieved at the snappish tone in her voice. The encounter with Gifford had banished the shock from her eyes, and a little color had come back into her cheeks.
“Strange though it may seem to you, I’m on your side.”
He sat down on the hassock. That was as close to her as he intended to get for the moment, or he might give in to the temptation to tell her how worried about her he’d been.
She shook her head and winced at the movement. “I don’t understand why you don’t see this situation the way I do. If Miles and Lynette were having an affair, why would someone be so eager to keep me from talking to Lizbet, they’d try to kill me?”
He couldn’t let himself agree with her, even though the same questions were ricocheting around his brain. “I know how serious this was, but it’s possible the attacker didn’t intend to hurt you so badly. He may have miscalculated the damage the branch could do.”
“If he just wanted to frighten me, he didn’t need to keep coming after me.” The fear was back in her eyes again, and he wanted to kick himself.
“I don’t have the answers.” He wrapped his hands warmly over hers. “But we’ll get to the bottom of it. We’ll find Lizbet, we’ll get answers. I promise you.”
That brought the faintest suggestion of relief to her face. “Thank you.”
He wanted to tell Sarah this couldn’t be what she thought, that her suppositions were ridiculous. But somehow he couldn’t. Because what if she were right?
TWELVE
Sarah knew what she’d prescribe for a patient in this condition, but she wouldn’t spend the day in bed. She frowned in the mirror and adjusted the silk scarf she’d arranged over Dr. Sam’s canvas sling. Not beautiful, but it would have to do.
When she’d first looked in the mirror this morning, she’d been appalled at the gaunt, shadowed face that stared back at her. Just the sight had been enough to start her shaking, reliving that terrible race through the cemetery.
The discreet application of makeup had improved matters, and she could face the world without frightening little children. She had a shift at the hospital, and she intended to do it, even if she did look more like a victim than a doctor.
Slinging her bag awkwardly on her right shoulder, she managed to get the door locked and headed for the breakfast room. Geneva had made a valiant attempt to bring her breakfast in bed, but she’d managed to forestall that. It would only remind her of how helpless she’d felt the night before.
The only person in the room was Melissa. She checked on the doorstep, wondering if she were letting herself in for a repetition of Melissa’s accusations. But the child stared at the sling, a shadow of fear in her eyes.
“Good morning.” Sarah headed for the coffee. If Melissa didn’t want to talk, she wouldn’t press it.
Melissa slid off her chair, and she thought she was going to run out of the room. Instead, she came to Sarah and took the cup out of her hand.
“I’ll get your coffee for you. And your breakfast. Do you want scrambled eggs?”
“Thanks—that would be great.” And quite a turnaround.
Melissa deftly fixed a plate with eggs, toast and fresh fruit, then carried it and the coffee to the small round table where Sarah sat. Beyond the table, the French doors gave a view of the swimming pool, its water sparkling in the morning sun.
“There. Anything else you want?”
“That’s fine, thanks.”
Melissa hesitated for a moment and then slid onto the chair opposite hers. “Does your arm hurt much?”
“Not too much,” she fibbed. She’d skipped the painkillers. She couldn’t function at the clinic with them in her system.
“Geneva said you were really brave. She said you fought off the man who attacked you.”
That trace of hero worship in Melissa’s tone probably explained her changed attitude. “Mostly I hid and ran, but that’s nice of Geneva to say.”
“Were you awfully scared?” Her eyes were wide, and Sarah sensed something—she wasn’t sure what—behind the questions.
“Yes.” She didn’t have to think twice about that. “I knew I had to keep running. And keep praying.”
Melissa glanced at the display of photos on the wall opposite her—pictures of Melissa at
various stages, a younger Trent proudly holding his baby daughter, a studio portrait of Lynette. That portrait was what held Melissa’s gaze.
“My mother hated cemeteries,” she said suddenly. “Dad wanted her to go to where his grandparents are buried, but she wouldn’t. He goes by himself, every year on Memorial Day.”
She censored a number of responses. “Some people feel that way about cemeteries. Now that you’re old enough, you could go with your father. He’d probably like that.”
Melissa looked startled at the idea. “I guess.” She glanced at Sarah, then back at the picture of her mother. “My mother was really beautiful, wasn’t she?”
“Yes. Very.” She could say that without reservation, relieved that Melissa seemed to have eased up on blaming her for Lynette’s unhappiness.
“I wish I looked more like her.” She tugged at a lock of brown hair, as if wanting to turn it red.
What did she say to that? Melissa would see through insincere flattery.
“I think you look like your father. Sometimes girls do.”
Melissa’s gaze jerked back to hers. She stared at her for a long moment. Then she shoved her chair back.
“No! I don’t!” She almost shouted the words, and she turned and ran out of the room.
Sarah stared after her blankly. That hadn’t gone well. What on earth had she said to provoke an outburst?
She’d just been feeling relieved that her relationship with Melissa was improving. Obviously she’d been wrong.
She forked Geneva’s perfect scrambled eggs into her mouth, trying to concentrate on the breakfast rather than Melissa. She’d be better off to avoid the Donner family.
But that plan proved destined to failure when she went out the front door and nearly ran into Trent coming up the steps. Ran was the operative word, since he wore shorts, T-shirt and sneakers, and had clearly been jogging on the beach.
He caught her good arm. “Whoa. Where are you going?”
Battle ahead, she decided. “To the clinic. I’m on duty.”
“Dr. Sam said you were supposed to take it easy.” He frowned, tightening his grip.
