His fingers thrummed against the steering wheel as he drove. Was Savannah the victim of a run-of-the-mill hit-and-run, or something more sinister?
He feared the worst. A good person would have stopped. Called for assistance if it was a true accident.
* * *
Savannah tried to clear her thoughts. Was Jett still on her call? Or had he gone away? It felt like her mind had been dipped in molasses and her synapses couldn’t fire right. She must have been hit harder than she’d thought.
She closed her eyes and willed everything to be okay.
Her car was just a thing.
It would be a pain to deal with getting it fixed, but it’s also why she carried rental-car reimbursement on her auto insurance. It would be an inconvenience, nothing more.
“You gonna be okay, lady?”
She opened her eyes to see a man leaning close to the window. “I don’t know.”
“Here’s a bottle of water. Maybe a drink will help.”
She took the bottle from him and took a sip. The water smelled odd, but maybe it had just been in his car awhile. That had to be it because the liquid refreshed her, but a minute later when the man spoke to her, she frowned. “Who are you?”
“I called your friend like you asked.”
“My friend?” What did he mean? Maybe if she could think, his words would make more sense. His expression wasn’t exactly concerned, but he’d helped her, hadn’t he? She glanced at the water bottle. Yes, that was help.
“Your friend is on the way.”
“He’s not my friend.” But he was. Sort of. If she remembered right. She wanted him to be more of a friend. But how had she called him? She couldn’t remember.
The man walked away, and Savannah tried to think. She should do something. But what?
The car accident couldn’t have caused all this brain fog.
She’d just close her eyes again. Wait for Jett to arrive. Then she’d be okay.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jett felt his shoulders unknot just a bit when he slowed to turn into the high school’s lot and spotted Savannah’s SUV. His car jerked up the ramp into the lot, causing his head to about hit the roof. He wouldn’t do her any good if he gave himself a concussion trying to reach her.
Her car sat alone in the lot. He frowned. Hadn’t the man said he’d stay?
That thought didn’t slow him as he threw the car into park, jumped from it, and hurried around to the driver’s side of her vehicle. Her head was leaning against the headrest, her eyes closed, her skin paler than normal. The window was cracked, and a slight breeze ruffled her hair. He glanced at the back of her car and noted the way her bumper was crumpled like an accordion.
No low-impact accident would cause that kind of damage.
He tried her door. It didn’t open, so he rapped the window. “Savannah?”
She struggled to open her eyes and then turned slowly in his direction. It took a minute before her eyes focused. “Jett? You came?”
“I did. You asked, so I’m here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He placed a 911 call while he tried to evaluate her. As soon as the operator came on, he told the woman they needed an ambulance and police for a hit-and-run. He urged her to send someone quickly, because the longer he watched Savannah, the more concerned he became.
“Savannah, I need you to unlock the door.” His concern grew as she looked at him but didn’t move. The ambulance arrived as he was considering breaking the window, pushing her to the passenger seat, and driving her to a hospital himself, except he wasn’t sure her car should be moved.
An EMT hurried from the ambulance, a bag slung over his shoulder. “What happened?”
Jett tried to explain. “I’m not sure. She called me about thirty minutes ago. Said she’d been in an accident and the vehicle took off when she pulled in here. Her thoughts were jumbled, and she couldn’t tell me where she was. I had her ask a bystander to call me with the location. When I arrived, he was gone. Now she just wants to sleep.”
“Sounds like she could have a brain injury.” The EMT glanced toward the back of the car, as his words hit Jett.
“Brain injury?”
“Could be as benign as a low-grade, mild concussion, but she’ll need to be checked.” He walked to the driver’s side and set his bag down. “Would be consistent with the damage to her bumper. That can cause serious whiplash.” He edged Jett to the side. “Let’s check her out.” He tried the door handle and frowned. “Why isn’t it unlocked?”
“Because she hasn’t gotten out of the car. I couldn’t force it open or I’d have driven her to the hospital.”
“All right.” The man tapped on the window. “Ma’am, we need you to unlock the car.”
Savannah didn’t stir, though her eyelids fluttered.
“Ma’am.” The man raised his voice. “I don’t want to have to break into your car. Can you unlock it?”
Her eyes opened, but she didn’t move.
The paramedic stood and called over his shoulder. “Dan, we’ll need to break the window.”
Jett winced. That sounded expensive on top of the damage to the back end of her car. A police vehicle rolled up and the officer was hustling their direction almost before she’d parked the cruiser.
“What happened here?”
The EMT gestured to the car. “It’s locked. Have a way to pop it?”
“Sure.” She hustled back to her car and popped her trunk, emerging a minute later with some kind of tube and bulb. She slid what looked like a deflated whoopie cushion into the space between the door and the car frame, and then pumped the bulb. It was similar to a blood pressure cuff, and in a minute, she had the car unlocked. She stepped back as the EMT knelt next to Savannah, who was starting to rouse.
The officer gestured for Jett to follow her as she stepped out of the way of the EMTs.
* * *
Savannah felt someone checking her pulse and something—maybe a blood pressure cuff—sliding around her arm.
Why couldn’t she wake up?
It was scary to lack control of her body.
In what felt like moments, they pulled her from her car and put her on a gurney. An oxygen mask was strapped to her face and then the vehicle—an ambulance?—took off.
Who would take care of her car?
She should call someone to let them know where she was. Someone would worry. But her thoughts were clouded and her phone . . . she had no idea where it was. Had Jett grabbed her purse and phone?
She didn’t remember much of the ride. Her thoughts began to clear as they reached the hospital, but it didn’t stop the emergency room doctor from drawing what felt like pints of blood and then sending her back for an MRI.
After twenty minutes in the loud, clunking machine, her head still pounded, but her thoughts made more sense.
What had happened?
A nurse returned her purse and phone to her, and Savannah saw Jett’s frantic texts, which had arrived like clockwork every fifteen minutes. He didn’t know which hospital they had transported her to. Savannah asked a nearby CNA, then relayed the information to Jett.
Sometime later the clanking of the curtain that covered one end of the room caused her heart rate to pick up. When she saw Jett, a part of her that had clenched relaxed.
“You’re here.” She had a new appreciation for the relief Addy expressed when she said the same words.
“Have been.” Jett’s gaze scanned the machines, and she wanted him focused on her. “They wouldn’t let me back.”
She sighed and blinked to prevent the moisture that filled her eyes from overflowing. “What happened?”
“There are a lot of people who’d like to know.” He finally looked at her. “Do you remember anything?”
“Just the jar of being hit, hard. Did I call you?”
He nodded. “Do you know why?”
She frowned as she tried to think. “I must have had the car call that last number.” She looked at him. “But why
would it call you?”
“The night Dustin died. I gave you my number and you dialed it so it would be stored.”
That still didn’t feel right. “Why?”
“Because I pestered you to do that in case you ever needed anything.”
“We barely know each other.” But she wanted that to change, didn’t she?
“We can fix that.” He sank onto the edge of a chair. “I’m glad I goaded you into it.”
“Maybe.” If his number hadn’t been the one, who would her car have called? Addy? The firm? Neither would have been a good option in that moment.
He glanced away and she noted his hands were now clasped in his lap. “Do you want me to call someone for you?”
She tried to think. Who else would she call? Stasi wouldn’t be any help, and Addy was too young and should be in school. No, she’d called the school for her. Her parents were in another state and the gals were at work. “There’s no one.”
“Then I’m glad I was your last number.”
She nodded, then winced as a knifing pain sliced into her temple. She rubbed the spot.
He lurched to his feet. “I’ll get the nurse in here.”
“I’ll be all right.” She reached toward him, and he took her hand. “Could you call the firm and tell Bella what happened? I’ll need her to have my car towed.”
“Consider it done.” He looked at her in a way that communicated more than a glance should. There was the promise of something deep, like he could see her weakness but also see her strength, and he liked the blend.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Always.”
His voice held a promise in the words that echoed those she had told Addy. She wanted to believe he would be the man who always followed through. The kind she could depend on in the days ahead.
That thought scared her and gave her hope.
* * *
A couple of hours later, the sight of her town house should have filled Savannah with peace. Instead she felt the flutter of unease as Jett pulled into the parking lot. She needed to be at the office helping Emilie, but he pulled to a stop next to the sidewalk that led to her front door.
“Thank you for driving me home, but I really need to go to the office.”
“Not today. You have to trust the attorneys who work for you.”
“I do.” She sighed. “But these are my clients.”
“What’s so important you can’t wait until Monday?”
She didn’t trust him that much. “Bella insisted she’d get my rental car here and bring me dinner.”
“Feeling managed?” His eyes were hidden by his sunglasses, and she wanted to push them up and see his thoughts. Instead, the tinted glasses formed a barrier she wasn’t sure she should storm.
“A little, but after this morning’s scare, I guess it’s okay.” The ER doctor had decided dehydration led to her severe disorientation after the accident. The answer felt too simple, but she didn’t have anything to counter it. Nothing more than a hunch. Anyway, maybe it was a mild concussion. Maybe drinking two cups of coffee before leaving the house rather than a gallon of water had been a bad idea. But the man had given her that odd-smelling water. Too bad she couldn’t see if it still smelled odd now.
“Do you want company?” He glanced at the dashboard digital clock. “I can come in for a while.”
* * *
Jett tried to decide whether to help her inside.
“No, I’ll be fine.”
She might believe her words, but she barely staggered to her front door and slotted her key in the lock. She twisted the knob and then shuffled inside. Leaving her alone didn’t seem right. She was not the in-command, strong woman he’d seen during every other interaction.
This woman was too intelligent to lose track of where she was and have her thoughts so twisted around. He didn’t trust her by herself even if the doctor thought a bag of saline solution via IV was enough to hydrate her and fix her disorientation.
After sitting in his car watching her front door for thirty minutes, he exited his car and stood at the front door to Savannah’s home. She wouldn’t be thrilled to see him.
Who was he kidding?
For all he knew, she may have already forgotten how she got home and would hate knowing he knew where she lived. She may have forgotten he’d been here yesterday checking on Addy. He hadn’t done anything wrong then or now to be here, but who knew if she’d see it that way. But he couldn’t drive away, not until he knew she was okay inside.
He wanted to uncover who she was. She had a space where she was weak, where she didn’t let others in as they relied on her strength. He’d seen her throughout the morning in a way that she hadn’t let others see. She’d insisted her receptionist not tell anyone why she wasn’t at work, but he doubted the woman would follow along. Still, no one had shown up to support her yet.
As she’d lain against the white hospital sheets and flat pillow, she’d looked so self-possessed and alone. But he’d seen a flicker of vulnerability, one she’d deny, just like she’d deny she needed anyone to stay with her now.
He’d use the excuse of talking to her about Dustin to step inside her home and make sure she was okay. He could do that without her knowing his real intent was to protect her.
As a confirmed feminist, she might not like that. But hopefully he could cajole her into lying on the couch while he got her tea and toast. Anything else she needed. He liked the idea of serving her like she served others. He rapped the door, then twisted the knob. When the door eased open, he stuck his head in the house. “Savannah, it’s Jett. I’m coming in.”
“You don’t need to.” Her voice was thready . . . and close.
“Thought I’d make sure you’re settled before I leave. It’s the chivalrous thing to do.”
He heard a sigh but took the lack of protest as a tacit invitation to come in. He’d barely stepped inside when he stopped. She was lying across several steps about halfway up the flight to the second floor. He jumped toward her. “You okay?”
She didn’t open her eyes as she answered. “I can’t get the room to stop swimming, and then I thought I’d lose my breakfast.” She blinked at him, then closed her eyes again. “It was easier to lie here.”
“Maybe, but it doesn’t look comfortable. Your bedroom upstairs?”
She gestured toward the landing. “Up there. Next to Addy’s.”
Without a thought he scooped her up and carried her upstairs. There was something so right about holding her in his arms. She wasn’t some wisp of a thing that would blow away in the first wind. She turned into his chest and he took a side step until he regained his balance. “Careful there.”
She didn’t say anything.
One glance reminded him which room was hers. One bore a lilac color on the walls with a twin bed covered in an eyelet quilt. The other room was the palest blue that reminded him of spring and brightness. The queen poster bed was covered with a comforter in a swirl of gray, blue, and white. It looked like a Monet painting covered the bed. The dresser had a clean surface and the bedside table held a lamp, clock, and Bible. Everything was neat and organized and revealed an ordered mind.
He carefully eased through the door and tried to tug the comforter free of the mountain of pillows without dropping her. The moment he eased her onto the bed, she rolled over and snuggled into her pillow. He pulled the comforter up and then stepped back.
Maybe she didn’t need anything right now other than rest. He’d stick around and make sure she kept breathing.
He went downstairs and called Bella. “I think she’s going to need someone to stay with her.”
The woman didn’t hesitate. “I can get there about four. Can you stay until then? It’s a chaotic day here.”
“Should be able to. She’ll probably sleep but might have a mild concussion.” He paused. “I found her on the stairs.”
“Thanks for staying with her. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
After he ended the c
all, Jett grabbed a chair from the table and carried it upstairs to her doorway. He sank onto it and then considered her.
A peace in her features added a layer of beauty, the natural kind that couldn’t be bought at a counter or applied from a tube. She had shadows under her eyes and her hair was a tangled mess, yet all he wanted to do was get closer to her, protect her, and show her she could be loved. That she could be cherished the way she adored her niece. That someone could see into her soul and love what he saw there, especially in the mess.
He’d learned a long time ago that the story trumped everything else.
He’d ignore the voice that reminded him it hadn’t always been this way.
It’s how it was now.
His phone dinged and he pulled it from his pocket, only to release a groan when he read the message. Got anything? We’ve got to file a story today.
Leave it to Brett Sanderson to pull him back to earth and his job.
At least his editor hadn’t called.
He pulled out his tablet and stylus. Savannah’s gentle breathing filled the small room, and he watched her a minute, monitoring the up-and-down motion of her chest.
Then he turned to a fresh page in his notes app and began a list that morphed into a flow of ideas. There was something with the tweets. Now he had the time to think about what that was.
He texted Brett back. Working on an idea. Get back to you shortly.
He pulled up the tweets and copied them into a document.
InsiderWDCStyle.
RightSideAllTheTime.
UndergroundVigil486.
There were two posts about Donnelly after the article appeared. Then two posts by UndergroundVigil486 that were retweeted by InsiderWDCStyle.
Was there something in the language? Something he could use to connect the tweets and thus the accounts? Did it even matter if there was no profile information to draw lines to the people posting the content?
He needed to reach out to the accounts. Learn what he could about them.
Then his mind ricocheted to something in the list of tweets he’d noted. The one from SoulFreedomThaiNow. What was it about that one that had made him think about the unidentified fourth man the first time he read it?
Flight Risk Page 17
